The Massage That Awoke My Pregnant Friend

I had loved Mariana for a long time before I knew I loved her that way. We’d been friends since school, the kind of friendship that survives everything, and she always seemed to me the most beautiful woman I knew. Once, when we were in our early twenties, I worked up the nerve to hit on her. She cut me off gently: women weren’t her thing, and never had been. I didn’t push it. Luckily, that clumsy move of mine didn’t break anything between us, and we stayed inseparable to this day.

She’d been married to Andrés for five years and, at that point, was expecting their first daughter. She was happy. Being a mother was one of those dreams she’d always cherished, and at last it was coming true. We lived in the same building, her on the fourth floor and me on the sixth, so I visited her almost daily and we spent our afternoons talking about anything and everything.

Since she knew I was a lesbian, Mariana was the only person I ever told my messes to: the names, the details, the good and the disastrous. That was my favorite topic. She, on the other hand, never spilled a thing about her own private life. Her whole life revolved around the pregnancy, and I gladly stepped into that space. I went with her to the ultrasounds—she was having a girl—to prenatal classes, to walk in the afternoons. I helped her choose the name, browse stores looking at cribs and tiny clothes, and put the baby’s room in order. In the end, I did everything Andrés didn’t, because he left at dawn and came back at night, exhausted. I didn’t have a partner or any major obligations, and since I liked her so much, filling that role cost me nothing. Too bad there was one thing I couldn’t replace: her husband.

Back then I was alone. Several months without a girlfriend, which was unusual for me. I’d met a couple of women through an app, but in person the spark fizzled out. As always, I vented to Mariana. I told her how sad that loneliness made me, how tired I was of dates that led nowhere. I unloaded a huge monologue on her, the kind you only give to someone you deeply trust.

She listened in silence. And then, all of a sudden, for no reason at all, her eyes filled with tears.

—What’s wrong? —I asked, startled—. Tell me.

—It’s nothing —she said, wiping her face with the back of her hand—. Just something stupid. Don’t mind me.

But the tears wouldn’t stop. I insisted, asked her to trust me the way I trusted her, and she shut down even more. I even got angry.

—Come on, Mariana. I tell you absolutely everything and you can’t even tell me what’s wrong?

The reproach stopped her cold. She looked at me and finally spoke. She said she felt lonely, that Andrés only had work on his mind, that he came home, ate, and went to bed with the excuse of getting up early the next day. That he never asked how she was feeling, that the pregnancy seemed to mean nothing to him. I sensed there was more, that there was a piece she didn’t want to put on the table. I hugged her and let her cry into my shoulder.

—Let it all out —I murmured—. Whatever it is.

She stayed silent for a while. Then she said it, voice broken.

—I feel like the ugliest woman in the world. Andrés hasn’t touched me since I got pregnant. Not even a kiss. Nothing. And I... I’m more and more needy every day, I can’t stand the frustration. I want to know what’s so disgusting about me that he treats me like this.

***

I held her face between my hands and told her the truth: she wasn’t disgusting at all, that pregnancy had only made her more beautiful, that Andrés was an idiot who didn’t know what he had at home. As I said it, an ugly and delicious idea flashed through me. It was the opportunity I’d been waiting for half my life.

—What you need is to relax —I said in the most innocent tone I could manage—. Let me give you a massage. In prenatal classes I touch you all the time, this is the same thing.

Mariana agreed without suspecting a thing. Or so I thought then. I sat back against the bedhead and she settled between my legs, with her back to me. I pulled her T-shirt up and off; she was left in her bra. I started with her shoulders, slowly, letting my fingertips get to know her skin before pressing in. I moved up to her neck, dug my thumbs into the base of her nape and felt her head fall back. Good sign.

—Does that relax you? —I asked against her ear.

—A lot —she answered, and the word came out longer than necessary.

That was all I wanted to hear. I focused on her neck, and quickly discovered it was her weak spot: every time my fingers slid over it, her breathing deepened. I rested her head on my shoulder to keep her close, to hear every change in her breath. I ran my fingers through her hair, let them fall to the ends, started again. I couldn’t stay forever on her neck without giving myself away, so I moved down her arms, barely brushing them, from shoulders to wrists and back. Her skin prickled all over.

—Should I keep going? —I murmured.

—Yes, don’t stop.

I brought my mouth near her neck without touching it, just so she could feel my warm breath there. I asked her to take off her leggings so I could massage her legs. She did it without thinking. Now she was in her underwear, her round belly rising and falling, and I could trace her thighs with the tips of my fingers. I’d move toward her crotch and back away, glide up her taut stomach, brush the edge of her breasts and then go back down. Mariana started to sigh, first softly, then without trying to hide it.

I moved my hands to her chest. My fingers slipped under her bra, found a nipple already hard and stroked it in circles. She let out a broken little sound. I undid the clasp at her back and took both breasts in my hands at once, while I buried my mouth in her neck and kissed it slowly, letting my tongue slide over her skin. I felt her surrender. I turned her face toward me and kissed her. She kissed me back with a hunger she’d kept locked up for months.

I slid one hand down her belly and under the fabric. She was soaked. When I brushed her clit, her back arched and a short, stifled cry escaped her. I stroked her like that for a while, feeling the tension build in her body, until I pushed the fabric aside completely and slipped two fingers inside her. She was gripping me with incredible force, all that pent-up desire bursting at once.

—Do you want me to make you come like this? —I asked in her ear.

—You have no idea how much —she panted.

I searched for the exact spot, pressing upward, and every time I found it she clamped down around my fingers. I kept driving her there without pause until she came, biting her lip so she wouldn’t wake the whole building, trembling against my chest.

***

I didn’t want her to come down from it. I laid her on the bed, took off the last piece of clothing, and parted her legs. I’d spent years imagining that moment and at last it was right in front of me. I lowered myself slowly, tracing with my tongue the whole path to her clit, and when I got there I held it under gentle pressure, moving it from side to side. Mariana clutched the sheets.

—Look at me —I said, lifting my eyes without taking my mouth away.

She lowered her gaze, found me there between her legs, and that image seemed to light her up even more. I alternated a flat tongue with short, quick sucks, reading from her hips what she liked. When she started pushing against my face, I knew she was close. I closed my mouth over her clit, sucked hard, and she folded with a cry she couldn’t hold back this time. I stayed pressed to her until she stopped trembling.

—God —she said when she got her breath back—. I always wanted to know what it felt like with you. Now I want to know what you taste like.

—You don’t have to —I told her, even though I was dying for it.

—I didn’t let myself get seduced just to be left half-starved.

She undressed me with charming clumsiness and I lay back on the bed. She started with my breasts, testing, not really knowing the right amount of pressure, and learning quickly. Then she moved lower and looked straight at me.

—I don’t know how —she admitted, almost laughing—. It’s the first time I’ve seen one that isn’t mine. Guide me.

—Just do it the way you like it done to you. Start by running your tongue from bottom to top, up to the clit.

She did. I felt her hesitate at first and then let go, with that curiosity of someone discovering something new and liking it. She tried, paused to smell, went back. When she put her tongue on my clit and moved it in circles, I moaned without hiding it. So many years wanting her and there she was, my best friend learning how to please me, asking for instructions between strokes.

—Am I doing it right? —she asked, lifting her face for a second.

—Perfectly. Put your fingers in me while you keep using your mouth.

She obeyed. She slid in two fingers and moved them at the same time as she went back to sucking me, giving me soft little nibbles that ran through my whole body. My clit is very sensitive, and each one of those tiny bites sent a shiver through me like an electric current.

—Look me in the eyes —I asked her.

She raised her gaze and locked it on mine without stopping. That was all. I came in her mouth looking at her, unable to withstand the filthy thrill of having her there.

***

She lay beside me, sweaty and smiling, and gave me a long kiss that still tasted a little like me.

—So that was what the massage was for? —she asked, one eyebrow raised.

—I just wanted you to relax —I answered—. It’s not my fault you got turned on.

—Not your fault? —she laughed—. I know you like the back of my hand. I knew where this was going the second you touched my neck.

—Then why did you let me keep going?

—Because it felt good, and because I’d been dying for it for months. I let myself go. I knew you’d know how to make me come; I always knew you wanted me.

—I’m not going to deny it. I’ve been fantasizing about this for half my life.

She fell silent for a moment, stroking her belly.

—It was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced —she said at last—. Your hands, your mouth, everything felt so soft. I’ve never felt so much pleasure. I almost regret not doing it sooner.

—And would you do it again? —I asked, not daring to expect anything.

—As long as Andrés keeps not touching me… —she said, leaving the sentence unfinished with a smile that said everything.

I rested my head on her chest and ran my hand over her belly, slowly, feeling that life growing beneath my palm. She twined her fingers in my hair. And we stayed like that a long while, in silence, with no need to explain anything, both of us knowing that afternoon hadn’t been the last.