The Getaways My Husband Never Suspected
At this point in my life, there’s no point pretending. I’ve never been a saint, nor have I ever tried to be. I collect secret getaways, as that old song I like to hum says. After fifty, with nearly thirty years of marriage behind me, you start to notice that life moves with a kind of reckless speed. Before you know it, everything has already slipped through your fingers.
Faithfulness and I have never gotten along. That doesn’t mean I haven’t loved my husband. I have loved him, in my own way. But living together wears down what once seemed unbreakable. There are no fairy tales and no princes on white horses. Nor are there princesses capable of enchanting a man for a lifetime.
A marriage has its curves. Some so sharp they could make even the strongest relationship skid. That’s why, every so often, some opportunity has come along to brighten my life and let me sink back into my usual life wearing a different face.
I’m not talking about what they now call open relationships, where both people agree to sleep with whoever they feel like and then, in bed, tell each other the details or keep them to themselves. I’m talking about little secret, furtive affairs, one-offs or a few-month flings, in which the other person never finds out and goes on happily. What my friend Charo calls “oxygen cylinders.” That necessary breathing space to let a marriage last three decades.
I could make a list of my slipups, but that would be unfair to the ones I’ve forgotten. I’ll mention only a few. The first was with Esteban, a boss my husband had when he was sent to a factory in Valencia. A genuinely attractive man, older than us, in his late forties, elegant and filthy in the sexiest way. I was always eye-catching: tall, big breasts, a good ass, and an easy laugh that disarmed men.
At the company’s first Christmas dinner, employees and their partners were invited. After a few drinks, Esteban asked me to dance, and something strange sparked between us. Rodrigo, my husband, has never doubted me; seeing me dance and laugh with another man has never worried him. But that dance had consequences.
Rodrigo’s boss was a true snake charmer. The moment he saw me, he knew he could do whatever he wanted with me. And that’s exactly how it went. For six months we met in a hotel on the outskirts of the city. It was my first affair, and the forbidden nature of it, combined with the natural erotic charge that man gave off, turned it into one of the most exciting experiences of my life.
Months before Rodrigo got an opportunity in our hometown of Málaga, Esteban and I had already stopped seeing each other. I still remember him fondly. By now he must be around seventy.
Back in our city, the marriage sailed smoothly along. Children never came, and that was our decision. Neither he nor I fancied the idea. We preferred to devote all our free time to each other, with no ties of any kind.
We’d been settled there for several years when Iker crossed my path, a colleague at the firm where I had started working. He was the nephew of one of the partners. A guy from Bilbao, ten years younger than me, who could have passed for a model. Very tall, charismatic, with a wild beauty and angular features: strong chin, deep gaze, and huge hands.
He had just finished a master’s degree in the United States, and his uncle had suggested he join the firm. I was chosen as his guide in the local legal world. Iker was arrogant, always acted as if he had everything under control professionally, and that gave me a special kind of turn-on. That teacher-student relationship became charged with sexual tension until it exploded one Friday after a trial.
At the hearing, we both showed up as if we were actors in a film. He was packed into an Italian suit that fit him like a glove. I wore a pencil skirt and a low-cut blouse. As we walked into the courthouse, everyone turned their heads to watch us pass, and we strode along proudly, paying no attention to the commotion we were causing. We won, of course. And we went out to celebrate.
We had lunch at one of the best restaurants in the city, washed it down with gin and tonics at a trendy spot, and ended up back at the office. I’ll never forget that scene. Me seated at my desk with my legs open and my underwear on the floor. Iker, in my office chair, his head buried between my thighs, giving me the best oral sex of my life.
Clutching his hair, I ordered him not to stop while he moved his tongue over my clit and pushed a finger inside me. Then I sucked him off and he fucked me hard against the desk. He did it without a condom. He has been the only man, besides my husband, who has come inside me.
Rodrigo never knew about any of that. He has never even suspected. I don’t know whether it’s because he doesn’t think I’m capable of it or because he simply wouldn’t want to accept it. Out of sight, out of mind.
There were other men. Good fucks, bad ones, and mediocre ones. A few passing regrets and countless secrets kept over these thirty years. It had been a long time since I’d allowed myself any sort of adventure. I already said I passed fifty ages ago. Today my husband and I work together in his own law firm. And just when I thought I’d put my taste for the forbidden aside, Marco, our employee, showed up.
***
He’s five years younger than me. He’s been working with us for two years. A discreet, loyal, competent man. And he gives off a strange kind of allure that, over time, has become irresistible to me. He’s noticed, of course, and for months now we’ve been tossing jokes back and forth with an increasingly filthy double meaning.
That morning, Rodrigo had one of his endless meetings with an English client. When Mr. Collins shows up, things can drag on forever. He arrived at ten, just as we were finishing the working breakfast where we’d reviewed the day’s agenda. I had put on a shirt with a wide neckline, my breasts outlined in a provocative way. My nipples show too clearly the moment I think about something naughty. The Englishman made a comment that my husband found hilarious and that, frankly, I didn’t understand.
Marco’s glances didn’t escape me, no matter how much he tried to hide them and I pretended not to notice. At half past eleven, my colleague got up to use the restroom, which is down a separate corridor away from the offices. I waited about thirty seconds before standing and heading there too.
Knowing Rodrigo was still absorbed in the meeting with the Englishman, I opened the bathroom door and went in. Marco had his back to me, pissing. I could hear the stream hitting the porcelain. He looked over his shoulder, thinking it must be one of the men from the meeting, and was startled to see me.
—Nervous? —I whispered.
I pressed my body against his and slid my hand down his hip until I reached his cock. He shook his head, let go of what he had in his hands, and let me do it. I started stroking that hot piece of flesh as it hardened by the second. I massaged it slowly, feeling it grow little by little between my fingers. I pulled the skin back and exposed a thick, purplish head. In a few seconds, Marco had a full erection. It was a good-sized one, bigger than my husband’s.
—Don’t make a sound —I told him in his ear—. Keep going like nothing’s happening.
I moved my hand down to grab his balls and squeezed them until he groaned. Then I wrapped my fingers around his whole shaft again and dug my nails in a little. He let out another muffled groan. I started working him from top to bottom, from the tip to the base, while I heard Rodrigo laughing at some joke from the English client.
Marco was sighing and asking me in a very low voice not to stop. I whispered in his ear to come. I wanted to watch him cum in front of my eyes, from the handjob I was giving him. Come on, let go, I thought, never stopping the motion of my wrist. He choked back a cry when the head started spitting out a couple of jets that splattered against the wall.
The rest slid between my fingers while he shuddered in spasms. My husband’s laughter reached us again, distant, just as I brought my fingers to my mouth, coated with the warm fluid Marco had just spilled.
The first one out of the bathroom and back to his desk was him. I stayed inside, washing my hands calmly. Then, in front of the mirror, I unbuttoned my trousers and pulled them down just enough to see my belly crowned by the narrow strip of hair I usually wear. Standing there, I brought my fingers to my sex and began stroking myself slowly, my heart still racing.
It was at that moment, looking myself in the eyes in the reflection, that I decided. This couldn’t stay just a handjob in a bathroom. I had to fuck Marco properly, without rushing, in some hotel on the outskirts where no one knew us. And I knew, as I bit my lip in front of the mirror, that he wasn’t going to say no.
