The Afternoon I Was Left Alone with the New Guy

I'm going to tell it exactly as it happened, without embellishment, because I still can't quite believe it myself. It had been more than a year since Andrés had touched me. My husband and I slept in the same bed like two polite strangers, each on our own side, wishing each other good night without brushing against one another. At first I understood. The stress, the work, the pills he took for his blood pressure. But the months went by, and I started to feel like just another piece of furniture in the house.

The worst part wasn't that he couldn't. The worst part was that he didn't even try. I'd get into bed wearing a nightgown that used to drive him crazy, and he'd turn off the lamp and turn his back on me. Eventually, I stopped asking. It was enough for me to close the bathroom door, sit on the edge of the tub, and slip two fingers into my pussy while pinching one nipple with my other hand, biting my lip so I wouldn't moan louder than the sound of the extractor fan. I'd come quickly, alone, squeezing my thighs together, and go back to bed feeling emptier than before.

I was thirty-six years old and felt seventy. Until Mateo came along.

***

Mateo joined the company on a Monday in September, fresh out of college, twenty-two years old, with a smile that had no idea what kind of damage it did. I coordinated the department, so it fell to me to show him everything: the procedures, the reports, where the damn printer that was always jamming was located. And while I explained columns of figures to him, I caught myself looking at his forearms when he rolled up his sleeves, and lowering my gaze to the bulge in his pants when he sat beside me.

I was ashamed. I really was. I thought: what's wrong with you, you're his boss, he could be your little brother. But the body doesn't understand shame when it's been starved for a year, and mine had been soaking my panties for weeks every time he came close to explain a spreadsheet to me.

That October afternoon, we were left alone. The quarterly report was bearing down on us, and the others slipped away at five, one after another, until the entire floor was empty. Just the two of us, the hum of the air conditioning, and the city lights coming on beyond the window.

He was leaning over my desk, pointing at a cell with his finger, and I wasn't hearing a word. He smelled of cheap cologne and something else, young skin, and every time he came closer my mouth went dry and my nipples pressed hard against my bra.

“I'm going to the bathroom for a minute,” he said, and stood up.

I watched his ass as he walked away down the hallway. I should have stayed in my chair. I know that. But something inside me had broken a while ago.

***

I waited a couple of minutes, counting the beats in my temples. Then I got up and walked down the dim hallway, carrying my heels in my hand so they wouldn't make noise on the parquet floor. The men's bathroom door was ajar, and a sound coming from inside stopped me dead: a ragged, rhythmic breath, and the unmistakable smack of a hand moving quickly over a hard cock.

I peered through the crack. Mateo had his back to me, facing the sink, one hand braced against the wall and the other slowly jerking himself off. I saw his reflection in the mirror: his thick cock, red at the tip, glistening, and the fist moving up and down with a rhythm that was already beginning to run out of control. He didn't see me. I stood rooted to the spot, holding my breath, feeling my face burn and, lower down, my panties suddenly flood.

I must have made some noise. A sigh, the rustle of my blouse, I don't know. He spun around, and our eyes met in the mirror, his cock still in his hand. I froze, trapped, without a single usable excuse.

“I'm sorry,” I murmured. “I… heard you and…”

I didn't finish the sentence. I pushed the door open and went in. And instead of moving away, he stood still, his hand still wrapped around his cock, looking at me as if he'd been waiting weeks for exactly this.

“Don't apologize,” he said quietly. “I've been thinking about you since my first day.”

I moved closer. My heart felt ready to burst. I put a hand on his chest, felt his heartbeat racing as fast as mine, and lowered my eyes to his thick, throbbing cock pointing at me. I moved his hand aside and took hold of it myself. It was hot, hard as a rock, wet with saliva at the tip. He let out a muffled moan as soon as I touched him, and that gave me the courage I was missing.

***

I kissed him first. A clumsy, urgent kiss of teeth and tongue, while he pressed me against the sink with both hands already searching for my tits over my blouse. I undid his buttons one by one without stopping the kiss, bit his lip, licked his neck. I'd spent a year waiting for someone to want me like that, without thinking, without asking permission, and finally I had him in my hands—literally.

I yanked his bra open. He pulled it down and lunged at my nipples like a starving man, sucking them, nibbling them, tugging at them with his lips until a long gasp escaped me. I grabbed his head and pressed him against my chest.

“Keep doing that,” I begged him. “Don't stop.”

I lowered one hand and started jerking him off again, feeling him grow even harder, feeling the veins swell beneath my fingers. Then I lowered myself slowly, leaving a trail of kisses down his neck, across his chest, over his navel, until I knelt on the cold tiles. I looked up. He was staring at me with his mouth half-open, unable to believe what was happening. Neither could I.

I gripped his cock with both hands and brought it to my face. I stuck out my tongue and licked the tip, tasting the salty drop glistening there. He jerked. I smiled, licked him from base to tip, very slowly, following every vein with the tip of my tongue, and then took him into my mouth all the way down.

“Fuck…” he gasped, burying his fingers in my hair.

I sucked him without hurrying, savoring every reaction, every moan he tried to swallow. I pulled him out, ran my tongue along the underside, then took him back into my mouth until he hit the back of my throat. My mouth filled with saliva and it dripped over his balls, and I rubbed him with my hand while I kept sucking the tip. I licked his balls too, one and then the other, and he muttered a curse through clenched teeth.

I liked the power I felt then: me, the formal boss in meetings, the invisible woman in her own bed, kneeling in the office bathroom with a twenty-two-year-old's cock sliding in and out of my mouth, making him tremble.

“Stop,” he gasped after a while, pulling my hair back. “Stop or I'll come now and this will be over before it starts.”

I stood up with a quiet laugh, my lips swollen and my chin wet. I turned around, placed my palms on the edge of the sink, and hiked my skirt up to my waist. I pulled my panties down to my ankles and let them fall to the floor. I looked at him over my shoulder in the mirror, my pussy already open and dripping down my thighs.

“Then don't make me wait,” I told him. “Put it in me.”

***

What came next wasn't elegant or romantic. It was desperate. He came up behind me, ran two fingers up and down my pussy, and groaned when he felt how soaked I was. He pushed those two fingers all the way inside me and curled them, and I moaned against the mirror like a bitch.

“You're dripping,” he murmured, incredulous.

“I've been like this for a year. Put it in me already, please.”

He positioned himself behind me. I felt the tip of his cock sliding between my pussy lips, searching for my entrance, and when he finally pushed and drove it all the way in with a single thrust, I had to bite my arm to keep from screaming. He filled me at once, all the way to the back, and I felt everything stretch inside me after so many months of being empty. It had been so long since anyone had fucked me that I almost came from that alone, from the first thrust.

He held my hips and began to move, carefully at first, then giving himself over to it. His cock slid in and out of me with a wet, obscene sound that echoed off the tiles. I could see our reflections in the fogged mirror: me with my blouse open, my tits bouncing with every thrust, my mascara running; him with his jaw clenched, his eyes fixed on the place where our bodies joined.

“Harder,” I begged him. “Fuck me harder.”

And he obeyed. He dug his fingers into my hips and began thrusting into me with all he had, driving me against the sink with every push. The sound of his balls slapping against my pussy filled the bathroom. He reached around me and found my clit, rubbing it while he kept fucking me from behind, and that broke me apart.

My first orgasm hit me suddenly, without warning, and I had to press my forehead against the cold mirror while my legs gave way. I felt my pussy contracting around his cock, squeezing it in waves, felt a warm gush run down the insides of my thighs. I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt anything like that with another person in the room. A long, hoarse sound escaped me and echoed through the tiles of the empty bathroom.

“Fuck, you're squeezing me so tight,” he groaned against the nape of my neck, without stopping his thrusts.

***

We didn't want to stop there. He pulled out his glistening cock, dripping with my juices, and we half-dressed ourselves amid nervous laughter. We went back to my office. I locked the door—the act of turning the key made me more nervous than everything that had come before, because it meant this was a decision, not an accident.

I sat him in my own chair, the chair where I signed contracts and scolded suppliers. I knelt between his legs first, pulled his cock out of his pants again, and licked him from top to bottom, tasting myself on him. I sucked the tip while keeping my eyes fixed on his until I saw him clench his fists around the arms of the chair.

Then I climbed on top of him. I took off my panties completely, hiked up my skirt, and straddled him. I gripped his cock and positioned it at my entrance, looking him in the eyes as I lowered myself slowly, inch by inch, feeling him fill me again. When he was all the way inside me, I stayed still for a moment, squeezing him with my pussy and savoring the sensation.

He pulled my blouse all the way off, freed my tits from my bra, and began sucking them again, tugging at my nipples with his teeth. I started moving up and down, setting the pace myself this time.

“I don't even know your full name,” he said between gasps, one of my nipples in his mouth, and we both laughed like a couple of kids getting away with some mischief.

I moved slowly, then faster, bracing my hands on his shoulders and riding him with my full weight. The chair creaked every time I came down, his cock drove all the way into me, and I felt his balls striking my ass. He dug his fingers into my buttocks and began helping me, lifting me and lowering me, thrusting up from beneath every time I came down.

Through the dark window, I could see the buildings opposite, lit windows, people having dinner, living their ordinary lives without knowing that a few yards away I was riding a twenty-two-year-old with my tits bare. The thought that anyone might look up and see us pushed me to the edge again.

“Look at me,” I begged him. “Don't close your eyes. I want you to watch me come on your cock.”

And he watched me. He watched me fall apart on top of him, watched me come for the second time as I clung to his neck, while I whispered filthy things in his ear that I never would have dared say to Andrés: that I loved his cock, that I'd been dreaming about this for weeks, that I wanted him to fill me completely.

“I'm going to come,” he suddenly gasped, gripping my hips to stop me.

“Not inside,” I whispered, and hurriedly climbed off him.

I knelt between his legs again and took him into my mouth just in time. I felt his entire body tense, felt his cock throb between my lips, and then the first jet of hot semen striking the back of my throat. I stayed still, swallowing, while he filled my mouth with a muffled moan, clutching the arms of the chair and trembling. He came so much that it spilled from the corners of my lips and landed on my tits. I swallowed almost all of it, and wiped away what escaped with a finger, which I then sucked while looking him in the eyes.

He looked at me from the chair, breathless, as if he'd just seen a ghost. I climbed onto his lap again and kissed him slowly, letting him taste his own flavor on my tongue.

***

We stayed like that for a while, sweaty and pressed together, saying nothing, listening to the hum of the air conditioner and to both our heartbeats gradually calming. He stroked my back with his fingertips, and I could feel his cock, already soft, still resting against my thigh, wet.

I stood up, gathered my clothes from the floor, and dressed slowly in front of the window. He watched me from the chair, still with his pants around his ankles and a foolish smile on his face.

“What happens now?” he asked.

I turned and smiled at him. I had no answer. I only knew that I'd spent a year feeling dead inside, and that afternoon, in an empty office, I'd started feeling alive again.

“Now we're going home,” I said. “And tomorrow we'll pretend nothing happened.”

But we both knew that was a lie.

***

We rode down in the elevator in silence, keeping our distance in case of the cameras, touching only our pinkies. I could still feel his semen warm in my mouth and my pussy throbbing inside my wet panties. In the lobby we said goodbye like any two coworkers, an entirely ordinary “see you tomorrow” that was almost laughable, and each of us went our separate ways into the cool October night.

When I got home, Andrés had fallen asleep on the sofa with the television on. I looked at him from the living-room doorway and felt neither anger nor sadness, only a strange calm, like someone who finally understands something they've suspected for a long time. I took a long shower, slipped two fingers inside myself again beneath the hot spray while thinking about Mateo, and came a third time against the tiles. Then I got into bed and, for the first time in months, fell asleep immediately.

I'm not going to justify myself. I know what I did and I know what it means. But I also know that that afternoon I reclaimed something I thought was lost forever, and that the next day, when I walked through the office door and saw Mateo look up from his desk with that half-smile, I knew it hadn't been the end of anything.

It was barely the beginning.