The Stranger’s Coffee Wasn’t Just Coffee

Fifteen days earlier I had slept for the second time with a man who was not my husband, and I still did not know how to carry that. I dragged it around in silence, telling no one, not even myself entirely. When he came back from his trip that weekend, I threw myself at him as if I wanted to cover something up. I sucked his cock before he even took off his shoes, kneeling on the floor of the bedroom, swallowing his whole dick until my eyes filled with tears. After that I rode him on top, taking him all the way in, squeezing him with my cunt until he came inside. I whispered in his ear things that normally would have embarrassed me —that he was my stud, that his cum was mine— and in the end I kept thinking that guilt could disguise itself as passion too.

On Monday I took him to the airport again. Another trip, another week alone at home, another routine of chores, calls, and silence. I told myself nothing was going to happen. That those two detours had been just that, two detours, and that with that the count was closed. That I was cured already.

On Friday I went out to pay the car insurance. The branch was right downtown and, as every Friday, the line reached the door. I took my place at the end with resignation, staring at my cell phone screen so I wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes.

—Excuse me, is this the line for payments? —a voice said behind me.

I turned around without thinking. Behind me was a man in his forties, tall, with close-cropped graying hair and soft lines around his eyes. He was wearing a blue shirt with the collar open and dark dress pants. He smelled good. He smelled clean, freshly showered, without harsh perfume.

—Yes, this is it —I answered.

He smiled as if I had given him good news and got in line behind me. The line moved at its slow pace and he took advantage of every step to make small comments: the heat, how inefficient the system was, how lucky it was that at least there was air conditioning. I answered briefly, cautiously, but something in his tone began to loosen me up. He wasn’t invasive. He was attentive.

—My name’s Adrián —he said when there were only three people left before the cashier—. I run a farm-parts distribution business. I come to the city one Friday a month and I always end up in this line.

—Nice to meet you, Adrián. I’m Mariana.

—Mariana —he repeated, as if tasting it. And then, looking at me with a frankness that made me uncomfortable and flattered me at the same time—: you have a very pretty smile. Forgive me if I’m being out of line.

If you want to be out of line, I thought. And you’re doing a damn good job.

I smiled without answering. I got to the cashier, paid, put away the receipt, and went out into the street with my heart beating a little faster than usual. I crossed to the parking lot, opened my car, sat down, and breathed. I was about to start the engine when someone tapped on the window with their knuckles.

It was him.

I lowered the glass just a few centimeters, pretending to be surprised.

—Forgive my persistence —he said, resting one hand on the roof of the car—. Would you accept a coffee with me? Just that. I promise I don’t bite.

—And what if I do bite? —It slipped out before I could stop it.

He laughed. A genuine laugh, the laugh of a man who doesn’t get offended easily.

—Even better.

I had to say no. I knew perfectly well that I had to say no. But for two weeks I had been carrying a guilt that wasn’t going to be eased by saying no to coffee. And this man was looking at me the way nobody on the street had looked at me in years, much less my husband when he came home exhausted from trips.

—Leave my car here —I said, not looking at him, opening the door—. We’ll go in yours.

***

The pickup was new, one of the tall ones, with the dashboard still smelling of the factory. Adrián drove with one hand and with the other fiddled with the radio, looking for something soft. He chose bossa nova. It made me smile: it seemed like a calculated detail to avoid seeming calculated.

—What do you do? —he asked.

—I handle the administration for a couple of medical offices. Boring.

—Doesn’t sound boring. Sounds organized.

—Are you married?

He let out air through his nose, as if accepting the question was fair.

—Yes. I’m going to be honest with you because you seem like a smart woman and I don’t want to start off by lying. I’m married, I live in another city, and today I came with the intention of inviting the first woman who held my gaze for more than three seconds. It turned out that woman was you.

—You’re very direct.

—If it bothers you, I’ll take you back to your car and nothing happened.

—I’m married too —I told him—. My husband travels for work. He’s away this week.

—Then there’s no need to keep up the coffee story.

He didn’t take the city center route. He got out onto the southern avenue and, ten minutes later, I saw through the window the illuminated sign of a motel on the side of the road. The entrance was half hidden by some bushes. I swallowed.

—You’re bold.

—If you want, I’ll keep going.

—Go straight to the room.

***

He got out first. He walked around the pickup, opened the door, and when I was about to get down, he stopped me with his hand.

—Wait.

He went into the room, turned on a low light, came back, and lifted me in his arms like I was a bride. I wasn’t expecting it and a laugh escaped me, nervous and delighted at the same time. It had been a long time since anyone had carried me anywhere. My husband had picked me up on our honeymoon, almost ten years ago, and not much more than that.

He sat me on the edge of the bed and went to close the door. Then he picked up the intercom and ordered two glasses of red wine and condoms. He spoke with the ease of someone who had done it often. It didn’t offend me. I found it honest.

I took the chance to go into the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror. My cheeks were flushed and my eyes were shining. I fixed my hair, ran my tongue over my teeth, and said in a low voice: this is the last time. I knew I was lying while I said it. I slipped my hand under my thong and checked that I was already soaked, my lips swollen, slippery. I ran a finger over my clit just once and bit my lip so I wouldn’t moan out loud.

When I came out, he had already poured the wine into a low table in front of a loveseat. He beckoned me over. I sat beside him, set my purse on the floor, and accepted the glass he offered me.

—To the Friday we weren’t expecting —he said.

We toasted. We had barely taken two sips before his hand settled, first cautiously, then decisively, on my thigh. He traced the fabric of my dress slowly upward until his fingers were halfway between my knee and my hip. I said nothing. I set my glass on the table and turned toward him.

I kissed him first.

It was a slow kiss, without struggle, the kind you share when you already know you have the whole night. His hands moved up my back and found the zipper of my dress. He pulled it down in one sweep. I unbuttoned his shirt one button at a time, looking him in the eyes, enjoying that feeling of being in control, something I had lost at home a long time ago. When I got to the last button, I slid my hand over his pants and squeezed the bulge. He was rock-hard, outlined against the fabric. He looked at me and smiled crookedly.

—Look what you did to me —he murmured.

—Look what you’re going to do to me —I answered.

We stood up. The dress fell to the floor. I left the thong and bra on the couch. He took off his pants, shoes, and underwear with the elegant hurry of someone who already knows the choreography. His body wasn’t a boy’s body: it was a man’s body, with a bit of belly, firm arms, broad shoulders. His cock wasn’t long, but it was thick, wide at the base, the swollen purple head pointing at his navel. A thread of clear fluid glistened on the tip.

—You’re beautiful —he said, without theatrics.

Before he could take me to the bed, I knelt first. I didn’t think about it. I grabbed his cock with one hand, squeezed it from the base, and ran my tongue from his balls to the tip, slowly, then sucked the head with my lips closed. Adrián let out a growl and put his hand on the back of my neck, not pushing, just leaving it there. I took him all the way into my mouth, as much as I could, until he hit the back of my throat. I pulled him out, spit on the glans, and took him again, this time with my hand accompanying the motion. I sucked his balls one by one, licked them, sucked them like they were fruit, and when I went back up to the tip he was already trembling.

—Enough or I’m going to cum in your mouth —he said, his voice rough.

—Not yet —I answered, looking up at him with my mouth full of saliva.

He lifted me in his arms, carried me to the bed, laid me down carefully, and settled beside me. He kissed my neck, went down over my collarbone, licked my left nipple while with the other hand he pinched the right one. He sucked my tits until they were hard and red, barely biting my nipples, pulling with his teeth until a little moan escaped me. Then he went down my belly, kissed my navel, kissed my groin, and without warning opened my legs and buried his face between my thighs.

The first lick arched me all over. He ran his tongue flat from the entrance of my cunt to my clit, long, soaked, and stayed there at the top, circling, sucking, tugging with his lips. He pushed two thick fingers inside me and started moving them, looking for the spot he knew how to find. I grabbed his head and pressed his face against me. I wasn’t embarrassed. I begged him out loud not to stop, to suck me harder, to lick everything. Adrián’s tongue moved as if he had known the map of my pussy forever. When I felt myself about to come, I clamped his head between my thighs, a muffled cry slipped out of me, and I came in his mouth with a shudder that shook my legs. He kept sucking until the last contraction, swallowing everything, and only then did he lift his face, shining with my wetness, and smile at me.

—Delicious —he said, licking his lips.

When he climbed on top of me, I put a hand on his chest.

—Put on the condom. And fuck me hard.

He did it without protesting. He rolled it on in one pull. He settled back over me, opened my legs with his knees, and slid in slowly, looking at my face to read my reaction. His thickness widened me little by little, pushing, forcing me open, until I felt him pressed against the back of me. A long moan escaped me. He didn’t move right away. He stayed like that, buried to the base, while he kissed my mouth and ears and murmured filthy things under his breath.

—You’re so tight, Mariana. What a hot pussy you have.

—Fuck me —I told him in his ear—. Fuck me like I’m yours.

He started moving. Slowly at first, pulling almost all the way out and then driving back into me to the hilt, then with a firmer, drier rhythm, until the bed started hitting the wall. I wrapped my legs around his waist and held onto his arms. I felt every centimeter of him dragging along the walls of my cunt, pushing deep. The orgasm came sooner than I expected. I clenched as hard as I could around his dick, muffled a cry against his shoulder, and felt a long, thick wave go through me that left me dazed for a few seconds. He didn’t let up. He kept thrusting while I came, stretching my climax out, until tears of pleasure slipped from my eyes.

He didn’t come. He used the moment to change positions.

—Climb on —he asked, lying back on the bed, his cock erect and pointing at the ceiling, shiny from the mix of latex and my juices.

I got on top. I grabbed his cock with my hand, positioned it under me, and lowered myself slowly, feeling it open me up again from above. I rested my hands on his chest and told him in his ear not to move, to let me do it. I started slowly, going up and down, my tits hanging close to his face, then in circles, moving my hips like I was dancing on top of him, then squeezing him from the inside every time I reached the bottom. He grabbed my hips, sucked my nipples with his mouth open, and murmured things while he let himself be ridden. That I was his queen, that I shouldn’t stop, that it was perfect like this, that I should squeeze his cock with that cunt of mine, which was a glory.

I leaned back, resting my hands on his thighs, and started bouncing on him with my head thrown back. From that angle his cock reached me differently, deeper, brushing a spot that made me moan every time I came down. I ran my fingers over my clit while I kept riding him. Adrián watched me masturbate on top of him with his mouth open.

—That’s it, dirty girl —he said—. Touch yourself for me.

When I felt him harden even more and knew he was about to finish, I jumped off him. I didn’t want him to come yet. I knelt on the bed, on all fours, ass aimed at his face, and looked back over my shoulder. I didn’t need to say anything. He settled in behind me, ran the head of his cock along my cunt lips, teasing, smearing himself on me, and then slammed it in, all the way. That first thrust made me bite the pillow and scream into the fabric.

He grabbed my ass cheeks with both hands, squeezed them, parted them so he could watch himself go in and out, and pushed his saliva-wet thumb into my asshole. Only up to the knuckle. That little extra shook me to the core. Then he grabbed my waist, then my hair, not yanking, just holding it like a rein to drive into me harder. Each thrust went deeper. I felt his balls slap against my thighs and against my clit, thumping me, getting soaked. The bed creaked. I moaned without holding back, saying filthy things I didn’t even know I had saved up inside me.

—Break me, Adrián. Fuck me harder. Come inside me, give me all your cum.

—I’m coming —he warned, in a low voice, no theatrics, his voice broken by the thrusts.

I clenched my cunt around his cock again, as hard as I could, and almost at the same time I felt him finish inside the condom with a shudder that ran through his whole body. He drove in to the hilt, stayed there, and I felt his cock pulsing out the load inside me, one after another, long spurts. I came again, shorter, more jittery, but just as good, squeezing him with spasms I couldn’t control. I let myself fall forward, face against the sheets and ass still raised, with him on top of me, breathing as if he had been running. When he pulled out, I felt the emptiness and a thread of my own juices running down my thigh.

***

We stayed embraced for a while. He was silent, and so was I. The low bedside lamp and the distant hum of the avenue made everything seem less real than it was. When I turned my head to look at the wall clock, I jolted.

—I have to go. I told my mother-in-law I’d stop by this afternoon.

—Stay a little longer —he asked, without much hope.

—I can’t.

We showered quickly, him first, me after. We left the motel when the sun was already starting to go down. Adrián drove me to the parking lot where I had left my car. Before getting out, we exchanged numbers. We both knew we’d probably use them. We both pretended not to know it.

—Take care, Mariana.

—You too.

I drove to my in-laws’ house with my hair still damp, his smell clinging to my skin under the perfume and my cunt still throbbing. When my mother-in-law opened the door, I felt —or thought I felt— her eyes linger a second too long on mine. That my sister-in-law looked at me with a strange smile from the couch. That my father-in-law, when he kissed me, lingered a little.

They said nothing to me. Nobody could have known.

And yet, that afternoon was one of the longest of my life.