The Night I Stopped Pretending with My Roommate

Camila and I had had more to drink than we should have, and we left the bar without wanting to stay. No guy worth bothering with had shown up: just bland men, far too sure of themselves, who approached with tired pickup lines and left just as quickly. So we paid the bill and walked back to the apartment we had shared for nearly a year.

We lit a cigarette on the balcony, poured ourselves a couple more drinks, and started laughing about the wasted night. About the boring men, how horny we'd been left, how little it took to ruin a promising evening.

“Maybe we're too demanding,” Camila said, dropping onto the couch. “We should just settle for anyone.”

“We should call over the first guy who walks down the street and have him come up with both of us,” I replied, half-seriously, half-joking.

We both burst out laughing. I had said it as a joke, but Camila stood up, pulled back the curtain, and threw the window wide open. She leaned out over the empty street and announced with a mischievous smile:

“There's one coming.”

She began to move slowly, hitching her dress up centimeter by centimeter, performing a slow dance in front of the glass. I watched her from the couch, unable to believe what she was doing.

“You're crazy,” I said, laughing.

“Come here,” she replied, holding out her hand and pulling me to my feet.

We ended up dancing together beside the window, swaying our hips, hiking up our clothes, touching ourselves shamelessly while trying not to laugh. When the man passed in front of the building, Camila clicked her tongue to get his attention and lowered her dress just enough to reveal her cleavage. The guy looked up, stared at us with a frightened expression, and quickened his pace, almost running.

We collapsed onto the couch, dying of laughter, breathless and clinging to each other so we wouldn't fall. When I finally caught my breath, I said the first thing that came into my head:

“We don't need anyone anyway. We can take care of ourselves.”

“You're right,” Camila replied, still smiling. “We don't need those idiots.”

She settled back on the couch, hiked up her skirt, pushed aside the fabric of her underwear, and began stroking herself without the slightest inhibition, glancing at me from the corner of her eye.

“Come on,” she said softly. “Touch yourself too.”

We shouldn't be doing this.

The thought flashed through my mind and vanished just as quickly. I sat down beside her and watched her for a moment. She had pulled her dress down, leaving her breasts bare: fuller than mine, firm, their skin warm beneath the lamplight. Her breathing was ragged and her lips were slightly parted.

It wasn't the first time I'd seen her like that. Camila had always had a body that drew attention, and since we'd started living together, I'd seen more than one man pass through her bedroom. Many nights I heard her moans through the wall, and more than once I ended up touching myself in my own bed, smothering the sound against my pillow so she wouldn't hear me. I'd never dared admit, not even to myself, that those moans were what really turned me on.

“What are you waiting for?” she said, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I laughed nervously and started touching myself through my clothes, not daring to go any further.

“Not like that,” she protested, and with a quick gesture she pulled my neckline down.

The movement caught me by surprise, and I felt myself blush all the way to my ears.

“Come on, do what I'm doing,” she insisted, reclining again and spreading her legs.

I did as she said. I settled onto the couch, spread my legs, moved my underwear aside, and lowered my fingers. I was much wetter than I'd expected. I began stroking myself slowly, and heat rushed through me. The alcohol loosened my inhibitions one by one, and for the first time I didn't care that she was watching.

I closed my eyes and lost myself for a while in what I was feeling. When I opened them again, Camila had sat up and was watching me without stopping her own movements. I felt embarrassed and wanted to cover myself, but her voice stopped me.

“Don't stop,” she whispered, moving closer. “I can tell you like it, and I love watching you.”

Heat rose to my face. I pulled my hands away and covered my face, laughing to hide how nervous I was.

“Don't be silly,” I said.

“Don't stop,” she repeated, this time very close to my ear, in a voice I'd never heard from her before.

I felt her warm body pressing against mine. My nipples hardened, and a wave of heat ran down to my belly. I took my hands from my face, opened my eyes, and met her gaze, full of desire. Two of her fingers slid between my legs, and a moan escaped me before I could stop it.

Camila smiled. Her breasts were right at mouth level, so I took them and began kissing them, licking them, squeezing them with my lips. They were soft and warm, so different from everything I'd imagined during those sleepless nights. I couldn't believe what was happening. How many times I'd touched myself while listening to her on the other side of the wall, how many times I'd watched her cross the hallway in her underwear while pretending I didn't care. And now I had her in my hands, exactly as I'd secretly wanted her for months.

Desire became stronger than any embarrassment. I took her by the hips and pulled her toward me until she was sitting on my thighs. I kept kissing her breasts while my fingers searched between her legs. I found her soaking wet. I yanked the fabric aside and caressed her with my fingertips, slowly, feeling her shudder with every movement.

She moaned softly, and every sound she made turned me on a little more. I slid my hands up her back, lifted her dress to her waist, and pulled it over her head. Camila rose just enough to finish undressing, let her last garment fall to the floor, and lay back on the couch. She spread her legs and looked at me, offering herself without a word.

I didn't think twice. I slid down and brought my mouth to her sex. I began by kissing around it, barely brushing her with my tongue, enjoying making her wait.

“Yes… like that,” I heard her murmur, her head thrown back.

I moved a little lower and ran my tongue over her entire length, unhurriedly, discovering her taste for the first time. She opened her legs for me, digging her fingers into the upholstery. The heat of her skin, her scent—everything felt much more intense than I'd imagined in the solitude of my room.

I moved up to her clitoris and began drawing slow circles around it. I felt the skin of her thighs prickle beneath my hands. I licked it gently, taking my time, noticing it swell between my lips as her breathing grew shorter and more ragged.

“Don't stop,” she gasped. “Please, don't stop.”

I slid one finger inside her, slowly, and moved it upward, searching for the spot that would make her lose control. Her back arched at once, and I felt her hands close around my head, guiding me, asking for more without saying it.

“There… yes, right there,” she moaned.

Hearing her brought me to the edge too. I increased the pace, licking and sucking eagerly, feeling her entire body begin to tremble. My tongue was tired, but I didn't stop for anything in the world. I wanted to feel her come, to hear her scream as I'd heard her so many nights through the wall, only this time because of me.

“I'm coming,” she warned in a broken voice. “Oh, I'm coming…”

I felt her tighten around my finger, felt her body shake, caught in her orgasm. Camila moved her hips against my mouth, pressing herself against me, stretching out every second of pleasure. A long cry escaped her as her thighs closed on either side of my face.

Without taking my eyes off her, I lowered my free hand to my own sex. I was so wet that I barely needed a couple of strokes. Watching her fall apart like that, feeling her tremble beneath my tongue, was all it took. My orgasm hit almost at the same time, intense and sudden, and I let out a moan that was muffled against her skin.

We stayed still for a long while, catching our breath, our legs tangled and our breathing ragged. Camila stroked my hair in silence, barely smiling, and I understood that dawn had changed something between us forever.

Neither of us said anything about the men at the bar. There was no need.