At Forty-Four, I Wanted a Much Younger Lover

Finally free at forty-four. The divorce did me good, better than I could ever have imagined. I signed the last papers, said goodbye to my lawyer with a handshake, and left the building feeling ten years younger. My ex has to pay me a more than generous alimony: his salary more than allows it. And on top of that, I kept the apartment. We didn’t have children. I’m free to do exactly as I please.

We’ve been separated since he met someone else. I don’t want to know anything about her, or about him. Let the two of them sort themselves out. I console myself in my own way: browsing the internet late into the night, with a glass of wine beside me and the house in silence. I found a lot of sites that interested me. Among others, one that sells adult toys. I got obsessed with a pair of ben wa balls and a simple dildo, nothing earth-shattering, just enough to improve my solitary pleasures.

To tell the truth, I distrust men so much that for months I preferred to satisfy my needs on my own. No complications, no promises. My bed, my dildo, and my fantasies. For the moment, I had no complaints.

One night, while poking around among the male profiles on a dating site, I came across a guy I liked very much. I contacted him through the chat. He replied right away. We talked for quite a while and something in the way he wrote, direct and yet shy, made me want him for real. Right then the connection dropped. I cursed out loud at the blacked-out screen.

It wasn’t possible for some kid to get me this worked up with four sentences.

That same night I masturbated thinking about him. I imagined him on top of me, taking his time, discovering me as if I were new territory. I hadn’t slept with a man in a long time, and the fantasy was enough to make me come several times in a row. The next day I looked for him again and we picked up the conversation where we’d left off. Everything seemed identical to my dream from the night before. We agreed to meet at a bar the following night.

I wanted him so urgently that I ended up giving him my address outright. I’m crazy, I thought as I hit send. I’m a woman in heat and I no longer care to hide it. Tomorrow at ten at night.

***

The day felt endless. That brief conversation had left me burning, with a constant tingling deep in my lower belly demanding immediate attention. I went to my room, undressed, and forced myself not to touch myself. I made a quick dinner and barely tasted it. I turned on the television and didn’t understand a single scene.

Nothing was working. I went back to bed. This time I stroked my clit slowly, patiently, so the pleasure would last. I let my hand travel up to my navel and pause there for a moment, right before resuming the movement. The same fantasy as always: him fucking me. I came long and hard and, finally, fell asleep.

I woke up naked, tangled in the sheets. I took advantage of that to touch myself again, now with the dildo, and it was almost a deliberate decision. Tonight, I told myself, I’m going to be a real woman, one who is dying for a young guy to make her his. I wanted to behave without shame. I put on only the dress with buttons down the front, with nothing underneath. If he saw me like that, I hoped he’d pounce on me; and if he didn’t get the hint, I’d take care of making it clear to him. On the low table I left a bottle of old armagnac, another of whiskey, and one of hazelnut liqueur.

At last the doorbell rang. I opened the door and it took all I had not to throw myself at him in the doorway. His name was Mateo and he was even more handsome than in the photos. In the living room he chose the armagnac, just like me. We warmed the glasses with our hands, in silence, holding each other’s gaze.

“I thought you’d change your mind,” he said, and his voice trembled just a little.

“I never change my mind about anything,” I replied.

I sat down beside him. I wanted him to kiss me first, for him to be the one to make the first move, even though inside I was already melting. I looked at his lips boldly. He got the message. He leaned in and kissed me, and our tongues met in a slow back-and-forth that raised gooseflesh all over me. I clung to the back of his neck.

He took the initiative. One hand went to my shoulder, then down to my breast. He started squeezing too hard, as if afraid I might get away.

“Gently,” I whispered. “You don’t need to squeeze that much. You’re hurting me.”

He blushed to the ears. It was obvious none of his previous girls had dared correct him. He learned fast. His touches became just right, delicious. He unbuttoned another button and bared my chest. He kissed my nipples eagerly, this time controlling his strength, and I was already completely soaked.

He dropped a hand to my knee and left it there, hesitating, waiting for permission I had no intention of denying him. He moved toward the inside of my thigh. I let him. When I felt him getting bolder, it was my turn to take the reins. Under the fabric of his trousers, a bulge stood out, and I took it fully in my hand. I undid his belt and set him free.

I stroked him the way I know how, with the calm of someone who has time. He, on the other hand, when he tried to return the favor, couldn’t find the exact spot. I had to guide his fingers to the precise place.

He isn’t a virgin, I told myself, but he lacks practice. He needs a woman to teach him.

This time, yes. He touched me properly, attentive to every one of my reactions, until he made me come for real. He was so proud of himself that he had to ask:

“Did you like it? Was it good?”

“It was very good,” I laughed. “Keep it up.”

***

He took off my dress. With so few buttons, it was no feat. Naked in front of him, I let him look without a trace of shame, turning slowly so he could see all of me. My body hadn’t changed all that much since I was twenty, and from his face I understood he hadn’t expected something like that. That a woman my age would welcome him that way left him speechless.

What he couldn’t imagine was what came next. I knelt at his feet and took him in my mouth. First I licked the tip, slowly, before taking him almost all the way. I went back and forth at my own pace. At his age he hardened again in a matter of seconds. He reclined against the back of the sofa with his eyes closed, surrendering to my caresses. When he came, he didn’t even have time to warn me. Luckily, that doesn’t bother me at all.

I sat back down beside him, still tasting him in my mouth.

“Now you,” I said.

Without arguing, he knelt down. I opened my legs and let him see everything. I took his head and guided him, indicating each step with my hand and my voice. I led him slowly to where I wanted him. He had to learn to take his time, not to rush. And when he finally found my clit and licked it properly, I came again, over and over, while he thought he was only just beginning.

When he sat back up, he was harder than the first time.

“Did you like what we did?” I asked.

He didn’t answer. He kissed me, and that was all the answer I needed.

We moved to my bedroom. Lying on the bed, he kissed me all over again. I took him in my hand once more, as if I were about to start over, but he stopped me. This time he knew exactly what he wanted. I opened my legs and invited him in. He did it slowly, too slowly for my taste, so I let him set the pace and held myself back for the end.

The thrusts grew faster as his pleasure neared. I was right there, just there, when I felt him explode deep inside me. I arrived barely a moment later.

“I think you’re the first one who’s made me finish like that,” I lied a little, just to see him smile.

It worked. His face lit up like a boy being given a gift he hadn’t expected.

***

I got him hard again in a sigh. I showed him, without shame, how I like to touch myself. I was the first woman he’d seen give herself pleasure in front of him, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away. When I looked down, he was ready again.

“This time I want you somewhere else,” I whispered in his ear.

I got on all fours and guided him. He confessed, in a thin voice, that he’d never done it like that with anyone before. I stopped him before he got too excited: very slowly, at least at the beginning. He obeyed like a diligent student, entering only a little, holding himself back. At just the right moment I was the one who pushed back. I took him all the way. From there he rammed into me with a rhythm that made me lose my mind. I came like a madwoman, feeling him deeper with each spasm. He took his time coming, which was perfect for me: I was making up for all the months I’d lost.

When he was close, I wanted to watch him finish with my own eyes. This time I didn’t have to explain anything to him. He already knew what I wanted. I took him in my hand and very slowly drew the skin down and up, just the way I’d learned he liked it. He, in turn, returned the favor with a skill he hadn’t had two hours earlier. I felt him tense all over, and I watched with an almost scientific calm as pleasure overtook him to the very last tremor.

It was over. For a moment he said he wanted to go back to his place, but I had no intention of spending the night alone, not that night.

“Stay,” I asked, and it wasn’t a question.

He stayed. We did it several more times, until the gray light of dawn began to slip through the curtains. By then I’d already made up my mind. This is serious: now I have a lover much younger than me, patient, obedient, and with a stamina no man my age could match. I plan to make the most of him. I plan to leave him dry every time he comes to see me. And, judging by the way he looked at me when he left, he was planning to come back very soon.