His brothers would not stop talking about their conquests. Again.
"And then I told her she had to leave because I had early practice," Marco presumed, the youngest of the three. "You should have seen her face when I canceled on her!"
"Amateur," Diego interrupted, the middle one. "I have three waiting for my text. I leave them on read for two days and they come back begging."
Andrés listened to them as they walked toward the comic book store. It was the same ritual as always. They talked about girls; he pretended he did not care.
"That is nothing," Marco continued. "Last week I went out with two on the same day. One in the afternoon, another at night. Neither one found out."
"And how did you pull that off?"
"Easy. I told the first one I had to see my sick grandmother. I told the second one I was studying all day. Girls believe anything if you talk pretty to them."
Diego laughed. "I do not even bother lying. I tell them straight up that I am seeing others and that drives them crazy. They want to be the only one, you know? Competition motivates them."
Of course it motivates them, Andrés thought. Because all girls want a jerk who treats them like interchangeable options. But he said nothing. He never said anything when they started on that topic.
"You know the best part?" Diego continued. "The more indifferent you are, the more they look for you. It is basic psychology."
"Since when do you know about psychology?" Andrés asked.
"Since I started dating girls, brother. You should try it some day."
Perfect. It was exactly what Andrés needed to hear after Sofía, his best friend since high school, told him she would start dating the jerk who had ghosted her twice. Twice. The same guy who did not answer her messages for weeks. The same one who stood her up on her birthday. That was her choice.
And he, who listened to her for hours when she was sad, who bought her favorite coffee without her asking, who remembered every detail of the things that mattered to her, remained just her friend.
"Andrés, what about you?" Diego nudged him. "When are you going to get a girlfriend?"
"Leave him alone, he is busy reading his funny books," Marco mocked.
Andrés gripped his bag with the latest issues of Spider Man.
"At least I do not have to lie to girls to get them to pay attention to me," he muttered.
"What did you say?"
"Nothing."
"No, no, say it out loud," Diego insisted. "Come on, brother. Share your wisdom with us."
"Forget it."
"It is just that you do not understand," Marco continued. "Girls do not want a guy who is available all the time. They want mystery. They want someone who is not always there waiting for them."
"They want you to not be an idiot," Andrés said. "But I guess that is asking too much."
Diego let out a giggle. "Someone is bitter today. What happened? Did Sofía reject you again?"
"She did not reject me because I never told her anything."
"Exactly. That is why you are still alone. We act, you just think all the time. You stay paralyzed analyzing every possible outcome instead of simply doing something."
"You are right," Andrés said. "I should be more like you guys. Treating girls like trash seems to work wonders."
"It is not treating them bad," Diego corrected. "It is having an attitude. Girls do not want a desperate guy who puts them on a pedestal."
"I am not desperate."
"Brother, you have been in love with Sofía for three years and you never told her anything. If that is not desperation, I do not know what is."
"Because we are friends. I do not want to ruin that."
"You already ruined it," Marco said with a mocking smile. "Now she is with someone else and you are still here, buying comics on a Saturday night."
"It is Friday."
"Whatever. The point is you stayed in the friendzone forever. And you know what is the worst part? She probably always knew you liked her. Girls always know. They have a radar for that."
Crap. He was right.What if Sofía always knew? Andrés wondered. What if all these years she saw me as the pathetic friend in love who did not have the guts to say anything?
"Anyway," he muttered, looking away.
"Hey, do not take it personally," Diego tried to sound conciliatory, although Andrés knew he was enjoying this. "Look, the problem is that you are too nice. You need to be more... I don't know, more interesting."
"Interesting how?"
"Well I do not know, work out. Change your clothes. Stop talking about Spider Man every time a girl asks what you like. Go out more. Do things worth telling."
"Spider Man is great."
"Yes, but he is not sexy. Girls want to hear about your travels, your adventures, your ambitions. Not about a guy in pajamas who shoots webs. That is kid stuff."
"Spider Man is twenty eight years old in the current comics."
"Nobody knows that except you, brother. And that is precisely the problem."
Marco nodded enthusiastically. "Diego is right. You need to reinvent yourself. Be more... alpha. Have a presence."
"Alpha? Are you guys really going to use that word? What is next? Are you going to recommend millionaire entrepreneur motivational videos to me?"
"It works," Marco insisted. "Look at Diego. He is alpha and he has girls calling him all the time."
"Diego is lucky the girls he dates have low standards."
"Ouch!" Diego put a hand to his chest. "That hurt, brother. That really hurt."
"The truth hurts."
"You know what, if you keep up with that attitude you are going to end up alone forever. Girls do not want a bitter know it all who criticizes them."
But they do want an idiot who ignores them, Andrés thought. That is the part that makes sense.
The truth was he was already fed up. Fed up with being the understanding friend. Fed up with hearing you are so sweet, but... Fed up with seeing how his brothers, who treated girls like video game conquests, had more success in a week than he had in his entire life.
And yes, he was aware of being slightly overweight. He was not obese, but he definitely did not go to the gym. And of the acne that insisted on staying despite being twenty three years old. He had already tried five different treatments. None worked. But he was a good guy, damn it. He listened. He remembered important details. Was that not supposed to matter?
Apparently not.
They continued walking in silence for a while. Diego and Marco checked their phones, probably responding to messages from their conquests. Andrés just looked at the street, trying not to think about Sofía.
They were walking down the main avenue when he saw her. Even from a distance it was impossible not to notice her. She was a woman in a black power suit, a tight skirt down to her knees and heels that made her look even more imposing. Her hair was pulled back in a perfect bun. She walked with the posture of someone who had never doubted herself in her life. She was talking on the phone with that attitude of I make million dollar decisions before breakfast.
A God tier executive MILF.
"Wow," Marco whispered, stopping in his tracks.
"Now that is a real woman," Diego added, also stopping. "Not like the little girls we date."
"Little girls? You are twenty one. You date girls your age."
"Yes, but she is different. Just look at her. I bet she has her own company or something. At the very least she is vice president of something important."
"Do not even dream about it, kid," Diego told Marco. "That woman is several levels above all of us. She probably would not even see us if we walked right next to her."
"Do you think she is married?"
"Definitely. Probably to a lawyer or a doctor. Someone important. Someone who earns in a month what we do in a year."
"Or a CEO," Andrés added. "Someone who earns enough to buy her those shoes that probably cost more than my rent. And that suit looks custom made."
Marco laughed. "Look who is talking. You could not even approach her to speak without stuttering."
"None of us could," Andrés admitted. "Women like that do not even notice we exist. We are invisible to them."
"I could try," Diego bragged, straightening up a bit.
"Sure you could. And she would ignore you before you finished your first sentence. Probably without even looking at you."
"You want to bet?"
"I am not going to bet on you making a fool of yourself in public. I have some decency."
Andrés knew he was right. She was one of those women who would not even notice his existence. She probably had a CEO boyfriend or a doctor husband. Someone in shape, successful, without acne. Someone who knew what to say at business dinners. Someone who wore expensive suits and Swiss watches. Someone like Johnny Sins.
He smiled at the thought of his unofficial hero. The man who could be any profession and get any woman. Doctor, plumber, professor, astronaut, police officer, firefighter... A true Renaissance man of adult entertainment.
"What are you laughing at?" Marco asked, looking at him with suspicion.
"Nothing."
"You are thinking about something weird, right? I know that face."
"Define weird."
"Forget it, I do not want to know. Every time you ask that, the answer is something I do not want to hear."
The woman was still distracted by her call, her heels clicking against the pavement as she crossed the street without looking. She was so absorbed in her conversation that she was not paying attention to anything else.
"Hey, should she not be looking where she is going?" Diego commented with some concern.
"She is on a call. Probably closing a million dollar deal or something."
"Yeah, but she is crossing the street and there is a lot of traffic..."
Then Andrés heard it. The revving engine. Loud music. Laughter from drunk teenagers who thought they were invincible. The black car was coming straight toward her. Police lights flashed behind, chasing it. But the driver was not going to stop. The woman still did not realize, absorbed in her conversation.
"WATCH OUT!" Andrés shouted with all his might.
"Brother, no!" Diego screamed, grabbing his arm.
But Andrés was already running. His feet moved on their own. He simply ran. People screamed. His brothers called him. Someone else shouted a warning. But he only saw that perfect woman, unaware of the danger coming at full speed toward her.
He pushed her with all his strength just as the car arrived. His hands found the womans back and he shoved. She went flying to one side, landing completely unharmed.
Andrés felt the impact.
Pain. An indescribable pain that exploded in his side. The world spun. The sky and the ground swapped positions. Broken glass. Twisting metal. Screams. He was flying.
This is it, Andrés thought. This is how I die.
When he finally stopped rolling, he opened his eyes. Mannequins. Mannequins with lingerie. Decorative whips. Furry handcuffs. Nurse cosplays. A giant vibrator hung over his head.
"No way," he coughed blood. "A sex shop?"
The irony was too cruel to be a coincidence. He would die surrounded by everything he never experienced. Dresses that no girl ever wore for him. Toys he never used with anyone. Fantasies he never fulfilled. His entire life summarized in this damn display window.
Virgin at twenty three. Dying in a sex shop. If there was a god, he definitely had a sense of humor.
"My God!" he heard a voice.
The executive MILF ran toward him, her heels clicking against the floor full of broken glass. She knelt by his side, her perfectly made up face now marked by panic.
"Do not move," she ordered with a firm voice. "I already called emergency services. The ambulance is on its way. Do you hear me?"
"It is okay," Andrés said, although it clearly was not okay. He could feel the blood leaving his body.
"What is your name? I need you to tell me your name."
"What for?"
"To keep you conscious. Come on, tell me your name. Do not fall asleep."
"Andrés."
"Andrés, do you hear me? Look at me. Keep your eyes open. Do not close them."
He tried, but everything was blurry. Blood was coming from somewhere he could not see.
"Can you move your fingers?" she asked, her voice trembling a bit.
"I do not know."
"Try. Move your hand."
He moved it a little. The fingers responded.
"Good, that is good. That means your spine is okay. Does anything specific hurt? Besides everything, I mean."
"My side. And my head. Like someone is squeezing my skull."
"Do not touch your head. Let me check. I have training for this."
Her hands started to feel Andrés's skull carefully. Precise movements. She definitely had medical training.
"Are you a doctor?" he asked. His voice sounded weak.
"Pharmaceutical executive. But I have first aid certification. Advanced training. Now shut up and let me check."
"Bossy."
"You just saved my life. I can be as bossy as I want. Besides, I need you to focus on breathing."
Despite the pain, Andrés smiled a little.
"I am going to check you," she continued. "Do not move. Tell me if anything hurts more than normal."
She began to check him. Her hands touched his chest, searching for a pulse. Then she tore his shirt with careful movements.
"Your breathing is too shallow," she said, her voice professional but loaded with anguish. "Andrés, I need you to stay with me. Look at me, do not look away."
She leaned over him, bringing her face close to monitor his breath and maintain eye contact. But Andrés could not focus on her words. Not when her breasts, barely contained by that designer blazer, moved right in front of his face with each of her agitated breaths. Up. Down. Up. Down. Completely hypnotic.
At least I am going to die with a good view, he thought.
"Breathe," she begged. "Please, breathe. Come on, Andrés. Do not leave me."
He tried, but he felt his body shutting down. The blood, the pain, everything became distant. As if he were seeing everything from outside his own body.
"Andrés!" she shouted. "Do not fall asleep! Look at me! The ambulance is two minutes away. Just hold on for two minutes."
"I am... tired."
"I do not care. Stay awake. Can you do that for me? Just stay awake a little longer. The ambulance is already close. Can you hear it?"
He vaguely heard sirens. But they sounded distant. As if they were in another world. In another dimension where people did not die in sex shops.
"Do you have family?" the woman asked. "Someone I should call? Parents, brothers, a girlfriend?"
"My brothers... are here."
"Where? The ones who were with you?"
Andrés nodded weakly.
"Good. I will tell them you are coming with me in the ambulance. Is that okay? Is there anyone else? Your parents?"
"I do not... I do not think I will make it to the hospital."
"Of course you will. Do not say stupid things. You are going to make it. You are going to survive this."
"There is... a lot of blood."
"I have seen worse. Trust me. I worked two years in the ER before moving to administration. You are going to be okay. You just have to hold on a little longer."
Liar. Andrés could see in her eyes that she did not believe it. That she knew this was the end. The amount of blood, the paleness of his skin, the way his breathing became shallower... Andrés reached for her hand. She stopped, looking at him with those hazel eyes full of tears that ruined her perfect makeup.
"It is... it is enough," he said with a weak voice.
"No! Do not give up. The ambulance is on its way. Just one more minute. Sixty seconds. You can do that."
"I accept... my fate."
Lie. He did not accept anything. But it sounded dramatic and, since he was dying, Andrés felt that at least he could have his movie moment. His protagonist moment.
"Is there anything I can do?" she asked, crying openly now. Tears fell on his shredded shirt. "Do you want me to call someone? Your family? A girlfriend? A last wish? Tell me. Anything."
A last wish.
Andrés looked around. People were starting to approach, but they were still relatively alone. His brothers were shouting for everyone to give him space. The broken glass of the sex shop surrounded them. She was kneeling over him, her perfect face stained with tears and smeared mascara.
He was fed up with this crappy life anyway.
"Can you... can you show me your breasts?"
The silence was absolute. She blinked. Once. Twice.
"What?"
"Your breasts," Andrés repeated more clearly, surprisingly calm for someone dying. "Can you show them to me?"
"I... are you...? What are you talking about?"
"Look," Andrés coughed again. "I saved your life. I am dying. Literally. And I have never... I have never seen breasts in person. Only on screens. Videos. Hentais that promised they were perfect. And yours... damn, your breasts are a work of genetic engineering. So... please?"
He saw her process the information. Her cheeks turned red. She looked around. The crowd was still a few yards away, held back by his brothers who were shouting to give space to the injured man.
"You are... you are crazy."
"I am dying," he corrected. "It is completely different."
"I cannot... I cannot do that. There are people. Someone could record this."
"They are far away. And I will be dead in a few minutes anyway. Nobody has to find out. It will be our little secret."
"What if someone sees us?"
"Let them see. I will be dead. You can say you were checking my wounds. That you were looking for internal bleeding. Whatever."
"That does... that makes no sense. Nobody is going to believe that."
"None of this makes sense," Andrés said. "I just saved a beautiful woman and I am going to die a virgin in a sex shop surrounded by dildos and whips."
She swallowed hard. Her hands trembled as she looked at the young mans face, probably seeing how much blood he had lost. How close he was to the end.
"You... you saved my life."
"Uh huh."
"And you are... dying."
"Correct."
"And this is what you want. Your last wish. Of all the things in the world, this is what you want to see before you die."
"Yes. It is pathetic, I know. But it is the truth."
"Do you not want me to call your mother? Or a girlfriend?"
"I do not have a girlfriend. And my mom would not want to see me die. I prefer she remembers when I was alive. When I was happy. Well, more or less happy."
"But... but I..."
"Please," he said. "It is the only thing I ask. One last view before I go. One last moment of happiness in this crappy life."
Another moment of silence. Then, with trembling hands, she took off her blazer. She let it fall to the glass covered floor. Then, slowly, she pulled her white shirt out of her skirt. The buttons seemed to resist, but one by one they gave way under her trembling fingers.
Holy. Fucking. Hell, Andrés thought.
The bra was black. Probably one of those French brands that cost more than a months rent. And what it contained... She unfastened it with a quick movement.
This is heaven.
They were a masterpiece. Two perfect curves that defied gravity. Pale pink nipples crowning perfectly proportioned areolas. The porcelain skin contrasted with the red of her cheeks. The hentais had not lied to him. Breasts like that really existed in the real world.
"Happy?" she asked with a trembling voice.
"Almost."
"Almost? What else do you want?"
Andrés raised his trembling hand. She looked at it, understanding perfectly what he was asking.
"You are pushing your luck."
"I am dying. I have no luck to push. I already used it all saving you."
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath without stopping Andrés's hand. He touched one. Soft. Warm. Perfect. He pinched it gently.
"Ngh..."
That moan. It was worth every fucking second.
Andrés looked at her face. She was completely flushed, tears still streaming down her cheeks, but there was something else in her eyes. Compassion?
"Thank you," he whispered.
"You are an idiot," she said; there was a small smile on her lips. "A brave idiot."
"The best compliment I have ever received in my life."
"Do not get used to it. You are going to survive and you will forget all of this."
"I do not think I will survive. But if I do... can I buy you a coffee?"
She laughed. A laugh choked by tears. "Survive first. Then we talk about coffee."
"Is that a promise?"
"It is a possibility. A very small possibility."
Andrés wondered if Johnny Sins would be proud of him. Probably yes.
Darkness began to swallow everything. The sirens sounded closer. Voices were shouting. His brothers were calling his name. The paramedics arrived running. But he could only see her face. Her eyes. Her tears. And her perfect breasts which would be his last view of this crappy world.