The Reader of My Stories Wanted to Meet Me in Person

I was on the third installment of a series I was publishing when her message arrived. A short email, almost timid, congratulating me on the latest story and telling me in detail which parts had raised goosebumps on her skin. I replied out of politeness, with no intention beyond saying thank you. I had no idea that exchange would become a habit.

We started out talking about nonsense. The weather, work, shows we both watched at odd hours. I have to admit I liked her from the start: she was funny, well-read, with a way of saying things that made me smile at the screen. We went on like that for almost a month and a half, writing to each other almost without pause.

During those days I got sick, with a flu that leaves you flat on your back in bed for three straight days. She checked on me the whole time, asking if I’d eaten, if I’d taken my syrup, if I needed anything. I liked that a lot, because the truth is that few people do that.

Without realizing it, I got used to waking up and finding a “good morning” from her already waiting for me. The same when I turned off the light at night. Getting used to those little details is easy enough, especially when they come from someone you like. And I liked her. So much so that soon I found myself missing her in the gaps of the day, counting the hours until I could read her again.

Our conversations, every so often, heated up. A double-meaning line, an innuendo, and suddenly one of us would hit the brakes, maybe out of fear of ruining what we had. Until one night we crossed the point of no return. We had our first time over chat, typing out everything we’d do to each other if we were in the same room.

It was more exciting than you’d expect from a few lines of text. I spent almost two hours with my phone in one hand, imagining her voice, her mouth, her weight on top of me. This woman is hot as hell, I thought, biting my lip as I read what she was writing to me. That night I didn’t sleep, and I didn’t mind.

After that, everything flowed differently. We lost our shame and there was no longer any subject off-limits between us. We moved so far, so fast, that we ended up making plans to see each other. A real date, the two of us, face to face.

I waited for that day with a mix of anxiety, nerves, and a dull terror. What if, after all this, she doesn’t like me?, I kept asking myself. What if what works on screen dies in person?

***

The day came. It had been an exhausting day at work, so as soon as I got through my front door I jumped in the shower and dressed in the best thing I had hanging in my closet. I wanted to impress her. I wanted her to see me and not regret leaving her house that night.

When I arrived at the bar and saw her sitting by the window, I froze in place. I knew she was beautiful—I had seen her photos dozens of times—but what my mind had built up fell short in front of the woman standing before me. Renata was seven years older than me, and it showed in every gesture: the confidence of someone who knows her worth, the bearing of someone who takes care of herself. She had a neckline that looked as if it was on the verge of giving in, and I swear it took a superhuman effort to keep my eyes on hers every time she caught me looking down.

She recognized me too. She stood up, came toward me, and I left a soft kiss on her cheek, taking the chance to inhale her perfume. She smelled of something warm, of wood and clean skin, and that detail alone stirred me deep inside.

—You’re even prettier than in the photos —she said, and I could tell she meant it.

Dinner was delicious, but the furtive looks we exchanged over our plates were even better, loaded with an intention we both understood without naming it. A thirty-four-year-old woman and a forty-one-year-old woman, sitting across from each other, both knowing perfectly well why we were there. That night someone wasn’t going to sleep in her own bed, and neither of us pretended otherwise.

After dinner we went to a small place for a drink and to dance. The alcohol loosened what little shyness remained. Then a song came on, one of those slow ones that seem written to make people press together, and we found ourselves looking each other straight in the eye, very close.

We kissed. It started as a brush, just lips seeking lips. But it quickly became something else, a soft struggle of tongues in which each of us tried to dominate the other. When we pulled apart it was for lack of air, not because we wanted to stop. We looked at each other. No words were needed: we both knew what we needed.

***

We left there almost running. We got into my car and I started it, but not before kissing again, this time with our hands free. Mine climbed up to her breasts, I squeezed them over the fabric and then slipped under her neckline to feel, for the first time, the hardness of her nipple between my fingers.

In one quick movement, Renata moved over to the driver’s seat, on top of me, wedged between my body and the steering wheel. I leaned the seat back a little so she’d be comfortable and pulled her neckline down to free her breasts. Seeing them like that, in the dim streetlight, drove me even more insane.

—You’ve got incredible tits —I murmured.

—They’re yours —she replied, grabbing my head—. Eat them.

—You’re gorgeous —I said against her skin.

—Treat me badly —she whispered then, her voice broken—. Treat me like a slut.

I had never done that, never insulted anyone in bed. But something about it lit her up—I could see it in the way her thighs trembled—and who was I to deny that woman anything on a night when she was ready for anything.

—You’re such a shameless girl —I told her, trying it out, feeling awkward—. My shameless girl.

—Yes —she panted—. Keep going.

I let out a couple more lines; some came out stiff, clumsy, but they turned her on just the same. I slipped my hand under her underwear and found her clit already swollen. I stroked it in circles, gently at first, firmer after that, until her breathing went out of control and she came against my hand, biting my shoulder so she wouldn’t scream.

That wasn’t the end of it. When she calmed down, she pulled down my pants and somehow arranged herself in the impossible space of the car to find me with her mouth. The position was horribly uncomfortable for her, but she still got where she needed to get, and the combination of her tongue and how forbidden the situation was made me come in just a few minutes. Then she sat back up, kissed me with my own taste on her lips, and I drove off again toward my house. The night was promising.

***

We got there, poured ourselves another drink, and kissed in the living room. Renata asked me to put on music. I did, and then she pushed me down onto the sofa and started to dance for me, a slow, deliberate dance that left me hypnotized. She took off her clothes one piece at a time while I did the same from where I sat, unable to look away.

When we were both naked, she straddled me and at last there was nothing between her skin and mine. I loved her smell, so I lowered my head to her neck and stayed there for a good while, feeling her moans right in my ear. That was the best music of the night.

She stood up on the sofa and brought her sex to my mouth. I welcomed her eagerly, licking her from bottom to top, lingering on her clit while two of my fingers teased her entrance, tracing circles without quite sinking in. She tangled her fingers in my hair so I wouldn’t move from there. It didn’t take long for her to scream, and I felt her wetness washing over my face.

When she came down and sat again, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes unfocused, her breathing ragged. She was beautiful like that, undone.

I lifted her up in my arms and carried her to my bed. I laid her on her back, settled my sex against hers and started moving with a slow rhythm that grew stronger. From above, I could see her face broken apart by sheer pleasure. I lifted one leg, reached for her foot, and licked each toe slowly, one by one, and that lit her up in a way I hadn’t expected: she moaned, screamed, begged for more, and I whispered all the dirty things she loved so much.

She found strength from somewhere and we changed positions. Now she was on top, shining with sweat, moving over me with wild surrender. A few minutes later we came almost at the same time, and she collapsed beside me, face down, exhausted.

—This is incredible —she said between pants—. I’m dead and I want more.

—We’re not finished —I answered.

From the drawer where I keep my things I took out a couple of toys. I prepared her slowly, alternating mouth and hands, listening to her moan louder and louder. Then I positioned myself, and when she was ready she climbed on top. I, sitting on the bed, held her by the hips with one of her nipples in my mouth while she rode me without restraint.

I changed her position, turning her away from me, and the image of her body taking every thrust, added to the insults she herself asked me for, took me to the edge. We both came again, gasping for air, and she collapsed on top of me between laughter and tremors.

***

I tucked her in. A few minutes later she had fallen asleep, and it seemed unreal to me to be there, with a reader of my stories breathing slowly against my chest.

The next morning she woke me with her mouth between my legs. It didn’t take me long to come. Then she came up, gave me a few lazy kisses, and wished me good morning as if we’d been doing it for years.

We stayed in bed for a while talking. She told me she’d loved the night, and of course the feeling was mutual. She talked to me about her tastes, her fantasies, and among them there was one that made her eyes especially bright: she loved being watched and being insulted while she came. She confessed that she dreamed of someone seeing her give herself over like that.

Renata is a fascinating woman, and I’m not planning to shut the door on any of those fantasies. I have a lot to learn from her, from what turns her on, from what makes her surrender, and I’m more than willing to do it. Because if it’s up to me, this is going to run for several seasons.

We showered together, I caressed her under the water until she was trembling again, we got dressed, and went out to breakfast. Then I took her home, not before saying goodbye with a long kiss that tasted like a promise.