I worked up the courage to surrender myself to a man at fifty-two

I had carried the same curiosity around for years, surfacing in the most unsuspected moments. When I sat down to work, when I showered before going out, when I switched off the bedside lamp. A silent, restrained fantasy that I only allowed myself to explore alone with my hands or with some toy hidden in the bottom drawer. I had just turned fifty-two when I decided I didn’t want to keep waiting anymore.

I posted a short ad on a dating site. I didn’t say much: mature man, first time, looking for someone who knows how to teach patiently. The messages started coming that same night. Some scared me with how raw they were, others made me feel sorry for how clumsy they were, and a few seemed interesting. Even so, every time I was about to make plans to meet someone, I backed out. The shame, the fear of the unknown, the idea of being exposed in a situation I wouldn’t know how to handle. I canceled with any excuse and promised myself the next time would be different.

Until Esteban appeared.

His first message wasn’t aggressive or obvious. He asked me how I felt about the idea, what I liked to imagine, what was holding me back the most. We wrote to each other for almost three weeks before we even talked about meeting. He sent me links to articles about how to prepare, what clothes to choose if I wanted to dress in a more feminine way, how to breathe, what to avoid. He didn’t rush me. He said things like, “If you’re not ready, it’s fine, whenever you want we can talk.” That was what finally convinced me.

We arranged to meet at a motel on the outskirts of Resistencia. He was going to arrive first and wait for me downstairs, in the parking lot. I had to take a taxi, get out, get into his car and let him take me. When I got into the passenger seat that March afternoon, I felt a flutter in my stomach I had never felt before. I looked at him and said, almost without thinking:

—Now I understand what a woman feels when she’s on her way to the place where they’re going to make her theirs.

Esteban gave a low laugh, not mocking, and squeezed my knee with his free hand.

—You’re going to be fine. I promise.

***

The room had indirect lighting, a mirror on the ceiling, and a sound system playing something instrumental that sounded like piano and strings. He had thought of everything. On the nightstand there was a bottle of water, folded towels, lubricant, condoms of several kinds, and a pair of latex sheets. That level of preparation surprised me. I had arrived with a small backpack holding my things and nerves weighing down every step.

—Go shower спокойно —he said—. Take your time. I’ll shower after.

I went into the bathroom and let the hot water run for a long while. I washed myself carefully, going over every part of my body as they had recommended on the pages he had sent me. When I came out, wrapped in a towel, I found him sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at his phone. He smiled at me as if it were the most natural thing in the world to see me there, nearly naked, with fifty-two years behind me and my breath coming in short bursts.

While he got into the shower, I took the chance to get dressed. I put on fishnet stockings that went all the way to the lower curve of my ass, a very tight red thong, a short skirt in the same color, and a thin blouse that let the skin show through. I tied a silk scarf around my head. I looked at myself in the wardrobe mirror and felt ridiculous and aroused at the same time. The image the glass gave back to me did not quite feel like me, and that, far from scaring me, turned me on even more.

Esteban came out of the bathroom with a towel tied around his waist. When he let it drop, I had trouble swallowing. He had a well-built body, not from the gym but from someone who moves around a lot, and an erect cock quite a bit bigger than I had guessed from the photos. I stared at him without blinking for a few seconds. He noticed my face and came closer slowly.

—Relax —he said very softly—. If it doesn’t go in today, it’s fine. Today is for having a good time, not for achieving an objective.

I believed him. I don’t know why, but I believed him.

***

We started off in an embrace. He wrapped both arms around my waist and I put mine around his neck, as if we were dancing something slow. His mouth came to mine and he kissed me without rushing, first on the lips, then on the neck, and down to the collarbone. Every kiss loosened a different knot inside me. I realized I had been clenching my jaw since I walked into the room, and only then, against his chest, did I start breathing normally.

His hands slowly went down to my ass and stroked it over the thong. Then he slipped his fingers underneath and squeezed my bare skin. I felt a tug low in my belly, a current climbing up my back. He started tracing the line that separates the cheeks with one finger, from top to bottom, with a slowness that made me bite my lip so I wouldn’t moan. When he reached the center and barely touched me, I let out a groan I hadn’t expected.

—You like that —he said, not as a question.

—Yes —I murmured.

He pushed his hips against mine. His erection knocked against my own bulge beneath the skirt, and both of us had a slow, almost suspended rhythm. But what mattered most to me was that electric tingling, that prickling between my ass cheeks that he fed with the pad of his finger.

Without saying anything, he gently turned me by the hips and made me rest my hands on the edge of the bed. My body formed an angle, almost a right angle, while he knelt behind me. I felt him pull my thong down to my thighs and place a sheet of latex between us. What came after was unlike anything I had ever tried with my own fingers in the dark. His tongue, thin and hot, traveled over the whole area patiently, lingering longer in the center, repeating the same motion again and again until it left me trembling.

My moans were no longer hidden. They rose and fell in waves, and he used them like a map to know where to keep pressing.

***

Then came the lubricant. I felt the cold gel against my skin and immediately a finger, not rushed, that stayed there for a while, barely pressing before entering. I remembered the advice he had sent me in writing days before: relax the body, bear down as if you were about to defecate, do not hold your breath. I did, and the finger went in all the way. Esteban didn’t move. He asked if I was okay, if it hurt, if I wanted him to stop. I told him to keep going.

The second finger took more effort. The third made me moan out loud. It was a strange sensation, half pleasure half pressure, half fear half relief. When he moved them inside, he found a spot that made me close my eyes and tense my thighs. He noticed and started looking for it on purpose.

—That one, right? —he said near my ear—. I’m going to find it with something else in a minute.

He blew in my ear, slowly bit my earlobe, and I understood the moment had come.

He turned me onto my side, with my left leg bent upward. He rolled a strawberry-flavored condom over his cock and brought it to my mouth. I took it without thinking. While I sucked him with everything I had, he kept two fingers inside me, opening the way. His erection grew even harder against my tongue, and both of us knew what came next could no longer be delayed.

***

He changed position, got behind me and pressed the tip against me. I took a deep breath and loosened everything I could. I felt the first centimeter go in and held still. He did too. We waited. Then he went in a little farther and waited again. In steps like that, he advanced until he was all the way inside. He didn’t move for a good while then. He caressed my back, kissed my shoulder, whispered things in my ear that I don’t remember exactly, only the tone.

When he started moving, he did it so slowly it felt as if we were breathing together. Little by little he sped up. Sometimes I yelled, other times I moaned, and at some point I asked him not to stop even if it burned. Because it did burn, yes, but it was also a strange, deep pleasure that reached places in my body I hadn’t known existed. I thought the people in the room next door would hear us and the idea, far from making me uncomfortable, turned me on even more.

We went through several positions. At one point he lay back and made me ride him with my back to him so he could see me properly. I held myself up with my hands on his knees and lowered and raised myself, feeling him fill me completely. Later he took me over to a chair in the room. He sat down, spread his legs, and motioned for me to sit on top. When I came down onto him, he slid in without effort, as if he had always been there. I felt butterflies climbing all through my abdomen.

After that we went back to the bed. He put me on all fours, with my cheek pressed against the sheet, and grabbed my waist hard. That was where I stopped thinking. I felt female, slutty, animal, everything I had imagined, and I also felt like myself, more mine than I had in a long time.

When I came, I did it twice at once. My sphincter contracted in waves and at the same time I came without anyone touching my cock. Esteban felt it and came almost immediately, gripping my shoulder with his fingers dug in.

***

We stayed lying there, not talking, listening to the music still playing softly. Then I settled against his chest and we dozed for a while. When I woke up, he was hard again, and I was incredibly lazy about moving, but I smiled at him and asked for another condom.

The second time was different. Longer, slower, without urgency. I offered myself on all fours and he entered without waiting for me to open up. The path was already there. He held me by the shoulders, then the waist, then the neck, and I moved backward to his rhythm so I wouldn’t miss a single centimeter. I came again, once more double, once more in waves.

Hardly had I pulled out when the room phone rang. The four hours were up. Esteban paid for an extra half hour so we could shower without rushing and dress in peace. When we got down to the car, afternoon had already turned to night.

—Are you okay? —he asked.

—Yes. Sore, but fine.

He laughed.

—Tomorrow you’ll be worse. And the day after, better. And next time, you’ll dare to try more things.

There was a next time, and another, and quite a few more. We saw each other every two or three weeks, always with time, always with the same calm. Until one day he told me he was leaving for Concepción del Uruguay for work and didn’t know when he’d be back. I wrote to him a few months later and he didn’t answer. I lost track of him.

Today I still live in Resistencia, I still have the same desire, and little by little I’m looking for someone with whom to repeat that feeling from the first afternoon. If anyone reading this identifies with me, let them know that fulfilling a fantasy at fifty-two doesn’t make you ridiculous. It makes you, at last, the owner of your own body.