How My Best Client Ended Up Becoming My Biggest Secret

In another story I explained how and why I started in male prostitution. There was a dark period when sex was for me more of an escape route than a source of income, a way to numb myself in the face of a reality I didn’t want to look at head-on. Elena entered my life during that stage and, without meaning to, was the person who helped me the most to climb out of that hole.

She was a woman many would have described as conservative in her customs and values. But that never led her to judge me. She never pressured me to stop seeing other clients. The only thing she ever told me, in that calm, direct tone of hers, was to be careful. Nothing more. After several months from our first encounter, the dynamic between us changed on its own, without either of us planning it: from client and escort, to confidants; and, over time, to something that looks quite a lot like real friendship.

During the first year we saw each other very often. Practically every week, and some months even two or three days in a row. I had the feeling I wanted to recover something, even if I wasn’t quite sure what. For me it was also a good financial arrangement: having her as a regular client saved me from having to take jobs with men I felt no affinity for at all.

The subject of money and prostitution took a while to come up in our conversations, but once trust arrived, so did the questions. One day she asked me directly how I could sleep with men I didn’t like if I needed the money so badly.

I answered her with complete honesty. It wasn’t a matter of desperation. It was a way to make money fast, though not always easily. In an hour I could earn what any worker would spend two or three days breaking his back for. With more intense services, in a couple of days I could put together the equivalent of a full monthly salary. At the cost of doing things that weren’t exactly pleasant, of course.

Elena listened without looking away. I know she understood the reasoning, even if it was hard for her to connect it to anything in her own experience. She had always lived inside a bubble of economic comfort. She never had to work in the fields, in a factory, or in construction. She didn’t know firsthand what it costs to earn a living with your body and physical labor. But that didn’t make her arrogant. With the people in her own circle she was, if anything, more critical than with anyone else, as had already been clear in more than one anecdote I’d heard her tell.

What we had together went far beyond sex. We went to exhibitions, concerts, to dinners in places I would never have entered alone. She had the habit of taking me shopping for clothes, something I find tedious, but with her I put up with it. Her reasoning was simple: if she was a real lady, I should be dressed accordingly. It made sense. And although it sounds strange, those moments were just as much a part of our relationship as the others.

Elena was always impeccable. Even when we met at her house just to be together, she would show up well dressed, perfumed, every detail in place. I never saw her in loungewear. She thought it was important to keep up that care, as a way of respecting herself. Or maybe of respecting me. With her I was never entirely sure which was which.

***

When we’d been like that for close to a year, she suggested we go on vacation together. A week at the beach, in a hotel she would choose. I agreed without thinking too hard about it.

The first anecdote of the trip came before we even crossed the hotel room door. While I carried the suitcases, Elena went straight to the reception desk to check in. The girl on duty addressed her with a professional smile and then looked in my direction.

—Excuse me, could you ask your son to show us his ID?

I swallowed a laugh. Elena, on the other hand, didn’t smile.

—That man over there is my boyfriend, not my son, dear.

The girl turned red to the roots of her hair. She apologized so many times she tripped over her own words, and when she handed us the keys she did it staring at the floor. Elena walked toward the elevator with absolute calm, as if it meant no more than anything else. That was her too: able to cut through any awkward situation without drama and without resentment.

In the room, I set the suitcases beside the bed and wrapped her up before she could say anything. I laid her down on the duvet and started kissing her. She was laughing and saying we hadn’t even unpacked yet, that we needed to get organized.

—We’ll unpack later —I told her against her mouth—. Right now I’m going to fuck you.

I covered her mouth with mine and pushed my tongue all the way in. I slid my hand inside her dress, squeezed a breast over the bra, and felt the nipple harden suddenly against my palm. Her laughter died and turned into a short gasp. I lifted her dress up to her waist, tore off her underwear in one yank —a thin lace panty that I kept for a second in my fist before throwing it to the floor— and opened her legs from knee to knee.

I lowered my head straight to her cunt. She was already wet, glossy, with that clean, female scent that had gotten into my head from the first day. I ran my tongue over her entire slit, bottom to top, very slowly, and felt her tremble. I repeated the motion three, four times, each time pressing a little harder. I held her thighs with both hands so she couldn’t close them and started sucking her clit patiently, circling it with the tip of my tongue, alternating with long licks over every inch of her lips. When she started arching her back I slid two fingers inside her and curled the tips upward, searching for that exact spot that drove her crazy. She let out a long moan and grabbed my hair with both hands, pressing my face into her cunt with no shame at all.

—Don’t stop —she panted—. Right there, right there, don’t stop…

I kept going until I felt she was right there. Then I pulled my tongue back and sat up. She protested, eyes half-closed and face red, trying to lower her hand to finish herself off. I pushed her arm away.

I yanked down my pants and underwear. My cock was rock hard, pointing at her face. I brought it to her lips and she opened her mouth without me having to ask. She sucked me down completely, eyes closed, taking me by the base and running her tongue under the head with that slow, diligent movement of hers. I let her suck me for a couple of minutes, watching my dick go in and out of that decent woman’s mouth, until I knew that if I kept going I’d come too early.

I pulled it from her mouth with a wet smack. I pushed her back so she was lying on her back again, lifted her legs by the ankles, and drove into her in one thrust. Elena screamed. A real scream, not stage noise, the kind a woman lets out when a whole cock is shoved into her all at once. I pushed hard, not rushing but not pausing, sinking all the way in every time, and the headboard began banging against the wall in rhythm. A dull thud, each time I buried myself in her completely.

—Tell me you like it —I said, panting—. Tell me you like it when I fuck you like this.

—I love it —she answered, voice breaking—. I love your cock, don’t stop, give it to me all…

I fucked her in that position until I felt her come under me: her legs started shaking against my sides, she squeezed her eyes shut and let out a long moan, almost a lament, while her cunt clenched around my dick in waves. I held on as best I could, changed the angle, kept driving into her while she was still contracting. When I couldn’t hold back any longer, I barely pulled out and shoved back in to the hilt, gripping her hips, and came inside her with a growl. I felt each burst of semen shooting out, one after another, while I kept thrusting by inertia until the last contraction.

When it was over, she lay sprawled on the duvet, her dress still hiked up, her tits out of her bra and her face red as a tomato. A thread of my cum was already starting to run from her cunt down to the duvet. She looked up at me and said I was crazy, that I hadn’t even let her undress. I slapped her thigh and told her it was her own fault for putting on that skirt.

We showered together, unpacked, and went out to walk along the seafront before dinner. The night was warm and she was hanging on the arm of a man twenty years younger than her with the same calm with which she would do anything else in her life.

***

The next day we went to the beach. And that was where I pushed a little farther the limits she had spent her whole life respecting without questioning them.

It was hot from early on. Elena arrived in a one-piece swimsuit, elegant, the kind any woman of her generation and position would wear. She had a beautiful body for her age: real curves, skin she had always taken care of, a presence people notice even if they don’t know exactly why.

I wanted her to go topless.

I started without saying it outright. I took out the sunscreen and suggested rubbing some on her. To me it’s genuinely pleasurable, applying cream to a woman’s body, feeling the temperature of her skin, the change in texture from one area to the next. I did it slowly along her legs, her back, her shoulders.

When I got to the clasp of the swimsuit at the back, I undid it naturally and told her she needed to take off the top so the cream could reach everywhere properly.

—No way —she answered without hesitation.

I asked her to make it easy on me. That no one was going to stare at her. That it was an adults-only beach and her body had nothing to be ashamed of. She didn’t answer, but she also didn’t fasten the swimsuit again. I waited a moment. I asked her again, in a low voice, as if it were a small favor.

She turned slowly and lay back with her chest exposed. She looked at me sidelong, watching my reaction. I started spreading the cream over her torso, slowly, with just the right pressure, taking care of every area. At first she kept looking around, a little tense. I told her in her ear that she was beautiful, to relax, to close her eyes.

She did.

I kept going for several minutes. The men nearby would glance over and then look away: that little choreography of people who want to watch without getting caught. It was understandable. The way I was applying the cream was not discreet: I was cupping both her breasts with my hands, pinching her nipples between thumb and forefinger as if it were part of rubbing the lotion in, and sliding my palm over her tits with more pressure than necessary. Her nipples got so hard you could see them from ten meters away. The age difference between us also wasn’t exactly subtle. But that turned me on more than anything else: knowing there were men staring at my woman’s tits, fully aware that later that same night those same tits would be pressed against my mouth.

From that day on she stopped putting the top of her swimsuit back on when we went to the beach. She went into the sea without it, lay in the sun without it, with the same calm she had shown in everything else after that first time. I loved seeing her like that. I loved that I was the one who had convinced her.

***

A couple of days later we went into the sea together. We moved until the water covered us to the waist, a little away from the nearest groups. I took off the bottom part of her swimsuit under the water and kept it in my hand like someone keeping a trophy. She let me do it, looking toward the shore as if checking that no one was watching us too closely.

—You’re crazy —she whispered—. Not here, not here…

—Here, yes —I answered, and slipped my hand between her legs under the water.

I ran two fingers over her cunt, feeling the difference between the salt water outside and her wetness inside. I rubbed her slowly, with my palm pressed against her pubis and my fingertips going in and out, while with my other hand I circled her waist so she wouldn’t lose her balance. She closed her eyes, rested her forehead on my shoulder, and let out a little moan only I could hear, half drowned out by the sound of the waves.

—Lower my swimsuit —I whispered in her ear.

She put her hand under the water and untied the knot of my swimsuit with clumsy fingers. She pulled it down to mid-thigh. I took her hand and placed it on my cock. She grabbed it and started stroking me slowly, in that very way of hers, closing her fist tightly around it and making little circles with her wrist. My dick was like stone within two minutes.

I lifted her with both hands. She wrapped her legs around my waist. I lowered her onto my cock little by little and fucked her like that, standing in the sea, the sun straight in front of us and the water cushioning every movement. I felt her open all the way and take me in to the hilt. She let out a gasp against my neck and clung to my shoulders with both hands, digging her nails into me.

—Oh God —she murmured—. They’re going to see us, they’re going to see us…

—No one’s seeing us —I answered, though I couldn’t have cared less whether they saw us or not—. Shut up and move with me.

I said no more. The water helped support her weight, so I could hold her ass with both hands, one cheek in each palm, and set the pace myself by lifting and lowering her on my dick. I started slowly, with long thrusts, pulling almost all the way out and then shoving back in to the hilt, feeling the water splash between our bodies. She bit her shoulder to keep from screaming. I squeezed her ass with my fingers, spread her cheeks under the water, played with the tip of my thumb grazing her other hole, and she shivered every time I touched it.

—Fuck me —she whispered against my neck, and it was the first time in her whole life I’d ever heard that word from her—. Fuck me harder.

I picked up the pace. I drove her down onto my cock harder, faster each time, and she started trembling all over in my arms. I pressed my mouth to one nipple and sucked it while I kept thrusting into her. I felt her cunt clenching around my dick and knew she was coming again, right there, in the middle of the sea, with two couples swimming less than thirty meters away. She came in silence, biting her lip, her whole body rigid against mine.

I held on a few more seconds and came too, inside her, with my eyes on the horizon and my cum mixing with the salt water inside her cunt. I held her while she recovered, not pulling out yet, leaving her still with my cock inside until the contractions faded away.

We stayed wrapped around each other for a long while after that. Still in the water, without speaking, while the sun began to sink toward the sea. There was something absurd and perfect about that moment, like those things that need no explanation to make sense.

***

It was a vacation I’ll never forget. We ate well, drank without excess, slept late, and fucked more than we had in months. Elena came back from that trip a little less the contained woman she had always been. I don’t know whether that was good or bad for her. I think it was real, and that’s the only thing that matters.

What started as a transaction turned into something for which I don’t have an exact word. It wasn’t love in the sense people understand that concept. It was something more complicated and more honest than that. And for the time it lasted, it was the best thing that happened to me in that period.