The Stranger at the Restaurant and My First Infidelity

I always believed I was the one who did the flirting. That I held the game in my hands from start to finish, that a man only came near when I allowed it. That idea fell to pieces one January noon, in a restaurant three blocks from the notary office where I work as a secretary.

I went almost every day at the same time. That day I went in without my uniform jacket, with two buttons of my blouse undone because of the heat. My breasts aren’t huge, but they’re generous for my body, and with the neckline open they showed more than they should have. They seated me at a table for four and I sank into the chair to wait for the waiter.

Almost opposite me, in the row of tables parallel to mine, there was a mature man. I guessed him at just under fifty. Blue suit, tie, a white shirt stretched tight over his chest. I looked at him perhaps a second too long, because he was genuinely attractive, and he held my gaze with a smile, lifted his glass, and silently toasted me.

Don’t imagine things, I told myself. And I kept enjoying the gallantry from my seat, like someone receiving a gift they hadn’t asked for.

He was tall, over six feet. I, who barely reach five foot six and have a light frame, found his size enormous. They brought us our drinks at the same time, because the same waiter was serving him. Then he stood up, crossed over to my table, and spoke with a calm that admitted no nerves.

—Hi. My name is Damián. Would you mind if I shared the table with you? I mean, if you’re not waiting for anyone.

—No… sit down. I’m Mariela. Nice to meet you.

—The truth is, I saw you come in and thought a woman as pretty as you had to be interesting.

—Thanks for the pretty. I was thinking something else: what is such a flirtatious gentleman doing eating alone?

—And what do you do? Are you married?

—Yes. I have two children and I work in a notary office nearby. And you?

—Married too. But I’m quite naughty, I’ll confess that right away.

—Naughty. Interesting.

Damián took the wheel of the conversation and I barely answered, tossing him the same question back. He was an architect, I found out later, and he had the confidence of a man used to hearing yes. At one point he unbuttoned a shirt button, as if by accident, and the hair on his chest showed through. I felt a strange freedom in keeping up the conversation with him. He wasn’t the first man to approach me like that, but he was the oldest. He was forty-six.

—I’m craving a piña colada —he said as he finished his first drink.

—Virgin? —I asked.

—No, I gave that up a long time ago. But I assure you that in bed I work miracles.

—I meant the drink.

—I know. I told you I was naughty.

That shameless he was, even though at first glance he seemed like a serious man, hard-faced, one of those who don’t tolerate jokes. Brown skin, beautiful lips, everything in the right place. He wore a watch on his left wrist, a chain with a small cross, and on his finger what seemed to be a wedding band. He picked the conversation back up without dropping the smile.

—What do you do after lunch?

—I go back to the office.

—And if one day someone told you, bluntly: Mariela, I want to be with you all afternoon? Would you go back to the office?

—Nothing like that has ever happened to me. I’m faithful to my husband.

—Your husband is lucky. I’d leave the office without thinking twice for an afternoon with a woman like you.

—Then keep waiting, sweetheart.

By then even my appetite was gone. I didn’t want to eat much, because I suspected that if I kept listening to his talk I might end up saying yes. When the bill came, he stepped in and paid for my lunch. Before I left, he gave me a card with his number.

—Call me whenever you want, Mariela.

I went back to the office and spent the afternoon somewhere else. My coworkers asked me what was wrong and I didn’t know how to answer. At home, my family also noticed I was far away. It was true: no one had ever spoken to me like that, with that shamelessness of a man who says what he wants without dressing it up. That night I wanted to erase the stranger by making love with my husband, but Damián’s image kept coming back anyway.

***

I hid the card. A few days went by and I didn’t see him again at the restaurant. I started to believe it had been a momentary adventure, a conversation with no consequences. Until one morning, at the notary office, I found him there, in the waiting room, accompanying some clients who were collecting some papers. He looked straight at me, smiled, and with his hand made the “call me” gesture.

That same afternoon, when I left, I dialed his number. He answered immediately and asked me what I had decided. I suggested meeting for a while. He said no, not for a while, that he wanted me for the whole afternoon, that I should ask for permission, that he knew I could. His words were slowly undoing me; my body was starting to betray me before my head did. I told him I’d visit him after lunch the next day. “Perfect,” he answered, “I’ll be waiting.”

The next day I went out to lunch as always. Damián was waiting for me in his car, in front of the restaurant; he honked and I got in beside him. He drove a few blocks to a building, we went up to a third floor, and as soon as I got in the first thing I did was ask for the bathroom so I could take a quick shower. I came out wrapped in a towel and found him half-naked, showing me once again that worked, hairy chest, and the tattooed arms I hadn’t seen under the suit.

He took my hand and sat me on his lap. We embraced and began to kiss, first slowly, then with our tongues searching each other shamelessly. He pulled the towel down a little, looked at my nipples already hard, licked my breasts and then bit me just enough to tear a moan from me between pain and pleasure.

—How old are you, Mariela? —he asked.

—Thirty-seven —I answered.

He stood me up and yanked the towel off in one pull. I stood naked in front of him, and while he ran his eyes over me he kneaded my ass and waist. He said he liked my body, my smell. He went down with his mouth over my belly to my navel, sat me back on top of him, and I stroked with my hand a bulge that was already clearly big.

—Come —he said—. Let’s go to the bedroom.

Once inside, he asked me to undress him. All you had to do was pull down his boxer briefs, and when I did, a thick cock was freed, much more than I had expected. I’m going to have trouble with this, I thought, and smiled to myself.

I knelt and started sucking it without hesitation. First the tip with my tongue, then little by little I took it in whole. Damián leaned back, rested his hand on the back of my neck, and wanted me to take it all down. I would spit it out, lick it, put it back in my mouth, and he asked for more in a strained voice.

After several minutes he changed positions. He put me on all fours at the edge of the bed.

—Now it’s my turn —he said—. I’m going to eat you all.

He spread my ass cheeks and started licking me with a delicacy I hadn’t expected from such a big man. He went from my cheeks to my asshole and back again, sucking, and I felt everything contracting inside me.

—Do you like being eaten like this? —he asked.

I could only answer with moans. The words wouldn’t come. No one had ever eaten my ass like that, and I was starting to feel like the worst and the best of women in front of a stranger.

—You’re going to make me come twice —I finally told him—. Put your cock in there, Damián.

I was so wet, from saliva and from myself, that the sheet had been stained beneath my knees. He straightened up, pressed the tip against my asshole while I spread my cheeks with my hands. I asked him to be careful. On the second try he went in and the sensation left me breathless. I was clenching the sphincter involuntarily and he stayed still.

—Don’t move —he ordered.

—Take it out and put it in slowly —I asked a minute later.

We repeated that for a while: out and in, each time a little more. I liked feeling how he opened me up, how I squeezed him from inside while everything else kept throbbing. When he finally went all the way in, he stayed buried there, barely moving, and I squeezed him from the inside until he gave my ass cheek a slap.

—Don’t squeeze me so hard —he said, his voice breaking.

More than a back-and-forth, it was me grinding against his pelvis, wanting to swallow him whole. He held me by the hips and pushed. We stayed like that for a good while, until he exploded with a rough groan and only then did the real motion begin, until he emptied himself inside me with a long shudder.

He didn’t pull out until he felt the last spasm, when he was already starting to soften. After that we went to the bathroom together, showered, and he kept talking to me.

—You’ve got stamina. Nobody ever squeezed me like that.

—Looks like you loved it. And I thought it was going to hurt you.

—I like doing it from behind, but no one had ever made me finish like that.

—Maybe because I sucked you off for so long.

***

We didn’t waste the time. As soon as we dried off we went back to bed and I gave him another blowjob. This time he recovered quickly, but after a few minutes he asked me to stop, that the tip was very sensitive. He put me on my back, spread my legs, and started eating me with the same calm he had used for everything else. I didn’t last long and came on his face. Meanwhile, with one finger he brushed the ass he had just had inside him; he didn’t put it in, he barely tapped it, like when you play with the clitoris. He filled it with saliva and went in again, this time into my cunt.

—You really know what you’re doing —I managed to say—. You’re going to make me touch heaven again.

He pushed it all the way in, now well lubricated. I felt it going in and out, felt everything beginning to vibrate inside, and suddenly I shouted that I was coming, that he mustn’t stop, that he should keep going. He kept at it until, exhausted, I asked him to stop. My back was covered in sweat and he looked at me, surprised to still be hard inside me.

He thrust faster, but he wasn’t getting there. Another fifteen minutes passed until, with the growl of a tired animal, he warned that he was about to finish. He pulled out his cock and brought it toward my face. I let him come in my mouth and felt a warm, thick stream fall. It had always seemed disgusting to me; that afternoon I changed my mind. I liked tasting him, feeling those dense drops, loaded with everything we had done.

And it still wasn’t over. Before I could swallow, he took my face in his hands and kissed me; we shared what was left and collapsed embracing on the bed, stained with saliva and with both of us. I was exhausted. I knew right then that if my husband wanted anything that night, I would have to refuse him by pretending I had a headache.

We agreed not to do it again, so as not to get into trouble. I showered, put on makeup, and perfumed myself with the things I had brought secretly in a bag. When we said goodbye, while he ran both hands one last time over my ass, he told me:

—You’re not wearing underwear.

—How do you know? Does it show on my face?

—Nothing shows under the dress. Can I ask you for something?

—You turn me on when you talk like that. Tell me, I’m running late.

—Leave me your panties as a keepsake.

—You like risk. What if your wife finds them?

—I’ll take the risk. Leave them for me.

I gave them to him. I went out that door, called a car, and from his window Damián waved goodbye to me. I never saw him again. I kept thinking about that afternoon like a dream I didn’t want to wake from. No one had ever made me come so many times, or in that way. On the ride back, unable to help myself, I brought a finger to my mouth to see if there was any trace left of the man who, from that day on, was my lover for a single afternoon.