My Return Flight and the Two Men from That Night

We left Vancouver with a lump in our throats. Carla and I rode in silence, watching through the window as the city shrank, thinking about everything we were leaving behind. Our flight was from Vancouver to Houston, where we would part ways: she was staying a few days with her uncles, and I would continue the next day to Guadalajara.

After the complimentary drinks, the window-seat passenger introduced herself. Astrid, German, a journalist for a travel magazine. Carla, who had always been the talkative one, immediately struck up a conversation with her. I was half dozing, wearing a thick-fabric dress for the plane’s cold, and from hunching myself into the seat so much, my skirt had ridden up more than it should have.

“You’re showing your soul,” Carla whispered to me, tugging the fabric down without much success.

I straightened up and fixed the mishap, but Astrid had already noticed it with a slight smile.

“Are you sisters?” she asked.

“No, just very good friends,” Carla answered.

“Close friends?” the German woman insisted, arching an eyebrow.

“Close,” I said, and the three of us laughed.

Astrid had been covering a festival and was heading on to Houston for work. She had that professional curiosity of someone who makes a living asking questions, and she wasted no time aiming it at us. Carla, with two drinks in her, started letting slip details of our trip that I would have preferred to keep to myself.

“These two came back very happy,” she told Astrid, nodding toward me with her chin. “We met some guys there. Mariana won them both over in a single night.”

Carla, please, I thought, but it was too late.

“Both of them?” Astrid settled into her seat, almost leaning over Carla so she wouldn’t miss a word. “Tell me. How did you pull off both at once?”

“Ask her,” Carla laughed. “I was just watching and learning.”

I felt the heat climb up my neck. Not from embarrassment, but from the memory. I gave Astrid a trimmed-down version, enough to feed her curiosity without giving away the best part. I told her about the club, how a single exchange of glances and a conversation had been enough to make the night end the way it did. She listened with parted lips, mentally noting every sentence.

“And does it feel different?” she asked, almost in a whisper. “Two men at the same time.”

“It feels like…” I told her, and left it at that.

***

We landed in Houston at dusk. Astrid tried to stay at a hotel near ours, but ended up in another wing. The three of us had a light dinner, went out to a club full of young people where we let ourselves be groped deliciously on the dance floor, and returned after midnight with our spirits loose and our laughter easy. We said goodbye to Astrid, exchanged phone numbers, and made the promise, which the three of us knew was empty, to see each other again.

The next day Carla accompanied me to the airport before heading off with her uncles. In Guadalajara, Diego picked me up, the man I had been seeing for months, and he came with a friend of his, Andrés. Diego knew my body by heart, knew exactly where to touch me and how to make me beg. Andrés was new: a boy of about twenty, with an ordinary body but a face and a shamelessness that caught my attention the moment he got out of the car to help me with my suitcase.

On the way to my house, Diego asked me to move into the middle seat, between the two in front. Andrés was riding shotgun, and from there he had a privileged view of my legs. With the dress and the skirt riding up because of the way I was sitting, I had them spread wider than was prudent.

The boy made a clumsy effort to look without my noticing, but desire betrayed him: his eyes kept drifting back to the same spot over and over. I, feeling playful, would sometimes spread my knees wider and let him see what he was looking for, and at others I’d close them just when he thought he had it. Diego was caressing the thigh nearest him, and at a traffic light he took my hand and placed it between my legs, over the already damp fabric.

“Would it bother you if we dropped him at his place and then I kept going with you?” he asked in my ear.

I was soaked, but something about Andrés stopped me. He was too good to let go so soon.

“Better both of you come along,” I said, pretending it was a spur-of-the-moment idea. “It’s late, we’ll eat something at my house, and then you can go.”

“And on the way, you can tell us how your trip went,” Andrés suggested, with that smile of his.

“I’m not telling you everything,” I replied, and the two of them laughed, not knowing how much I was keeping to myself.

***

In the living room I collapsed onto the couch in front of them. My dress rode up again, and this time I did nothing to pull it down. Diego noticed and said what he’d been holding in all the way.

“Great view you gave us in the car,” he said. “Now you’re going to have to show us those panties you kept bragging about.”

“What panties?” I asked, pretending innocence.

“The green ones,” Andrés answered, now without beating around the bush. “I saw them clearly.”

I lifted my skirt slowly. They were blue-green, almost transparent, and already soaked from all the teasing on the way over. Diego came first and kissed them through the fabric. Andrés came up behind me, wrapped his arms around me, and squeezed my ass so hard it drew a sigh out of me.

“Enough,” I said, restraining them with my voice but not with my desire. “I’ll take them off.”

And I did. The two of them lunged like little boys, fighting over the garment, until they let it fall and turned their attention to me. Diego kissed my cunt and started licking me slowly, opening me with his tongue, while Andrés stayed standing, watching, breathing heavily.

“Come here,” I called him.

I unbuckled his belt and pulled down his pants. He had a beautiful cock, paler than the rest of his skin, a size that promised plenty. I felt it already wet at the tip and knew he was too close, so I took it into my mouth slowly, pressing it with my lips, calming him, making sure he wouldn’t come too soon. I wanted that boy whole, not because of a slip-up.

Diego, meanwhile, had turned me around to kiss my back and my ass, always his weakness. He ran his tongue over the places no one else dared, and slid his fingers into me until he arched my back and made me let go of Andrés’s cock from my mouth.

I let myself fall face-down onto the carpet. Andrés, emboldened, settled in behind me and fucked me from behind. He went in easily, sliding in without resistance all the way to the hilt, except for an instant when my body tensed and then gave way. Without letting him slip out, I rolled onto my back, opening my legs as wide as I could to keep him inside and, at the same time, offer Diego the rest of me.

Diego found my clit and didn’t let it go. He licked me and nibbled my lips with cruel patience, while Andrés stayed still inside me, the two of them waiting on me. When I was sure I had him deep enough, I let them begin. And they synchronized so well, one with his tongue and the other with his thrusts, that the first orgasm hit me almost immediately, and another followed seconds later. It was the best of my life: two men working for me at the same time, taking turns, reading me.

The three of us ended up sprawled on the floor, catching our breath. Andrés went back to my breasts, squeezing and sucking them, at times hard, at others with a tenderness I hadn’t expected from him.

“If you don’t like it, I’ll stop,” he said softly.

“Keep going,” I begged. “Like that, gently. Keep going.”

He moved down my stomach and settled between my legs, exploring me with his mouth as if it were the first time he’d ever tasted a woman. Diego, who had contented himself with watching us and stroking my face, felt the blood come back. He put me back on top of him, seated astride him, and entered me again from behind, barely moving, letting my body do the work. I kissed him and stroked him while Andrés kept going below. Almost without warning, Diego shuddered.

“I’m coming,” he said against my neck, and emptied himself inside me.

Andrés didn’t wait. As soon as Diego moved away, he lifted me by the waist and arranged me on the couch armrest, with my hips within reach. He drove into me frantically, for far longer than his nervous face would have suggested, until his legs trembled and he came with a long groan, repeating that he didn’t want to stop.

The three of us rested in a sweaty heap, laughing in little bursts.

“Did you like it?” Andrés asked, still out of breath.

“You two are wonderful,” I told them. “You fucked me as a team, taking turns. That doesn’t happen every day.”

“Would you do it again?”

“A little at a time, with variety,” I answered, and both of them smiled.

Andrés dressed slowly, like someone who didn’t want to leave. Before going out, he pulled me into a hug and gave my ass one last caress.

“You’re beautiful, Mariana,” he said. “I wouldn’t get tired of this.”

I watched him cross the door and thought that, if the opportunity ever came back, I wouldn’t let it pass me by. Of the whole trip, that last night at home was the only story I wasn’t going to tell anyone. And for that very reason, the one I liked best.