The Night My Best Friend Hugged Me Differently

Camila and Renata had been inseparable since college. They shared the dream of writing and, above all, the awkwardness of dealing with people. When they finished their studies, they decided to move in together to a small house on the outskirts, with a bare brick facade and a dark tiled roof. Inside there were two bedrooms, a study for each of them, and a tiny patio full of plants that perfumed the air in spring. But the soul of the house was the kitchen: a long wooden table, shelves with cookbooks and novels, glass jars full of spices.

They spent almost all day there. They argued over chapters, corrected poems, tried tarts. Life was simple and calm. Camila worked as a copy editor for a small publishing house downtown; Renata lived off the rent from a few apartments her parents had left her. They were both twenty-seven and, without having planned it, had a sexless married routine.

Camila was of average height, rounded at the hips, with large, very pale breasts. Her hair was almost orange, full of curls she never managed to tame. She dressed discreetly: long skirts, dresses with tiny flowers, the occasional linen shirt. She wore only one accessory, a silver pendant shaped like a feather that Renata had given her on her twenty-fifth birthday.

Renata was shorter and proportionate, except for her enormous breasts, which had embarrassed her since adolescence. Her skin was coppery, almost caramel, and her black hair fell straight to her shoulders. She had dressed like Camila for years, soberly, until something changed. She started buying blouses with discreet necklines, colored pants, and low-heeled shoes. She debuted floral perfumes she dabbed behind her ears. She didn’t want to give up sobriety, but she could no longer endure her own silences.

Camila wrote romantic poetry. She drew inspiration from the Romantics of the nineteenth century and built her poems with careful rhyme and short stanzas. She had just finished a manuscript and had worked up the nerve to send it to a small publishing house. Hidden among the rest was a poem she had never shown anyone, not even Renata, even though it was for her.

The two were heterosexual. Or at least that’s what they thought. The conservative upbringing of their mothers had left them with no experience with men, no experience with anyone. Renata, for her part, wrote mystery novels that served as catharsis as she faced her own fears. She was about to finish one about a murder in a mountain town.

One winter night, Renata woke in the middle of the night to sobbing coming from the next room. She knocked on the door and no one answered. She opened it slowly. Camila was curled up on the bed, hugging the pillows, crying as if something inside her were breaking. Renata climbed under the sheets and hugged her from behind without asking a thing. She let her cry until her body went still and her breathing evened out.

The next day they had breakfast as if nothing had happened. Neither of them mentioned the night.

A week later it happened again. Renata heard the sobs and ran. This time Camila was trembling.

“Camila, what’s wrong?” she asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I don’t know. I’m scared and I don’t know of what.”

“Something specific?”

“It’s like something bad is about to happen. But it’s nothing. I just feel it.”

Renata took her hand and stayed like that for half an hour. They talked about small things until the fear dissolved. That night they slept together for the first time without tears in between. In the morning, Renata kissed her on the forehead before going out to make coffee.

From then on, it became a habit. Renata crossed the hallway after brushing her teeth and got into Camila’s bed. They talked until sleep got the better of them. Sometimes they woke up wrapped around each other, legs tangled, and separated laughing as soon as consciousness returned.

Renata had a pastel pink cotton nightgown, with long sleeves and a lace detail in the back. Camila liked that nightgown, and she liked even more the floral perfume Renata wore before getting into bed. It was soft but lingering. It mixed well with Camila’s aquatic fragrance, the same one she had used since adolescence and that they both associated with the cabin Camila’s grandfather had owned on the coast.

***

One night when Camila was sadder than usual, she asked Renata to come closer, that she wanted to smell her. Renata stretched her neck shyly. Camila placed her nose just below her ear lobe and inhaled. She did it again, deeper. Renata began to stroke her hair, slowly, while Camila breathed against her skin. They fell asleep like that.

In the morning both of them knew something had changed categories. They talked about it at breakfast, with their coffee going cold between their hands.

“We need to talk,” Camila began.

“Yes, I know.”

“About last night…”

“I know.”

“What do you know?”

“That it was weird. That it wasn’t what friends do.”

“We are friends. We love each other.”

“Yes, but we both like men. In theory.”

“In theory.”

They laughed. It was the first time in months Camila had laughed with all her teeth showing.

“I propose we don’t worry about it,” Renata said. “That we see what we feel.”

“Okay.”

The next night, Renata took a long shower. She soaped every inch of herself, shaved her legs with a care she did not know she possessed. She put on a stronger perfume, one she had been keeping unused in a drawer. The nightgown she chose was shorter and had a deeper neckline. When she entered the room, she found everything dark except for an aromatic candle flickering on the bedside table.

Camila had her pajama shirt open and nothing underneath, but in the darkness Renata didn’t get to see it. They chatted about the novel, the manuscript, an editor who had replied to an email. Then Camila said she was sleepy.

“Come closer, so you can rest better.”

Renata pressed herself against her. Camila immediately rested her nose against her neck and began to breathe. It was no longer tenderness: it was hunger. Renata began to sigh. Camila gathered the nerve to run her tongue over her skin once, very slowly.

“Can I keep going?” she murmured.

“Please.”

Camila climbed on top of her without asking anything else, rested her head on her shoulder, and let all her weight fall. Renata felt her friend’s breasts against the fabric of the nightgown. She said nothing. Their hearts beat out of sync at first and then in the same rhythm. They fell asleep like that.

In the middle of the night Renata woke with Camila’s mouth a few centimeters from her nipple. The sheet had fallen away. She saw the redhead’s huge white breasts, the pink round nipples, almost brushing her cheek. She got up as if the bed were hot. She went into the shower. She didn’t touch herself, though it was hard not to.

When she came out, she passed by Camila’s half-open door and saw her lying face down. She was moving her hips in small circles against the mattress, her hands down below, her face buried in the pillow. Renata stayed in the hallway for a second, then two, then forced herself to move. She felt sad not to be there with her. Also embarrassed. Mostly desire.

***

At lunch Camila spoke first.

“Did last night bother you? The open shirt thing.”

“It didn’t bother me. Why did you sleep like that?”

“It was dark. I wanted to be comfortable.”

“Would it be okay if I tried something tonight?”

“Try.”

That night, Renata walked into the room, stood in front of Camila, and took off her nightgown without ceremony. She was left in plain white cotton underwear. The candle was still lit and the yellow light fell over her breasts. They were huge, firm, with large dark nipples. The center of the room. Camila felt a dizziness unlike fear. She loved them and felt embarrassed by them at the same time.

Renata climbed into bed and started talking about anything at all. The editor. The book. The weather.

“I’ve never been naked with anyone in a bed,” she said after a while. “I always thought it would be with a man.”

“I thought the same.”

“Do you like them?”

“I love them. It hurts me that they’re covered and at the same time I’m shy about looking at them.”

“I understand.”

Renata slowly pulled down her bra. She was naked from the waist up. Camila looked at her without blinking and, for no reason she understood, started crying.

“Camila, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you crying because you love me?”

“Maybe.”

“Because you don’t love me?”

“It’s not that.”

“Because of me?”

“It’s not because of you. It’s something from before. I don’t know from when. But it’s not against you.”

Renata hugged her. They stayed like that, one against the other’s naked chest, until they fell asleep without noticing.

In the morning, Renata woke with Camila’s mouth fastened to her nipple. She was sucking it with a tenderness that was half nursing, half hunger. She was looking up at her, eyes wide open, without asking permission or forgiveness.

“Camila,” Renata whispered, “I love this.”

“Like this?” Camila circled the nipple with her tongue.

“Yes. Like that.”

Renata lowered her hand and took hold of one of her breasts. It barely fit in her palm.

“Do you want to try mine?”

“Yes. Please.”

Renata turned over and offered her breast. It took Camila a long while to let it go. When she did, both of them knew it was time to kiss. Renata moved first. She stuck out her tongue and Camila took it in her own. It was a long kiss, without the awkwardness of a first kiss, without the urgency of a stolen one. Morning breeze slipped in through the crack in the window and stroked their shoulders.

Renata was the more combative one. She searched for Camila’s tongue all through her mouth and licked her whole face between kisses, as if she knew that maybe that morning was unique. Camila let herself be handled. She brought one hand to her own crotch and started touching herself over her clothes. Renata moved it away. She pulled down her panties. She opened her legs without asking permission and ran her tongue over her shaved cunt, perfumed by the shower from the night before.

“Don’t stop,” Camila begged. “Don’t change anything.”

Renata parted her lips with two fingers and stayed on the clit, making small upward circles. Camila watched her do it, her hands buried in the black curls, her breath cut short. When she came, she trembled all over, her legs stretched out to the end of the mattress and her body shaking in a long wave. Renata gave her two more soft kisses and climbed up beside her.

Then it was Camila’s turn. She went down along the neck, over the breasts, lingering there between the two warm mounds of her friend’s chest. She kept going downward. Before she reached it, Renata asked her for something new, something they had never said to each other.

“Tell me you’re my whore.”

Camila lifted her head. Up to that point everything had been “love,” “princess,” “darling.”

“I’m your whore,” she said slowly. “Your whore forever.”

“My little whore.”

“Your little whore.”

Camila kept going down. She licked the inside of her thighs first, then the whole cunt, then the clit with the tip of her tongue. She slipped in one finger and then the second. When she brushed a slightly rougher spot inside, Renata dug her nails into her shoulder.

“There. Right there. Don’t move.”

Camila didn’t move. She rubbed with her finger and kept going with her tongue outside. Renata came almost immediately, with a muffled cry into the pillow. When it was over, Camila climbed up and hugged her.

It was six-thirty on Saturday morning. They slept until eleven. They had breakfast in silence, the two nightgowns hanging over the backs of the chairs. Everything had changed and nothing had changed.

“Can we do it again whenever we want?” Renata asked.

“Whenever we want.”

***

The afternoon passed slowly. Renata decided she would no longer wear a bra inside the house. Camila decided she would take her friend’s breasts in her mouth whenever she wanted, without asking for a turn. When Renata sat on the sofa to read, Camila settled onto her lap and brought her mouth to her nipple. Renata stroked her red curls and let her suck, saying nothing, while the sun sank over the small patio and the plants released their afternoon perfume.