At Fifty-Nine, His Voice Made Me Tremble

Amparo had just turned fifty-nine. Fresh out of a long, exhausting divorce whose sharper corners still hurt, and after more than six years without anyone touching her, she faced the move to her new house by the sea, in Santa Pola, with an almost adolescent excitement.

They had been hard years. Thirty years of marriage that had gone out without a scream, simply through the slow wearing-down of two people who had stopped looking at each other. When she finally signed the papers, Amparo discovered that she felt no sorrow, but rather a kind of fresh air filling her lungs. She sold the apartment they had shared, chose that house overlooking the harbor all by herself, and promised herself that the second half of her life would be different. More hers. Freer.

What she hadn't expected was how much she would miss something as simple as a caress. Six years without hands roaming over her had taught her that desire doesn't retire with you; it only falls asleep, waiting for someone to wake it. Six years without feeling a hard cock against her belly, without a weight on top of her, without lips sucking her nipples until they were hard as stones. Six years of touching herself alone on some nights, with the window open and her mouth pressed into the pillow so the neighbor wouldn't hear her come.

She had spent days carrying boxes up and down, assembling shelves, and arguing with a wardrobe that refused to stand straight. That Sunday, she'd decided to give the entire day to bed. However, the restorative sleep she'd been looking forward to failed to live up to its promise: she slept soundly, yes, but woke with her body crying out for a couple more hours of peace beneath the warm sheets.

Half-asleep, her eyes still closed, she heard her phone buzzing on the bedside table. A message. Reluctantly, she stretched out her arm, felt along the cold wood until she found the phone, and brought it close to her face. A grimace halfway between a smile and bewilderment formed on her lips.

It was Rubén. Her friend Rubén, sending her a good-morning greeting capped with three chaste, affectionate kisses. What threw her off wasn't the message, but the time.

Why is this man texting me at six in the morning?

She frowned, still drowsy, and instead of answering in writing, asked if she could call him.

—Of course you can, by all means —he replied at once—. I'd love to hear your voice.

Amparo pressed the green button and settled on her side, her cheek sinking into the pillow.

—Good morning, early bird. What on earth are you doing awake at this hour?

—Good morning, Amparo. —Rubén's voice sounded deep, freshly roused—. I couldn't sleep and I thought of you. I hope I didn't wake you.

—No. I've been exhausted all week with the move and, would you believe it, now the tiredness won't let me sleep.

—That's very easy to cure. —She could hear him smiling on the other end—. Breakfast brought to bed, and afterward a good oil massage, slowly, by candlelight, with a little incense scenting the room. You'd feel brand-new.

Amparo let out a hoarse laugh and stretched beneath the sheets like a cat.

—Don't do that to me, I get shivers just imagining it. I do love having breakfast brought to bed…

—Then imagine it properly. —His voice dropped a tone, growing thicker—. I have massage oil at home. I'd love to spread it slowly over your back, your shoulders, your ass, without the slightest hurry, whispering in your ear how beautiful your skin is while I spread your cheeks with my thumbs.

There was a brief silence. Amparo noticed that her body, which a minute earlier had only wanted sleep, was beginning to ask for something entirely different. She felt a hot tug in her lower belly and, without realizing it, squeezed her thighs together beneath the sheet.

—And why are you imagining it instead of coming over? —she said, surprising herself with her own boldness.

—What?

—You heard me. I'll get up, open the door for you, send you to the kitchen to make breakfast, and we'll eat it together here in my bed. I'll be waiting for you, all warm beneath the sheets. And afterward I'll lie facedown and you can give me that massage you say I'd like so much.

***

On the other end of the line, Rubén fell silent. They had been friends for years, the kind who told each other their troubles and laughed at the same stupid things. He had never hidden the fact that he liked her; he told her every other day, half-jokingly, but they had never gone beyond a long hug when saying goodbye. Her proposal caught him completely off guard.

—Fuck, Amparo… do you really want me to come?

—Do you think having breakfast together and then relaxing by candlelight is a bad idea? —Her voice was honey and challenge at the same time.

—I don't think it's a bad idea. I think I'm rock-hard just from hearing you, and I'm sweating while holding the phone.

Amparo closed her eyes. The room smelled of fresh paint and clean sheets. The first light, golden and timid, entered through the gap in the blinds, drawing a line across the wall. Without thinking too much, she slipped her free hand beneath her nightgown, brushed her belly, and moved down until she found the soft hair of her pubis. She was hot. She was wet. And no one had touched her yet.

—How do you think I feel? —she said softly, almost in a whisper—. I'm in bed, Rubén, with my hand between my legs. I just yanked off my panties. My nipples are so hard they hurt, and my pussy is soaking wet. Truly soaking wet. It's running down the insides of my thighs.

—Don't do this to me over the phone…

—I'm pinching one of my nipples while I talk to you. —Her breathing had quickened, and she made no effort to hide it—. I'm pulling it hard, like you would with your teeth. And with my other hand I'm spreading my pussy lips so the air can touch my clit. Can you hear it? Can you hear how wet I am?

She brought the phone close to her crotch, then slowly lifted it back to her ear. From the other end came a deep moan, almost a growl.

—Jesus fucking Christ, Amparo…

—Are you holding it? —she asked with a boldness she hadn't known she possessed—. Take it out. Take it out now, and while you talk to me, jerk off thinking of me. I want to hear you masturbating while I touch myself.

Rubén let out a muffled, incredulous laugh, and she heard the rustle of sheets, the elastic of a pair of briefs sliding down, and then the wet, slow rhythm of a closed hand wrapped around a hard cock. Her heart lurched. She had never been so direct with anyone, not even when she was young. And yet speaking to Rubén like that, the crude words spilling from her mouth as if they had been waiting years for their chance, lit up every inch of her skin.

—I've got it out now —he murmured—. It's hard and covered in my spit, imagining that it's your mouth sucking me.

—It is my mouth —Amparo said, closing her eyes—. My mouth is sucking you. Close your eyes and feel me. I have you all the way inside me, to the back, my tongue wrapped underneath you, moving slowly up and down so you don't come yet. I lick the tip, take you all in again, suck your balls one by one while I stroke you with my hand.

—Fuck, fuck…

—And while I'm sucking you, I have my fingers inside my pussy, Rubén. Two fingers all the way in, moving them just the way I want you to fuck me.

She really did put them inside. Two fingers, up to the knuckles, and her hand filled with warm, thick wetness. Her thumb found her swollen clit and began circling it, never quite pressing down fully, prolonging the torture so she could last longer. She moved her hips against her own hand, arching her back over the mattress. The sheet wrinkled beneath her thighs. She could hear herself moaning and didn't care.

—Don't finish by yourself. —Rubén's voice came out broken, struggling to maintain control—. Hold on until I get there and let me finish you with my tongue between your thighs. I want to taste you slowly, spread your legs on the bed and eat your pussy until you pull my hair.

—Rubén…

—I want to bury your face down there, suck your lips one by one, push my tongue as deep inside you as I can, then move up to find your clit and not let go until you're screaming. Until you come in my mouth like you haven't come in years. I want to swallow everything you give me.

Amparo let out a long moan she neither wanted nor was able to contain. One hand was working her pussy with two fingers while the other clutched the phone as if it were the only thing keeping her tethered to the world. His voice, that voice she knew from a thousand silly conversations, was drawing a scene in her mind that her body was following to the letter.

For a moment she felt ridiculous, a woman of almost sixty melting over a phone call like a girl. But the thought lasted only as long as it takes a snowflake to dissolve on hot skin. It had been far too long since anyone had spoken to her like that, since anyone had desired her out loud, since anyone had said the word pussy in a tone that sounded hungry. She realized she didn't want him to stop for anything in the world.

—Keep talking to me —she begged between gasps—. Don't be quiet, please. Tell me how you'll fuck me afterward.

—I'd spread your legs slowly —he murmured, each word falling like a warm drop—. I'd kiss the insides of your thighs without touching you where you need it most, just to make you ask me. I'd lick your slit from top to bottom, very slowly, feeling you tremble against my face. And when you couldn't take it anymore, when you were begging me, then I'd put it in. I'd thrust my whole cock inside you in one go, all the way to the back, until you felt my balls hitting your ass.

—Yes, like that, keep going…

—I'd put it in deep and very slowly at first, so you'd feel every inch entering. Then I'd start fucking you properly, on your back, your legs spread and your feet braced on my shoulders, so I could reach as deep inside you as possible. I'd grab your tits while I pounded you, pinch your nipples, and I wouldn't let go of your pussy until you were begging me to come inside you.

Amparo was biting her lip. Her fingers were moving in and out of her pussy at a rhythm she no longer controlled, drawing out that liquid, obscene sound that embarrassed her and turned her on even more at the same time. She could feel her clit throbbing, swollen and ready to burst. She pressed it with the pad of her thumb in quick, relentless circles.

—Get on all fours for me —he continued, his voice rasped by restraint—. I want to see your ass raised, I want to look at your pussy from behind, wide open and dripping for me. And grab you by the hips and fuck you doggy-style, watching it go in and out covered in your juices. I'd pull your hair, Amparo. I'd smack your ass.

—Oh, God…

—And when I was about to come, I'd ask you where you wanted it. Inside. On your tits. In your mouth. And you'd tell me in that voice you're using now.

—Inside —she gasped—. Come inside me, Rubén, come inside me, fill me completely.

She moved her hips against her own hand, following the pattern Rubén's voice was drawing in the air. The golden light from the blinds now fell across her chest and belly, and she imagined that it was him looking at her like that, unhurried, learning every curve of a body she had assumed invisible for years. It wasn't. Not that morning. That morning it was a living woman's body, sweaty and horny, with two fingers buried deep inside and her clit on the verge of bursting.

—I need it —she heard herself say, not caring how it sounded—. God, Rubén, you don't know how much I need it. I'm coming, I'm coming, don't stop talking to me…

—I know —he replied, his voice cracked with restraint, his hand working his cock at the same rhythm as hers—. Hold on a little longer. I want to hear you come. Push your fingers all the way in for me, Amparo, do it. Fuck yourself the way I'm going to fuck you.

She obeyed. She pushed her fingers as deep as they would go, curling them inward, searching for that spot she had almost forgotten. Her belly contracted, her thighs tensed, and her back arched off the mattress. The wave seized her suddenly, rising from her pussy to her throat, and she released a muffled cry into the pillow as the orgasm swept through her entire body, one contraction after another, shaking her hips against her own hand. She felt a hot stream escape between her fingers, soaking her ass and the sheet beneath her. She hadn't come like that in years.

The silence that followed wasn't empty. Through the phone, Rubén could hear his friend's ragged breathing, the rustle of the sheets, a few muffled moans against the pillow, and then the wet splashing of her hand slowly withdrawing from between her legs. He waited. He waited without saying anything, holding his own breath until one final shudder passed through Amparo's voice and he knew she had come all the way. A low grunt escaped him on the other end, and she didn't need to ask to know that he, too, had emptied himself into his own hand listening to her come.

***

For several seconds, the only sound was the beat of their breathing gradually slowing. Amparo lay on her back, her hair tousled over the pillow, her thighs still open and sticky, wearing a loose, satisfied smile she hadn't felt in a very long time.

—I just came, Rubén —she confessed at last, without a trace of shame—. I soaked the sheet. I had my eyes closed, listening to you tell me how you were fucking me, and I couldn't hold back. I'm sorry.

—Don't be sorry, for God's sake. —He laughed softly, delighted, his voice still rough—. My hand is covered, just so you know. Knowing that you enjoyed yourself so much just from my voice is the best thing that's happened to me in weeks. It drives me crazy imagining you like that, with your fingers inside you because of me.

—Then don't just imagine it. —Amparo propped herself up on one elbow and looked at the bedside clock—. It's seven on a Sunday morning. We have the whole morning ahead of us, the house to ourselves, and a breakfast someone has to make. The door is the blue one, second floor. I'll be waiting for you in bed, just as I am now. And this time you'll really put it in me.

There was a pause. Then Rubén's voice came, filled with a smile she could almost touch.

—Give me twenty minutes. I'm on my way.

Amparo hung up, set the phone on the bedside table, and stared at the ceiling, her heart still racing and her sex throbbing between her legs. The full light of morning was already coming through the window, and for the first time in a long while, the new house no longer seemed large or empty. She got up, drew back the curtains, and went to fetch two cups. At fifty-nine, apparently, there were still early mornings worth having.