I Met My Lover at the Parents’ Meeting

Few things gave me more anxiety than Valentina’s school social events. It was that particular atmosphere of the well-off middle class, where everyone talks about trips, projects, and professional success with a smile perfectly designed to hide the envy. My wife understood that and gave me permission to show up, say hello, and disappear as soon as I could. She handled the social side. I limited myself to surviving the first hour.

That was what I did at the school’s spring gathering. We arrived together, I stayed long enough for nobody to say anything, and I slipped out to the garden, where there was a wooden bench under a huge rubber tree that seemed like the best place in the world. I sat down, took out my phone, and started reviewing some plans I had pending. I’m an architect. I have that flaw of finding work any time, anywhere.

I didn’t hear anyone approaching until the voice reached me from very close by.

—Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you, but there was nowhere else to escape to. Did you run away from that thing too, or do you have a more reasonable motive?

I looked up. A woman about thirty-five, well dressed, with dark hair falling to her shoulders and light eyes that looked at me with a mix of humor and exhaustion. There was something in the way she stood, a calm ease, that immediately made me curious.

—I ran —I admitted—. With full premeditation and malice aforethought.

She laughed. A short laugh, genuine, nothing forced.

—Can I sit down?

I made room without thinking. She sat down and asked if I smoked. I said no. She said thank God, that smoke didn’t bother her in general but it would have ruined the moment.

—Nice little corner —she said, looking at the tree—. Good company, I hope. Do you have a son or daughter here?

—Daughter. Second year. Still survivable, though barely.

—Mine’s in third year and survivability is long gone. Pure attitude, pure chaos, constant bad mood.

We both laughed this time.

The half hour we spent on that bench was, no exaggeration, the most pleasant part of the afternoon. Her name was Camila, she was a graphic designer, had been separated for two years, and lived alone with her son Lucas in a new apartment near the river. She told me her ex’s name still gave her a knot in the stomach, but she was working on that. That she did yoga. That she read a lot. That she didn’t miss being in a relationship, but she did miss some things about being in a relationship, and she said that with a crooked smile that left the rest to the imagination.

When Elena called my cell to tell me it was time to go, I stood up with a strange feeling. I had filed Camila away somewhere in my mind with a label that wasn’t proper to name, but was very clear. She was beautiful. She was interesting. And I wasn’t going to see her again.

Or so I thought.

***

The school organized a theater workshop for the second- and third-year kids. The parents’ meeting was mandatory: the administration wanted to explain the dynamics, the boundaries, the basic agreements. I went because Elena had a medical appointment she couldn’t cancel. I walked into the room with no expectations and saw her sitting in the second row, wearing a blue jacket and her hair tied up. She gave me a discreet little wave, as if to say, “See? The world is small.”

I sat down beside her. The meeting lasted forty minutes and we whispered to each other several times, exchanging comments about the workshop coordinator, who spoke with the energy of someone who’d had three coffees already. When it was over, the kids stayed for the first class and we were politely invited to leave.

Outside, we ran into a heavy rain nobody had predicted.

Camila didn’t have an umbrella. She was wearing open sandals, completely inappropriate for the downpour, and had come walking because she liked walking. I offered to take her. She refused twice before accepting.

When we got to the building where she lived, a covered garage at the entrance gave us some shelter. I told her it was nothing, that I was heading that way anyway. She hesitated for a second.

—I’ll buy you a coffee. You owe me since you escaped from the bench without time for a proper goodbye.

It wasn’t true, of course. But I laughed and accepted.

***

The apartment was exactly how I had imagined her: tidy, with plants, books on shelves that reached the ceiling, and a warm light coming from carefully placed lamps. She asked me to take off my shoes. They didn’t wear shoes inside. She pointed to the sofa and said she’d be back in a minute.

She came back wearing a loose shirt and a skirt that fell halfway down her thigh. She made coffee with quiet efficiency, without asking how I took it, as if she already knew. I took it black and it turned out that was the right way.

I don’t know if it was something in the way I listened or if she simply needed to say it, but within ten minutes she was telling me things about the divorce she probably didn’t tell many people. The dynamic they’d had, the years of routine, the feeling of having slowly faded without even noticing. At one point tears welled up and she apologized several times.

—You don’t have anything to apologize for —I told her—. Let out whatever you need to.

—It’s just that I can’t talk about it with Lucas. He’s his father. A difficult man with me, but his father after all.

She fell silent for a moment. Then she looked at me differently, more directly, as if she had made a decision.

—Does it make you uncomfortable that I tell you these things?

—Not at all. It happens to me a lot. It must be my face, I don’t know.

She smiled. I finished my coffee and told her they were waiting for me for dinner. The goodbye was a hug that lasted longer than expected and a kiss on the cheek that landed very close to the corner of my lips. I went back to the car telling myself it was nothing, that it was gratitude, that she was a woman on her own who’d had a rainy afternoon and needed company. I repeated that to myself several times on the way home.

The following week I had almost completely forgotten her. That’s why her WhatsApp message surprised me, asking if I had time to talk. The following Thursday Lucas would be staying with his father, she wrote. If I could and wanted, she’d love for me to stop by her place. She promised me the best coffee I’d ever had in my life. With a kiss emoji at the end.

I told Elena I had a meeting with a client who could only do that afternoon. She nodded without asking anything. It wasn’t the first time I’d had meetings off hours.

***

I rang the bell not really knowing what I expected to find.

When Camila opened the door I understood I hadn’t imagined the situation properly. She was wearing a fitted black dress that traced every curve with a precision that left no room for doubt. Her hair was down. Makeup around her eyes, more pronounced than the last time, with something dark at the edges that lengthened her gaze. She smelled good.

—Come in —she said, making room for me.

I took off my shoes without her asking this time. We sat down to drink coffee. She talked about everyday things for a while, asked about my work, listened attentively. Then she paused for a long time.

—Can I tell you something without scaring you?

—Depends what it is.

—Since I saw you on that bench I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I’m not asking you to be my boyfriend or to complicate your life. It’s just that I really like you. Physically, and the way you listen, the way you speak. You make me feel something I hadn’t felt in years.

I looked at her without saying anything for a moment.

—I didn’t expect that —I said at last.

—I can imagine. Do I seem too direct?

—No. It seems honest to me.

—Do you like me?

—Yes —I said without hesitation—. A lot.

—But you’re married.

—Yes.

—I don’t want to destroy anything. But... would it be possible for you to be my lover? Just that. No drama, no demands. You come, fuck me well, and leave.

She said it like that, without lowering her voice, staring straight at me. The crude word hit my chest like a warm stone.

Before I could answer, she stood up, came to stand in front of me, and lowered the straps of the dress. It fell to the floor without a sound. She was left in a small black lace bra and tiny panties that barely covered her pussy, looking at me with a calm that contrasted with everything she was stirring inside me. The wetness showed through the fabric, a dark stain she made no attempt to hide.

—Hug me —she said softly—. And touch me wherever you want.

I stood up. I hugged her and slid my hands down her back until I buried my fingers in her ass, squeezing it over her panties. She let out a short sigh and pressed herself against me, and I felt perfectly how my cock hardened against her belly. She buried her face in my neck and stayed still for a second, breathing me in. Then she lifted her face and kissed me slowly, her tongue entering my mouth without hurry, as if we had all the time in the world.

—Take me to bed —she murmured against my mouth—. Fuck me like no one has fucked me in years.

***

The room had low light. She opened the bed while I undressed. When I was naked, my hard cock pointed toward her, she looked me over without hiding it and bit her lip.

—You’ve got a beautiful cock —she said softly, almost to herself—. Come here.

I lay down on top of her. I started slowly. I kissed her neck, her shoulders, unhooked her bra, and freed her breasts. They were firm, well proportioned, with dark, large nipples that stiffened the moment I passed my tongue over them. I devoted myself to them at length, sucking them one by one, biting them gently, tugging them with my teeth, while I ran my open palm over the rest of her body. She arched her back against my mouth and sighed harder and harder. She didn’t talk much, but every moan was a clear answer.

—Do you like it? —I asked her, with my tongue still on one nipple.

—So much —she gasped—. It’s been a long time since anyone touched my tits like this. Suck them harder.

I did as she asked. I sucked hard, with suction, and she moaned louder and dug her nails into the back of my neck.

—Your ex didn’t do it?

—Almost never. A little rubbing and that was it. He’d shove his cock in me with no foreplay and in three minutes he’d be coming inside me. I didn’t know what it was like for someone to take their time with you. To lick you. To turn you on.

—I’m going to get you so turned on you won’t be able to stand it.

—Please.

I went down slowly, sliding my lips over her belly, biting the soft skin of her abdomen, until I reached her panties. I hooked them with my teeth and pulled them down her thighs while she lifted her hips to help me. She was shaved, with her pussy lips swollen and shiny, already soaked. I spread her thighs with my hands, opening her wide, and paused for a second to look.

—You’re drenched —I told her.

—I’ve been like this since you opened the door. Eat me out, please.

I didn’t make her wait. I ran my whole tongue from bottom to top, from the entrance of her pussy to her clit, and she let out a muffled cry and grabbed my head with both hands. I took my time. I licked her clit slowly, with the flat of my tongue first, then the tip, circling and flicking alternately, while I slid one finger inside her. I felt her incredibly tight, hot, clenching around my finger every time I found the right spot. I slipped in a second finger and curved the tip upward, searching for that spongy spot on the roof of her pussy.

I found it quickly. She started moving her hips against my face, pushing against my mouth, panting harder and harder.

—Oh, oh, there, don’t stop, don’t stop...

I sucked her clit into my mouth completely, took it between my lips, and applied a firm suction while I kept working her G-spot with my fingers. She held out a few minutes like that, clinging to my head with both hands, squeezing hard, until her whole body tightened. Her thighs arched, she squeezed my head between them, and a long, contained moan came up from her chest. I felt her pussy contracting in spasms around my fingers, a warm gush running over my wrist.

—God —she said when she came down, her voice hoarse, breathing in ragged bursts—. I haven’t come like that since... I don’t know when. Never. I don’t know if ever.

I climbed up to kiss her. I tasted her still on my tongue and she sucked it like she enjoyed tasting herself. She took my hand and brought it back between her legs, asking for more without saying it. Then she went down too, settled between my legs, took my cock with both hands, and looked at it for a second before putting it in her mouth.

She did it with a clumsiness that was somehow incredibly sensual, as if she were learning while she went. I guided her a little, asked her to go slower, to lick from the base, not to suck it all at once but little by little. She learned fast. She started giving me a slower blowjob, licking me from top to bottom first, pausing at the frenulum, then taking the head into her mouth and lowering herself little by little until she could go. She looked at me while she did it, with that expression of someone wanting to do things right, her eyes locked on mine and her lips stretched around my cock.

—Like that —I told her, grabbing her hair and moving it away from her face—. Exactly like that. Suck it all.

She went lower, gagged a little, and came back up coughing softly, strings of saliva hanging from her lips. She laughed.

—I’m rusty.

—You’re perfect.

She went back to it, this time with more hunger. She took my balls in one hand and massaged them slowly while she kept sucking me, moving her head up and down at a steady rhythm. When I felt I was going to slip out too fast, I pulled her hair.

—Come here. I want to fuck you.

She lifted her face and smiled with the tip of my cock still between her lips.

—You come here —she said, throwing herself back and spreading her legs—. I’m burning.

I settled myself on top of her. I rubbed the head of my cock over her soaked pussy, grinding it against her clit, getting it nice and wet in her moisture. She writhed under me, looking for me, trying to take me in with her hips.

—Put it in me already, please. I can’t take it anymore.

I pushed slowly, entering little by little, feeling her open around me. She was tight, much tighter than I’d expected. I drove into her all the way in one long thrust and she cried out and dug her nails into my shoulders.

—Oh, fuck, you’re huge...

I stayed still inside for a second, letting her adjust. Then I started moving, first slowly, coming almost all the way out and driving back in to the hilt, looking at her face. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was slightly open, breathing through it in short gasps.

—Like that? —I asked her.

—Harder. Fuck me harder.

I sped up. I started driving into her with more force, slamming my hips against hers, and she began moaning without restraint, loud moans rising from deep in her throat.

—Yes, yes, like that, oh God, don’t stop...

I grabbed one of her legs and lifted it, setting it over my shoulder to go even deeper. At that angle I felt her squeeze me differently, wrapping around me. I looked at her face of pleasure and spoke into her ear.

—Look how all of me goes in.

—I can feel it inside me, I can feel it all the way up there...

I fucked her like that for a few minutes, with firm, sustained thrusts. The bed creaked. Our thighs made a wet sound every time they hit. She started trembling under me, clenching around my cock in spasms, and I knew she was about to come again.

—I’m going again, I’m going again, don’t stop, don’t stop...

I drove my cock in deep and stayed there, moving my hips in a circle, pressing my pubic bone against her clit. She came with a cry, arching all over, shaking beneath me like a stripped wire.

When I felt her relax, I pulled out slowly. Her swollen pussy was shining, all open.

—Get on top —I asked her.

I helped her climb on. She sat on me with my cock inside her again and shivered at the feeling of it entering from that angle. She moved first with uncertainty, bracing her hands on my chest to push herself, then with more confidence, finding the rhythm. I grabbed her tits and squeezed them, tugging at her nipples while she rode me.

—How are you? —I asked, still thrusting up into her from below.

—Full —she said, biting her lip—. Blown out. Happy.

She let herself fall onto me, pressing her tits to my chest, and kept moving like that, grinding against me. I grabbed her ass with both hands and set the pace, lifting and lowering her, fucking her from below with short, fast thrusts. She bit my neck, moaning into my ear things that didn’t come out whole.

—What a delicious cock... what a delicious cock you’ve got... you’re killing me...

I turned her around. I put her on all fours in front of me, her ass raised and her face against the pillow. I ran my hand over her arched back, squeezed one cheek and spread it to look properly at her open pussy, all shiny, waiting for me. I entered her from behind in one go, burying it all the way, and she let out a rough moan into the pillow.

—Oh, like that, like that, fuck me like a bitch...

I grabbed her hips firmly and pushed hard, setting a deep, sustained rhythm. Her tits moved underneath her, hanging, swaying with every thrust. I smacked her ass and she cried out and clenched even tighter around my cock.

—Again —she gasped—. Hit me again.

I smacked her again, harder, and my handprint stayed red on her skin. She started pushing her hips back to meet me, driving herself against my cock in desperation. I yanked her hair, gathering it in my fist and arching her head back, and I spoke close to her ear while I kept fucking her.

—Look how it goes in. Look how much you like it.

—I love it, I love it, please don’t stop...

She came again like that, on all fours, her face pressed into the pillow, biting it so she wouldn’t scream so loudly. I felt her pussy closing around my cock in spasms, squeezing it. More and more shameless every time, letting out what she had been holding back before.

In the end I turned her over again, put her on her back, and asked her to tell me how she wanted to finish. She looked at me with glassy eyes and red cheeks.

—However you want. Wherever you want. It’s yours.

—I want you to jerk me off. And look me in the face when I come.

She settled between my legs, kneeling, took my cock with both hands, and started moving slowly, alternating with her mouth, unhurried. She licked it from base to tip, took the head into her mouth and sucked it while continuing to masturbate me with her hand. She looked at me the whole time, with her mouth slightly open and her lips shiny with saliva.

—Come to me —she whispered between licks—. Give me all your cum, everything you’ve got.

She sped up. She squeezed me with her hand, moving fast up and down, with just the right wrist motion, and sucked the tip with suction. When I felt I couldn’t hold it any longer, when my whole body tightened, I warned her.

—I’m going, I’m coming now.

She opened her mouth and closed her eyes, sticking out her tongue. The first spurt landed inside her mouth, the second painted her lips and cheek, and the third and those that followed soaked her chin and tits. She never let go of my cock, kept moving her hand slowly, milking every last drop from me, while she licked her lips and ran her tongue over them to gather up my cum.

When I finished, she wiped the corner of her mouth with her finger, put it in her mouth, and smiled.

—Good?

—Very good.

—I love your semen —she said, her cheek still marked—. I love the way your face looks when you come.

She lay down beside me and rested her head on my chest. There were traces of it on her neck and she didn’t wipe them away. I ran my hand through her hair slowly, feeling empty in the best possible way.

***

While I got dressed, she made coffee. When I came out of the bedroom she was leaning against the kitchen counter, barefoot, her shirt loose and her hair still mussed. There was something about that image, that mix of calm and disorder, that was hard to ignore. It was probably obvious on my face.

—Can you come back next Thursday? —she asked.

—I’ll see.

—I’m not asking for more than that. —She paused and then added, lowering her voice a little—: But if you come back, I promise it’ll be better every time. I want you to do things to me that haven’t been done to me in years.

I kissed her before leaving, my hand open on the back of her neck. She walked me to the door and stayed leaning in the frame while I waited for the elevator, with a calm smile that held no urgency and no demand.

In the car, on the way home, I didn’t say anything to myself. I didn’t try to convince myself of anything or build any argument to justify what had happened. I only knew, with a clarity that admitted no argument, that I was going back the following Thursday. And the one after that. That Camila had stopped being an interesting stranger and had become something much more complicated, and that I had crossed a line I wasn’t going to be able to uncross.

I didn’t want to anyway.