My Friend’s Wedding Ended Like I Never Imagined

During the years I worked in Africa, overseeing a company belonging to a Spanish group, I made friendships that time never erased. The strongest were with Bruno, Hélder, and Rui. Bruno was the son of Portuguese emigrants who had made a fortune in timber; the other two were local government officials. We were all in our thirties and, when work allowed, our nights disappeared into dinners that ended up turning into long parties. We learned to trust one another without reservation.

That complicity created habits you don’t talk about out loud. We shared almost everything, and over the years that stopped surprising us. So when Bruno announced at dinner that he was getting married, I knew the celebration wasn’t going to be an ordinary wedding.

—I’m getting married at my parents’ estate, near Tomar —he said, filling our glasses—. I want the three of you there for the whole week. As a gift, I only ask that we go back to being who we were before.

The three of us accepted. The estate was huge, with several houses scattered among the gardens, and each of us had our own lodging. I arrived on Monday, two days before Hélder and Rui. Bruno greeted me with a hug and took me to the house I would be staying in.

—Come say hello to my sister, she’s already here —he told me as soon as I set down my bags.

Leonor. I remembered her from Africa, where there had been a tension between us that never went anywhere out of respect for Bruno. The woman who came out into the garden was not the same one. Motherhood had given her curves she hadn’t had before; she had a little boy by the hand and her husband beside her. We greeted each other with two kisses, and I noticed her gaze lingering on mine for a second too long.

—This is Vasco, my husband —she introduced—. And the little one.

We talked about everyday things. Her husband was traveling to Lisbon that same afternoon and wouldn’t be back until Wednesday. Before we said goodbye, Leonor threw me the invitation I didn’t dare ask for.

—Why don’t you come to dinner tonight? I’m alone with the boy. We’ll eat early; I want to put him to bed soon.

—I’d love to. What time?

—Around seven-thirty.

I got myself ready carefully, wanting her to remember the man who had never taken his eyes off her in Africa. I arrived on time. She was nursing the boy when I walked in, without a trace of shame, with the confidence of someone who no longer raises barriers between us.

—There’s trust —she said when I apologized—. Sit there.

We had dinner of pisto and cod with béchamel that she’d made herself. We talked, we laughed, and the wine did the rest. At one point I stopped pretending.

—Leonor, I’m going to be honest with you. In Africa I liked you, and I never made a move because of Bruno. But now you’re impossible.

—Don’t tempt me —she replied without looking away—. You and I both know we always wanted more than just conversation.

She got up to clear the plates and, as she passed by me, she didn’t step away. I took her by the waist and she turned around. The first kiss was long, hungry, with years of waiting inside it.

—I’ve wanted this since the moment I saw you walk into my brother’s house —she murmured against my mouth—. I was crazy about you. If we met again, I knew I wouldn’t let it pass me by a second time.

We did it in the kitchen, first in a hurry, then slowly. I sat her on the counter, lowered her clothes with patience, and memorized every new curve motherhood had given her. When I laid her on the table and entered her slowly, she let out a moan she had to stifle so as not to wake the child. She was wetter than I had ever felt before, burning, begging for more between whispers.

—I’ve never been this hot —she panted—. Tomorrow we do it again. And the day after. I’m not wasting a single minute alone with you.

She kept her word. That week we took advantage of every moment without witnesses: in the mornings, in the afternoons, once even standing against the washing machine out back, just in case. When Vasco came back, we became more careful, but Leonor found gaps where there were none.

***

On Thursday Hélder and Rui arrived with their partners. Hélder was married to Carla, a woman with glasses, dark hair, and hips that drew attention. Rui had been living for years with Daniela, a tall mulata with beautiful skin and full lips. Both were around our age and had a calm, understated beauty, the kind that doesn’t need to try.

The wedding was on Saturday and it was perfect: abundant food, music, dancing, and that joy the Portuguese know how to live like no one else. The three of us signed as Bruno’s witnesses. At our table were the friends from Africa with their partners, Leonor, her husband, and the boy. I had brought coffee liqueur for them and aguardiente for us, like in the old days.

When night fell, the tuxedo was getting on my nerves. I said I was going to change and, as I did, I happened to cross paths with Leonor’s window, where she had just put the boy to bed. With Vasco nowhere near, we didn’t waste time: a quick, furious encounter, two of her orgasms in a row, and me unloading with the urgency of a man who knows time is running out. I climbed back out through the window and went to the guest house to shower.

I was coming out of the bathroom, still naked, when I heard voices in Portuguese. It was Carla and Daniela, who had come to use the restroom thinking I wasn’t there. They opened the door and found me exactly as I’d come into the world. I didn’t cover myself.

—Sorry, Marcos —Daniela said, not taking her eyes off me—. We thought you were gone.

—You’re exactly as God made you —Carla laughed from behind her—. And what the boys said was true.

—Forgive me, I wasn’t expecting you —I said, not moving a millimeter.

I dried myself slowly while they, between nervous laughs, did what they had come to do. When I got back to the table, Hélder and Rui already knew what had happened and were laughing openly.

—There are no secrets among us —Hélder declared, with that phrase that in Africa meant much more than it said.

I danced with the two of them all night, taking turns, in on the joke. Around eleven, with the newlyweds already withdrawn to a rural house for their first night, the five of us were left alone. Hélder and Rui were pretty plastered; the women were fresh and smiling. And then the husbands, half joking, half serious, proposed what I didn’t dare suggest.

—In Africa we shared —Rui said, tugging on my neck—. Here too. We’re wrecked, but we’re not going to leave them without a party. You’re going to give us a hand, friend.

—You’re insane. They’re your wives —I protested, though I already knew how this was going to end.

***

The five of us sat in the living room with the bottles. It didn’t take long to get back into the old game from the African parties: toss a coin, all against all, and whoever won imposed a penalty or a dare. In fifteen minutes they had stripped me naked, because everyone was playing against me.

Then Daniela lost, and Rui asked her to stroke me. She did it amid complaints and laughter. Then Carla lost, and Hélder cashed in on the earlier stripping by asking her to suck me off. She looked at him for a second, took me in her hand, and began slowly, first with her tongue, then swallowing with a softness that raised goose bumps on my skin.

The filthiness of repeating those orgies, but now with their wives, had me hard as a rock. While they took turns with me, the husbands brought in two mattresses, stripped the beds, and came back with blankets and a handful of condoms, which they tossed onto one of the mattresses. The African party was starting again, this time on European soil.

They lifted their wives’ hips and each worked on his own woman until she came. When both women had their first orgasms, Hélder motioned for me to lie down.

—Up you go, Carla —he ordered.

She positioned herself over me and sank down slowly until she was fully impaled. Hélder pushed her onto my chest and reached for her other opening.

—Give it to her hard —he told me in thick Portuguese—, she loves it.

I didn’t have time to answer. We started fucking her together, repeating the rhythm of those African nights. Carla screamed, half complaint, half pleasure, trapped between the two of us. Then Rui pulled his wife’s body aside a little and asked Daniela to offer me her sex to my mouth. She sat on my face and I, holding Carla’s hips, gave myself over to the mulata with my tongue.

—I’m about to come —Hélder warned, unloading inside his wife.

Carla felt it and exploded in a double penetration that left her trembling, soaking my stomach. When she pulled away, it was Daniela’s turn. I covered myself again and she climbed onto me with a hoarse moan. Within minutes she was being taken by both of us, riding to the beat, while Carla offered her husband her mouth and me her sex. The two couples and I, in a choreography we knew by heart.

—I’m going to come like a bitch —Daniela panted—. What a delight, what a thrill.

Rui came inside her in convulsions, and I could feel his thrusts through the thin skin that separated us. I got Carla off again with my tongue while they, sweaty and breathless, finished me off with two tongues until I let go of all the tension from the night.

I realized something then: Hélder hadn’t touched Daniela, nor Rui Carla. They liked me enough to share with me, but they respected each other. That night the five of us slept in that living room, the women beside me under a blanket, the men on the other mattress, like so many times before.

***

On Sunday they left for Lisbon to catch a flight. I still had a little time alone with each of them, under the excuse of the suitcases. The estate was gradually emptying out. That afternoon, when I was trying to take an impossible nap, Leonor slipped into my bed one last time, risking everything, and we said goodbye like animals.

—Come see me whenever you want —she asked me afterward, hugging me—. And let me call you at night when I’m alone.

I thought that was where the week ended. I was wrong.

That night, already in bed, someone knocked on the door of the guest house. It was Bruno. We hugged, almost bursting into tears, two battle companions life was now taking along different paths. He pulled out a bottle, we toasted to friendship, and we remembered the four years in Africa. Until he looked at me straight on.

—I already know what happened last night. Hélder and Rui can’t lie —he laughed—. You went back to the party and I wasn’t invited.

—It just happened, Bruno. But the guest was me; they didn’t touch each other.

—I know. And I like the way you are: you do the favor and you’re still the same friend as always. —He fell silent for a moment, filled the glasses again, and lowered his voice—. That’s why tonight I’m going to need you.

I asked him what he meant. What he confessed left me speechless: for years, at those parties, he had fantasized about seeing me with his wife. And that night, their first as newlyweds, he wanted to make it real.

—I asked Beatriz to put on the wedding lingerie, said I’d do a photo session. I’ll put a blindfold on her. She loves it when I talk to her while I get her worked up. I only ask that you don’t let me down, Marcos.

—That’s an enormous risk. Tomorrow you’re leaving on your honeymoon.

—Trust me. I want her to try what you and I have done so many times.

When he called me by my full name, I knew it was a brother’s sincere request. I dressed and followed him out. The plan was simple: I would enter after him, naked, as soon as he gave me a signal from the bedroom.

Pressed against the half-open door, I heard everything. Beatriz came out of the bathroom wearing a white lace set that highlighted long legs, a narrow waist, and generous breasts. Bruno photographed her, kissed her, slipped his fingers inside her while he got her hot with words.

—Would you like a huge cock fucking you for real? —he said to her—. You’re insatiable.

—Don’t get me started —she laughed, spreading her legs—. If I catch one like that today, I’m not letting it go.

—Too bad I don’t have one like Marcos’s —he went on—. That one can take a hell of a pounding.

—Uf, don’t talk to me like that. He’s an attractive man, I admit it. Anyone would put him in their bed.

I was burning hot. Bruno asked her to put on the blindfold and laid her on the edge of the bed. He spread her legs and began to lick her very slowly. Then he gave me the signal. Silently, I began replacing his hands with mine on her thighs, and in the end I took over completely. My tongue took the place of his, and Beatriz, without knowing it, moaned louder.

—So good, I’m so turned on —she panted—. Don’t stop.

I worked her until I felt her at the edge. When she asked to be penetrated, I moved away and Bruno gave me the signal. I covered myself and went in slowly.

—God, it’s huge —she moaned, noticing something different—. So good, love.

Bruno pushed on my back, wanting to see everything. I grabbed her hips and rammed into the woman who was begging for a party. She shuddered, aware that something had changed, but pleasure won out. She exploded in an intense orgasm, with a thin, hot stream from the pressure, and another came almost immediately while Bruno devoured her mouth and breasts.

When she asked us to stop, she ripped off the blindfold.

—You two bastards —she said between laughs, breathless—. I don’t know whether to leave or take advantage of the moment.

—Take advantage, love —Bruno replied, kissing her—. I just want you to live a special night. Tomorrow is for us; today is for pleasure.

Beatriz hung on my neck, kissed me, and, looking at her husband, said what none of us would ever forget.

—I never thought about being unfaithful. But if I ever were, it would only be with this bastard.

The three of us laughed, and then began a session like those that never fade. We gave her a double penetration, switching positions, and when we were done, she let me finish wherever I wanted. Bruno watched with a smile of satisfaction that said more than any words could.

The next day they left on their honeymoon. Months later we met again, already with the calm of people who share secrets only we will understand. From that week in Portugal, I kept more than the memory of a wedding: the certainty that true friendship is sometimes proven in the most unexpected ways.