My Neighbor Gave Me Much More Than a Back Massage

The kitchen clock read three forty. From the hallway, I heard my brother Tomás’s breathing: a long inhalation, a pause, a slow exhalation. Predictable as a metronome.

Completely sedated.

I counted to ten in the doorway of his room. The cycle repeated, identical. After years of looking after my husband, I knew how to tell when a man was pretending to sleep and when the pills had truly knocked him out. And that combination of painkillers guaranteed him at least two hours. Two hours during which the world could collapse around him without his knowing.

Tomás was seventy, and a car accident had left him bedridden in that apartment in Alicante, banished to the small bedroom “for his own comfort,” as he had told our nieces on the phone. A pious lie. I had put him there because it suited me.

I didn’t feel pity. I felt something else, something that had been asleep for far too many years: opportunity.

I crossed the living room barefoot and stopped in front of the hall mirror. At sixty-five, I still liked my reflection. Petite, yes, but with the well-kept figure of a woman who had never let herself go, platinum-white hair tied back in a ponytail, honey-colored eyes with a spark my husband hadn’t seen in decades. I adjusted my blouse, smoothed my skirt over my hips, and smiled.

At my age, I know life gives you nothing for free. Opportunities are made.

And Nando, my divorced neighbor across the way, was an opportunity far too tempting to resist.

I took the bottle of olive oil Tomás saved for special occasions from the cupboard. How ironic. I poured a generous puddle in the middle of the floor and watched the golden liquid spread into a treacherous lake any prudent person would avoid. I had no intention of being prudent.

I dialed his number, which I knew by heart.

—Nando? It’s Amparo —I let my voice turn fragile—. Sorry to bother you. I’ve had a mishap in the kitchen, and with Tomás asleep, I don’t know how I’m going to manage...

—I’ll be right there.

I had given him a spare key after my brother’s accident, just in case. In less than five minutes, I heard the lock turn. I unbuttoned the second button of my blouse and left the third hanging by a thread, calculated to give way at the first movement.

—Amparo? Where are you?

—In the kitchen. Be careful coming in—I spilled something.

He appeared in the doorway, and for an instant I lost my breath. At fifty-eight, Nando still had the commanding presence that had caught my attention from the first day. His graying hair was neatly combed, and his light eyes now looked at me with genuine concern.

—Are you all right? —he asked, looking at the mess.

—Yes, yes, it’s nothing —I lied—. I was making Tomás’s dinner and the bottle slipped. With all the nerves these days...

I bent down to pick up a cloth and let my neckline fall open. The button gave way, revealing my blue bra. I straightened up, pretending to be startled.

—Oh, how embarrassing! —I murmured, bringing a hand to my chest without the slightest hurry to cover myself.

His eyes had abandoned any pretense of courtesy. I buttoned myself up slowly, giving him a few extra seconds, and when I looked up, I saw him swallow with difficulty. I know what kind of hunger I’ve awakened in you.

—Leave it. I’ll take care of it —he said, coming closer.

We cleaned up together, our bodies brushing in that domestic dance that held something intimate. Then I carried out the sweetest part of my plan: I stepped on the slippery edge and let my foot slide.

—Oh!

His arms went around me in an instant, pressing me against his chest. I felt the firmness of his torso, the heat through his shirt, his breath against my ear. And I felt something else: something hard pressing against my lower belly, an unmistakable bulge showing through his trousers that there was no way to hide.

—I’ve got you —he whispered.

We stayed that way much longer than necessary. His firm hands on my waist, his heart beating against my cheek, and that cock awakening between us like a warning of everything that was to come.

—I feel so safe in your arms —I murmured, barely rolling my hips, just enough to rub myself against him for an instant and find out the size of what was standing in front of me.

A cough from Tomás in the next room separated us like a lash. Nando stepped back, his cheeks flushed, his hand automatically moving to cover the bulge in his crotch, and went to check on my brother. I stayed in the kitchen, my nipples stiff beneath the blue bra and my panties wet simply from feeling him harden against me. The first seed had been planted. I only had to be patient.

***

The opportunity I was waiting for came three nights later. Tomás had had a bad day, his pain had flared up, and the doctor, after adjusting his medication, gave a firm order.

—You shouldn’t stay alone with him tonight. If he has another crisis, you’ll need help.

Perfect. I waited until my brother sank into the deep sleep brought on by the painkillers and called Nando.

—The doctor says Tomás has gotten worse and that I shouldn’t spend the night alone, just in case...

—I’m on my way. Give me five minutes.

Five minutes to prepare the scene. I let down my ponytail and allowed my platinum hair to fall over my shoulders. I changed my blouse for a coral silk nightgown that reached halfway down my thighs, sheer enough to suggest what it covered. It wasn’t obscene. It wasn’t innocent either. Underneath, no panties and no bra: if anything happened, I wanted there to be not a single obstacle between his cock and my cunt.

I greeted him with a grateful expression and a touch of vulnerability. He had come in short pajamas, straight from bed, and as I looked him over, my mouth went dry. His brown arms emerging from his T-shirt, the gray hair on his chest, his strong legs beneath the pants, and in his crotch a resting bulge that already showed promise.

At almost sixty, he’s better than many men of forty.

I prepared the sofa with a blanket and a pillow and sent him to rest. But I had no intention of resting. I withdrew to my room and spent two long hours tossing and turning, my thighs clenched and my hand between my legs, feeling my soaked cunt, imagining the weight of his body over mine, his hands squeezing my tits, that cock I had already felt in the kitchen splitting me wide open. I had to bite my lip to keep from coming all by myself in bed.

At two in the morning, I crossed the hallway. The streetlamp’s light entered the living room in a golden glow. Nando was awake, staring at the ceiling with his hands behind his neck.

—Can’t you sleep? —he asked, sitting up.

—I was worried about you —I lied, sitting on the edge of the sofa, my thigh almost brushing his—. These past few days have been brutal.

The darkness was my ally. I could see his eyes jumping from my face to the curve the nightgown traced beneath the silk, to my nipples shamelessly pressing against the fabric.

—Sometimes I feel very lonely —I whispered, letting my voice break—. Forty years of marriage, and when Tomás got sick, I realized it had been far too long since anyone had really kept me company. Since anyone had touched me.

My hand found his arm, and this time I didn’t pull it away.

—You must feel lonely too. After the divorce, I mean.

—More than I like to admit.

—And what do you miss?

—Intimacy. Not just the other thing... although I miss that too. Feeling that you’re not alone in the world.

—Tell me the truth —I whispered in his ear—. When you say “the other thing,” you mean fucking, don’t you? Having a woman in bed, sticking it in her, coming inside her. You can say it in those words. We’re not kids anymore, Nando.

A moan escaped him. My fingers traced circles over his T-shirt, lower and lower, until they brushed his stomach.

—Yes —he admitted, his voice hoarse—. That too. I miss it like an animal.

—That’s exactly how I feel —I said, moving closer—. Why is it wrong for two lonely people to keep each other company?

—You’re married, Amparo.

—I’m married to a man who hasn’t looked at me like a woman for months. I told him I was coming to Alicante to look after my brother, and he told me to take the opportunity to rest. As if it were a vacation. He hasn’t touched me in almost a year, Nando. A year. And I love sex.

My hand moved from his chest to his stomach, and from there, fingers spread, slid down to cover the crotch of his pants. There it was: thick, hot, hardening beneath the fabric with every second. I squeezed it with my palm, feeling it pulse.

—Fuck... —he moaned under his breath.

—Tell me you haven’t thought about me —I whispered, my mouth brushing his earlobe while I massaged his cock through his pajamas—. Tell me that the other day in the kitchen you didn’t feel what I felt. Because I felt you, Nando. I felt you rock-hard against my belly. And I haven’t forgotten.

His hand closed over the silk at my waist and pulled me toward him.

—I’ve thought about you every night since then —he confessed, his voice rough—. I jerk off thinking about you, Amparo. Every goddamn night. Thinking of the look on your face when you bent down for the cloth. That blue bra.

—Good boy —I purred—. Then tonight you won’t have to do it alone. This is what we both need. You don’t have to promise me anything. Just let me feel alive again.

His hand rose to my cheek with a tenderness that made me tremble. We kissed. Softly at first, exploratory, and then the current swept us away: his fingers in my hair, my arms around his neck, hungry mouths, tongues entwined. I was still fondling his cock through his pajamas, feeling it grow and stretch against my hand until it pushed against the elastic.

And then reality hit him like a bucket of cold water. He pulled away abruptly.

—No, this is wrong. You’re married, I’m in your brother’s house, and he trusts me. I have to go.

—Nando, wait...

—Forgive me. I’m so sorry.

The door closed with a soft click. I was left alone on the still-warm sofa, the taste of his lips in my mouth, the smell of his hard cock on my fingers, and a triumphant smile slowly spreading across my face. I slipped my hand beneath my nightgown, found my cunt dripping, and stroked myself to an orgasm, biting the cushion, the echo of his rough voice still in my ear.

Poor thing. He feels guilty while my husband is two hundred miles away living his life. Divorced men are wounded cats: they need time to believe that a caress won’t hurt them.

But there had been no faking the way he kissed me. Nor the way his cock had hardened beneath my hand. I had him in the bag. I only needed the next opportunity, one in which his conscience couldn’t ruin the moment.

***

I found it a week later, on a Tuesday afternoon. Tomás had settled into his armchair with the news, the painkillers beginning to take effect after lunch. Yolanda, the cleaner, had left at eleven after bombarding me with far too many curious questions about “Mr. Nando, who comes around here so often.”

That woman sees too much.

—Nando —I said, clearing the plates—. Do you know anything about massages?

He looked up from the newspaper, one eyebrow raised.

—It’s just that my back is all knotted up —I put a hand to my lower back with a genuine grimace—. Between lifting Tomás and sleeping badly... My husband used to give me massages that relieved me more than any pill. But of course, here...

I let the sentence hang.

—I’m not a physical therapist —he said slowly—, but I can try.

—Really? Only if it’s no trouble.

—Where would you be most comfortable?

There was the question I had been waiting for.

—There’s more room in my bedroom, and the bed is better than the sofa —I blushed delicately—. Tomás is sedated; he’ll sleep until dinner.

As if to confirm it, my brother’s soft snores began filtering down the hallway. Nando held my gaze for a long moment. I saw the battle playing out in his light eyes.

—All right. But just a massage, nothing more —he murmured, more to convince himself than anything else.

—Of course —I nodded, containing my smile.

I led him to the guest bedroom, where the golden afternoon light filtered through the curtains, creating an intimate atmosphere. I took a bottle of almond oil from the nightstand, one I had put there that morning.

—So your hands glide more easily —I explained innocently.

—Take off your blouse so I can reach your back properly.

I turned my back to him and slowly undid the buttons, letting the garment slide down and reveal the black bra I had deliberately chosen that morning. I heard his breathing change.

—Take off your skirt too —he said, his voice rougher—. We don’t want it getting stained with oil.

—Or is it that you want to take advantage of me? —I replied, turning halfway around.

—What if I do? Would that bother you?

—Not in the least —I answered, holding his gaze.

I slid my skirt down over my hips with deliberate slowness, pushing it to my ankles and stepping out of it with a small movement of my foot. I stood before him in a black bra and matching panties, very small ones that barely covered anything. I saw his eyes fix on the dark patch of dampness already marking my crotch. I lay facedown on the bed. The mattress sank when he sat beside me and began warming the oil between his palms. The sound sent a direct jolt to my belly.

His hands settled on my skin, large and firm, gliding from my waist toward my shoulders in long strokes. I had to bite the pillow to keep from moaning. He had more talent than he admitted: he worked out every knot of tension and, in the process, ignited an entirely different kind of tension.

—Too much pressure? —he asked.

—No, it’s perfect. Harder, if you want.

His palms brushed my sides, the edges of my breasts flattened against the bed. When they reached the bra straps, I felt him hesitate.

—The straps are in the way —he murmured.

—You’re right.

I lifted myself slightly and undid it myself, leaving my back completely exposed. His hands returned, now unobstructed, slower and more intimate, tracing lines of fire along my spine. They went down to the cleft of my buttocks, moved up along my sides, and this time without pretending, slid underneath until they reached my tits pressed against the mattress. He pinched my nipples between his fingers, with just enough delicacy to make me gasp.

—You’re incredible with your hands —I moaned softly—. Though I think the tension is lower down too.

His fingers stopped at the elastic of my panties.

—So you can reach properly —I whispered— you might have to pull them down a little.

—Do whatever you need —he replied, and I buried my face in the pillow.

I felt him slide the fabric beneath my buttocks, the cool air on my bare skin, and then remove them entirely, pulling them down over my ankles. We’ve passed the point of no return. I was completely naked, facedown, my legs slightly apart. He poured on more oil, and his hands kneaded my buttocks with an increasingly obscene rhythm, spreading them and exposing everything between them. A slippery finger traveled down the cleft and brushed the entrance to my cunt, then moved up the crack, pausing for an instant at my asshole before descending again.

—You’re soaked, Amparo —he murmured thickly.

—I’ve been like this for days because of you —I moaned—. Keep going.

His fingers moved down again, and this time one of them sank all the way into my cunt, to the knuckle. I let out a muffled cry against the pillow. He began moving it in and out, slowly, in a wet rhythm that made me grind against his hand. When our eyes met, I saw the exact instant his resistance broke. His caresses no longer had anything medicinal about them.

I turned over without bothering to cover my breasts. I wanted him to see me, to desire me as much as I desired him. My tits bare, nipples hard as stones, legs spread, and my cunt gleaming with oil and my own wetness.

—Do you like what you see?

—You’re perfect —he murmured, leaning over me—. Absolutely perfect.

We kissed hungrily. His hands moved over me with the reverence of a man who had been deprived of everything for far too long. He went down my neck, caught one nipple between his lips, and tugged it with his teeth until I arched my back. He sucked and bit, then moved to the other, leaving them glistening with saliva and throbbing with pleasure.

—Make me feel alive again —I whispered against his lips—. Here, now.

—What if Tomás...?

—He’s sedated. And even if he weren’t, right now I don’t care about anything but you.

His last defenses fell like sandcastles. He undressed hurriedly: a strong torso covered in gray hair, broad shoulders, and when he lowered his boxers, his cock sprang free, pointing toward the ceiling. Thick and long, its veins standing out, its purple head crowned with a drop of pre-cum hanging from the tip. My mouth watered just looking at it.

—I’m going to make love to you the way I’ve been dreaming of since you arrived —he said, moving closer.

—No —I cut him off, looking him in the eyes—. I don’t want you to make love to me. I want you to fuck me. I want you to bury that cock in me and wreck my cunt.

He froze for a second, surprised, then let out a hoarse laugh.

—Fuck, Amparo. I love that you say exactly what you want.

I knelt on the bed in front of him. I took his cock in my hand—I couldn’t get my fingers all the way around it—and began stroking him slowly, feeling its weight and pulsing life beneath my fingers. I brought my mouth to it and licked the head clean, savoring the saltiness. Then I opened my lips and took it in little by little. First the tip, then halfway, then I swallowed it whole until I felt it strike my palate and the back of my throat.

—Fuck, fuck... what a delicious mouth... —he moaned, his fingers tangled in my white hair.

I sucked him eagerly, moving up and down, helping myself with one hand at the base, making noise, covering it all with saliva. I licked the entire length of the vein underneath, kissed his balls, took them into my mouth one by one, and went back up to devour the head, circling it with my tongue. He began a slow rhythm, each thrust deeper, gripping the back of my head so I couldn’t pull away, fucking my mouth until tears filled my eyes and drool ran down my chin to my tits. Suddenly he tensed and began to withdraw.

—Stop, stop, I’m going to come in your mouth!

—Don’t you dare —I said, wiping my lips with the back of my hand and smiling—. First you have to put it in me properly. That cum is for inside my cunt.

I lay back and spread my legs without a trace of shame, bending my knees and opening myself wide. At my age, shyness was a luxury I couldn’t afford, least of all with a man who desired me with the hunger of a boy and the skill of an adult. His light eyes darkened to the color of steel as he looked at me open and wet, my cunt swollen, my lips gleaming, and my clitoris emerged from its hood, begging for action.

—I’ve been waiting for days for you to look at me like that —I whispered.

He knelt between my legs and began kissing the inside of my thigh, slowly moving upward toward the center. When his mouth reached my cunt and his tongue pushed between my lips, I jerked and grabbed his head. He began licking me all over, from bottom to top, with his flat tongue. Then, with the tip, he drew circles around my clitoris and caught it between his lips, sucking it hungrily. He inserted two fingers and crooked them, searching for the exact spot, and as soon as he found it, I knew I wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer.

This is wonderful, but what my body is screaming for is something else. I’ve gone years without feeling a man inside me.

—Nando, wait —I put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him upward—. This is good, but what I need now is for you to fuck me. Now. I can’t take it anymore. Put it in me.

He raised his head and laughed, his chin shining with my juices.

—I love how direct you are —he said, sitting up—. You know what? Since you’re so clear about what you want, take control. I want to watch you do exactly what you need. I want to watch you ride me.

The proposition almost took my breath away. We moved in perfect synchrony within the limited space of the bed: he lay on his back, his cock standing against his belly, and I rose onto my knees and straddled him, one leg on either side, feeling the heat of his head brushing my buttocks.

—Perfect position —he murmured, his hands on my hips—. Now do whatever you want with me.

For the first time in more than a decade, I was the one setting the pace. I grasped him with my right hand—I could barely encompass his girth—and guided him between my soaked folds, rubbing the head over my cunt and clitoris until everything was drenched. Then I placed it right at my entrance and began to lower myself. Millimeter by millimeter. I felt him stretch me, felt my flesh yield to the force opening a path for him, with a slowness that drew muffled moans from me.

—My God... you’re so big... you’re opening me completely... —I moaned.

—You’re so tight... you’re squeezing my cock like a fist... —he growled from below.

When I had swallowed him whole, down to the root, and felt his balls strike my ass, I let out a deep sigh that rose from my chest. I stayed still for a moment, adjusting to the fullness, his cock pulsing inside me. Then I brought my hands to my breasts, caressing their hard tips, pinching them, and began to move.

I’m in charge now. I’m going to ride this man until we both lose our minds. For far too long I’ve been the devoted wife and caregiver. Here, in this bed, I control every movement.

I rose and fell with a fury I had been holding back for years, enjoying myself like a girl. I started slowly, savoring every inch sliding in and out, and gradually sped up. His cock went all the way in and came out gleaming with my juices, then plunged back in to the hilt with a wet, obscene sound that filled the room. I braced my hands on his chest, leaned forward, and began bouncing on him, my tits moving to the rhythm, my ass slapping his thighs with a smack every time I came down.

—Look at my tits, you bastard —I panted—. Look at me taking all of you. Look at the slutty look on my face.

—Beautiful slut... you’re a beautiful slut... —he growled, his hands digging into my hips, trying in vain to contain the intensity I had unleashed. His skin shone with sweat, his face flushed, his head moving against the pillow.

I leaned back, bracing my hands on his knees, and changed the angle. Now his cock touched exactly where it needed to. I rode him while rubbing myself against him, moving my hips in circles and back and forth, feeling my clitoris swell against the base of his shaft every time I sank down. My moans became short, sharp cries, impossible to hold back.

I felt him turn rigid as a column of hot marble, his cock growing even larger inside me. That was the signal. I dropped all my weight, taking him to the base, and pressed myself against him, rubbing my clitoris furiously. The whirlwind swept me away without mercy. I stopped thinking, stopped being Amparo, became pure sensation, a throbbing cunt milking the cock inside me.

—Yes, like that, fuck, like that! Fuck me, fuck me harder! —I screamed.

—Don’t stop, don’t ever stop! You’re going to make me come, fuck! —he roared, thrusting upward with his hips, pulling out halfway and driving himself back to the hilt with brutal strokes.

—I’m coming, Nando, I’m coming! Come too, inside me—I want to feel you inside!

I felt him explode. His cock convulsed inside me, and I felt him fill me with hot spurts, one after another, while I continued convulsing over him, squeezing him with the walls of my cunt to milk out every last drop. His growls and my cries mingled in the air. I didn’t care if they could be heard throughout the building, if the neighbors knew exactly what was happening in that room. It was my release after decades of silence, and I wasn’t going to waste a second of that glory coursing through me like lava.

When the waves subsided, I collapsed onto his panting torso, our slippery skins pressed together, catching my breath, his cock still inside me and his cum trickling between my thighs. I licked the sweat from his neck and nibbled his earlobe.

—We’re not finished yet —I whispered.

And we weren’t finished. For the rest of the afternoon, Nando drove me to the edge again and again in the guest bed, with an energy I never would have expected from a man his age. He put me on all fours and pounded me from behind, gripping my hips, his buttocks slapping my ass and my tits bouncing beneath me, until I came again, biting the sheets. He laid me on my back at the edge of the bed, my legs raised over his shoulders, and fucked my cunt standing up, looking me in the eyes, until he emptied himself inside me for the second time. He made me suck him again, his cock gleaming with our mixed juices, so I could taste myself on him, and when he was hard again, he mounted me from behind in a spooning position, slowly working his cock inside me while squeezing one breast with one hand and rubbing my clitoris with the other, until I came crying with pleasure for the third time. Each round was better than the last. I lost count of how many times I screamed, how many times I felt his hot semen inside me, how many times I begged him for more.

Lying in his arms, my cunt throbbing sorely, the sheets a wreck and the smell of sex clinging to my skin, I smiled to myself with a satisfaction I couldn’t remember feeling before.

So this is what I’d been missing. Forty years of boring marriage, only to discover at sixty-five that sex can be like this. Well, let them find out in Seville: this isn’t staying here. When I go back, I’m going to keep enjoying myself. With whom, I’ll decide later. But I’m certainly never going to settle for less again.