My Pregnant Former Principal’s Mature Husband

I keep writing my memoirs, the ones I only dare to tell on paper. Last night I saw a scene in a movie—two strangers staring too long at each other in a pool—and all at once a memory from a few years ago came back to me, when I still thought I was a shy girl and discovered that I was nothing of the sort.

I was twenty-three and had just finished my final exams at university. To celebrate, I went with two friends to a quiet seaside resort in the south, one of those small towns of cabins and groves where summer moves slowly. We rented a cabin with a porch and a grill, and planned to do absolutely nothing useful for three weeks.

What I didn’t expect was to run into a ghost from my adolescence. In the cabin behind ours, separated from us by nothing more than a low fence of plants, was Adriana, who had once been the principal of my school. A woman of about forty-five, still very pretty, one of those women who age with elegance. She was there with her family and, for some twist of fate, pregnant again: her belly was huge, clearly in the last few months.

We crossed paths on the first afternoon and greeted each other with that odd politeness of people meeting again out of context. She congratulated me on my degree; I asked her about the baby. Pleasant little things. Nothing that hinted at what would come next.

***

That first night we went out to dinner the three of us and came back late. My friends went straight to sleep, exhausted from the trip. I stayed out on the porch finishing a phone call, with the lights inside off and the darkness of the back lot covering me like a curtain.

That was when I saw them.

In Adriana’s cabin, the kitchen light was still on, and the distance between one building and the other was minimal. She and her husband were playing around, laughing softly. I should have gone inside. Instead, sheltered by the shadows, I moved as close as I could to the fence to look.

He was leaning over her, kissing her swollen breasts, licking up the first drops of milk that the pregnancy was already bringing on. Adriana was moaning with her head thrown back. I could barely breathe, pressed against the plants, my heart pounding in my chest.

Then he made her sit in a chair and pulled down his pants. And that was where I stopped breathing.

The man was small, thin, quite a bit older than her; he didn’t look like much. But what he freed between his legs had nothing to do with his size. A faint glimmer from the streetlight let me see enough: she took it with both hands and there was still a good chunk left over. It can’t be his, I thought, hypnotized.

She sucked him for a while, not with much technique, and then stood up and leaned against the table, offering herself. He tried to enter her slowly. But Adriana made a pained gesture, said something I couldn’t make out, and pointed to her belly. The refusal was clear: the pregnancy, so advanced, wouldn’t allow it. He held her in his arms, resigned, and they turned off the light on their way to the bedroom.

Only then did I let go of the fence and go into my cabin, breathing hard and with a heat between my legs that wouldn’t leave me alone. It was after two in the morning. I got into bed, slipped my hand under the sheets, and let my fingers finish what that scene had begun. I fell asleep thinking about what that so ordinary-looking man was hiding under his clothes.

***

The next day, on the beach, Adriana introduced me to her husband. His name was Marcelo. I shook his hand with an innocent expression and took advantage of the confusion of family greetings to look him up and down with a brazenness he did not miss.

We settled near them. Adriana spent the morning reading under the umbrella, one hand always on her belly. Marcelo, on the other hand, never took his eyes off me. Every time I got up to fetch the ball or go into the water, I felt his gaze running over me. And far from being embarrassed, I exaggerated every movement.

At noon I went to the beach bar to get cold drinks. Marcelo appeared beside me as if by chance.

“You’re from the city, aren’t you?” he said. “You can tell you’re not used to this sun.”

“I’m getting used to it fast,” I replied, looking him in the eye.

We chatted about nonsense: how pretty the place was, what there was to do, where to go running in the morning. He trained early, he told me, he went out at seven.

“I run too,” I lied. “Mind the company?”

Marcelo smiled in a way that was anything but innocent.

“Not at all. I’ll wait for you on the corner.”

***

By six I was already awake, getting my body ready for something that was not exactly sport. At seven I slipped out of the cabin in silence so as not to wake my friends. He was waiting for me on the corner, wearing a tight T-shirt that showed off a body firmer than it seemed.

We ran a couple of blocks to the beach and started jogging along the wet sand. At that hour there were people around: retirees, fishermen, someone walking a dog. But Marcelo knew the area and, apparently, already had a plan. Without saying much, we veered toward a small wooded park where no one ever crossed paths with anyone.

From time to time he’d make me go ahead “to set the pace,” he said, though I knew perfectly well why. He flattered me shamelessly, commenting on every detail of my body with the ease of a man who knows what he wants.

“It’s been months since I’ve touched my wife,” he finally confessed without beating around the bush, his eyes shining. “The pregnancy, you know. I’m desperate.”

I didn’t even hesitate a second before offering to put out his fire. We walked five blocks beyond the park and, on the right-hand side, signs for a by-the-hour hotel appeared. We looked at each other and went in without a word.

***

“Let’s take a shower first,” I suggested as soon as he closed the door.

Under the warm water, Marcelo took my breasts in his hands with contained urgency. He was so short that his mouth was right at the height of my tits, and he made use of it. This mature man knew exactly how to make a woman moan: he played with my nipples while one of his hands moved down between my legs, slowly, with an expert’s patience.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I knelt on the tiles in front of that crotch that had obsessed me all night. I started with his testicles, licking them one by one, and worked my way up with my tongue along its entire length. My mouth confirmed what I had guessed in the dark: he was huge, thick right in the middle, with a not-so-wide head that let me take him almost all the way in.

I took him to the back of my throat, going up and down, and he held my neck with both hands. He had months of desire stored up: he didn’t take long to come, and I swallowed everything while the water poured over us.

We got out of the shower and he took me to the bed. He put me on all fours and started running his tongue over my back, over my ass, slowly down to where I needed him. His hands joined his mouth, opening me, teasing me, while he murmured how well my body responded to every caress. By the time I realized it, I was shaking against the sheets, biting the pillow so I wouldn’t scream, exploding in the first orgasm of the morning.

“Turn around,” I gasped.

But he had other plans. He settled behind me and entered me slowly, first to let me get used to him, then all the way. He grabbed my waist and started fucking me with a force that didn’t match his slight body. The room filled with the sound of skin and my muffled moans. When he came inside me, I felt him trembling all over, clinging to my back.

He went to the bathroom to take another shower. I stayed there, face down on the rumpled sheets, still recovering, feeling loose and satisfied all over.

***

When he came back, he made a move to start getting dressed. I wouldn’t let him. I took his hand and dragged him back to bed.

“We’re not done yet,” I told him.

I offered my breasts again for him to enjoy to his heart’s content, and then I went down to give him another blowjob, slowly, until he got hard again. Then it was me who took charge. I sat on him in one motion, taking him all the way in, and started riding him while looking him in the eye.

“I don’t want to get you pregnant,” he panted, suddenly worried.

“I finished my period two days ago,” I answered without slowing down. “Don’t worry about anything.”

Those words were like letting him off the leash. He grabbed my hips and pushed upward as I came down, and like that, between the two of us, we climbed together all the way to the end. I felt him empty into me just as a second orgasm ran from my head to my feet.

We stayed embraced for a while, catching our breath, laughing at how absurd the situation was. Then we got dressed, left the hotel, and jogged back as if we had really gone out for a run.

That same afternoon on the beach, I greeted Adriana with my best smile and asked her again about the baby. She thanked me, oblivious to everything. Marcelo, beside her, held my gaze for just a second too long.

I headed back to my umbrella more than satisfied, my body still hot and a lover secured for the three weeks of vacation that had only just begun.