I Let the Shop Boy Take Me Home

Women who are over forty carry around one or another unfulfilled desire, not because we haven’t lived, but precisely because we’ve lived too much. Years of spreading our legs, of putting up with mistreatment, of swallowing infidelities that ended up blowing the marriage apart. And even so, or maybe because of that very thing, you still want to experience, to feel that you’re still desirable, that the flame hasn’t gone out completely.

When I get together with my friends I hear the same stories as always: the lover with money, the manager at the multinational, the muscular, elegant guy who treats them like princesses for a weekend. Those adventures bore me. I’ve already had those men between my legs and none of them left me anything worth remembering. What I was looking for was something else. Something different, something that would make me feel that ember inside me that had gone too long without being fanned.

The last few years had been hard: the separation, a spell of depression I wouldn’t wish on anyone, episodes I’d rather not name. But there was also something that brought my body back to life, and it was younger men. Not just one: I even lived with one who was more than fifteen years younger than me. What those boys gave me in bed was new, and what they gave me in my head was even better. They made me feel like a trophy. And that, at that moment, I needed like air.

So when Mateo talked to me while I was having a couple of beers at the corner store, I kept the conversation going without thinking twice. Young guys have a trick: they act innocent. But I can tell from a mile away when a man is after me to sleep with me, and Mateo was no exception. He must have been around twenty-three, light eyes, skinny, pale skin, straight hair. Cute, without quite being handsome. What was attractive wasn’t his face: it was that mix of good boy with something dark peeking out from underneath.

I’d already been with guys his age, but Mateo was bolder, more self-assured. He started with textbook innocence, but as the conversation went on, his masks fell off one by one. All of a sudden he was shameless, saying, in so many words, that he liked me, that he was dying to fuck me, that he always got what he wanted. In anyone else it would have seemed pathetic to me. In him, that confidence turned me on and made me want him to prove every single thing he was promising.

The conversation went on, and so did the beers. The night felt short because I was genuinely having a good time. He made me laugh, he got me dancing. In the middle of a salsa song he kissed me and grabbed my ass without asking permission.

—Let’s go now, I’m dying to take you home —he whispered in my ear.

I told him to pay. While he went to the bar and then to the bathroom, I stayed nearby and managed to overhear him making a call.

—Bro, she’s ready already, all warmed up and we’re going straight there. The lady is hot as hell, and just like you said, not difficult at all.

I should have been offended. Instead, I felt something clench deep down. It turned me on to know that the person on the other end of the phone knew me, that he was very likely someone I’d already opened my legs for and who had now “recommended” me like some piece of information being passed along. I waited for him without saying anything. When he came out, I took his hand and we walked the two blocks to my apartment.

We went in and, without saying a word, started kissing against the door. Another thing I liked about him was that he was quite a bit taller than me. I didn’t have to stretch: I just waited for his mouth to come down to mine while his arms ran over my back, squeezed my waist, slid up to my breasts. He left my mouth to bite my neck, and while he did that he dug his hands into my ass.

—You’re so tight, mami —he said against my skin.

He took me to the bedroom, threw me onto the bed, and settled on top of me. He kept at my neck, stroked my thighs over my pants, squeezed my ass. I was wet, I wanted him now, but at the same time doubt hit me: he was moving too fast, and I was afraid he’d leave me halfway there.

—Slow down, baby, don’t rush —I asked him—. I’ve got all night for you here.

—Relax, ma’am —he answered with a crooked smile—. I go at whatever pace I feel like. The only sure thing is I’m going to break you wide open.

He yanked my blouse off. I was left in my bra and he dove down to kiss my chest with a mixture of hunger and roughness that undid me. He hugged me, unclasped the bra, and my tits were bare. He took them in both hands, brought them together, ran his tongue between them, pulled them apart, trapped one nipple and sucked it while giving me little bites that tore the first moans out of me. His other hand kept squeezing without mercy. He moved from one breast to the other and by then I no longer knew whether I wanted him to stop or never stop.

I should stop this.

I thought it for two reasons. My last experience with a guy his age had ended badly. And, worse, Mateo worked in a friend of mine’s shop, where another guy also worked who had always been after me and who one night, drunk, had tried to go too far. If this got out, trouble could start. But then Mateo buried his face between my tits again and those thoughts vanished as if they had never existed. I was surrendered, ready for whatever he wanted to do to me.

I slid my fingers into his hair and started tugging at his T-shirt. He stopped, took it off himself, and I took the chance to strip off my pants and stockings until I was left only in a thong. He did the same: he ended up in boxer shorts, with the bulge pointing at the ceiling. I wanted to ask him to put it in me right away, but he lay down on top of me and began exploring my whole body with his mouth. My neck, my chest, my tits again. His hands gripped my thighs, my ass. We kissed for a long time, deep, tongues tangled. Then he started heading down.

He kissed my stomach, ran his mouth over the thong and I shivered from head to toe. He went lower, kissed my thighs, my knees, got all the way to my feet and came back up nibbling me. His fingers stroked me through the fabric, which was already soaking wet. He sat up for a second, returned to my tits, squeezed them, and only then did he yank off my thong.

In an instant his mouth was pressed to my sex. He kissed me like he was kissing my mouth, sucked my lips, lapped all over my slit. His tongue was searching for a way in until it settled on my clit and started licking it, first with the tip, then fully, as if savoring an ice cream melting in his mouth. He slid his arms under my thighs and held me hard so I wouldn’t get away. I moved slowly against his face, looking for more friction, moaning louder and louder. I felt myself coming and wanted to stop it, but he drove his head between my legs and wouldn’t let go until the orgasm shook me apart. I writhed, moaned, yanked his hair.

He pulled away, kissed my thighs, wiped his face against my leg. He sat down to one side, took off his boxers, and came closer. He dragged his cock all over my slit, from top to bottom, without putting it in. Once, twice, three times, until he stopped right at the entrance and held still. I couldn’t take it. I pushed my hips toward him, trying to put it in myself. I looked at him with a furrowed brow, silently protesting. He smiled, bent down, kissed my face, my neck, my tits again, and only then did he start sliding it in. Slowly, all the way in. He stayed there, still, and kissed my mouth with his cock buried in me.

Then he took my legs, spread them wider, and started moving. Softly, pulling almost all the way out and then driving back in to the hilt. His eyes were closed, he was biting his lip, and I was stroking his chest, his arms, while he ran his hands over my body. His breathing got faster but the rhythm didn’t change. I was enjoying it, yes, but I wanted more, and I started fearing he’d come too soon. It was the other way around: suddenly he stopped and pulled out.

—Fuck, you’re so good, ma’am.

—Put it back in —I begged him—. Please, don’t stop.

He looked me in the eyes, gave me a kiss, and sat up. He slid it back in, lifted my legs onto his shoulders, and started fucking me hard and fast. The sound of bodies crashing together filled the room at once, that pounding echoing together with my moans and his heavy breathing.

—Look at you, how difficult you were —he panted—. Look at you now.

—Fuck me hard, please. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.

He took me by the heels and spread my legs as wide as his arms would allow, without easing up. From the force of his thrusts my tits started to hurt and I had to hold them. He noticed, lowered my legs, rested them back on his shoulders, and leaned in until he was almost on top of me, moving my hands aside so he could grab my breasts himself. We stared straight at each other. In that look we both saw the same thing: the other one enjoying himself like an animal. He let go of my tits, lay all the way on top of me, kissed my neck without stopping the thrusts, and his hands went down to squeeze my ass.

—Don’t stop, please, don’t stop —I begged him, because I could feel another one coming.

He didn’t stop. He sped up. The second orgasm exploded inside me and I let it out in a scream. Mateo noticed and changed position without pulling out: he lifted my legs again, drove himself forward so that his lower half was left in the air and came down on me with all his weight. Every time he entered me I felt like I was burning inside, like my pussy couldn’t take any more. He held on like that for a long while, until he went back to the brutal rhythm he’d had before.

He stopped again, pulled out, sucked my tits, kissed me. Then he took me by the shoulders and flipped me over. I was already settling onto all fours, because I knew damn well what was coming.

—Stick that ass out —he said, grabbing my hips—. That’s how I like it.

He shoved it in all at once. Again the pounding, his hands caressing my back and ass, bending down to squeeze my tits, slapping me so hard the sound filled the whole room. The fucking never let up: hard, rough, fast.

—What happened to you being difficult? —he laughed behind me.

He parted my cheeks with his thumbs and I felt the tip searching for the other hole.

—Not there —I managed to say.

—What do you mean, not there? Hold still, I know what I’m doing.

He kept at it without forcing it, slowly, until the cock worked its way in and went all the way. He lay down over my back. Just like at first, he started softly, unhurried, kissing the nape of my neck, squeezing my ass, until little by little he picked up speed. When he was pounding me hard he grabbed my tits, pulled my hair, turned my face to kiss me. It was a strange mix of pain and pleasure that no one had ever given me. He stopped, flipped me over again, and drove it in front-first all the way to the hilt in one go. He spread my legs and kept going, and I had a third orgasm that nearly made me lose consciousness. I was wrecked, with no energy left, my pussy genuinely hurting. But he kept going, tireless, without slowing the pace or the force.

—Come on, baby, come on —I begged him—. Fill me up.

He held out a little longer at the same intensity until he let everything go inside me, in a hot gush, moaning and grabbing my tits. He stayed a few seconds lying on my chest and then kissed me.

He got up, picked up his phone, and went into the bathroom. I heard him telling the other person, through laughter, that he’d already done me.

—All set, bro. I fucked her. And I gave it to her from behind too, so she learns to show some respect. This one is delicious, I’m going to keep her on a short leash so she keeps coming back.

I don’t know if he said it so I’d hear or not. Honestly, I didn’t care. Of course I was going to keep seeing him. That guy, barely twenty-three, never got tired, he gave and gave and never stopped.

He came back into the room, got into my bed, and we started talking about random things. We laughed, we solved the whole world, we kissed, and suddenly he was already putting it in me again. This time we finished together. We fell asleep, but he woke up twice in the night just to fuck me and empty himself inside me. In the morning, before leaving, he did it again, hard as hell, and I wasn’t enjoying any of it anymore because everything burned. He didn’t care: he spread my legs and filled me one last time.

I had an incredible time, and we agreed that after work he would stay with me for a couple of nights. I liked the idea for the sex, but it also worried me. I didn’t want to get used to him, and much less start feeling anything. Luckily, Mateo himself took care of that: with nonstop fucking and surprises, he made those nights the best of my life without either of us putting a single feeling into it. The only thing that ended up getting put into it was a few more people. But that’s another confession.