What I Didn’t Tell About That New Year’s at the Estate

These memories have been with me for months, and I finally feel like writing them down. Quiet weekends, when I have the house to myself and can drink mate slowly, are the only time I allow myself to go back to them.

When I ended my seven-year relationship, I didn’t expect to recover quickly. I was wrong. Two months after signing the papers, something inside me came unstuck, as if I’d spent years breathing at half capacity and suddenly my lungs expanded all the way. I started going to the gym with a consistency I hadn’t had before. I started accepting invitations I would have turned down before, looking at myself in the mirror without that accumulated exhaustion I used to see in my eyes. My body changed. My attitude changed too. And I changed the way I related to desire: without apologizing, without justifying myself, without the weight of what a woman my age is supposed to do.

That New Year’s I didn’t have a clear plan. My ex and I had agreed that Christmas was with the kids, and the 31st with him. I was left without a fixed destination. Then the invitation came: a country estate in General Rodríguez, forty-five miles from the city, with a large group of friends of friends. The kind of night where nobody knows each other too well but by four in the morning everyone ends up hugging.

Nicolás, a guy I knew by sight through the group, picked me up. He wasn’t what I’d call attractive, but he had that cheerful energy some people have that makes any long trip feel lighter. He smelled good too, one of those scents that hangs in the car for hours. We stopped to pick up another couple and headed out along the highway toward the countryside.

At the estate there were lights strung between the trees, long tables covered with food, music from the start. I found my bearings among new faces when, near the pool, I noticed a group of guys who stood out from the rest. One in particular had something that stopped me: Lucas. Tall, relaxed, with that expression of someone who doesn’t need to prove anything to anyone. He wasn’t the most handsome man there, but there was a quality to the way he listened when he spoke that I hadn’t come across in a long time.

He didn’t take long to come over. Someone in the group had mentioned that I’d just separated; those things always get around, and I guess that gave him a way into conversation. We started talking about trips, music, about the oddity of finding similar tastes at a gathering where you arrive knowing almost no one.

At dinner we sat together without either of us explicitly suggesting it. I shared two glasses of wine with him, more than I usually drink, and felt my body loosen in a pleasant way. The night was warm. Out in the countryside the sky had that clarity the city doesn’t allow. I felt good in a very specific way: present, light, without that background noise I sometimes don’t realize I’m carrying until it disappears.

After midnight, after the toast and a lot of dancing, I sat down in a lounge chair to rest. I’d taken off my shoes. Lucas appeared and settled in front of me with that calm that characterized him.

“Do you want me to give you a foot massage?” he asked, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

I said yes. His hands were big and he knew what he was doing. While we talked about whatever, his fingers slowly moved up my calves. When he reached my knees I asked him to do my shoulders, more to see what would happen than because anything hurt. He stood up, got behind me, and worked the knot between my shoulder blades for several minutes. I could feel the intention in every movement of his hands. I found it thoroughly pleasant. Even then, under the excuse of the massage, my nipples had gone hard against the fabric of my dress and I could feel wetness gathering between my thighs.

***

Around three in the morning we went out as a group to a bar a few blocks from the estate. It was a small place and completely packed. We squeezed in wherever we could.

Lucas and I ended up pressed together in a corner, standing, without having planned it. The heat inside the place was thick, from so many people in so little space. Every time someone shoved past, he put his hand on my waist so I wouldn’t get moved, and that hand stayed there. It slid down to my hip. His knee slipped between mine without either of us making a sudden move. I rested my palm on his thigh and felt the bulge of his hard cock against my hip, pressing into me without disguise. He didn’t move away. On the contrary: he shifted his pelvis just enough for me to feel exactly how big what he had hidden in his pants was.

I thought that if anyone in the group looked at us at that moment, they’d understand exactly what was happening between us: that my pussy was soaked and he had a cock that was about to burst out of his jeans.

The heat, the wine, the buildup of everything we’d been holding in for hours had me at the limit. We looked at each other at the same time, and without planning it said something similar: I need some air.

We went out alone.

Outside, the countryside had that mild summer temperature that at night becomes bearable. We walked half a block, turned down an unlit corner, and stopped beside a low wall, in the first dark place we found.

I kissed him. Or he kissed me. I don’t remember the last few inches exactly. What I do remember is that his hands had a confidence that completely undid me: one in my hair, the other on the low curve of my back, and then he went straight down to grab my ass over the dress. His lips were firm and warm, and his tongue came into my mouth with a decisiveness that made me moan softly against his teeth. While he was kissing me he drove a knee between my legs and I started rubbing without thinking, feeling the seam of the dress press against my clit. I slipped my hand between us and grabbed his cock over his pants. It was hard as a rock. I went for the zipper and he stopped my wrist.

“Not here,” he told me in my ear, hoarse. “Come on.”

It was a simple, honest decision. Nothing to justify. I wanted him to fuck me and he was going to do it.

We went to his car. He drove a block and parked at the dark entrance of a property with the gate closed. Before he turned off the engine I was already opening his belt. I lowered his zipper, slid my hand into his boxer briefs, and pulled his cock out. It was thick, long, with pronounced veins and the tip already wet with pre-cum. I grabbed it firmly by the base and he blew out through his nose.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

I bent over the gearshift and took him into my mouth in one go, as far as I could. I ran my tongue along the full length, then focused on the tip, sucking with tight lips while my hand pumped the base. I licked his balls, kissed them, went back to the tip. I spit on the cock so it would slide better and started sucking it with rhythm, drawing it out almost all the way and swallowing it again until I felt it hit the back of my throat.

“Like that, like that, don’t stop,” he panted, and put a hand on the back of my neck, not forcing me but setting the pace.

I took him slowly, then fast, then slowly again, enjoying the way his breathing changed when I adjusted the rhythm, the pressure of his fingers in my hair when he squeezed without pulling. I sucked his cock until I felt it swell even more in my mouth, until he had to gently tug my hair to make me stop. He had a fit body and smelled good even after hours of partying, the kind of detail that in practice matters a lot.

When I felt he was close I stopped him too. I straightened up, wiped the corner of my mouth with my thumb, and looked at him. He took a condom from his pocket, tore it open with his teeth, and put it on while I hiked my dress up to my waist. I hadn’t had any panties on for an hour: I’d taken them off in the bar bathroom because I was so wet they were sticking to my lips.

I sat down on him sideways, with my back toward the windshield and my legs bent over the seat. I took his cock in my hand, pressed it against my pussy opening, and lowered my hips slowly. I was so wet it slid in all at once, slow and with no struggle, and I felt him open me from the inside centimeter by centimeter until he hit bottom.

“Oh, fuck,” I moaned, with my mouth against his neck.

I stopped for a second. Just to feel him throbbing inside me.

Then I started moving.

I went up and down, first with short motions, feeling his cock scrape my inner walls. Then I started riding him long, pulling almost all the way out and driving him back to the hilt with each drop of my hips. His hands were on my hips, keeping the rhythm without rushing it, and every so often he pushed my dress higher to grab my tits under the bra. He pinched my nipples with his fingers and I cried out softly, clenching my cunt around his cock.

“Come on, ride me,” he said in my ear. “Fuck me hard.”

My white dress was hiked to my waist, my tits out, the bra bunched up under my collarbones. The heat inside the car was suffocating; the windows fogged up immediately, but neither of us thought about rolling one down. I leaned forward and he found my mouth, kissing me deeply while I kept moving on him, squeezing him with my cunt on every rise. I sank my nails into his shoulders. I bit his lower lip.

“I’m going to come,” I warned him, and he squeezed my hips harder and started pushing from below, meeting me halfway, driving his cock deeper still.

I came biting my lip so I wouldn’t scream, my whole body trembling on top of him, and I felt his muscles tense, his hands tighten on my hips, and a few seconds later I confirmed it: he let out a guttural grunt, dug his fingers into my skin, and I felt the jolts of his cock inside me as he came into the condom.

We stayed still and silent for a long minute, him still inside me, my forehead pressed against his.

***

We went back to the bar. The group was still there. Nobody asked anything, though a few looks said it all. Just before dawn we walked back to the estate.

The next day was lunch and lots of pool time and that silent complicity two people have when they share a recent secret. Lucas arrived at noon. Every time he came near me in the water, every time he brushed my arm for any excuse at all, I felt the echo of the night before between my legs. His eyes searched for me across the group and mine always found him.

In the mid-afternoon, Nicolás headed back to the city. Lucas and I had arranged that he’d take me back later. I stayed with the group a while longer, and when we finally said goodbye to everyone and set off, the silence in the car was the kind that doesn’t need filling.

We’d talked about grabbing dinner when we got to his place.

We didn’t make it to the kitchen.

His apartment had a small living room with windows facing the street and a terrace with a pool in the back. As soon as he closed the door he shoved me against the hallway wall and kissed me like he’d been holding back all day. He yanked my dress up to my waist, pulled my panties off with two fingers, and put his hand between my legs. I was already dripping.

“Look how wet you are,” he murmured against my mouth, moving his fingers inside me. “You’re soaked, slut.”

“Fuck me,” I begged him. “Now, here.”

He threw me onto the entry sofa. He spread my legs and lowered his face. He licked my entire pussy from bottom to top, long and slow, and then focused on my clit, sucking it between his lips while he slid two fingers inside me and moved them back and forth. I came in less than a minute, with my hands tangled in his hair, pressing his face against me, and he didn’t stop. He kept licking, kept moving his fingers until I came a second time, harder, with my back arched and my legs trembling on his shoulders.

Only then did he stand up, pull off his pants and boxers, and put on another condom. He climbed on top of me and drove his cock all the way in, to the base, with one thrust that knocked the air out of me.

“Oh God,” I moaned.

“Do you like it like that?” he said near my ear, thrusting hard into me.

“Yes, yes, harder.”

And he drove it in harder. The sofa creaked under us, the coffee table slid a few inches with the force of it. He grabbed both my legs behind the knees and opened them until they were nearly at my shoulders, leaving me completely open for him, and he rammed into me to the hilt again and again, looking into my face while he fucked me.

We moved to the bedroom. He put me on all fours on the bed, gave me a soft smack on the ass, then a harder one, and fucked me from behind. One hand held my hip and the other gripped my hair, tugging just enough for me to lift my head. He fucked me like that for a long time, the wet sound of our bodies slapping together filling the room, until I came again, screaming into the pillow.

Then he made me turn over onto my back and licked my nipples while I lowered myself and sucked his cock from that angle, my head hanging off the edge of the bed and his cock going deep into my mouth. Then he made me ride him. Then back to the living room, against the dining table, with my dress tossed on the floor.

We fucked for hours. I came several times, so many I lost count. Lucas had that patience that isn’t passivity but a sophisticated form of attention: he knew exactly when to keep the rhythm and when to slow it, when to go deeper and when to pull back. When I told him what I wanted — faster, slower, deeper, suck me, bite me there — he did it without making it complicated.

I hadn’t been so inside my own body in years. I hadn’t been fucked like that in years.

When the two of us needed to cool down, we went to the pool naked, without towels, crossing the terrace with our skin still sticky with sweat and saliva. It was already night and the water was warm. The sky above the terrace had a few stars. We floated in silence for a while, then stayed wrapped around each other on the lowest step, where the water reached our waists.

There, with his body behind mine and the water as something separating us from the rest of the world, Lucas asked me something in my ear. He’d been suggesting it since we got there, with his hands, with the way he moved near me, but he said it with words and waited for my answer.

“Can I put it in your ass?”

I said yes.

He made me brace my hands on the pool edge. He lubed me with patience, first with his fingers, one, then two, moving them in circles until he felt my body opening on its own. He put on a new condom and added more lubricant on top. Then he pressed the tip of his cock against my ass and pushed slowly, very slowly, stopping every time I breathed.

“Tell me if you need to,” he said.

“Keep going. Slowly.”

It was the slowest we’d gone up to that point. The water helped, my body was completely relaxed, and he had no rush at all. When he finally got all of it in, I stayed still for a while, with him pressed against my back, feeling how he filled me. Then he started moving, with short thrusts at first, then longer ones, always slowly.

His arms wrapped around me from the front. One hand squeezed a tit, the other went down between my legs and started stroking my clit in the same rhythm he was fucking me in the ass. Feeling him in both places at once drove me crazy. He spoke very softly near my ear, words I don’t remember now but which at the time made me want to stay there forever: how tight I was, how well I was taking it, how I was making him come.

I came several times in a row, with no pause between one and the next, with the water splashing around us and his fingers pinching my clit and his cock buried in my ass. It was the first time it had happened to me that way, with that specific combination of sensations. When he finished, I felt him shake behind me, pulling me hard against his chest, and we stayed still in the water for a long while, still connected.

Afterward I floated on my back, looking at the sky. Neither of us spoke for several minutes. It wasn’t necessary.

He took me home around four in the morning. He left me at the door with a short kiss and nothing promising in his eyes. There was something honest in that, something I appreciated more than anything else he could have said.

We never got together again, because of that thing calendars and distances and lives have, lives that don’t always find the moment. But I know that at some point it’s going to happen again. And I’m waiting for it with the same calm with which I learned to wait for everything that’s truly worth it.