I Confessed My Secret Date with a Mature Woman

I’m going to tell this exactly as it happened, without dressing it up, because there are things you need to confess even if it’s to strangers. For months she and I wrote to each other without ever seeing each other’s faces. I never heard her voice, never really saw her eyes, only words on a screen that grew hotter with every message. And as time went by, instead of getting tired of it, I wanted her more.

We both had partners. We both knew this should not be happening. Maybe that’s why, when she finally suggested we meet, I didn’t hesitate for a second.

***

The day of the date I hadn’t slept a wink. I drove for several hours to her city with my head spinning, asking myself questions that had no answers. What if she didn’t like me in person? What if I regretted it? Despite the nerves, the trip felt short.

I parked at the address she’d given me, a street away from the center, rarely used, one of those streets that look like they came out of a movie about lovers hiding from prying eyes. I got out of the car and waited on the sidewalk. I looked at my phone: it was exactly time.

In the distance, a woman’s silhouette appeared. I didn’t know it was her until she got close: short dark brown hair, enormous sunglasses, a shoulder bag, and a long light gray spaghetti-strap dress. My heart was pounding out of my chest.

She stopped in front of me, took off her glasses, and smiled.

“Hi, handsome,” she said.

We exchanged two kisses on the cheek. She smelled good, warm somehow, and all at once my nerves disappeared.

“Let’s go to your car,” she asked. “Half the neighborhood knows me around here and I don’t want to give them something to talk about.”

We settled into our seats. I started the car and began following her directions.

“When you described yourself, you didn’t do yourself justice,” I admitted. “In person you’re much more attractive than I imagined.”

“Are you always this flattering?”

“Always. Don’t you like it? You’d be the first woman I know who gets bothered by a compliment.”

She laughed. While she guided me to her house, she told me how hard it had been to decide to see me in secret. We reached her street and she pointed out her building, but she wouldn’t let me stop there.

“Keep going, go around the block. We’ll park in the back street.”

The plan was simple and discreet: she would go up first and leave the door ajar; I would go up afterward, a couple of minutes later.

***

I entered her apartment and she was already waiting behind the door. She shut it quickly. We stood looking at each other in silence, not quite knowing how to begin what we had both spent months imagining.

I took a step, put my hands on her waist, and brought my mouth to hers. Our lips brushed, teased, and when she parted them my tongue went searching for the wetness of her mouth. We kissed like two kids in a corner of the schoolyard, with a hunger that had nothing to do with our age. Because that was what we were: two people pushing sixty, kissing with the urgency of people who had just discovered desire.

She pulled away and took my hand.

“Come on, let’s go to my bedroom.”

She led me down the hall to the bedroom. It was a large room, almost entirely white: the walls, the bedding, the cushions, the curtains covering a balcony. The bed had an old black iron headboard, and I couldn’t help picturing her tied to it. On a side table there was a bottle of rum, two glasses, a metal box, a lighter, and an ashtray. She had everything ready.

She turned to me and pinned me with a suddenly serious stare.

“Listen carefully. It took me a lot to decide to be with you today. My partner knows nothing about this and I want it to stay that way. In your emails you told me you were discreet and responsible. I hope those weren’t empty words. Don’t hurt me, and I’m not talking about physically.”

“I’m not that kind of man,” I said, smiling. “I prefer making love, not war.”

She turned off the overhead light and switched on the bedside lamp. That warm light changed everything. She opened the metal box, took out one of our cigarettes, the kind we liked, put it between my lips, and brought the flame close.

“Let’s not rush,” she murmured. “We have all night. Let’s make this unforgettable.”

***

I took a couple of drags while I watched her hitch up the skirt of her dress. I passed her the cigarette and she inhaled deeply. With a quick motion she pulled the dress over her head and stood before me in her mature woman’s body, generous and full-bodied. A black semi-transparent bra and a tiny thong of the same color. She was the living image of temptation.

She took the cigarette from my mouth, dragged again, and with an authoritative voice gave me an order.

“Take your clothes off. I want to see what you’re offering.”

I liked her game. I’m not used to being ordered around and, precisely because of that, it turned me on. I played along: I took off my T-shirt slowly. She came closer, stroked my chest, and offered me what was left of the cigarette.

“Keep going,” she said. “So far I like it, but I want to see your weapons.”

I took off my shoes without bending down and started unfastening my belt with calculated slowness. Her eyes never left my hands.

“Faster, you’re driving me crazy.”

“Not so fast. The big prize is for the end.”

I slid my pants down to mid-thigh, just enough for her to see my underwear. She came closer and boldly put her hand on me. I wasn’t fully hard yet; she tried to sneak her fingers inside and I stopped her dead.

“Stay still. The show isn’t over yet.”

She looked at me sourly and stepped back. She hadn’t liked me taking the wheel, not even for a second.

I finished taking off my pants, stroked myself over the fabric with both hands, unhurried, enjoying how desperate she was getting. And when I couldn’t hold out any longer, I pulled the waistband down and showed her what she wanted so badly.

I moved closer, took her hand, and led it to my sex. I felt her resistance: she didn’t want me to dominate her, but she also couldn’t resist touching me. I held her face, pushed my tongue into her mouth, and let her caress me while the cigarette was taking hold of both of us.

Then, without warning, she squeezed hard enough to make me wince in pain. She looked at me with a wicked smile.

“Don’t you ever contradict me again,” she whispered, “or you’re going to have a bad time.”

***

She took back control in an instant. She moved to the bed, shoved the cushions aside with one hand, unclasped her bra, and sat on the edge.

“Come here. And kneel.”

I put a cushion on the floor and knelt in front of her. She took my chin and brought her face close to mine.

“Don’t forget this: if you’re here, it’s because I decided so. I’m in charge here. You’re my toy.”

She opened her legs. My eyes locked on that tiny scrap of fabric that barely covered her. She guided my head with both hands.

“Now show me what you can do with your tongue.”

I pleased her slowly, licking over the fabric, tracing her groin until I felt her shudder. I let her believe she was in charge, that she had the control, that I wouldn’t do anything without her permission. Her moans grew louder, her body gave in.

And when she finally moved the thong aside and offered me her sex with no barrier, I grabbed her wrists with one hand and caught her by surprise. Her disbelief left her unable to react. I took the opportunity to take my time, to make her understand that control had changed hands. Her legs trembled, she tried to free herself, but pleasure had left her weak. I don’t know whether she had one orgasm or several in a row.

When she began to shift uncomfortably, I pulled away.

“Now it’s time to show you who’s in charge.”

I got to my feet, drew her toward me, and pushed into her all at once, all the way in. Her cry was a mix of surprise, pleasure, and a bit of pain that probably echoed through the whole building. Her role had just changed: she was no longer the mistress of the scene, but the woman letting herself be carried away. She looked at me unable to form a word. Maybe she hadn’t expected that, but she was enjoying it.

I fucked her hard, relentlessly. Little by little the pain turned entirely into pleasure: her hands clutched my arms, her legs opened for me. When I could take no more, I pressed my chest against hers, she asked me to empty myself inside her, and I did, holding her tightly while she exploded in another orgasm.

We stayed like that for a long while, catching our breath, our bodies covered in a fine layer of sweat.

***

Afterward we showered in turns and went back to the bedroom. She had left a bucket with ice and some soft drinks on the nightstand. I poured myself a plain rum and, a little later, she appeared in another thong, this time red, and mid-heeled sandals. She did a full turn so I could look at her and came over asking me to pour her a rum with lime.

“Do you like it? I hadn’t worn it in a long time.”

Without getting up, I pulled her toward me, placed my hands on her hips, and buried my face in her belly. Feeling her soft skin and her fingers tangling in my hair was a different kind of pleasure, calmer.

She sat on my lap with the glass in her hand, wrapped her arms around my neck, gave me a small kiss, and asked for another cigarette. While she smoked, I stroked her breasts. Then she stood up and left for a moment.

“I have a surprise for you,” she said from the hallway. “Well, for both of us. You’ll see.”

***

She came back with the laptop, put on some music, and got me out of bed.

“Music makes everything more intimate. Come on, I feel like dancing.”

We danced pressed together, in silence, her arms around my neck, her face resting on my shoulder. I bit her neck like a vampire and she shivered. Our bodies were talking, not words.

“Does your wife know you’re with me?” she asked in my ear.

“No. For now I prefer it that way. One day I’ll tell her, but right now I want to enjoy that extra thrill infidelity gives us.”

She led me to the edge of the bed, sat down, and started playing with my erection unhurriedly, just for the pleasure of touching. Nothing was left of the dominant woman from a little while ago. I stroked her cheeks, made a slight gesture with my head, and she, understanding me perfectly, gave me a conspiratorial smile before taking me into her mouth.

Time stopped. The skill of her tongue, the softness of her lips, her sly side-glances... I resisted coming for as long as I could, but the idea of finishing in her mouth finally won. I gave a growl, my legs shook, and I let go. When I opened my eyes, she was looking at me and smiling, and without taking her eyes off me, she swallowed.

“Baby, lie down and rest.”

I lay down. She stroked my face, my neck, my chest, and between the exhaustion and the warmth I almost fell asleep.

***

Later we sat down and really talked. There’s nothing like the intimacy of an affair to loosen the tongue and make you open up.

“And you?” I asked her. “Will you tell your partner you cheated on them?”

“Why would I tell them something that would only hurt them? I don’t even know how long this is going to last. Besides, like you, I get turned on by the forbidden. How boring life would be without crossing the odd boundary.”

She poured herself another rum and lit another cigarette. She passed it to me and, with curiosity, asked a question I wasn’t expecting.

“Have you ever had anything with another man?”

“No. A guy doesn’t attract me, doesn’t turn me on.”

“And if it were someone who looked completely like a woman? Would you do it?”

I took my time answering.

“Depends. If they looked and acted like a real woman, what does the rest matter? On all fours, what difference does it make?”

I saw her take the last two drags with a certain anxiety. She passed me the cigarette and stood up.

“I’m going for a minute.”

She took quite a while. When she came back, she entered completely naked and sat beside me.

“Do you want to take me from behind? Imagine what we were talking about.”

She put her hand on me. At my age things take time; the vitality of before is gone, but what her hand couldn’t do, her mouth could. She took a tube of cream from the nightstand drawer and handed it to me.

“Are you sure?” I asked her.

“With this it’ll be easy. Put some on yourself and some on me. It’s a little difficult at first, but you’ll see. And relax, you’re not the first.”

She got onto all fours at the edge of the bed and looked back over her shoulder, waiting. The sight of her generous hips and that surrender excited me at once. I spread the cream well and worked her open with one finger, slowly, listening as she guided me.

“Like that, yes, that’s good. Little by little.”

She hugged a cushion and buried her face in it. Seeing her like that, a woman pushing seventy, a grandmother and Sunday-mass churchgoer, giving herself over like that, made me wonder where her limit was. I suspected that for a woman as free as her, there wasn’t one.

With the help of the lubricant, I entered slowly to cause her as little pain as possible. Even so I heard her muffled complaints against the cushion. When I was all the way inside, pleasure completely clouded me, and seeing her submissive, given over, awakened something darker in me.

She, who had wanted to be the dominant one, had ended up being the one dominated. My thrusts became harder. At first her sounds were ones of satisfaction, but as I let myself go, her complaints grew. She lifted her head, babbled incoherent phrases, and tossed me a few insults I took, more or less, as part of the game.

For a man my age to keep a third erection that night was almost a miracle. The miracle was her, insatiable. Unable to hold out any longer, I finished with a groan and collapsed.

***

We stayed motionless, our breathing ragged, a huge silence between us. The room smelled of sweat, alcohol, and tobacco; between the two of us we had turned it into something else. I sat on the edge of the bed and stroked her back slowly, from her shoulders down to her legs. She didn’t move. Her breathing was calm again.

She turned her head toward me and looked at me coldly.

“You went too far. You treated me in a way I didn’t expect, you hurt me.”

“Don’t complain so much,” I snapped, cocky. “You asked me to do it.”

“What you did has nothing to do with what I asked you.”

I tried to pull her toward me with a cocky smile.

“Come on, don’t complain, I know you liked it.”

She didn’t let me finish. She slapped me before I saw it coming, followed by an awkward silence.

“And you? Did you like it?” she asked.

I stood there looking stupid. She got up and left the room. The blow hadn’t hurt; what hurt was the way she’d given it to me. I had wanted to act like a big shot and she knocked my ego down in a second.

When she came back, she approached more calmly.

“It’s late. What if we go to sleep?”

“Okay. I want to leave early tomorrow, I’ll try not to wake you.”

We got into bed, kissed each other goodnight, and each of us settled in his own way.

***

That’s all. I’m telling it because, months later, I still think about that night more than I should. If she ever reads this, she’ll know perfectly well I’m talking about us. And she’ll also know where to find me.