I Discovered My Friend's Secret at That Club

I’d be lying if I said Noelia was the great love of my childhood. It’s true that as a teenager I used to relieve myself alone thinking about her, but no more than about any of the girls in the gang. At that age, games stop being innocent, and the brushes of skin, the hugs that last too long, and the furtive glances at newly emerged cleavage have obvious consequences in certain parts of our bodies. Sooner or later, you have no choice but to take the pressure off in secret, either in the shower or in the dimness of your room.

Since we lived in a small town, we hung out by age groups, and that’s how we became cordial friends from very young. I’m not going to boast about anything: I never had the chance to go any further with her. As soon as the hormones started doing their thing, that petite brunette, with straight dark hair and calm eyes, paired off with Adrián, another kid from the group, friendly and funny, the kind of guy everyone liked. They’ve been together since they were fifteen and have a son. I’m happy for them, truly.

Neither of us was a good student. She was more into the street, smoking in secret, and skipping class than books. When primary school ended, she enrolled in a hairdressing academy in the capital, came back to town, and started working as an apprentice for a boss who exploited her mercilessly. Thanks to her skillful hands, she soon became independent and opened a cute little salon that she still runs successfully.

I wasn’t exactly a bright spark either, quite the opposite. I drifted around, starting courses I never finished, until one of my father’s acquaintances suggested I go into transport. The idea sounded great to me: anything to avoid putting up with my old man’s reproaches. When I turned thirty, sick of sleeping in the truck cab, I decided to change my life. I married Larisa, a waitress with a difficult temperament and a body that took your breath away, and accepted a job as a bus driver on the line that links my town with the provincial capital. Monotonous, yes, but it put food on the table. Larisa didn’t last long: used to the city, she choked in a place so small and flew the coop.

My job was as exciting as watching grass grow: the same route, the same bends, the same potholes day after day. To break the routine, I came up with a thousand silly little games, and one of them was a guessing game with myself. The challenge was to deduce the reason for each passenger’s trip. A stupid idea, I know, but it helped me keep from going mad with boredom.

With a little experience, it was easy to get it right. On Mondays the bus filled with sleepy students returning on Fridays with hangover faces. The old folks in the front rows went to the hospital for a hundred different ailments. Doña Remedios, my neighbor, crossed over every day to look after her grandchildren. Migrants came and went looking for work. I had most of them pegged.

Noelia, on the other hand, puzzled me. No matter how much I turned it over in my head, I couldn’t make sense of it. One Monday yes and another no, my friend, made up and coiffed as her trade required, caught the nine o’clock bus and came back on the five o’clock one with the same impeccable look and that sweet, calm, slightly melancholy smile that always adorned her face. It didn’t add up that, with her husband working at an accounting firm in the capital, he never went with her, neither on the way there nor on the way back.

She came back exactly as she had gone: no bags, no shopping, nothing. She only carried a little handbag, something like a toiletry case. The easiest thing would have been to ask her directly, but anyone who knows me knows I’m a discreet man. I had a terrible time because of the gossip they invented about my divorce, and I wasn’t willing to feed the gossip mill by talking about other people’s lives.

***

One drawback of my job is the dead hours between the outbound and return runs. I use them to run errands for people in town in exchange for a few coins, or out of pure courtesy. And it was precisely while doing one of those errands that I ran into Noelia one of those Mondays, in the city’s bohemian district. I swear I didn’t follow her: I saw her from a distance, coming out of what looked like a bar, and I went over with the idea of inviting her for a coffee before she headed to the station. With the street noise, she didn’t hear me, got into a taxi without turning around, and disappeared.

I was left puzzled, until I noticed the place she’d come out of. The Burrow. I knew it existed: there wasn’t a week when some flyer didn’t end up under the bus windshield wiper. It was a drinks venue on weekends, with adult shows the rest of the week. What I didn’t understand was what my friend was doing there on a spring Monday in the middle of the afternoon.

I walked up to the sign at the entrance and read, more and more confused:

“THE BURROW. Parties from ten to ten, one hundred percent amateur. Monday: swingers. Tuesday: BDSM. Wednesday: partner swapping. Thursday: bisexual. Friday: cosplay. Every day: voyeur area”.

—Swingers party? —I muttered to myself.

I knew perfectly well what that meant: men and women having sex with strangers with no further commitment. But I refused to believe the obvious when it came to Noelia. It was impossible; it didn’t fit her personality. On the way back to the station, I convinced myself of a more decent explanation: she was surely offering her hairdressing services to the participants, to fix them up after the fun and let them go home without arousing suspicion. A bit of a stretch, but it let me sleep soundly.

I had two weeks until her next trip, but the very next day I was already at the club door. I’m shy, and that kind of place makes me uncomfortable, but my curiosity got the better of me for once.

***

The girl at the ticket desk, besides being beautiful, was incredibly talkative. It was ten-thirty in the morning and she had no customers, so she launched into an explanation of how everything worked. I let her talk without interrupting, careful not to stare at her cleavage.

—And what would they need a hairdresser here for? —I blurted out when she paused.

—A hairdresser? —she laughed as if I were speaking another language—. We don’t have one here. Everyone showers and that’s that. Although, look, it’s not a bad idea. I’ll suggest it to the boss. You wouldn’t believe how many married women come in the mornings; a touch-up before picking the kids up from school would be ideal for them.

My strongest theory shattered in an instant.

—And the voyeur area? —I asked, changing the subject—. The booths.

The girl twisted her mouth, as if she were bored by the topic.

—Oh, that’s for weirdos. People who’d rather watch than take part. They’re booths around the main room, with glass so you can see without being seen. Some people come just to watch and drool. I think it’s pathetic, but each to their own. And it’s pricey, believe me: we charge more for watching than for participating. There are even subscribers to certain days so they don’t miss certain girls.

—Certain girls? —I asked, pretending to be uninterested.

—The regulars. There are some who, when they come, the place fills up no matter what time it is. The boss turns a blind eye at the door and everything. Not because they’re young, mind you: here they value something else. Women with stamina, women who put their heart into it, women who don’t hold back with whoever gets assigned to them.

—Like yesterday —I let slip.

—Exactly! Hey, how do you know that?

I stroked my three-day beard and steered the conversation away before I put my foot in it any further. I left with more doubts than certainties, but with an increasingly clear idea.

***

The following weekend we met up with the gang and Noelia behaved as always: friendly and distant at the same time. I didn’t know how to look at her. Adrián’s presence didn’t help either; my guilty conscience wouldn’t let me relax. I thought about telling my friend, but what could I say if I didn’t actually know anything for sure? I chose my old discretion. A man is master of his silences and slave to his words.

When the appointed Monday finally arrived, I took more care with my appearance than usual. I even put on brand-new underwear, ridiculous as that sounds. Noelia got on the bus looking gorgeous, in pale pink shorts, a white blouse, and sandals that showed off her toenails painted a pastel shade. Women’s feet are my confessed weakness, and hers always looked perfect. She seemed like a teenager looking out the window, distracted.

—See you, Bruno —she said as she got off.

—S-see you later —I stammered like a fifteen-year-old, eyes fixed on her back.

It took me a while to finish a couple of errands, but by eleven-thirty I was standing in front of The Burrow, my hands sweaty and a tingle in my groin. The girl at the desk recognized me and smiled when she saw me show up with the money the entrance cost, an outrageous price that included snacks and a glass of sparkling wine.

—So you finally decided to come —she said.

—Yes, that’s right. Are there... are there women?

—Just one for now, but you’re going to have a great time with her. She’s one of the best regulars. You’ve come at a good time; she’s still fresh. Once the offices close, this place fills up with men lining up. A real wildcat, even if she has the face of someone who’s never broken a plate.

—And what’s she like? Is her hair...?

Her smile vanished in an instant.

—We can’t talk about clients, sorry. The boss is very strict. I’ll just say you won’t regret it. Oh, leave your phone in the locker room or they’ll kick you out. No cameras.

***

The interior was pure Gothic atmosphere: dark, ornate, almost ghostly with so little light and so few people. The dance floor was empty and only a waiter was drying glasses at the bar. A guard with a nasty expression pointed me the way, patted me down in case I had a camera, and after making me put on one of the venue’s robes in the locker room, let me into the hot room.

The room was octagonal, with mirrors hanging on the walls. I understood they were glass panels hiding the voyeur booths: a red light above meant empty; a green one, occupied. In the center stood a huge round bed, curiously empty. The background music was broken by male gasps and muffled female moans. The party had begun.

There weren’t many people at that hour. I made out four men around what looked from a distance like a treatment table, beside one of the booths. I approached under cover of the dimness and saw it wasn’t an ordinary table at all, but some kind of black leather-covered bench with raised supports for the legs. On it, a woman spread wide open, and between her thighs a burly, sweaty guy driving into her relentlessly, blocking my view of the rest of her. None of the four were fashion models: ordinary men, street people, people like me.

I fixed my gaze on the woman’s feet and my mouth went dry: the toenails painted the same pastel shade as the ones from that morning. My heart began to pound. When the fat man finished with a bellow and pulled away, I looked for her face, but it was pressed against the groin of another man, who was holding her by the nape with both his huge hands. Along the way my eyes caught the second sign: a small scar on the right side of her belly, a reminder of the appendicitis Noelia had as a child. And near the breast, the third: a discreet mole that I had only ever seen on the few occasions when she dared to wear something low-cut in summer.

No more doubts remained. My childhood friend, devoted mother and supposedly faithful wife of one of my best friends, was there, offering her mouth to a stranger while another man waited his turn.

***

For a moment I shut out everything else, the men, the bodies, and focused only on her face. She looked relaxed, uninhibited, enjoying herself. Happy, that’s the exact word. I had never seen her enjoy herself like that, not since she was a child. At the town gatherings she always radiated calm, kindness, but also a certain undercurrent of melancholy, as if she were an incomplete person, always one step behind Adrián, who was the life of the party because he drank too much. Sometimes she would drift off, eyes lost somewhere far away, and I, true to my discretion, preferred to watch her in silence without breaking the spell.

But there, on the table, under the spotlights, her face splattered and one cock after another, there was no trace of that sadness. She was comfortable, actively participating, in control of the situation. I admit that in that instant I became enthralled by her, fascinated by discovering her true nature, fiery and unrestrained like no other.

One of the men gestured to give me his turn. I shook my head: I needed to process what I was seeing. But when the skinny guy fucking her withdrew without finishing, I knew I had no more excuses. My remorse stepped aside and my body took command. I positioned myself over her, caressed her thighs, brushed her breasts, and entered her in one thrust. Her cunt was so hot and ready that there was almost no resistance, only heat, so much heat.

—Take it easy, man —the oldest of the group said to me—. First time here? Slow down, this lady isn’t going anywhere. You’ll get another round.

I ignored him. To silence my conscience I told myself I was punishing her for cheating on my friend, but that was a lie: I was fucking her because seeing her had turned me on like never before, because her body had always been forbidden territory, because I’d wanted her since I was a teenager. She stopped sucking and then she saw me. Our gazes met for a few seconds under the spotlights. There was no way she couldn’t recognize me, but nothing in her face gave away to the others that we knew each other.

That indifference stung me, and I drove harder. I wanted her never to forget that moment. And she, rather than feeling uncomfortable, showed me she was far above me: she gave the faintest smile, closed her eyes, and grabbed my hips, inviting me to go all the way in. Feeling her hands on my skin drove me crazy. I fucked her so fast and so hard that the table shifted several inches before I came deep inside the wife of one of my best friends, surrounded by strangers waiting their turn.

***

Once I’d had my fill, I withdrew to a discreet corner to catch my breath. She carried on with her task, taking between her legs every man who came in. I stopped counting lovers when I reached a dozen.

Around noon a group with several women came in, and things calmed down. Noelia took a break, wrapped herself in the robe, and started chatting with a young couple while watching the others fuck. She paid me the slightest attention, as if I were a stranger, as if I didn’t exist.

I confess the party surprised me. Influenced by porn, I had expected something frantic and savage, and nothing could have been further from the truth. Except for Noelia, who preferred the table by the booths, the sex unfolded on the central bed at a slow, almost calm pace. Ordinary people, from the street: office workers, delivery men, shop assistants, housewives. People went there to enjoy themselves, not to pretend or prove anything, and I liked that.

Suddenly Noelia’s expression changed. The light in the booth closest to her table had gone from red to green: a voyeur had just occupied it. She downed her drink, took off the robe revealing her nudity again, and looked through the group for a nervous young guy who had earlier groped her without permission. She took him by the hand in front of the glass, right under the little green light, and knelt down. She pushed his hair away from his face and took him in her mouth little by little, all the way down, with no disgust and no hurry, aware of the invisible audience watching her on the other side of the mirror.

I discovered she had the same skill with her mouth as with scissors and the blow-dryer. Her usual shyness was nowhere to be seen: confident, delicate, almost affectionate, like a first-time bride but with far more experience. When the boy finished, she held on impassively, lips sealed, gaze fixed on the dark glass behind which the voyeur was hiding. Some people applauded. Flattered, she smiled before swallowing, and a strand slipped from the corner of her mouth; she caught it with her finger and brought it to her mouth with astonishing naturalness.

Then she sat on the table, swinging her feet like a little girl on a park bench, and began pointing at the people there, starting a game whose rules I didn’t know.

—What’s going on? —I asked in a low voice to the man beside me.

—She’s choosing who’s going to be first —he replied—. You’ll see, it’s spectacular. Come closer so she can see you. Maybe today you’re the lucky one.

Almost without realizing it, I found myself under one of the spotlights. Her finger moved back and forth, ignoring me again and again, until, to my surprise, she finally pointed at me. It took me a moment to react; it must have been my new acquaintance who gave me a shove.

—Come on, champ! Have fun.

I was a little embarrassed; I’m not used to being the center of attention. She, on the other hand, seemed right at home, naked before everyone. As I approached, she didn’t even give me a conspiratorial wink: she acted as if I were a complete stranger, even though we both knew full well who the other was. And precisely that distance, that shared silence between two people who’ve known each other all their lives, was the most exciting thing of all.

***

That was some time ago now. The magic, in a way, has been broken. Noelia’s back-and-forth from the village to the city is no longer a mystery to me. I know exactly what she spends every minute there on. And more than that, I’m one of the men who enjoy her company until the body can take no more, without either of us ever saying a word about it back in town.

The guessing game with her no longer makes any sense. But really, that doesn’t matter.

It was never more than a silly way to kill time.

Nothing more than a stupid game like any other.