At Fifty, the Intern Made Me Feel Alive

When the general manager told me that we were going to receive an intern from the Canadian branch and that he would be under my supervision for four weeks, I confess I wasn’t thrilled. These placements were usually meant to train some promising junior destined for a future management position, and I didn’t have time to spare. But as the operations director of one of the company’s largest branches, in Valencia, I wasn’t in a position to refuse.

When they sent me his résumé, the first things I looked at were the photo and his date of birth, so I’d know what I was dealing with. The photo showed a handsome young man, the typical fair-skinned redhead, with curly hair and a face covered in freckles. He was twenty-six, and I was surprised that someone so young had already been earmarked for positions of responsibility. Then I looked at his academic background and understood: two engineering degrees with average grades above eight out of ten and several master’s degrees, all related to our line of work. It was as though he had prepared himself specifically to build a career at a civil engineering company like ours.

The following Monday, he showed up at my office first thing in the morning. We greeted each other with a handshake, and I asked him to sit on the other side of the desk. I fired questions at him, and he answered every one with a calmness and coherence unusual for someone his age. He wasn’t just well educated: he had poise and a disarming charm. He spoke perfect Spanish, as well as French and German, because his father was a diplomat and he had lived in half a dozen countries. A diamond in the rough, in other words.

I brought him up to speed on two projects I had underway and walked him around the department to introduce him to the rest of the team. I couldn’t help noticing how several of my female colleagues whispered as he passed, and one or two even made comments that were out of place during working hours. I said nothing. They were young, and I liked keeping the atmosphere relaxed at the office.

As the days went by, I realized that he hadn’t simply studied hard. He was naturally intelligent, quick to read every situation, capable of coming up with solutions as casually as if he had never put a foot wrong in his life. Within a single week, he had become a genuine source of support, arousing a certain amount of resentment among the others, although he knew how to win them over. He ate with the team and had a beer with us at the end of the day instead of returning to the apartment Human Resources had found for him.

A circular arrived announcing that the company’s Christmas dinner would be held the following Friday, and I passed the information on to my people by email. Aidan, that was his name, replied at once, asking whether he could attend too. I told him, of course. His second question was whether he needed a tuxedo, and I answered with a smile that it was an informal dinner and that a tie wasn’t even required, though he could wear one if he wanted. There were no more questions.

***

The day arrived. We were meeting at eight, and, as was my habit, I showed up early. Barely half a dozen colleagues had arrived, including Aidan, true to his homeland’s punctuality. This time I greeted him with two kisses, and he looked bewildered; I had to explain that on occasions like this it was normal for us to greet each other that way, even when we were coworkers.

I had put on a red dress with a generous neckline that revealed I wasn’t wearing a bra, a flared skirt falling above the knee, and a pair of black patent-leather stilettos. I didn’t usually attend company events feeling like that, but it was a party, and it was my way of not looking out of place despite my age—fifty years old, newly turned.

Aidan reacted as he usually did. He took my hand, drew me a little aside to look me up and down, and told me I looked beautiful. I blushed like a little girl. I wasn’t used to compliments like that anymore, least of all from a young man twice my age. I put it down to Anglo-Saxon manners, a linguistic misunderstanding, or something he had read somewhere and considered a socially appropriate compliment for an older woman.

We sat down to have a beer while the others arrived. We stayed in our little corner, enjoying a pleasant conversation apart from the rest. The truth was that he had led a fascinating life, at least compared with mine: I had married at twenty-two, and the most interesting thing about our story had been the professional success we had both achieved, because we couldn’t have children, and that had gradually dragged us down into monotony.

When dinner ended, they cleared away the tables, set up a bar, and music began to play. People threw themselves into dancing and drinking something stronger than wine. Aidan gently took me by the elbow, and we went over to the bar. He asked about the whiskey brands and ordered two glasses from a bottle I had never tried in my life but that was delicious. A little while later, he asked me to put down my glass and, taking my hand, led me onto the dance floor just as the music shifted to slow rhythms.

I didn’t even notice when he pressed his body against mine. I admit I felt flattered when I felt his face beside mine as he sang into my ear. With the whole dance floor packed with colleagues, I felt as though the two of us were alone. When an old bolero began, he pulled me against him, placed one hand on my hip, and we danced completely pressed together until I became aware of the situation. I was a company executive, married, surrounded by people who knew me. Panic seized me, and I told him I needed to go out into the garden for some air. It was the first excuse that came to mind to get away from him.

***

As soon as I stepped outside, the December cold raised goosebumps on my skin, and I rubbed my arms to warm myself. I immediately felt his arms wrapping around my back and his breath against my ear, still singing the bolero we had left unfinished. I leaned back against his chest, placed my hands over his, and swayed to the rhythm of his voice. It wasn’t long before I felt his lips brushing my neck.

A wave of heat began to spread through my body. I slid his hands upward until they rested on my breasts and gently pressed them against me. One of his hands slipped through my neckline and caressed me, while the other moved down my belly and stopped at my navel. I took that hand and guided it lower until I placed it over my sex, through the fabric. He pressed, searching for just the right spot, and as soon as he found it, he began drawing slow circles. I lost all sense of time and place; I could only feel what he was doing to me. I came slowly, intensely, against his hand. It had been far too long since I had felt an orgasm like that.

This is madness, I thought. And yet I didn’t want him to stop.

He suggested that we sneak away from the party on some pretext and go to the apartment the company had rented for him. I wasn’t fully conscious of what I was saying or doing; I was thinking only of enjoying that young man until I was exhausted, the way I had years ago and could barely remember anymore.

We left separately. I got into a taxi, and an instant later he entered through the opposite door, as if he had appeared out of nowhere. He gave the driver the address and, as soon as we pulled away, began kissing me like a man possessed. I felt like the most desired woman in the world. At one point I caught the cab driver’s eye in the rearview mirror and saw him watching us. I didn’t care. If there was a witness to my happiness, so much the better.

***

We reached the building. Aidan paid by card so we wouldn’t have to wait for change, and once we were in the elevator, he devoured me with kisses, one hand resting on my back and the other sliding lower. All I wanted was for him to make me his as soon as possible. We entered the apartment without stopping our kisses and headed straight for the bedroom. Hurriedly, he unbuttoned my dress while I struggled with the buttons of his shirt.

The dress fell to the floor, and he stepped back just far enough to look at me. He kissed one of my breasts hungrily, and I felt a sharp pang shoot down into my belly. He stripped quickly, I got rid of my last garment, and we lay down. Neither of us could hold out any longer. He asked me to get on top, and I sat astride him, setting a slow rhythm; we both wanted to draw it out as long as possible, though we didn’t manage to. I came after only a few minutes, and he sped up until he finished. I collapsed onto his chest, and, holding each other, we caught our breath.

Ten minutes later, we were at it again, this time with him behind me, holding my hips. More relaxed than at first, we changed positions and enjoyed ourselves without any urgency. After making me come again, he lowered himself and kissed me between the legs until he drew another moan from me. I asked him to lie down and positioned myself beside him, facing the opposite direction, to return the favor. While I had him in my mouth, his fingers sought me out again, and we both reached climax almost simultaneously. We did it once more before I took a shower and got dressed.

***

I called a taxi to go home. It was six in the morning when it dropped me at the door. I handed over the money and didn’t even wait for the change before getting out, so the driver wouldn’t see the tears already running down my cheeks. It was the first time I had cheated on my husband in all the years we had been together.

I went to bed quietly so I wouldn’t wake him and couldn’t sleep a wink. I went over the entire course of my marriage without finding any explanation for its deterioration beyond the passage of time. At first, we used to joke that we were like rabbits. Then we stopped getting up early, after that we had sex only at night, and not every night. In time, I got used to faking orgasms to bring the session to an end; he would turn over and fall asleep while I finished myself off in silence so he wouldn’t know. That morning, unable to sleep, I ended up fantasizing about old encounters, but replacing my husband’s face with Aidan’s. It wasn’t long before I fell asleep.

***

It was after noon when I woke up. My husband was probably at his Saturday padel match. I sent him a message saying I had a lunch commitment and that he should make himself something to eat. I didn’t feel like running into him face-to-face at all. I showered, put on comfortable clothes, and went downtown for a walk around Plaza de la Reina. Imagine my surprise when I received a message from Aidan asking me about a work matter that was obviously not about work. I hesitated to answer because I had a feeling how it would all end if I did, but I couldn’t resist, and I wrote to tell him I was alone having an aperitif at the Central Market.

Half an hour later, he called. He was nearby and was coming to join me. We arranged to meet at one of the market entrances, and when he saw me, he came almost running to hug and kiss me. We decided to take things slowly and sat on a terrace to nibble on something with a vermouth. We spent more than an hour talking without stopping touching each other: a hand, an arm, a knee, sometimes a thigh, an allegedly accidental brush. Then I received a message from my husband saying he was having lunch with friends from the club and wouldn’t be home until dinner. It was as if he were pushing me to spend the afternoon with Aidan.

I showed him the message. With a smile, he asked for the check, paid, and pulled me by the hand toward the street to flag down the first available taxi. He gave the driver his address, and just as I was about to suggest we go somewhere more public so we wouldn’t repeat what had happened the night before, he silenced me with a kiss that left me breathless. I no longer had the strength to protest.

This time we held back until we had closed the apartment door, but not much longer. He took me from behind, his hands on my breasts, and I responded by reaching for him. He pulled down my trousers and, seeing me half undressed, lifted me into his arms and carried me to the bed. As soon as I felt his mouth between my legs again, I got rid of the rest of my clothes. He waited for me to come before positioning himself above me and entering me hungrily, devouring my mouth, my neck, and my earlobe. He drove into me with a passion I no longer remembered seeing in my husband.

From his reaction, I guessed that many of those things were new to him, and he confirmed it afterward when we talked. He had had quite a few relationships for his age, but they had always been very conventional. He listened attentively when I told him he still had a great deal to discover, and he replied that he was willing to learn everything I wanted to teach him.

The afternoon flew by. By the time we realized it, it was after eight. I showered in a hurry and was about to call a taxi when he told me to hang up—he would drive me. He dropped me off on a corner, and we said goodbye with a brief kiss. When I got home, my husband was already in his pajamas in front of the television, beer in hand, ready to watch the game. I greeted him, and he barely paid me any attention, which reassured me because I was far too nervous to invent excuses for the time.

***

Because of work, I couldn’t see him again until Wednesday, despite his insistence. That night I told my husband I would be late because of a dinner with some clients from Seville. I met Aidan directly at his place at six. Beforehand, I stopped at the supermarket because his refrigerator was a desert. When I arrived, I showered to release the tension of the day, and he offered to dry me with the towel, though it was only an excuse to get his hands on me and turn me on. In the meantime, he had prepared two drinks with plenty of ice, for which I was grateful.

We chatted about the office gossip. I learned that more than one of my colleagues had hit on him and that he had invented a girlfriend in Toronto to get them off his back. We laughed while he caressed my bare legs, which I had resting across his thighs, moving closer and closer. I was wearing only one of his T-shirts, with nothing underneath. I took advantage of one movement of his hand to guide it between my legs and start using it as I pleased. Eager to oblige, he spread my thighs and attacked exactly where I wanted him to. One finger was enough to make me lose control and throw myself on top of him.

That afternoon, I was the one who set the pace, calmly teaching him everything my body asked for. I took a couple of toys from my bag that I had rescued from a forgotten drawer in the wardrobe, the same ones my husband and I had used long ago to try to escape our routine. Aidan let himself be guided with the curiosity of a diligent student, attentive to every instruction and willing to try everything. Together we discovered positions and caresses he had never imagined, and for the first time in years I felt completely in charge of my own pleasure. When we finished, we were both sprawled exhausted across the rumpled sheets, looking at each other like two accomplices to an enormous secret.

It was midnight when I returned home, exhausted and still trembling. Luckily, my husband was snoring like a baby and didn’t notice me arrive. That night I had no trouble falling asleep: I rested my head on the pillow and was out like a light.

***

It was Aidan’s last week in Valencia, and we decided to celebrate his farewell somewhere other than his apartment. I asked my secretary to book a suite in my name at a hotel facing the sea for Friday. I arranged to meet him at eight in the restaurant and ordered dinner to be brought up at nine. I dressed in a low-cut evening gown and went without underwear.

When he arrived at the room, he was amazed to see me so elegant. Before dinner, we allowed ourselves only a taste, just enough to whet our appetites; the rest, we decided, would come afterward. We toasted with champagne just as there was a knock at the door with the dishes, and we ate dinner slowly, laughing about everything, stretching out every minute because we knew they were slipping away.

I didn’t want to end our journey without fulfilling one last fantasy. After dinner and after emptying the bottle, we made love without rushing, in the simplest way—the one he chose so he could look into my eyes and kiss me while he made me his. He could have chosen anything else, but he thought it was the most tender option, and it disarmed me. We didn’t sleep a wink all night and lost count of how many times we sought each other out.

At ten in the morning, we left the hotel to take him to the airport. We shared one last kiss, devouring each other, and I drove off without even looking in the rearview mirror. I didn’t want to watch him disappear through the terminal doors, knowing that, almost certainly, I would never see him again. I had to pull the car onto the shoulder of the highway because my tears kept me from seeing the road. When I had composed myself, I took the road home, aware that, thanks to that young man, something inside me had come back to life.