My girlfriend

The afternoon sun filtered through his bedroom window, painting golden stripes over the posters of bands Marco no longer liked. He had been lying on his bed for an hour, staring at the ceiling, while the voices of his friends still echoed in his head.

"If I had a girlfriend like Lucy," Javier had said, with that arrogant smirk he despised so much, "I swear I'd share her with the whole team. A woman like that isn't meant for just one man."

The others laughed, patting him on the back. And Marco, as usual, just smiled weakly. He didn't dare tell them that after a year and a half, the most he had shared with Lucy were **** kisses and the clumsy brush of his hands over the fabric of her blouse. He didn't dare confess that the envy they felt for him was a sham, because he, Marco, tall and dark-haired, was as much a virgin as the biggest loser in their class.

He felt frustrated. He looked at Lucy, so incredibly beautiful with her blonde hair and a figure that could stop traffic, and felt a knot in his stomach. He believed she expected more, that she was getting bored of his shyness. The memory of that strange movie he found one night came back to his mind: a guy, much like him, who only found his girlfriend's true happiness when he helped her "explore." The idea was absurd, but it had anchored itself in his mind as the only possible solution.

Later, when the sky was tinged with orange, he met Lucy at their usual park. She was wearing her high school uniform, the plaid skirt fluttering just above her knees. She was perfect. They sat on their bench, away from prying eyes.

"Lucy," Marco began, his voice trembling. "I have to ask you something."

She looked at him with her big blue eyes, full of a tenderness that disarmed him. "What's wrong, Marco? You seem off."

"It's just... I want you to be happy. More than anything in the world."

A sweet smile formed on Lucy's lips. She wanted to tell him that she already was happy, that she only needed him, that she longed to feel his skin against hers without any clothes in between, but the words got stuck in her throat. Her shyness was a wall as high as Marco's.

He took a breath. "I've been thinking... and I've seen things... about how... how a girl can... discover herself." He stammered, feeling like a complete idiot. "Sometimes, for a relationship to move forward, you need... outside help."

Lucy frowned, confused. "Help? Like going to therapy?"

"No, no..." Marco blushed violently. "Like... an experience. So you can know what you like, what makes you feel good. And then I can... make you happy afterward. With someone else."

The silence that followed was thick and heavy. Lucy stared at him, processing the strangest proposal she had ever heard in her life. Marco wanted her to be with another man? The first impulse was pain. Was she not enough for him? But then she saw the anguish on his face, the desperation in his dark eyes. She realized he wasn't saying it out of cruelty, but from an insecurity as deep as her own. She thought she understood: Marco believed he wasn't capable of giving her pleasure, and he needed someone to "teach" her so that she could then guide him.

And in that moment of naive understanding, the love she felt for him eclipsed every other emotion. If this was what Marco needed to feel secure, to finally break the barrier that separated them, then she would do it. For him.

"Okay," she whispered, surprising him. "If you think that will help us... I'll do it."

Marco couldn't believe it. A wave of relief and a strange, sharp excitement washed over him. "But... who?"

That was the real question. It couldn't be his friends; that would be too weird. It had to be a stranger, someone who didn't matter. The idea scared them both.

The following days were strange. They moved in a kind of secret pact, searching for candidates in every face they saw. The old men in the neighborhood who always stared at her brazenly, the men who yelled things at her from their cars. They all seemed like terrifying and degrading options.

The solution, or at least the beginning of one, came unexpectedly during gym class. Lucy was in the back row, doing the stretches that Mr. Garcia had ordered. Mr. Garcia was an obese man with a sweaty face and a lecherous gaze. He always made her feel uncomfortable, his eyes lingering too long on her legs or her chest. More than once, she had caught him staring at her intently when he thought no one was looking.

Normally, she would have covered herself up, feeling dirty. But today, with Marco's proposal in mind, a perverse and terrifying idea bloomed in her mind. He was perfect: ugly, older, and someone she would never have to see personally again after graduation. A controlled experiment.

As she bent down to touch her toes, she made sure her gym shorts rode up a little higher than necessary. She took her time, feeling the burn in her muscles and, above all, the intensity of the teacher's gaze fixed on her back. As she straightened up, she stretched her arms above her head, arching her back to accentuate her chest. She did it subtly, as if it were a natural part of the exercise, but she knew exactly what she was doing. She saw a glint of sweat on the teacher's forehead and the way he swallowed hard.

That afternoon, when she told Marco what she had done, she did so in a barely audible voice, as if confessing a crime.

"Today in class... Mr. Garcia wouldn't stop looking at me," she said, not daring to meet his eyes. "So... I stretched a little more. On purpose. I think... I think he could be the one."

Marco froze. The image instantly flooded his mind: the teacher's fat, unpleasant face devouring Lucy's body with his eyes. His Lucy. A knot of jealousy and disgust formed in his throat, so intense it nearly choked him. It was a repugnant, vile idea. He wanted to scream, to tell her to forget the whole thing, that it was crazy.

But then, beneath the revulsion, he felt something else. A heat spreading from his stomach downward. A pang of pure, hard excitement, as undeniable as it was inappropriate. The idea of that man desiring her, of her displaying herself for him with his tacit consent, gave him an instant and painful erection against the fabric of his jeans.

He stood there, trapped in a whirlwind of shame and desire, not knowing what to say. His moral dilemma was fighting a losing battle against his body's raw response. And in his silence, Lucy found the confirmation she needed.