My Ex Came Back and My Husband Let Me Go with Him

This story begins many years ago, when I was still a young girl who thought she knew the world and actually knew nothing. My older brother had a friend I ended up falling in love with without even realizing it. His name was Tomás, and what we lived through was one of those things you put away in a locked drawer for the rest of your life.

We truly loved each other. It wasn't a game between bored teenagers: it was intense, clumsy, and honest, the way first loves are. But life did what it usually does to the things that matter most to us. Tomás got the opportunity to go study abroad, and at first we promised each other letters, calls, and waiting. Over time, those promises wore themselves out until one day we simply stopped looking for each other.

Years later, I found out almost by chance that he had returned to the country and had asked about me. By then I was already married. I didn't go to see him. I didn't return his visit, not because I didn't want to, but precisely because I wanted it too much and didn't trust myself. I wasn't going to give him false hope. But I'd be lying if I said his gesture hadn't stirred something inside me. I still remembered him in a special way, differently from everything else.

***

About a year and a half ago, my brother turned seventy. Seventy, no less, and my sister-in-law decided that called for a huge party, with a rented hall, live music, and half the town invited. I arrived with my husband, both of us dressed up, ready to greet people I hadn't seen in ages.

And then, among all those faces, his appeared.

Tomás was on the other side of the hall, a glass in his hand and that way of standing that hadn't changed in all those years. My stomach clenched. I couldn't stop all those feelings from my youth from surfacing at once, the ones I thought I'd locked away securely. And from the way he looked at me when he recognized me, I knew exactly the same thing was happening to him.

We went over to say hello. I had to introduce him to my husband, and I did it in the calmest voice I could fake.

—A friend from my teenage years —I said—. From back when my brother and I went everywhere together.

They shook hands cordially. They chatted for a couple of minutes about nothing, about the trip, about how big the party was. Neither of them ever let on that we'd once been much more than acquaintances. I smiled and nodded, while inside I trembled like a string pulled too tight. When the conversation ended, my husband and I continued making our way around the hall.

Please, let it show less than I feel.

A little later, while the three of us mingled with the party, some of my husband's old friends came over to greet him. They hadn't seen each other in years either, so they immediately got tangled up in one of those long conversations meant to catch up. I took advantage of the opportunity like someone finding an open door.

—I'm going out to smoke in the garden —I told him—. Take your time talking.

I needed air. I needed to get away from all those people and breathe before my heart leaped out of my mouth.

***

I went out through one of the side doors into the garden. The night was cool, almost perfect, and the noise of the party was left behind, reduced to a distant murmur. There was no one there. I lit a cigarette, took a couple of drags, and let the silence bring me back into my body a little.

And then he appeared.

Tomás stood beside me without saying a word. He didn't ask if he could, and he didn't make up an excuse. He simply stood there looking at me, and I held his gaze as if the twenty years between us had never existed. I couldn't take my eyes off his. There was something there that hadn't gone out, something that had only been waiting.

I don't know who took the first step. I think neither of us did, and both of us did at the same time. We moved closer and started kissing as if we'd never stopped, with an urgency that left me breathless. His tongue slipped into my mouth without asking permission, and I welcomed it, sucking on it like a desperate woman. His hands traveled up my waist and closed over my tits through my dress, squeezing them hard, searching for my nipples beneath the fabric and pinching them until they grew hard as stones. I felt my cunt suddenly grow wet, just like that, in two minutes—something that hadn't happened with my husband in years. I slid my hand down to his crotch without being able to stop myself and squeezed his bulge through his pants: he was hard, thick, throbbing against my palm. A moan escaped into his mouth.

It was brief. Fleeting and completely forbidden, and for that very reason it was one of the most exciting things I'd felt in years. No one saw us. And I didn't stop because I didn't want more; I stopped because suddenly I remembered where we were, whom we were celebrating, and who was waiting inside. I pulled away, breathing hard, my soaked panties stuck to my cunt. I held his gaze for one more second, then went back to the party as if nothing had happened.

***

That night, back home, my body refused to forget the slip. I lay down beside my husband and felt a wetness between my legs that gave away everything I hadn't said. I didn't tell him anything. He probably wouldn't have minded; it might even have turned him on, because throughout our marriage he has shared me with other men more than once, and he likes it.

But this was different. This wasn't a game we'd agreed on together. It was mine. The adrenaline of having done it secretly, of having a secret that belonged to no one else, was a separate pleasure I wanted to preserve untouched. I put it away where I keep the things that truly matter to me.

***

Months passed. Before we said goodbye at the party, we'd exchanged numbers, almost without thinking, like two frightened teenagers. And a few days ago, Tomás called me. He was passing through the city and wanted to see me. I didn't hesitate for an instant: I said yes.

This time I told my husband. I said I was going to meet my ex-boyfriend, that things probably wouldn't stop at coffee, and that he needed to hear it from me. Far from being upset, he loved the idea. That same afternoon he took me shopping for a new dress for the occasion and, while we were at it, lace underwear for whatever came afterward. He helped me choose, smiling and enjoying the anticipation almost as much as I was.

***

I arrived at the bar we'd agreed on and, when we saw each other, we embraced tightly—too tightly for two old friends. We sat down and talked about our lives, about what had become of each of us, and between one sentence and the next, the caresses, the brushes, and the brief kisses at the corners of our mouths returned. We looked like two fifteen-year-old lovers hiding from the whole world.

He took my hands across the table.

—What if we go somewhere quieter? —he suggested, and in his voice there was a question and a promise at the same time.

I looked at him, smiled, and nodded. Nothing else needed to be said.

***

We went straight to the hotel where he was staying. As soon as the bedroom door closed, everything we'd held back for all those years burst loose. He pushed me against the wall and shoved his tongue down my throat while lifting my dress to my waist. His fingers found the lace of my panties and pushed them aside without pulling them down. He drove two fingers into my cunt in a single motion, and I screamed against his mouth.

—You're soaked —he whispered in my ear, his voice hoarse—. You're dripping.

—I've been like this for you for twenty years —I answered, and my own voice surprised me, that whore's voice I hadn't known I'd kept hidden.

I yanked his shirt off, undid his belt, and pulled his pants down along with his boxers. His cock sprang out hard and long, the tip already wet. Without thinking twice, I knelt on the floor and took all of it into my mouth, down to the base, until it struck the back of my throat and brought tears to my eyes. I started sucking him like a desperate woman, moving up and down, twirling my tongue around the tip, licking his balls between strokes. He grabbed the back of my head with both hands and thrust into me himself, fucking my mouth at his own pace while I drooled all over his cock.

—That's it, my love, that's it… You don't know how many times I've jerked off thinking about your mouth —he moaned above me.

When he felt he was about to come, he yanked me away. He lifted me off the floor, finished tearing off my dress and panties, and threw me onto the bed. He spread my legs wide and buried his mouth in my cunt without any preamble. His tongue found my clitoris and began to circle it, suck it, and tug at it with his lips while he pushed two, then three fingers inside me and curled them, searching for just the right spot. I clung to the sheets, convulsing, begging him for more with words I hadn't even known I knew.

—Eat my cunt, Tomás, fuck, don't stop, don't stop…

He made me come like that, with his tongue, and it was a long orgasm that left my legs trembling and my cunt throbbing in his mouth. I soaked his face, and he pulled away smiling, his chin shining, licking his lips without removing his fingers from inside me.

—Now it's your turn to put up with me —he warned.

On my back, I lifted my legs and rested them on his shoulders. He positioned them without taking his eyes off me, and I grabbed his cock myself—hard, like I hadn't felt one in a long time, thick and hot—and rubbed it over the lips of my soaked cunt before guiding it to the entrance. With one thrust, it went all the way in, to the hilt, and we both cried out at once, that cry made of equal parts relief and pleasure at something long awaited. I felt it reach my uterus, so deep that I lost my breath for a second.

—Fuck me —I begged—. Fuck me hard, like when we were twenty.

And he began to fuck me for real. Every thrust was a hard blow that made me bounce on the bed, pulling a new moan from me. He held my legs against my chest and sank all the way in every time, pulling almost completely out before driving back into me. The sound of our skin slapping together filled the room, along with my cries and his heavy breathing. He stared at me while he fucked me, never looking away, as if he wanted to etch into his memory the face I made when he filled me.

—Turn around —he ordered after a while.

He put me on all fours on the bed, my ass raised, and slid back inside me from behind. He gripped my hips with both hands and began thrusting into me at a brutal pace, pulling me toward him with every blow. I felt my cunt spread wide open, invaded and dominated. He slapped one of my buttocks, making me clench his cock inside me, and he let out a groan of pleasure.

—What a beautiful ass you have, it's gotten so much bigger —he murmured, kneading all of it while continuing to pound me hard.

He ran a finger wet with my own juices over my asshole and slowly pushed it inside, without taking his cock out of my cunt. The double sensation made me lose my mind. I began moving my ass against him on my own, pushing backward, seeking him, moaning like a madwoman. He held my hair with one hand and my ass with the other, fucking me as if he wanted to break me.

He made me change positions again. He sat me on top of him, straddling him while he lay on his back, and let me set the pace. I began riding him slowly at first, feeling his cock moving up and down inside me, sliding in and out slick with my juices. I grabbed his chest, arched backward, and started moving faster, driving my hips against him, rubbing my clitoris against his pubic bone every time I came down. He sucked my tits, bit my nipples, and squeezed my ass with both hands, helping me rise and fall.

I lost all sense of time, of place, of everything except the body beneath mine and that cock inside me. Pleasure gathered in my belly like a wave that refused to break, and when it finally exploded, it was an orgasm unlike any I'd ever had with another man, the kind that leaves you trembling and a little frightened by what you felt. I convulsed on top of him, squeezing his cock with my cunt in spasms, screaming his name without caring who might hear me on the other side of the wall.

—Inside, come inside me, I want to feel you —I begged, still trembling.

He grabbed my hips and thrust up into me with all his strength, three, four brutal strokes, and I felt him come. His cock throbbed inside me, jet after jet, a heat that filled me completely and then ran between my thighs when I finally collapsed onto his chest. We stayed like that for a long while, him still inside me, throbbing, both of us soaked in sweat, caressing each other with a tenderness more than twenty years old.

***

I don't know if I'll be able to do it again. I know my husband wouldn't mind, that he'd take it as just another one of those encounters he himself allows me to have, and in part he's right. But there's something he'll never fully understand: this wasn't about the thrill of permission or shared kink. It was about Tomás. About the boy I loved when everything was possible, and the woman I became without ever stopping remembering him. That, I keep for myself. It's the only thing that truly remains mine.