What My Coworker Taught Me After the Bar

Carla and Renata had worked together in a downtown architecture studio for almost two years. Carla led the bidding team; Renata worked in interior design. Their offices were on the same floor, separated by a narrow hallway where they crossed paths ten times a day. And ten times a day there was a half-second pause longer than necessary, a glance held a blink too long, a brush neither of them ever dodged.

Carla had gotten divorced in May. She’d spent three months sleeping alone in a two-room apartment overlooking the hills of Valparaíso, and every night she wondered what she was going to do with everything that was left over inside her. What remained of her desire was untouched, and that was the worst part. Her husband had left her untouched for the last year, and she had learned not to need him. What she hadn’t learned was how to stop looking at herself in the mirror and asking who she wanted to touch.

Renata had light brown hair cut just below her shoulders, green eyes, and a particular way of resting her elbow on the frame of her doorway when she talked. She was six years younger than Carla and had never been married. One afternoon, in the coffee room, she’d blurted out without lifting her eyes from the thermos:

—Sometimes I like men, sometimes women. Depends on the day.

Carla had nodded with a smile she could barely hide and gone back to her office with her heart pounding against her ribs. Depends on the day. That line kept turning over in her head for weeks, like a stone that never quite settled at the bottom.

On a Friday in June they closed an important bid. The team stayed in the office until ten at night, eating cold empanadas and reviewing plans. When everyone left, Renata came by Carla’s office with her purse slung over her shoulder and a new shine in her eyes.

—Want to get a drink? —she said—. I know a place three blocks away where none of our coworkers will see us.

Carla said yes without thinking.

The bar was on Esmeralda Street, in a basement with exposed brick walls and yellow lamps hanging from the ceiling. They chose a table in the back. They ordered pisco sours and a plate of olives neither of them finished. They talked about work for fifteen minutes out of habit, then let the conversation drift toward where they really wanted to take it.

—How’s the divorce going? —Renata asked.

—We signed the papers three months ago —Carla replied—. That’s not the hard part. The hard part is realizing that for ten years I wasn’t myself.

Renata looked at her over the rim of her glass.

—And who are you now?

—I don’t know. I’m figuring it out.

There was a pause. The music was an old bossa nova Carla didn’t recognize. Renata reached across the table and picked an imaginary speck off Carla’s shoulder. Her hand stayed there, on the fabric of her blouse, a second too long.

—Want to know something? —Renata said—. I’ve been looking at you for two years.

Carla felt her face flush. She took a long drink of pisco to buy time.

—And why didn’t you ever say anything?

—Because you were married. And because I didn’t want to be the woman who confused you.

—And now?

—Now you’re single, it’s eleven at night, and you’re looking at me the same way.

Carla didn’t answer. She held Renata’s gaze for what felt like an eternity, and in the end it was she who said, almost not recognizing her own voice:

—Is your place far?

***

Renata’s apartment was on the fourth floor of a building with a cage elevator. They went up in silence, watching the cable coil through the shaft while the cabin rattled. Renata opened the door and set her keys down on a low table crowded with plants. Carla stood in the living room, purse still hanging from her shoulder, not knowing what to do with her hands.

—Sit down —Renata said—. Want some wine?

—Sure.

She heard her moving in the kitchen. Renata took out two glasses, uncorked a bottle. When she came back to the sofa, she sat down beside Carla with one leg tucked under her body, looking straight at her. She handed her a glass and set hers on the rug without taking a sip.

—Are you nervous? —she asked.

—A little.

—We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.

Carla lowered her gaze to her own glass.

—The problem isn’t what I don’t want —she said—. The problem is I want everything.

Renata smiled. She tucked a strand of hair behind Carla’s ear with two fingers. The gesture was simple, but Carla felt the skin on her neck prickle.

—Have you never been with a woman? —Renata asked softly.

—Never.

—Have you ever thought about it?

—My whole life.

Renata moved a little closer. Carla could smell her perfume—something citrusy and faint, mixed with the alcohol from the bar and her own sweat. She noticed the small scar Renata had on her upper lip, a mark she had never seen up close before.

—Tell me —Renata asked—. I want to hear it.

—I want you to kiss me.

Renata closed the distance. The first kiss was soft, almost a question. Carla felt the other woman’s lips on hers and the contrast hit her: the skin was finer, the movements slower, the rhythm more patient than any kiss she remembered. There was no rush. None of the aggressive urgency she had come to expect.

When they parted, Renata brushed her thumb over Carla’s lower lip.

—Is this okay?

—Yes.

—Another?

Carla nodded. The second kiss was deeper. Renata’s tongue sought hers calmly, and Carla felt something inside her give way. She set her wineglass on the floor without looking where she put it. Renata’s hands settled on her waist and pulled her closer.

Carla let herself be led, opening her mouth wider, tasting the wine and Renata’s warm moisture. The other woman’s tongue persisted patiently, tracing her lips, slipping in and out slowly, as if she wanted to learn her before hurrying anything. Carla responded awkwardly at first, then hungrily. She ran a hand over Renata’s nape, buried her fingers in her hair, and Renata let out a low sigh, pressing her whole body against hers.

When they separated just enough, Renata brushed her nose along Carla’s jaw, then kissed her neck with a slowness that made Carla close her eyes. The touch of that hot mouth on her skin ran through her from head to toe. Her pulse was in her throat, in her breasts, between her legs. Renata unbuttoned one button of her blouse and rested the tip of her tongue on her collarbone, then lower, between the edge of her bra and her skin.

—You’re driving me crazy —Carla murmured.

—We haven’t even done anything yet.

—That’s the worst part.

Renata laughed against her skin and unbuttoned her blouse completely. The fabric fell open. Then she loosened her bra and let it slide down Carla’s arms to the floor. She looked at Carla’s bare breasts, breathing harder, and placed one hand on one of them, weighing it in her palm before bending her head. The first touch of her mouth on the nipple made Carla arch immediately. Renata’s tongue circled it, slow and wet, then sucked harder, alternating pressure and suction until Carla let out a rough moan.

Renata switched to the other breast without stopping her hand on the first, squeezing carefully, as if she knew exactly how much firmness she could give without hurting her. Carla took her head in both hands, guidance and plea at once, while the heat rose to her face and desire gathered in her pelvis like a wave that still hadn’t broken.

***

They reached the bedroom walking backward, laughing under their breath when Carla bumped her hip against the doorframe. The bed was wide, the sheets white, a single lamp lit on the bedside table. Renata finished undressing her with that same patience. The skirt, the stockings, the panties. Carla was left completely naked and, for the first time in a long while, didn’t feel the urge to cover herself.

—Come here —Renata said, sitting on the edge of the bed—. Take my clothes off.

Carla obeyed. She unbuttoned Renata’s shirt, her hands trembling a little at first, then with more confidence. She pulled down her pants. When Renata was left in her underwear, Carla knelt between her legs and looked up at her, still not daring to touch.

—Take whatever you want —Renata said—. I’m here for that.

Carla rested her lips on the inside of Renata’s thigh. The skin was warm, slightly salty. She moved upward slowly with her mouth, tracing the curve of the leg, pausing just where the pulse marked a visible vibration beneath the skin. Renata placed a hand on her head, not to push her, but to feel her there. Carla kept moving upward until she reached the edge of the underwear, brushed it with her tongue over the damp fabric, and felt Renata’s shiver pass into her through her fingers.

When she pulled the panties down, the scent hit her full force: hot, sharp, alive. Renata opened herself a little more for her, lifting her pelvis, and Carla leaned in without shame. First she kissed the outer lips, then parted them with her tongue and went down slowly, listening to Renata’s breathing grow shorter. She licked her from end to end, circling the clit before taking it between her lips with firm, precise suction that made Renata let out a low curse and grip her hair hard.

Carla didn’t rush. She wanted to taste every reaction: the tremble of the hips, the way Renata pushed her head just a centimeter, the moan that broke in her throat when Carla slid her tongue deeper. She went up and down several times, alternating pressure and pauses, until she felt Renata’s thighs tense around her face. Then she slid two fingers inside her, slowly at first, letting the heat surround her, and immediately found a rhythm that made her arch completely.

—Yes, like that —Renata said, breathless—. Deeper. Don’t stop.

Carla sucked and fingered her with the same concentration, soaking up the taste of her body, the moisture gathering in her mouth, the tremor growing in Renata’s muscles. When Renata came, she did it with a muffled cry, back arched against the mattress, legs spread wide and her hand still tangled in Carla’s hair. Carla stayed still for a second, swallowing air, her tongue still wet and her face pressed against the sex that had become a map.

Then Renata pulled her up. She kissed her on the mouth with a new intensity, letting her taste herself.

—Your turn —she said.

***

Carla lay down on her back. Renata took her time. She went over every part of her body with her mouth, with her fingers, with her open palm. She kissed her ribs, her navel, the inside of her wrists. She bit her earlobe gently. By the time Renata moved between her legs, Carla was already on the edge, her whole body asking for it.

Renata opened Carla with her hands, spreading her thighs slowly, as if unfolding something delicate and urgent at once. She kissed her groin, the inside of her thigh, then paused to look at the wet, shining center offered to her. Carla lifted her hips, desperate, and Renata smiled faintly before bending her head and licking her once, long, from bottom to top.

Renata’s tongue was not hurried. She teased her first, around it, still without touching what Carla needed most. Carla tried to move to force contact and Renata held her by the hips with both hands, keeping her still.

—Slowly —she said, glancing up for an instant.

Carla closed her eyes. When Renata finally licked her where she needed to, it was like a current shooting up her spine. She brought her toward release with precise alternation: tongue, fingers, tongue again. She slid one finger inside her first, then two, opening her carefully but without indulgence, while her mouth kept working above, squeezing and releasing the clit in a cadence that left her breathless. Carla felt her belly tighten, her thighs tremble, her pelvis push on its own against that mouth that knew exactly what to do.

—That’s it —Renata panted, never stopping the motion of her tongue—. That’s how I want you. Make me feel how much you need it.

Carla came apart little by little, as if they were dismantling her layer by layer. When Renata changed the angle and slid her fingers deeper, Carla gripped the sheets until her knuckles went white. The orgasm hit her all at once after so much tension, brutal and hot, wrenching a cry from her she couldn’t hold back. Her back arched, her legs closed reflexively around Renata’s head, and Renata kept going for one more instant, holding her right at the edge before easing off.

Carla lay trembling, her breathing broken, her skin slick with sweat. Renata came up to settle beside her, kissed her temple, and draped an arm over her waist.

—How are you feeling?

—I don’t know —Carla answered, voice shattered—. I think good. I think really good.

—I told you.

—Told me what?

—That I’d been looking at you for two years for a reason.

They both laughed softly, staring at the ceiling.

***

At four in the morning Carla woke up thirsty. She got up, went to the dim kitchen, and drank water from the tap using a cupped hand. When she returned to the bedroom, Renata had settled on her stomach, her bare back exposed, her hair spilled across the pillow. Carla stood in the doorway and looked at her for a long moment.

She didn’t quite know what name to give what she felt. It wasn’t love—not yet, not yet could it be—but it wasn’t just satisfied curiosity either. It was a new clarity. An answer to a question she had been asking herself since adolescence and had never had the courage to put into words aloud.

She got back into bed. Settled against Renata’s back, slipped an arm around her waist.

Without opening her eyes, Renata took her hand and pressed it against her stomach.

—Stay until breakfast —she murmured.

—I’ll stay.

And so they fell asleep, the two of them tangled together, with the first light of Valparaíso beginning to seep slowly through the curtains.