I Fell in Love with My Mature Client Without Being Able to Stop Myself

The trip we took together was what made everything clear. We had spent several days in a row together: slow breakfasts, afternoons walking aimlessly, conversations that stretched on until nearly midnight without either of us looking at the clock. That was how I discovered that Elena had a much sharper sense of humor than I’d thought, that she knew languages I didn’t, that she had lived in three different countries before settling here. With her I learned things. And that felt as strange as it did welcome, because it had been a long time since anyone had taught me anything.

I was twenty-five. She was more than twice that. We had met through my work, and that was something neither of us mentioned too much.

***

Two weeks after the trip, Elena got sick. She told me offhand, by message, adding that it was nothing serious and I shouldn’t worry. But I did worry. I showed up that same afternoon at her place with some fruit and an act like nothing had happened, and I stayed several days keeping her company. She lived alone — she had a housekeeper who came in the mornings, a quiet, efficient woman named Rosa — and had very little family: an older sister in another city with whom she barely spoke, and a niece who called her from time to time. Nothing else.

She didn’t have children. It was something she carried inside in a very particular way, not like an open wound, but like a room she no longer visited and yet that was still there. At some point she told me so without drama, and I listened without saying anything useless. I thought it was brave, the way she spoke about losses without asking for pity.

One noon, when she was lying down reading and I was sitting in the armchair in the bedroom not doing much of anything, I realized I didn’t want to be anywhere else. It wasn’t a simple feeling. It was a lot more complicated than that.

I had spent weeks with a mix of things I didn’t know how to name: the joy of seeing her, the nerves before each visit, that strange knot in my chest when something made her laugh. During those days of illness, with her more fragile and at the same time closer, my head cleared all at once and for good. I was in love with Elena. Not with a regular client. Not with an older woman who paid for my company. With her, with the specific person she was.

The problem was I didn’t know what to do with that.

I was still an escort. She was still more than thirty years older than me. Both things could be an obstacle, depending on what Elena wanted. The age issue didn’t matter to me in the least, but I understood it could matter a great deal to other people. And the matter of my work made everything even more complicated.

***

One day, when she was already almost recovered, I lay down beside her in bed. No preamble. I got in next to her and stroked her arm.

“Don’t scare me like that again,” I said.

She looked at me. Her eyes were a color I hadn’t seen in anyone else: somewhere between gray and green, depending on the light. She smiled a little, lifted her hand, and returned the caress on my cheek. I kissed her slowly and stayed with my forehead resting against hers, saying nothing for a good while.

“What’s wrong?” she asked at last, serious.

“Nothing. I was worried about you.”

She looked at me with that expression of hers that meant she knew there was more. Elena was very smart. Too smart for me to dodge the question for long.

“Don’t you want to tell me something?” she pressed.

I knew then that I had two options: talk or run. I chose to run, but in an unusual way.

***

That night I wrote a letter.

It had always been easier for me to write than to talk when something truly mattered to me. When I spoke, I stumbled, left out the important parts, said what I didn’t mean to say. Writing let me put things in order. So I sat at the table in my room and spent almost two hours with the paper in front of me, writing and crossing out and starting over, until I had something that sounded like me and not like an excuse.

The next day I went to her place in the afternoon. I kissed her, handed her the sealed envelope, told her to read it when she could, and left before she could ask me anything.

I went to the gym. I did an hour on the stationary bike staring at the wall. Then I trained without any plan or method, moving from one machine to another without finishing anything. The manager asked if I was okay and I said yes too quickly.

Afternoon turned to evening and I hadn’t heard a thing from her. I lay down in bed without dinner. My thoughts went back and forth between two versions of the same future: in one, Elena rejected me gently and our relationship slowly cooled until it disappeared. In the other, she said yes, and I couldn’t quite picture what that meant exactly, but it felt like something worth risking.

I didn’t sleep, or slept very little. At seven the alarm rang and I had already been awake for an hour, staring at the ceiling.

I went to class. I didn’t take in a single thing they explained. In the afternoon I turned down a work call: I couldn’t do it. I wasn’t in any condition to focus on anything that wasn’t that wait.

At a quarter past six, the phone rang.

It was her.

“Come home,” she said. Just that.

My heart shot up into my throat. I changed clothes twice in ten minutes and left.

***

Rosa opened the door and let me into the living room. I waited standing by the window, not daring to sit down. I heard Elena’s footsteps in the hallway.

She came in as always: upright, well dressed even at home, with that calm of hers that I sometimes suspected was a learned skill rather than a natural trait. She was completely recovered. She kissed me on the cheek, pointed to the sofa with a gesture, and we both sat down.

She took the letter out of her jacket pocket. It was folded but not crumpled. She had read it carefully.

“It’s a very beautiful letter,” she said. “No one had ever written me anything like that.”

The letter said, more or less, the following:

“Elena, these last few days I’ve been looking at things I didn’t want to look at head-on. I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing telling you this, but I can’t keep not saying it. What I feel for you is not what I’m supposed to feel. You’ve helped me more than you can imagine, at a time when I was pretty lost. I’ve learned from you, and I’d like to keep doing so. I know the circumstances in which we met complicate things, and I know the age difference may be a factor for you even if it isn’t for me. I just want you to know that I love you, and wherever you go with this, that won’t change.”

I still keep the draft of that letter.

“Are you asking me whether I want us to be a couple?” Elena said, with an expression I couldn’t quite read.

“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m asking.”

She moved a little closer on the sofa. She took my hand between both of hers and we spent the rest of the afternoon talking. We talked about what it would mean, about what people would say, about how absurd all of it was and how little either of us cared. And before she could bring up my work, I was the one who said it: if we were going to be together for real, I would quit. She didn’t answer with words. She just stood up, took my hand, and led me to the bedroom.

***

Rosa had already left. The house was quiet.

The first thing I did was hug her. Not like always, but tighter, with that feeling of being thanking her for something that didn’t fit into words. She held me tight too. I felt her close her eyes.

I kissed her on the lips slowly. Without urgency. Watching her, because I wanted to see her. She had a small mouth and one that was very expressive, and at that moment she was barely smiling, with that half-smile of hers that I had learned to read as the closest thing she had to visible emotion. I nearly cried, but it didn’t quite happen.

I kissed her deeper, sliding my tongue in slowly, looking for hers. She responded by opening her mouth, and all at once the kiss stopped being calm. I bit her lower lip, sucked on it, and she let out a short sigh that went straight to my cock. I was already hard against my pants, so hard it hurt. She noticed, because she ran her hand over the fabric and squeezed me, measuring me, and looked at me from very close with that half-smile of hers that now held something else inside it.

“Take it off for me,” I said in her ear.

And she took it off for me. She undid my belt with both hands, unhurriedly, looking me in the face while she did it. She pulled my pants and underwear down all at once, and my cock sprang out hard, tense, the tip already wet. Elena paused for a second looking at it, and then she grabbed it with her right hand, closing her fingers around it firmly. She started stroking me slowly, with that very particular way she had of doing things: as if she were learning the object through her hands. She brought the skin all the way up, rubbed my glans with her thumb, took me down to the base.

“You’re rock hard,” she murmured.

“I’ve been like this since you called me.”

She smiled and bent down. I was about to tell her she didn’t have to, that I wanted to take care of her, but when I felt her mouth close around my cock I forgot everything else. Elena sucked me slowly, calmly, with no awkwardness at all. She took me halfway in, pulled me out, ran her tongue over the tip, sucked the glans with her lips pressed tight. I put a hand on the back of her neck, not pushing, just having it there, and she looked up at me from below with my cock in her mouth, and that image — Elena, with her skin and her age and her eyes between gray and green, kneeling in front of me sucking me off — was one of the most brutal things I’ve ever seen in my life.

“Stop,” I said, my voice rough. “I’m going to come if you keep going.”

She took my cock out of her mouth slowly, with a thread of saliva hanging from it, and wiped herself with the back of her hand. She stood up. I helped her out of her clothes calmly. She let me. I lingered over every part: her shoulders, her collarbones, the curve of her waist. She has a kind of skin that holds onto the years she’s lived, and to me it was beautiful in a way I had never found in anyone else. I unhooked her bra and saw her breasts, not large but very pretty, the nipples dark and already erect. I pulled her panties down to her ankles and she stepped out of them leaning on my shoulder. I laid her on the bed and stood there for a moment looking at her: naked, open, waiting for me.

I started with her neck. I kissed it slowly, moving down without skipping anything: the throat, the collarbone, the space between her breasts. I took her breasts in both hands, squeezed them, pressed them together. I sucked one nipple while rubbing the other with my thumb, and she arched her back. I bit very gently and she let out a short moan. I switched breasts. I licked and sucked her nipples until they were as hard as stones and she started moving her hips beneath me, looking for something.

Then I kept going down.

I kissed her abdomen, her hips, the inner part of her thighs. I took my time in that area where the skin is thinner and more sensitive, until she put her hand on my head without saying anything. I spread her legs wide. Her cunt was wet, shining, and the smell made me even harder. I worked with my fingers first, gently, reading how her body responded. I ran my index finger along her slit from top to bottom, without going in. She let the air out slowly. I parted her lips with two fingers and saw her swollen clit, wanting. I slid my middle finger into her cunt and she closed her legs around my hand for a second, involuntarily, before opening them again.

Then with my tongue. I licked her clit slowly, in circles, while I kept sliding my finger in and out. I added a second finger. She started panting, saying my name through clenched teeth, gripping the sheets. I sucked her clit with my lips, held it gently between them, nibbled it with the utmost care, and then licked it again with my tongue flat, top to bottom. I buried my face in her cunt completely. I ate her out without hurry, with no other goal than giving her pleasure. I slid my tongue inside and then returned to her clit. My fingers were deep inside, curling upward, looking for that spot that made her thighs tighten.

That wasn’t a service. It was something completely different.

“Like that, like that,” she gasped. “Don’t stop.”

I stayed there until she had her first orgasm. I felt her cunt clench around my fingers, her legs shaking, a longer, deeper moan escaping her. And then I kept going. Gentler at first, because I knew her clit would be very sensitive, and then building back up in intensity until the second, which was louder and longer and left her trembling beneath my mouth. When I lifted my head, her eyes were closed and her arms had fallen to either side of her body. My chin was shiny with her. I sat up slowly, kissed her on the lips — I wanted her to taste herself — and she kissed me back with both hands on my face, completely unreserved.

“Put it in me already,” she whispered.

I spread her legs and positioned myself between them. I grabbed my cock with my hand and ran it along her slit, wetting it in her juices, tapping the glans against her clit. She jolted. I placed the tip at her entrance and entered slowly, very slowly, savoring every centimeter. She was tight and hot, and she swallowed me little by little until I had her filled to the hilt. She wrapped her arms and legs around me. I stayed still for a moment, my cock buried all the way in and my forehead resting against hers, both of us breathing in the same rhythm. Then I started to move.

At first slowly, long pulls out and deep thrusts in, feeling how she answered with every stroke. Then I began picking up the pace. I put my hands under her ass and lifted her a little, to drive it in better. She moaned in my ear, shamelessly, in broken bits: “yes,” “more,” “like that.” Every time I drove it in to the hilt, she let out a little grunt. I grabbed one breast with my free hand and squeezed it while I fucked her, and she threw her head back.

I pulled out. I turned her over carefully, set her on her knees on the bed, hands braced on the pillow and ass raised. I ran my hand over her back, over the curve of her hips, over her ass cheeks. I spread her legs a little. I pushed my cock into her again from behind, with one clean thrust this time, and she let out a deeper moan, almost a growl. I gripped her hips with both hands and started fucking her that way, in that position, watching her ass smack against me every time I drove it in to the hilt. I gave one butt cheek a gentle slap, and she laughed softly, surprised, and arched her back more.

“Keep going like that,” she said, her face half-buried in the pillow.

I kept going. I fucked her in and out, in and out, and with every thrust her breasts moved and those moans of hers kept rising. I brought my hand around to the front and found her clit with my fingers while I kept fucking her, and she came again, clamping down on my cock with contractions that almost made me lose it.

I turned her back over and laid her on her back. I wanted to see her face. I spread her legs, hooked them over my shoulders, and went in again. It was different from everything I had done with her before, and different from everything I had done with anyone else. I don’t know how else to explain it: it was the same thing and it was something completely different. I fucked her while looking her in the eyes, and she never looked away. Every thrust was harder than the last. When her moans intensified and I felt her whole body responding, I couldn’t hold back anymore. I told her in her ear, “I’m going to come inside,” and she dug her heels into my ass so I wouldn’t pull out. I came inside her with my face buried in her neck, in long waves, emptying myself completely into her, feeling my cum fill her while I kept moving slowly to squeeze out the last contraction.

I stayed still for a while, on top of her, still inside, feeling her pulse around me. She kissed me on the temple. I pulled out slowly, carefully, and saw a white thread escape from her cunt and slide down her thigh. I lay down beside her. I put an arm around her shoulders and she rested her head on my chest.

Neither of us said anything for a good while.

***

After that night, we started acting like what we were: a couple. We went out to lunch together, took the bus, went to the movies. People looked at us. I noticed it: the quick glances, the surprise in the eyes of whoever saw us together, the half-voiced comments we never quite heard but could imagine. Some probably assumed what interested me about Elena was her money or her social standing. I understood the conclusion even if it was wrong.

What I know is that when I noticed those looks, my reaction was to move closer to her. Take her hand. Give her a kiss. Not to prove anything to anyone. Just because I wanted to, and at last I could.