An Older Woman, Two Mechanics, and a July Night

Rodrigo and Damián had spent months watching me every time I walked past their shop. I knew it. I also knew that they knew I knew. That silent game had become part of my routine: going out for a walk at dusk, passing down that street, feeling their eyes on me. I was forty-two, with hips fuller than I’d had at twenty and a way of walking that, according to my ex-husband, “didn’t go unnoticed.” I suppose in that he was right.

That July night I had left earlier than expected from a gathering at my sister-in-law Sandra’s house. Too much wine, too many conversations about children and husbands who no longer concerned me, too much heat in that unventilated apartment. I decided to walk home. It wasn’t late, maybe nine-thirty, and the night was still hot, as if the sun hadn’t quite gone away.

I was wearing a light dress, the kind that clings to the skin when it’s hot. It wasn’t my intention to provoke anything. Or that’s what I told myself while choosing the longer route, the one that passed by the shop. I could already feel my panties damp before I reached the corner, and it wasn’t because of the heat.

From the corner I saw the white truck parked to the right of the place. The metal doors of the shop were closed, but there was light on inside. I thought they’d already left. I walked slowly, enjoying the scant breeze that came now and then, until I heard a voice from above.

—Lorena. Out alone at this hour?

It was Damián, leaning out of one of the truck windows with his torso bare and a beer in his hand. I’d heard him speak before, when I passed by and they exchanged some low comment, but never directly to me.

I stopped. I should have kept walking.

—I’m coming from my sister-in-law’s place —I said—. She lives a few blocks away.

—Want a beer? It’s ice-cold. It’s the devil’s own heat tonight.

Rodrigo appeared at that moment from the side door of the shop, wiping his hands on a rag. He was taller than Damián, with arms marked by years of work and a calm smile that didn’t promise anything in particular. That’s what decided me, I think. That he didn’t seem to be promising anything.

—Just one —I replied.

***

The inside of the truck was roomier than I’d imagined. They had improvised a space in the back: a couple of long seats, a cooler full of beers, a small speaker playing music at a low volume. It smelled of metal and industrial soap, and the heat from outside had seeped in without mercy.

Damián handed me a beer without asking what I wanted. I took it and had a long sip. It was perfect.

—We’ve been watching you pass for months —Rodrigo said, seated across from me with his elbows on his knees—. I don’t know if you realize the effect you have on this neighborhood.

—I can imagine —I said.

—And you never got curious? —Damián asked.

I looked at him. He was in his early thirties, with a jaw covered in stubble and dark, direct eyes. He wasn’t being rude. He was being honest, which is something very different.

—Curiosity was always there —I answered—. So was common sense.

Rodrigo smiled. Damián took a swig of his beer without taking his eyes off me.

I don’t remember the exact moment the space between us began to shrink. It was gradual, like those things that happen when no one wants to be the first to name them. We talked about unimportant things: the heat, the neighborhood, a difficult customer who had brought them a ruined engine. I drank my beer slowly and listened to them, and at some point Damián had sat down beside me and his knee was brushing mine without either of us mentioning it.

It was Rodrigo who broke the balance. He leaned forward and set his hand on my knee, without pressure, without haste. He just put it there and looked at me.

—Shall we keep talking about engines? —he asked.

Three years divorced. A big empty bed waiting for me six blocks away. Forty-two years of age that suddenly weighed very little.

—No —I said.

***

Rodrigo came closer first. He took my face in both hands, with that calm that had caught my attention from the start, and kissed me slowly. He tasted like beer and something harder to name. Damián shifted a little to the side to give him room, but he didn’t go anywhere: his hand moved up and down my back while I leaned toward Rodrigo.

When we pulled apart, Damián turned my head toward him and kissed me another way: with more urgency, his hand tangled in my hair and his tongue thrust deep into my mouth. My palms were pressed against Rodrigo’s chest, feeling him breathe, and I also felt his hand slide down from my knee and slip under my dress, moving up my thigh until it brushed the wet fabric of my panties.

—She’s soaking wet —Rodrigo told Damián, without stopping touching me—. Feel it.

Damián let go of my mouth and took his hand to the same place. He slipped two fingers in from the side of my panties and sank them into my cunt in one go. A moan escaped me that I didn’t even try to hide.

—It’s been a long time since I did this —I admitted, not quite knowing who I was talking to.

—You can tell —Damián said, moving his fingers inside me with a slowness that was almost torture—. You can tell how much you need it, Lorena.

Rodrigo lowered my dress straps with patience. The fabric gave way and my tits spilled free, the nipples already hard before either of them touched them. Damián handled the rest: he pulled my dress up from my waist while Rodrigo lowered his mouth to one nipple and sucked hard, biting just a little. I had stopped thinking about consequences several minutes earlier. What remained was the heat of the truck, their rough hands, the sound of music from the speaker, and my own breath growing more and more broken.

—Get this off —Damián said, tugging at the elastic of my panties.

I lifted my hips and he yanked them down my legs. I was left naked between them, my dress bunched at my waist, and I didn’t feel a shred of shame. On the contrary. I opened my legs a little wider than necessary so they could look properly.

Damián knelt in front of me. He didn’t ask anything. He spread my knees all the way apart with his hands, settled me at the edge of the seat, and put his mouth where I already needed it. His tongue went in at once, long and flat, licking me from bottom to top, pausing on my clit with a precision that made my back arch. I lay back against the seat and clutched Rodrigo’s hair while he kept kissing my neck, my shoulders, my collarbone, my free breast.

—Jesus —I said out loud, unable to help it—. Like that, like that.

Damián was methodical in a way that surprised me. He wasn’t in a hurry. He sucked my clit with his lips sealed around it, then let go and licked down to the entrance of my cunt, shoved his tongue in as deep as he could, and came back up again. When he felt me tense too much, he eased off and let me breathe. He raised the intensity and lowered it, left me almost at the edge and started over. He slipped two fingers in while still sucking me and curled them, searching inside. He found it. I screamed.

Rodrigo took advantage of the distraction to pull off his T-shirt and drop his pants. His cock sprang out, hard, thick, bigger than I’d imagined. He put it in my hand without saying anything. I gripped him eagerly and started jerking him off, touching the tip with my thumb, feeling him get even harder in my fingers.

—Suck me —he said, his voice rough.

I turned my head and took him into my mouth. He was hot, with that salty taste at the beginning, and he held my nape with his hand without forcing me, letting me set the pace. I sucked him slowly first, wrapping him with my tongue, then deeper, until I gagged a little and had to pull back to breathe. Damián didn’t let up below. His fingers were buried to the hilt and his tongue was working my clit without rest.

When I came, it hit me with an intensity that left me speechless for a moment. My legs clenched around Damián’s head and I felt the contractions grip his fingers inside me. I let Rodrigo’s cock go with a long moan and fell backward, trembling. Rodrigo held me by the shoulders. Damián lifted his head with his mouth shining and looked at me with a calm smile, as if he had just solved an easy problem.

—Good? —he asked, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

—Very good —I replied, still catching my breath.

***

Rodrigo laid me back on the long seat and settled on top of me. He had calloused hands, the kind that know what they’re doing, and he used them well. He opened my legs with his knees, got himself into position, took hold of his cock and ran it through my wet slit before pushing in, soaking it in my own fluids. When he entered, he did it slowly, gauging my reaction, sinking in little by little to the hilt, letting me feel every inch. I wrapped my legs around his waist and drew him closer until he hit bone.

—You’re so tight —he murmured against my ear—. Don’t loosen up.

He started moving. Almost completely out, then back in with a hard thrust, a rhythm that made my ass lift off the seat with every stroke. The seat creaked beneath us. I dug my nails into his back and bit his shoulder so I wouldn’t scream too loudly.

Damián watched from the other seat, his back against the truck wall and a beer in his hand, his cock out and his hand moving over it slowly. There was something almost cinematic about the image that turned out to be more arousing than I expected: being watched, being desired from that calculated distance, having one man jerking off while the other fucked me.

—Come closer —I said.

He didn’t need to be asked twice. He knelt beside my head and I reached for him, took him, and put him back in my mouth. Rodrigo didn’t slow the pace; on the contrary, he started fucking harder when he saw his friend put in my mouth. Damián let me do it while he watched my face, attentive to everything, missing nothing: how my mouth filled with saliva, how my neck marked itself every time Rodrigo drove all the way in, how my tits shook in time with the thrusts.

—Look at her —Damián said, more to Rodrigo than to me—. She loves it.

Rodrigo didn’t answer. He pulled out for a moment, turned me over on the seat and put me on all fours, knees apart and ass in the air. He grabbed my hips and shoved back in with one hard thrust, all the way, balls deep. The cry escaped me whole. Damián settled in front of me and put his cock in my mouth again, and I ended up in the middle, impaled by both, pushed from behind and pulling myself forward to suck Damián deeper.

That’s how we stayed, changing positions whenever one of us asked, without hurry, building something none of the three of us had planned that night. I came for the second time when Rodrigo changed the angle and sped up without warning, slapping my ass hard enough to make me clench around him in a long spasm. I made sure he knew it, moaning with my mouth still full.

Then it was Damián’s turn. Rodrigo withdrew with a growl and Damián settled behind me. He was different: more intense from the start, with firm hands on my hips and a rhythm that didn’t negotiate, fucking as if he had something to prove. He shoved his cock in at once and started pounding hard, pelvis slamming against ass with a dull thud that filled the truck. I planted my palm against the wall to steady myself and let him do it. Rodrigo sat close in the other seat, ran a hand along my jaw and turned my face toward his cock, still hard, still shining with me. I took him back into my mouth without stopping moving from behind.

—You’re incredible —Damián said through gritted teeth, more to himself than to me—. What an ass, holy fuck.

He grabbed my tits from behind with both hands, pinched my nipples, and sped up even more. He made me come a third time there, with Rodrigo in my mouth and Damián’s cock splitting me open from behind. I felt my legs shaking and nearly fell face-first, but Rodrigo held my head and Damián my hips.

—I’m coming —Damián announced—. Where?

—Outside —I said, when I could finally let go of Rodrigo’s cock—. On top.

He pulled out just in time, jerked himself off twice, and came over my lower back and ass, thick hot spurts I felt fall and run down. Rodrigo watched him and jerked off too, aiming at my face, and finished in my open mouth and over my tits with a low groan. I swallowed what landed in my mouth without thinking much about it.

Damián ended up leaning back and staring at the truck roof for a long minute, breathing hard. Rodrigo put an arm around my shoulders and I rested my head on his chest without saying anything, feeling his semen still warm on my skin. The speaker kept playing. Outside, the night was still hot.

***

Rodrigo lived a few blocks away. He was the one who suggested it, with the same calm as always, without pushing. Damián was already dressing when I agreed.

The house was small but tidy. Rodrigo put on music, Damián brought beers from the kitchen. I sat on the sofa and watched them move around that space as if I’d been there before, as if there was nothing strange about the situation. Maybe there wasn’t.

What happened that second time was different. Slower, more deliberate. We took the time the heat of the truck hadn’t allowed. I stretched out between them in Rodrigo’s bed and let them undress me again, this time without haste, with both of their hands and mouths tracing over me completely. Damián licked me slowly from my neck to my navel, Rodrigo spread my legs and slid into me again, and this time he rode me, with Damián kneeling beside us offering his cock for me to suck again. We changed positions several times. They took turns fucking me, then both at once, Rodrigo underneath and Damián standing at the side. They made me come one more time before they finished, this time inside, one after the other, with the promise that it was under control.

There was a moment, near midnight, when all three of us were still and silent, and I realized I felt no shame and no regret. Only that satisfied exhaustion with no equivalent, thighs sticky and skin smelling of both of them.

—When are you coming by the shop again? —Damián asked, his eyes already nearly closed.

—Tomorrow, I suppose —I replied.

Rodrigo gave a low laugh.

***

I showered in Rodrigo’s bathroom. He lent me a large towel and asked no questions. When I came out, Damián was dozing on the sofa and Rodrigo was in the kitchen with two cups of coffee.

—It’s twelve-thirty —he said, handing me a cup—. Want me to drive you?

—No need. I’ll walk.

He looked at me with that serious expression he had when he wasn’t smiling.

—Lorena.

—What?

—Nothing. Just that I’m glad you accepted the beer.

I took my coffee standing by the counter. Before I left, I peeked at the sofa and looked at Damián asleep, his arm hanging toward the floor. It touched me, in that unexpected way that appears after intimacy with strangers.

I went out into the street with my bag slung across me and walked slowly home. The neighborhood was quiet. Shops closed, some dog sleeping in a doorway. It took me ten minutes to get there. I climbed the stairs without turning on the light, took off my shoes on the landing, and went into the bedroom.

I lay down on the bed without undressing. My body felt tired in a way I hadn’t felt for a long time. Not the tiredness of work or stress, but the other kind: the kind that comes from having used your body for something it deserved.

I closed my eyes and thought of Rodrigo’s rough hands, Damián’s patient tongue, the heat of the truck, and how, for a few hours, forty-two had been exactly the right age to be where I was.

The next day, at six in the evening, I passed that street again.

Both of them were there.

Neither of them pretended to be surprised.