The Afternoon I Finally Crossed the Line with a Coworker

When I met Esteban, twenty years ago now, he was dragging around a life that seemed to me like it came from another planet. He’d been in the swinging scene long before he met me, and at first I listened to his stories the way you listen to someone else’s tale: with curiosity, with a little scandal, and, I won’t deny it, with an uncomfortable wetness between my legs.

It took me a couple of years to admit that it wasn’t just a story. That I wanted it for myself too.

We talked about our fantasies late into the night, wrapped in each other’s arms in the dark. His came in every color, but there was one he repeated more than any other: watching another man fuck me. As for me, I was attracted to women. Only women. And that was how it was for a long time.

We went to parties, shared beds with other couples, had the occasional encounter with close friends. But in all those years I had only slept with women. I felt Esteban’s patience the way you feel a draft: always waiting for me to accept another man, and that moment simply never came.

Until his fiftieth birthday.

That night, while the four of us shared the same bed, I surprised him with my mouth full of an old friend of ours. And something broke loose in him. While I kept going with that friend, Esteban got behind me and took me without asking. I have to confess it: I enjoyed it far more than I ever thought possible.

The following weeks were a private party. The sex between us turned electric. We would remember that scene in a low voice, and just naming it was enough to make our pulses race. Even so, his desire remained intact, lurking there. He wanted to see me with another man inside me, and I kept closing that door.

***

The one who opened it, without knowing it, was Marcos.

Marcos worked two desks away from mine. He’d been flirting with me for weeks with that mix of boldness and charm that disarms you. One afternoon, by the coffee machine, he leaned toward me and said:

—If you ever feel like it, I’m in, without a second thought.

I looked at him, thanked him for the compliment, and answered with a calm smile.

—I have everything I need at home.

We laughed, exchanged a couple more jokes, and went back to work. That night, in bed, I told Esteban about the exchange. Of course, he grinned from ear to ear.

—You should let him do it and get it out of your head —he said, half joking, half praying.

—No, darling. I have you —I replied, stroking his chest.

From his expression I knew he was disappointed again. And for the first time, that look of his made me think.

Over the following weeks, the flirting with Marcos didn’t fade; on the contrary. And almost without realizing it, I started wondering what his body would feel like against mine. What it would be like to have him inside me. It surprised me to think that way, but curiosity had already mingled with Esteban’s old desire and formed something new, dense, impossible to ignore.

What if I did it? What if I finally gave my husband that?

I started dressing differently for the office. Shorter skirts. Heels I didn’t need. I teased Marcos shamelessly, flashing him a thigh, a strip of lace, a look held a second too long.

***

One Tuesday I put on a particularly short skirt. I knew Marcos would pass by my office at any moment, so I bent down in front of the filing cabinet, pretending to look for a folder, and stayed like that.

I heard him come in before I saw him.

—Jesus Christ —he murmured from the doorway—. You’ve just ruined the rest of my day.

I let out a little laugh and turned my head over my shoulder.

—Really? —I asked, without quite straightening up.

He didn’t answer with words. He crossed the office in three steps, grabbed my waist, and pressed me against him. I could feel him, hard, straining through the fabric of his trousers. In that instant I felt two things at once that I hadn’t known could coexist: embarrassed and deeply desired.

I pushed my hips back. He answered. For a couple of minutes we rubbed against each other like that, slowly, without kissing, breathing harder and harder, still pretending this wasn’t happening. When he finally pulled away, we looked at each other in silence. We both knew what we were going to do. It was only a matter of when.

Marcos left the office without saying a word. I sat down, legs trembling, and when I felt the wetness between my thighs I knew there was no turning back.

I spent the rest of the day imagining it. Not just the moment with him, but Esteban’s face when I told him. How long he had waited for this. How patient he had been with me. That idea turned me on as much as Marcos himself.

***

The building emptied out. The evening light came in diagonally through the window and turned the walls orange. I was gathering my bag when Marcos came in, locked the door behind him, and stood there looking at me.

—We’re the last ones left —he said, his voice deeper than usual—. And I can’t leave without doing this.

He didn’t give me time to answer. He shoved me against the wall and kissed me like he’d been holding back for weeks, because that was exactly what he’d been doing. His mouth was impatient, his hands sure. I felt one of them slide up my thigh, shove my skirt aside, and, with one sharp tug, pull my underwear down to the floor.

His fingers immediately found how soaked I was. They were long, skilled, and knew exactly where to insist. Within minutes I felt the first orgasm approaching, inevitable, while he kissed my neck with a slowness that contrasted with the urgency of his hand.

—I’m going to come —I whispered in his ear.

He didn’t stop. On the contrary, he pushed his fingers deeper and I came apart against the wall, biting my lip so I wouldn’t cry out, pleasure running from the nape of my neck to my heels. It was intense, shameless, unlike anything I knew. And I felt wonderfully filthy.

Before the trembling had even stopped, he pulled me away from the wall, bent me over my own desk, and leaned close to my ear.

—Now I’m going to fuck you until you come again.

I heard the belt, heard the fabric fall. Then I felt him press against me, seeking my entrance, and when he finally drove in I had to grab the edge of the desk. He was thick, filling me completely in a way I hadn’t expected. I closed my eyes and focused on every inch.

He started with long, slow thrusts, as if measuring me. His breathing was controlled but heavy, and little by little he sped up, driving deeper with each movement. I held myself together however I could, panting against the messy papers on my own desk.

The second orgasm hit me all at once, stronger than the first. My legs stopped obeying me; if it hadn’t been for the desk, I would have fallen. I had never felt so possessed and so free at the same time.

—Can I finish inside? —he panted, already at the edge.

I didn’t think about it.

—Yes. Inside.

I felt him push all the way in and stay there, trembling, emptying himself into me with a rough groan. I stayed still, taking in every spasm, thinking of only one thing: how much I was going to enjoy telling Esteban all about this.

When he pulled out, he helped me straighten up and turned me around with a tenderness I hadn’t expected. He held my face for a second, kissed me slowly, and picked my underwear up from the floor.

—We’ll have to do this again —he said, holding it out to me.

He got dressed, kissed me one last time, and walked out the door as if nothing had happened. I put my underwear in my bag, still dazed, and went down to the parking garage with shaky knees.

***

The drive home felt endless and too short at the same time. I was aroused, disbelieving, desperate to get there. As I pulled the car into the garage, I could feel what Marcos had left inside me slipping through me, and that single sensation lit me up all over again.

I turned off the engine and went in almost running. Esteban was in the living room. I went up to him, kissed him, and spoke in his ear without beating around the bush.

—I just got fucked at the office. And I still have him inside me. —I paused to feel his breath catch—. I want you to bend me over the sofa right now.

He didn’t need to be told twice. The only thing I heard him say, as he folded me over the back of the couch, was:

—At last. At last, my love.

He took me with an urgency I didn’t know him to have. He drove in deep, hard, fast, as if he wanted to claim what someone else had touched first. He was moaning louder than ever, and I came a couple of times before he reached his limit.

—I’m coming —he growled, and emptied himself inside me with a jolt I felt through my whole body.

Esteban almost never finished twice. That night he did. A few minutes later he thrust into me again, once more on the edge, and let out a long, deep moan as he spilled again. His body trembled against my back.

When he finally withdrew, he collapsed onto the sofa, exhausted and happier than I had seen him in years.

—You have no idea what it’s been like fucking you after another man did it first —he murmured.

I leaned down, kissed his forehead, and stroked his hair.

—Thank you for these twenty years, darling —I told him—. I’m going to take a shower. And then, in bed, I’ll tell you every detail while you make me yours all night long.

I walked toward the bathroom in a state of complete calm, almost of quiet euphoria. Two men had wanted me on the same day. My husband had finally gotten what he had spent half his life waiting for. And I had discovered a part of myself I hadn’t even known existed.

Esteban always said that someday I would want to cross that line. He was absolutely right. What he didn’t tell me, because he probably didn’t know it either, is that once I crossed it, I never wanted to go back.