Everything was ready: the restaurant, the dress, the WhatsApp group where my mom sent tacky ideas every day.
And me, there on the beach, hungover, pussy restless, and with zero intention of behaving.
The night before we had overdone it. Tequila, laughter, a silly glance at a shirtless waiter.
Me and my best friend, like every summer at her parents’ beach house. But this time… different.
This time, I had a date marked on the calendar.
And still, I put on the tiniest bikini. Because why not. Because I didn’t care.
We went down early, not saying much. Me with pillow marks on my face, her with oversized sunglasses and a mischievous look.
We threw down our towels, rubbed on sunscreen quickly and lay face down, asses almost bare.
We wanted to nap, forget about the heat.
Until we heard their steps.
Two Senegalese guys, the kind who offer massages on the sand. Backpacks, big bodies, and a confidence that didn’t ask permission.
—“Massage? Relaxing… you’ll like it.”
My friend didn’t hesitate. She turned her head to me with that smile I know so well:
—“Come on, Patri. One last before you become a married lady. You deserve it.”
And she stayed face down, just like that.
I looked at her for a second. Then back to the towel.
And I said:
—“Okay… but just the back, alright?”
I didn’t turn over. Didn’t sit up.
I stayed there, lying face down, as if that would protect me from something.
He knelt beside me. I felt his hands on my shoulders.
Firm.
Big.
Warm.
And then, without a word, they started moving down.
Back.
Sides.
Waist.
The tips of his fingers almost brushing the start of my ass.
And I didn’t say a word.
The oil warmed under the sun. He spread it patiently. You could tell he knew. That he looked for the exact point where the body tensed.
And he found it.
He pressed into my lower back. His thumbs slid toward the bikini line.
I opened my legs a little wider. Not much. Just enough.
Enough for him to understand.
And then I felt it.
Not his hand.
His body, close to mine. Something hard pressing shamelessly against my thigh.
That’s when I lifted my face slightly from the towel.
My friend felt it too. And she didn’t move.
My mouth was dry, skin burning… and my pussy dripping.
And the worst —or the best— thing was the thought that hit me like a blow:
“In September I’m getting married.”
And I didn’t care.
It didn’t go further there. But that night, my friend made sure to meet them at the beach house. With tequila… and let’s see what happens.
I looked at her —“Are you crazy?”— but there was no turning back.