The Gym Secretary Came to My Door

Carla received me in her tiny gym office around noon. She had just finished her weight routine, had showered, and was about to go through the papers Lucía had left on the desk for her. As always, she wore tight clothes that emphasized the muscles in her arms and thighs, because Carla was one of those women who lived for the gym. She looked at me with the same contempt with which one looks at something worthless, exactly the same way she had that dawn when I jumped out of her bed and began dressing under her owner’s gaze.

It was true that I had had a good time in her arms. True that I had three orgasms in a row and that my cunt was throbbing for hours, swollen and soaked after Carla ate me out like I was her breakfast, with that trained tongue that pried my lips open and sucked my clit until I screamed into the pillow. True that she finger-fucked me first with two fingers, then with three, until I felt like she was splitting me open from the inside, and that in the end she sat on my face and made me eat her cunt until she came, soaking my chin. But Carla was not among my preferences when it came to thinking about anything more serious than one night.

—You tell me —she said without looking up from the paper.

—I just wanted to let you know that tomorrow is my last day. Here’s my resignation letter.

—You could have given it to Lucía. Or did you have something else to tell me?

At that moment I hated Lucía for having convinced me. I hated Carla for looking at me as if I didn’t exist. And I hated myself above all for having accepted, weeks earlier, the suggestion of going up to her apartment that afternoon. “Do you always dress like that?” had been her only question when she saw me put on my bra first. As if it were a flaw. As if I had stolen something from her.

—I have nothing else. Goodbye.

***

Twenty days remained until the December exams. I no longer had a job, and what was left for me to collect from the gym would barely be enough to eat for a couple of weeks. On the tenth I passed the last subject of the next-to-last year of Advertising, and with a depression that left me too weak to get out of bed, I started handing out copies of my résumé all over the city.

On December eighteenth I woke up sprawled on the cot in the tiny room I rented. It was hot, a sticky coastal midday heat. I had only a few pesos left: either I paid the rent or I ate. I could talk to Doña Elena and ask for a few more days, but the very idea filled me with a deep shame. The smell of stew from the next room reached me under the door and sank its claws into my empty stomach.

I wasn’t hungry. What I felt was helplessness, that ugly thing that isn’t hunger but weighs more.

I bathed with a jug and the basin. Wrapped in a towel, I went out to throw the water into the patio and, when I came back to the room, I saw her walking down the corridor. I jumped. Lucía had always seemed pretty to me, although she hid it with her tailored secretary suits. This time she wasn’t wearing a suit: a black skirt, a turquoise crew-neck T-shirt, loafers without socks, and a cloth bag hanging from her shoulder.

—I came to talk to you —she said when she stood in front of me.

—Come in.

I made her sit in my only chair and asked her not to turn around while I dressed behind her.

—Were you going out?

—I was deciding. You tell me.

—Carla kicked me out of the gym the day before yesterday.

—What? Why?

—It’s a long story.

When I turned around, already dressed in cotton pants and a sleeveless T-shirt, I found her eyes full of tears. She wiped them away with her fingers without making a sound. I handed her a crumpled little packet of tissues that had been in my backpack since time immemorial.

—Thanks —she said, and smiled faintly—. Look, actually I came to talk to you about something else. Shall we go eat something? My treat.

***

We went to a cheap cafeteria near the cathedral, in the old quarter. We ate rice with beans and drank tamarind juice. The table was long and shared, so we hurried through our food and went out to the little park facing the Convent of Santa Clara. The winter breeze was only slightly cooler than summer. We sat under a flamboyant tree that had almost no flowers left.

—Tell me, Camila, do you know how to paint?

—How do you mean? Artistic painting?

—The other kind. Walls, storefront windows, that sort of thing.

—A little. I used to paint signs for my town’s parish, and before I switched to Advertising I studied drawing for a whole year. Why?

—I knew I could count on you. Look, you know I studied decoration but never worked in it. The thing is, an uncle of mine has a friend, a somewhat tight-fisted merchant, who wants to open a cigar shop on the avenue and needs everything painted and decorated. I gave him a quote for twenty-five thousand pesos.

—Twenty-five thousand? And you say he’s tight-fisted?

—Plus materials.

I kept looking at her. Her eyelashes were still wet and yet her eyes were shining in a way I had never seen before.

—A decorating company would charge him double for the same thing —she went on—. I know how to paint, but I need a good design. Something the man will like. And for that I thought of you. Are you up for it?

—For the design?

—Not just the design, Camila. For busting our asses painting together. If he approves it, we start tomorrow and finish Saturday.

—You’re crazy, girl.

—Don’t back out. Let’s go over there, you take a look and tell me.

***

We got off a beat-up bus at the corner of Las Palmeras Avenue and walked six blocks until we found the place. The storefront wasn’t too big. Inside, the metal shelves were stacked up unassembled. I took a set square from my backpack, measured the display window, and sketched a front-facing layout from the sidewalk while Lucía counted the shelves and recorded notes on a pocket tape recorder.

We then sat on a bench in Plaza Mayor, beside the big fountain. I sketched a pipe sending up curls of smoke, and inside each curl I enclosed something: coastal landscapes, pirate ships, a chest crammed with cigars, a seascape sunset. Then I drew a logo that would take up the whole door and gave the business a name: “El Corsario. Tabaquería.”

—Oh, Camila, that is beautiful!

—I’d need a computer to do it properly.

—There’s an internet café two blocks away. Let’s go.

It took me almost two hours to finish the design in the program, and we printed several copies.

—This is great. I’m showing it to the man right now.

—Shouldn’t we make an alternate version, in case he doesn’t like it?

—He’s going to love it, I assure you. Can you start tomorrow? If you help me paint everything, we’ll split it fifty-fifty. What do you say?

I accepted more out of necessity than greed. Her enthusiasm made me self-conscious. We agreed to meet at eight in the morning in front of the shop.

***

That night I slept badly. The light I had seen in Lucía’s eyes that afternoon had gotten inside me somewhere and didn’t want to leave. I felt like I had known her all my life.

The next day, bleary-eyed and yawning, I went to the avenue. Lucía showed up before nine in a hauling truck. She brought three crates with cans of paint, a ladder, bundles of old newspapers, and a whole box of brushes and tools. The driver helped us unload everything.

I started right away on the storefront window. The place filled with an unbearable smell of solvent. Lucía improvised a mask with a handkerchief, and she looked like a stagecoach robber from the Wild West. It made me laugh weakly, and that did me good after so many days without laughing. I copied her. We ate a slice of pizza at noon and worked until nearly eight at night.

I myself had not suspected Lucía’s work capacity. From the little I knew of her, I had always seen her sitting in front of her computer, immaculate in her little office outfit that seemed to change color every week. Now I saw her with stained hands, her forehead shining with sweat, and a determination I had not known she possessed.

She was only a little darker-skinned than me. She wore her hair loose to her shoulders, was a little plumper, with round hips and well-shaped breasts. I, on the other hand, hated going to the salon, so I wore my hair short, slicked back with gel, and rarely wore hats. Lucía had made herself one out of a plastic bag.

On Friday I finished the window. I left it clean, scraped the excess paint off the glass with a razor blade, touched up the whites and the empty spots, and in the afternoon I helped Lucía with the ceiling and the bathroom doors. At seven the owner arrived. He was a tall man with a prominent belly and thick mustaches, wearing glasses and a simplicity in dress that didn’t fit the image of the tightwad Lucía had painted for me. Two young women came in behind him, evidently his daughters. Both of them praised how well everything had turned out.

—I’d ask you to finish cleaning tomorrow and assemble the shelves —the man said—, and so you can see I’m not what they say, here’s the rest.

He took out his checkbook and wrote out a check for the remaining twenty-two thousand pesos.

—As for tomorrow’s work, I’ll pay you separately, Lucía. You tell me how much.

—Don’t worry. I’ll let you know when we’re done.

***

At four in the afternoon on Saturday the shop was clean and the shelves assembled. We, on the other hand, were exhausted, starving, covered in dust, and smelling so strongly of solvent we could have driven the mosquitoes away. The driver loaded everything into the truck and took us to Lucía’s uncle’s house, from where she called the man to tell him it was ready. It was almost six when the truck dropped us off at her room.

Her room was larger than mine. It had a private bathroom and a small enclosed veranda in front. The landlady lived next door. Lucía was better equipped than I was: a mini-fridge, a little clothes cabinet, a small stereo, and a television. I sat on the bed watching cartoons while she showered.

—Do you want to bathe too? —she asked from the bathroom.

—I don’t have anything to change into.

—Come here.

I walked over and opened the door a crack.

—What is it?

—I can lend you something if you want.

I weighed the possibility. I didn’t want to snub her after everything she had done for me these past few days. But I also felt, for the first time that week, something new tugging at me from the inside.

—All right.

Lucía came out of the bathroom wrapped in a long cotton T-shirt. She opened the wardrobe and took out a one-piece dress printed with red and yellow flowers. She left it on the bed for me.

—Do you feel like going out, or should we order pizza here?

—Pizza. But we’ll share it.

—We’re millionaires tonight. Beer?

Up to that moment I had felt nothing remotely dirty with Lucía. I just liked her. I took off my clothes, turned on the shower, and when she came into the bathroom to leave me a clean towel, I startled. More than the surprise, what shocked me was the way she looked at me. She fixed her eyes on my tits first, then on the triangle of hair between my legs, and looked me over the way you look at someone you’re about to fuck. My nipples went hard almost without permission. Lucía smiled.

—Your cannons sure are pointing nicely —she said with a laugh, and she didn’t stop looking at my crotch.

I soaped myself slowly. I lathered my body while she stayed in the doorway. I ran my soapy hand over my breasts, lingered on my nipples, tugging them slightly outward, and went down over my belly until I brushed my pussy. I turned my back to her, arched my waist a little so my ass would stand out, and shut off the water for a moment, as if I needed to keep soaping myself on the inside too. I slipped two fingers between my buttocks, smeared soap along the crack, and went down until I brushed the lips of the cunt that was already throbbing. Her gaze lit something in my belly that had been out for a long time. For more than a year my sex had only traced fantasies. When I turned the water back on and turned around, Lucía was still there, breathing hard, her tits pushing against the cotton shirt. I decided to improvise, though panic was chewing at me.

—Brr, it’s cold —I said, looking her in the eyes. I reached for the towel and wrapped myself in it—. Do you want to help me?

Lucía nodded. Her breathing was uneven and her hands trembled a little as she slid the towel down my back, over my belly, until she let it fall to the floor. She stayed there for a moment, almost kneeling, her face at the level of my pussy, breathing in the smell of soap and wet female that rose up from between my legs. I saw temptation in her eyes, her mouth slightly open, her tongue just visible. Without any preamble I took her face in my hands and kissed her on the mouth. I pushed my whole tongue in, bit her lower lip, sucked her saliva. It was the first time I was the one in control of a situation like that. I pulled her out of the bathroom and sat her on my lap on the bed, never stopping kissing her.

I lifted her shirt slowly until her erect nipples were exactly within reach of my mouth. They were dark, thick, hard as pellets. I played with them. I let my tongue sweep over her areolas, circled them with the tip, blew on them, and then filled my mouth with one whole breast, sucking it hard and pulling upward until Lucía let out a moan and dug her nails into my shoulders. I clamped them between my teeth, bit one and then the other, and with my fingers I pinched the one I still had free, tugging on it while she finished taking off the rest of her clothes. When she was naked, I pushed her backward onto the mattress. Her skin smelled of soap, jasmine perfume, and something else, something of her own, a musky smell rising from her open cunt. All I cared about was carrying her beyond that room, beyond that noisy neighborhood, beyond the nighttime city that was already far away.

I spread her legs with my hands and stared at her sex. It was a plump cunt, with dark, fleshy lips and thick black hair parted in two down the middle. She was wet. You could see it shining between the folds, and a drop hung from her swollen clit, sliding toward her ass. I licked my lips.

—Look at you —I told her—. All wet for me.

—Fuck me, Camila —she panted—. It’s been so long since anyone fucked me…

I ran my tongue from her ass to her clit, in a long, flat lick that made her lift her hips off the bed. I repeated the movement three, four times, then sucked my lips as if I were drinking from a fruit. I opened her cunt with two fingers, left the clit exposed, swollen, shining, and planted the tip of my tongue there. I made circles, first slow, then fast. I sucked it like you suck a candy, tugging at it with my lips, nibbling it lightly. Lucía opened and closed her legs against my head, stroked my short hair, breathed deeply. I shoved two fingers into her cunt in one stroke and felt how tight she was inside, hot, soaked. I finger-fucked her while I sucked her clit, going in and out, curling my fingers upward to hit that rough spot that made her writhe. Her pelvis started moving upward, bucking against my face, my hands found her breasts and I pinched her nipples hard, and when all her skin shuddered in a warm pulse, she moaned softly, then louder, while her whole body trembled and flooded my mouth with a warm, thick spurt. She pressed herself against me and kissed my neck.

—Thank you —she murmured—. Thank you. It’s been so long since…

I stroked her hair. She looked at my face, wet with her come, and smiled with a new, wicked little expression, and cleaned me with her tongue, sucking my lips, my chin, my jaw, tasting herself in my mouth. When she felt my hard nipples against hers, she kissed my whole body, ran over me as if she were exploring me, sucked my neck, bit my shoulders, filled my tits with saliva and teeth. She trapped one nipple between her lips and tugged at it until I cried out. Then she went lower, licked my navel, nibbled my hips, and in a few seconds her tongue became a warm stiletto lingering at my sex. She opened my cunt with her thumbs and burrowed in up to her nose, breathing hard against my hair, sucking my lips one by one, pushing her tongue deep inside me as if it were a little cock. She found my clit and never let it go. She sucked it with her whole mouth, moving her head, and at the same time put two fingers in my cunt and one wet finger in my ass. I closed my eyes as if I were dreaming, only to wake up immediately jolted by an orgasm that forced me to bite the pillow so I wouldn’t scream. I felt the come rise up from the soles of my feet, cut through my belly, and explode in my head like lightning. Everything tightened around her fingers and she kept sucking me until I told her to stop with a broken voice.

***

It was night and we were sweating. The darkness of the room had filled with the buzz of mosquitoes. I wanted to say something, but Lucía’s lips shut my mouth.

We went back to the bathroom and showered together, this time without excuses. Under the warm stream we soaped each other up, and her soapy hands lingered on my ass, slid between my legs, opened my cunt and played there until I bit her shoulder to keep from coming again standing up. I soaped her tits, squeezed them until she moaned, and ran a soapy finger over her ass until I pushed it in to the knuckle. She braced herself against the wall and asked me to keep going. I did it until her knees buckled. Then she put on the dress she had lent me and went out to order the pizza. I turned on the fan and from the bed looked for music on the radio. When she came back, she undressed again and lay down beside me. We fell asleep until the delivery boy woke us. We ate just enough to regain our strength.

Then I laid her face down on the bed, spread her buttocks with my hands, and ate her ass while I shoved three fingers into her cunt from behind. I licked her tight little asshole, salivated it well, pushed the tip of my tongue inside until she was moaning into the pillow. I fucked her with my hand like that, my palm slapping her ass each time I drove in, until she came screaming into the pillow, her cunt running down my arm. Then I climbed on top of her face, rubbed my cunt against her mouth, and ordered her to suck me. She ate me with hunger, sticking her tongue out far, and I came on her, soaking her chin. We were left in pieces, thrown crosswise on the bed, with our legs tangled and the smell of sex clinging to the sheets.

We spent Sunday locked inside, naked, sleeping and waking at odd intervals. Every time we opened our eyes it was to slip tongues or fingers between our legs. We ate each other’s cunts in a thousand ways, made each other 69 until we lost count, rubbed our sexes together until we came pressed against each other. We told each other everything, even talked about Carla. At some point Lucía laughed softly against my neck and said:

—Maybe we should thank her, don’t you think?

When I got back to my room that night I paid Doña Elena two months’ rent in advance and went over the list of addresses where I still had to hand out more résumés. I couldn’t stop thinking about Lucía, about her open cunt, about her tongue, about how she moaned when I put my fingers in her ass. But, more from instinct than experience, I decided to restrain myself. I was going to wait for her to look for me again. I went to bed at nine and tossed and turned for a long time before falling asleep, my hand between my legs.

At seven in the morning I was woken by knocking on the door. I jumped out of bed and opened it. It was Lucía, haggard, with dark circles under her eyes and a smile she couldn’t quite keep from escaping.

—I couldn’t sleep. I almost came last night, but I thought you might get mad.

—Silly girl. I couldn’t sleep either, but I thought maybe you needed your time.

—I need you —she said, and her voice trembled.

I shut the door to the little room and turned on the electric heater to make coffee. Lucía lay back on my bed and I got in beside her and held her. We fell asleep again. The hiss of the coffeemaker woke me. She drank her coffee hungrily and said it was delicious.

—Do you want to talk? —I asked.

There was a new, different playfulness in her gaze, the look of a woman who already knows what she wants. She brought the cup to her mouth, blew on the coffee, and with her other hand opened her legs under her skirt so I could see she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. Her cunt gleamed wet all the way to her thigh.

—Yes —she said, starting to unbutton the top one—. A lot. But later.