The Night I Shared a Bed with My Brother’s Girlfriend

My mother turned me into a babysitter that night without asking my permission.

Camila, my brother Damián’s girlfriend, had stayed at the house after a dinner that went on longer than expected. My mother was one of those women who saw sin everywhere: she let Camila sleep over as long as she did it in my room, in my bed, with me pressed right up beside her as if I were a living rosary. “So you don’t get any ideas,” she said, looking at me as if I were the house’s moral guarantee. She made me babysit an adult woman.

I was twenty-three. Camila was twenty-four. My brother slept two doors down, at the far end of the hallway. The comedy practically wrote itself.

We went to bed like two nuns, each on her own edge of the mattress, staring at the ceiling and talking about nothing. She smelled of sweet perfume with a hint of tobacco over it, and she wore a long T-shirt that barely covered her thighs. I turned off the lamp and faced the wall, counting the minutes until my brother did what she and I both knew he was going to do.

It wasn’t even half an hour before the door opened.

It was Damián. He came in barefoot, without turning on the light, and approached the side of the bed where Camila was pretending to sleep. He ran a hand over her shoulder, and she got up without saying a word. I propped myself up on one elbow and said through my teeth:

—Be careful not to get caught, because I’m the one who’ll pay for the mess.

Camila glanced at me, half smiling, and went off with him, dragging her feet. It wasn’t as if this was the first time I’d pretended not to notice a plan like that. They closed the door carefully, and I settled back onto the mattress, listening to the silence of the house.

About twenty minutes passed. Then I heard the click of the door again and felt her lie down beside me. Camila was breathing hard, worked up, as if she’d been running. The mattress sank on the other side beneath her weight, and she lay there quietly, trying to calm her breathing.

One of those silences in which you can hear everything. Her breathing. The rustle of the sheet. Your own pulse.

You can’t help wanting someone right there. There’s nothing hotter than a getaway when danger is close; the higher the risk, the better it feels. And she was still fired up from what she’d just done with my brother on the other side of the hall.

Several minutes passed, and her breathing still hadn’t slowed. I felt a small movement in the mattress, rhythmic, like a pulse. Very slowly, I turned toward her to see what was going on.

We were alone. The orange light from the streetlamp came through the blinds, slicing the room into stripes. The sheet was rising and falling at one very specific point, between her legs. I looked closely and saw the shape of her hand moving underneath, fingers working in soft, steady circles.

Camila was masturbating with me right beside her.

I looked at her face. Her eyes were closed, her mouth slightly open, and her nostrils flared as she breathed. She was trying not to make any noise, but in that silence even the creaking of the mattress could be heard. She must still have been very horny to keep touching herself after being with my brother. Or maybe he’d left her wanting.

I felt a pang low in my belly that rose through me like an electric shock. I watched her for a long while, and without planning to, I brought my hand to my tits over my T-shirt. My nipples had hardened. I pressed my thumb against one and held my breath so I wouldn’t give myself away.

What a temptation.

I didn’t want her to realize I was watching. She thought I was asleep, and it wasn’t as if she was making much noise; what gave her away was her breathing. I began breathing more deeply too, trying to enjoy it without moving too much. I’d liked Camila from the day Damián first brought her home. I’d watched her out of the corner of my eye a thousand times, at dinners, lunches, and outings. Every time she bent over and the line of her back showed, I looked away as if I’d been burned.

And now she was thirty centimeters away, soaked, touching herself.

I spent a whole while thinking about what to do. The way things were, lying there quietly and watching her from the corner of my eye, I couldn’t hold out much longer. Either we both came or neither of us did. It was kind of selfish of me, sure, but who the fuck could stand having a woman like that beside them, so turned on, while they stared at the ceiling? Nobody.

I put my hand on her shoulder.

Her eyes flew open, and she jumped so hard the whole mattress creaked. She froze, her hand still between her legs, looking at me as if the police had caught her.

—Don’t stop, I whispered, almost in her ear. —You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. I want it too.

She started babbling that she wasn’t doing anything, that she’d just been getting comfortable, that she’d been startled. I put two fingers to her lips to quiet her.

—I’ve been watching you for a while, I told her.

I didn’t want to lose the momentum. I got up for a second, turned the key in the door’s lock—how had I not thought of that before?—and went back to the bed. On the way, I took off my T-shirt and panties and returned naked. Camila watched me from the mattress with an expression that was half alarm, half hunger.

I slipped beneath the sheet beside her, grabbed her wrist, and guided her hand back to her pussy.

—Keep going, I told her. —I want to watch.

She started again, more slowly at first, more self-conscious. I settled on my side, propped my head on one elbow, and began touching my nipples with the other hand. I watched her fingers move in circles over her clitoris, then two fingertips slipping just inside. A low moan escaped her. I lifted her shirt and saw her tits for the first time: full, with hard, dark nipples gleaming with sweat.

—Take this off, I told her, tugging at the fabric.

Camila lifted her arms and let me undress her. When she was as naked as I was, she pulled the sheet away herself. She wasn’t pretending anymore. She was so wet that I could see her glistening between her thighs in the orange light from outside.

I put her legs over mine, opening her up, and ran my fingertips along the inside of her thigh. Her skin broke out in goosebumps. I kept touching myself, two fingers sliding easily over my own clitoris, while my other hand now moved back and forth over her belly and tits. Her hand was between her legs, and she was watching me, breathing through her mouth.

—Damián didn’t make me come, she whispered.

—I noticed, I replied.

I moved closer, ran my tongue over her left nipple, and bit it slowly. Camila arched her back and let out a weak moan, muffling it against her own shoulder. I sucked the other one harder as I lowered my hand and placed it over hers, between her legs. I gently moved her fingers aside and took their place.

When I brushed her clitoris with my fingertip, her whole body jerked upward. She was soaked. I ran my finger in one long stroke from top to bottom, feeling her open, and pushed two fingers inside her at once. Camila squeezed her legs against mine, and the contractions of her inner walls sucked at my fingers as if they had a life of their own.

—Goddamn, she said through her teeth. —Goddamn, keep going.

I moved in and out slowly, curling my fingers forward, searching for that rough spot inside. She brought her fingers to her clitoris and began rubbing it while I kept fucking her with my hand. The room smelled of sex, of the two of us. I bit her lower lip, then her neck, then her collarbone.

—Come, I whispered. —Come on my fingers.

Camila came, clutching my back and digging her nails into me. I felt the strong contractions—three, four, five—a long tremor running through her whole body. She bit her shoulder to keep from screaming. I didn’t pull my fingers out until I felt her body go completely limp.

She lay there panting, her forehead pressed against mine. She kissed my mouth for the first time. It was a deep, wet kiss, a kiss that tasted like something different, like being accomplices in something else. I bit her tongue, and she bit mine.

—Now you, she said, slowly pushing me onto my back.

She climbed on top of me. I felt her wet pussy resting against my belly, leaving a hot trail across my skin. She pressed her whole body against mine and kissed me slowly, her tongue sliding into mine in a perfect rhythm: she thrust deep, I sucked on her, then let her slip out slowly. My hands traveled over her back, waist, and ass, squeezing her against me.

She moved down little by little. She spread my legs with her knees, settled between my thighs, and pressed her pussy against mine. She began moving up and down, thrusting her hips against mine, making our clitorises rub together with every push. I clutched the sheets so I wouldn’t scream.

Seeing her like that, on top of me, her back arched, nipples hard, ass tightening every time she thrust, was too much. I’d spent so long watching her from the corner of my eye, so many dinners pretending I didn’t want her, and there she was, grinding her pussy against mine with her mouth open, unable to hide it. The mattress creaked beneath every thrust, and I had to bite my arm to keep from waking the whole house.

—Faster, I begged.

Camila planted her hands on either side of my head and quickened her rhythm. Her thighs were trembling. I felt her juices running down the inside of her leg, mixing with mine. I grabbed her hips and helped her thrust harder, harder, until she lost the rhythm and collapsed onto me, breathing heavily.

—Not yet, she told me in my ear.

She came again while kissing me, rubbing my clitoris with one hand. I was close, but it wasn’t enough. She noticed. She gave me another long kiss, lifted herself slightly, and slid down my body, leaving kisses on my neck, tits, belly, and hipbone.

She opened my legs with her hands, and I felt her hot tongue on my pussy.

I opened my eyes and lifted my head a little to look at her. She was focused, eyes closed, her tongue working over my clitoris in a rhythm that shifted from slow and broad to fast and precise. I couldn’t believe what was happening. Camila, my brother’s girlfriend, had her head between my legs, sucking me as if she’d wanted to do it for months.

She slipped two fingers inside me and curled them forward while continuing with her tongue. She placed her other hand on my belly, holding me down. I was trembling all over. Every time she sucked on my pussy lips and then scraped my clitoris with the tip of her teeth, my head went hazy. She was silent. She only breathed hard through her nose as she worked.

I felt the orgasm rising from my feet. I had to grab the pillow, pull it over my face, and bite it to muffle my scream. It lasted a long time; my whole back arched against the mattress, and she kept sucking and fingering me while I came in her mouth. She didn’t stop until I pushed her head away because I couldn’t take the tickling of my hypersensitive clitoris anymore.

Camila climbed back up my body and settled on top of me with her head on my shoulder. I held her. I ran my fingers through her hair, still unable to get my breathing under control. We were both wet and pressed together, our legs tangled.

—Your brother is going to hate me, she whispered against my neck.

—My brother won’t find out a damn thing, I replied.

She laughed softly. I kissed her hair. I lay there staring at the ceiling with her on top of me, thinking about everything that had fallen apart in less than an hour. Damián’s girlfriend. My own house. My own bed. And me, of all people, after pretending not to look at her until that night.

After a while, I whispered in her ear:

—If my mom invites you to sleep over again, I’ll babysit you. Every time she wants.

Camila gently bit my shoulder. And I lay there thinking that this babysitting business, truthfully, hadn’t turned out so badly.