My College Classmate Desired Me and I Didn’t Know It

My name is Marisol, and I’m fifty-two years old. A long time ago I stopped believing my body was still good for anything other than carrying grocery bags and climbing the stairs in my building. That’s why what I’m about to tell you is still hard for me to admit as mine, even though I lived it just a few weeks ago and remember it in such detail that it almost embarrasses me.

A couple of years ago I decided to finish the degree I had abandoned when I was young, when I got married and became pregnant with my only daughter. I’ve been a widow for more than fifteen years, and my daughter lives with her partner in another city, so the house is big and silent, and the idea of going back to study seemed like a decent way to fill my afternoons.

This semester, on the first day of class, a new student walked into the room. Andrés. He looked about thirty-three, with long hair tied back in a loose knot and a body that was clearly well worked even under his shirt. He had been out of the country and was also returning to his studies. There are lots of young, pretty girls in the classroom, and from the very first moment several of them began turning their heads every time he walked by.

Me, on the other hand, he treated differently from the start. We talked. Andrés was intelligent and had a way of speaking that made you feel like the only person in the room. We built up an unlabelled friendship, the kind that develops between two adults who expect nothing. Or so I thought.

Two months later we were assigned a partner project and he suggested we do it together. I agreed without thinking. We settled on him coming to my house on a Saturday morning.

***

He arrived on his motorbike around nine-thirty. We had coffee and toast in the kitchen, and then we sat at the dining table to do the assignment. It was all theory, so in a little more than an hour it was already finished. I put away the notes, poured two glasses of juice, and we stayed there talking.

“So of all the girls in class, which one do you like?” I asked, with that motherly curiosity I sometimes can’t help.

“None, to be honest. They look too young to me.”

He wasn’t wrong. The oldest of them wasn’t even twenty-five.

“Ah, so you don’t like young girls,” I said, laughing.

“No. I’ve always liked women older than me.”

“Like…?” I said it jokingly, with no real intention behind it.

“Exactly like that. Like you.”

He kept looking at me, waiting for my reaction. I didn’t have one ready. It simply didn’t fit in my head that a man like that could desire me: him, a gym-built guy; me, a chubby woman with almost twenty extra years on top of him.

“Don’t say things like that, or I might actually believe you,” I murmured.

“And why wouldn’t you believe me, if you’re beautiful?”

We were silent for a moment. His eyes dropped to my mouth. He leaned in slightly and, not quite knowing how, I did the same. Our lips met and a heat I hadn’t felt in years ran through me from head to toe.

His kisses were slow, sure. They drifted from my mouth to my neck and I let myself shiver like a teenager. He came back to my lips, kissed me again, and then pulled away just enough to take off his shirt. I saw his firm chest and touched it without asking permission, because there were no permissions left to ask for.

His hands helped me take off my blouse. I unclipped my own bra, and when I was almost naked in front of him I felt an old shame, the shame of someone who hasn’t shown herself in a long time. But there was no judgment in his gaze. There was desire, pure and undisguised.

He didn’t waste time. He took my breasts — they’re large — and caressed them before taking them into his mouth. He sucked, licked my nipples, and I could feel myself growing too wet between my legs. His hand moved down my stomach, looking to slip under the cotton pants I was wearing. I stopped him.

“Wait, I’m not shaved.”

“I don’t care at all,” he said, and kept going.

His fingers slid under my underwear and began to play with the wet folds of my sex. He stroked slowly, drawing circles, until he slipped one finger inside me. I arched and a short moan escaped me. He kissed me again on the mouth while pulling my pants and panties down, leaving me completely naked.

He spread my legs and buried his face between them. His tongue traveled the full length of my sex, caught my lips, kissed them with a calm that drove me crazy. His fingers went in again, first one, then two, and after a while three were moving inside me with a skill that made me tremble. He licked my clit, sucked it, and set a rhythm with his hand that didn’t let me defend myself. I came soaked through, and he didn’t stop until my body stopped shaking.

***

He stood up, took off his shoes and pants, and stood naked in front of me. His erection was, let me say, a very fine specimen. He came closer, kissed me while opening my legs and lifting them a little. I felt his cock brush my entrance and, without hurry, push inside. It was bliss. After so many years, feeling a man inside me again took my breath away.

He went in and out slowly, never stopping kissing me. I could barely answer him, because my moans were fighting to get out and he swallowed every one of them. He settled himself, braced his hands on my thighs to keep me open, and sped up a little. Freed from his mouth, I let my sounds spill out. I could feel my sex hot, wet, alive. He kept going like that for a few minutes, then pulled out and finger-fucked me until I came again, harder, my hips tightening all on their own.

He stopped so I could catch my breath. We looked at each other without saying anything. Then he took me by the hips and I understood, from the way he squeezed, that he wanted me to turn around. I did. I got down on my knees on the sofa, with my hands on the backrest. He stroked my ass and entered me from behind. The rhythm picked up right away, fast and delicious, not rough. He filled me to the hilt. He leaned over my back, kissed my neck, and spoke in my ear.

“Can I finish inside you?”

“Yes, do it.”

He settled back into position and drove in again and again. One of his hands gripped my hip; with the other he squeezed one of my buttocks. My body was trembling, my arousal at the limit, and then I felt him sink all the way in, pressed against me as if he wanted to go through me, and spill inside me. I stayed there feeling him throb. He didn’t pull out right away; he stayed inside for a good while, as if making sure he left everything in me.

“Did you like it?” he asked when he finally pulled away.

“Very much. Do you want to shower?”

“Together?”

“Hahaha, no. I’ll shower first.”

I left him on the sofa, still naked. I closed the bathroom door and sat there for a moment, unable to believe what had just happened. I got under the water, felt my breasts a little flushed and that warm sensation of having been used, in the best possible sense. I washed slowly, let the water refresh me, and stepped out.

“The bathroom’s free now.”

I got dressed in my room. When I came back to the living room, he had taken his clothes to the bathroom and mine were folded on the sofa, underwear included. I blushed again like an idiot and took them back to the bedroom.

***

I went out onto the balcony. A while later he appeared, already dressed, and sat in the other chair. We looked at each other, smiled, and stayed silent for a moment, in one of those silences that don’t feel awkward.

“Are you staying for lunch?” I asked.

“I’d love to.”

We talked about a little of everything while I cooked: the neighborhood where he lived, how the country was doing, anything and everything. We ate, he stood up, cleared the plates, and started washing up. I leaned against the kitchen doorway and watched him.

“Can I ask you something and will you answer me with complete honesty?” he said.

“Of course, go ahead.”

“Did you really like what we did?”

“Very much.”

“And would you like to do it again?”

“Yes.”

“Now?”

“Now, you mean? Right away?”

“If you feel like it.”

“Honestly, yes.”

He dried his hands, came over, and took my chin. The kiss was different, hungrier. We kissed hard, without hiding anything.

“Your bedroom or the sofa again?” he murmured.

“The bedroom. Come on.”

I took his hand and led him there. The room was dim, with sunlight filtering through the half-drawn curtains. Beside the bed, the kissing session started again. He took off my blouse and bra, removed his shirt, and pressed his body against mine. My breasts against his chest sent a shiver of pleasure through me.

He unbuckled his pants, took my hand, and brought it to his sex. I felt him hard, hot, eager. I was wet again already; in truth I hadn’t stopped being wet since the morning. I caressed him with both hands, feeling his texture, his veins, the way he responded to every stroke.

I kissed his chest and worked my way down, leaving a trail of kisses over his abdomen like someone marking a path. I reached his cock and looked at it for a moment before passing my tongue over it. I licked along every vein, slowly, enjoying it, and then I took him into my mouth. For a long while I forgot everything. Nothing else existed but me and that man biting his lip, letting out little groans every time I looked up at him.

I had a dilemma: I wanted him to fuck me again, but I didn’t want to stop doing what I was doing. In the end I leaned back onto the bed and took off the last piece of clothing. As I pulled off my underwear, a strand stretched from how soaked I was. He settled between my legs, spread them, and ran his tongue along my sex, rising up to my clit. He kissed my stomach with a tenderness I hadn’t expected and climbed up, kissing his way to my breasts.

He arranged me with my legs almost over his shoulders and his cock slid inside faster than in the morning. I felt his hips press against mine, confirming that he was all the way in. He started moving and I started moaning louder and louder. He touched spots inside me I swear I had never felt before. He pulled out, stood at the edge of the bed, and made me come closer.

He grabbed my ankles, lifted my legs, and entered me again. Standing up gave him more freedom, and the pace picked up along with my moans.

“Like that?”

“Yes, yes, like that.”

One of his hands squeezed a breast while he went in and out. I moaned very loudly; I felt like my sex was going to explode, and it did. I came with my hips trembling, and he didn’t stop, kept going until he spilled inside me again and collapsed onto my chest. I held him and we stayed like that for a while, catching our breath.

After that I turned on the television, leaned against his chest, and without even realizing it, fell asleep.

***

I woke up with the afternoon already gone. It was past six and the room was lit only by the screen. He was sleeping deeply, naked. I looked at him and got heated all over again; I didn’t recognize myself. I got up carefully so as not to wake him, gathered his clothes, and left them folded at the foot of the bed.

I made dinner for him. After a while I heard him coming down the hallway. We talked, ate together, and an hour later he said goodbye with a kiss on the mouth and the silent promise that this wouldn’t end there.

That’s how, after so many years, I got to enjoy sex again. And honestly, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed living it.