My Son’s Friend Took Me Out to Dance That Night

I’m going to tell you about something that happened a few months before the whole world locked itself down, back in that strange January from a few years ago. My year had started off badly. In December I found out my husband was cheating on me with a coworker from his office, and when I thought that story was finally over, one of my friends ran into him with the same woman at a restaurant downtown. I fell into a thick sadness, the kind that won’t let you get out of bed, and my friends set out to rescue me in their own way: by dragging me out onto the street almost every day.

I’m no magazine beauty, let me make that clear right away. I had two children and my body shows it: a little softness around the stomach, small breasts. But I always took care of myself, and I still have a noticeable waist and a nice ass. My life had been simple: I left my degree unfinished, stayed home while he worked, and although we never wanted for anything, for a long time I had felt my marriage was missing a spark. The sex with him was fine, lukewarm, predictable. That’s why what I’m about to tell you was the most exciting thing that had happened to me in years.

One Saturday, when I wanted to do absolutely nothing, my friends came to get me and announced that night we were going to a club. I protested, of course. I hadn’t set foot in one in years, and I thought it was ridiculous at my age. But I ended up giving in, and once inside, with the music pounding in my chest, I started to loosen up little by little.

We started with fernet and then went on to sweet cocktails, the kind you drink without even noticing. There were five of us women alone, so early on several men came over to flirt, even sending drinks to our table. My friends happily accepted them. After a while they all went out to dance and I stayed seated, watching them laugh with those strangers. I was so distracted I nearly jumped when a voice greeted me by name from the side.

It was Mateo, a friend of my son from high school. I understood he still hadn’t started university and was working. I greeted him naturally, but I noticed he looked different. He had always been the best-looking guy in his group, though that night he was on another level: tall, fair-skinned, with a neat beard he hadn’t worn before. He was wearing a shirt that clung to his shoulders and showed off well-built arms, covered in tattoos that ran all the way down to his hands.

When had he turned into this?

As soon as he walked away, my friends descended on me like vultures.

—And who’s that? —Carla asked, craning her neck.

—Where do you know him from? He’s gorgeous —another one added.

—He’s my son’s friend —I cut in, laughing.

They went silent for a second at how young he was, but then they were off with their jokes: that they had just finished raising him, that they’d be happy to give him private lessons in whatever he needed. I laughed and kept drinking, not even remotely imagining how the night was going to end.

The drinks came and disappeared from the table at the same speed. At one point Mateo came back and asked me to dance. I told him no, that I was too old for that kind of thing already, but my friends practically shoved me out of the chair. I stood up and went with him.

We started dancing apart, keeping a polite distance. But as the songs went by and people crowded around us, we got closer until we were face to face. He smelled incredible, a mix of woody cologne and something warmer, and he had a crooked smile that made me nervous like a teenager. Every so often my friends would show up with a fresh drink, make me down it in one gulp, and order me to stay right there, not to move.

They seemed to have a plan worked out with him. They were bringing Mateo drinks too and telling him things in his ear that I could just catch over the music: “Don’t let her go, make her dance until her feet hurt.” He just laughed and obeyed.

When they put on something slower, he grabbed me by the waist and pulled me against him. Since he was quite a bit taller, he had to lower his head to talk to me, and like that, pressed together, we talked a lot. He asked me how I’d ended up there, whether I liked going out, a ton of things the alcohol wiped from my memory later. What I do remember is the moment I held on to his arms and felt how firm they were beneath the fabric of his shirt.

***

There came a point when there was no distance left between us. My breasts were pressed against him and his hands, which had started on my back, slid down until they settled on my ass. It didn’t bother me. On the contrary: I felt a heat I hadn’t felt in years and I started running my hands over his torso too, his shoulders, those arms. Flirtatiously, he asked if I liked them while flexing a little to show off, and I told him I did, while noticing against my thigh how his crotch was starting to stir.

To make a long story short: after a good while like that, and several more drinks, we ended up kissing in the middle of the dance floor. He had soft lips and an eager tongue that overpowered mine, driving it to his rhythm. His hands wouldn’t stop sliding up and down my back. We kept at it until, without breaking the kiss, he took my hand and dragged me through the crowd toward the bathrooms.

We went into the men’s room and he pressed me against the wall. We kissed again, now with freer hands. I unbuttoned his shirt button by button and discovered a defined stomach while he kissed my neck. He wasn’t standing still either: without stopping devouring my mouth, he shifted my clothes aside to touch my skin directly. I held on to his waist, to that broad back, until my fingers slid down to his pants and I unfastened them.

Feeling the tug, he broke away for a second, pulled his pants all the way down, and revealed briefs strained by a bulge that left no room for doubt. He looked down at me with that smile and rested a hand on my shoulder.

—Get on your knees —he said quietly, and pulled his briefs down.

He was completely shaved. I had always liked doing that for my husband, but something about looking up and seeing those muscles, the abs, the line that dropped from his waist, lit me on fire in a whole new way. I took him in my mouth and started sucking him like I didn’t remember ever doing before.

He tasted incredible, but the best part was feeling him harden under my tongue until he was rock hard. He was long, not too thick, and even so he was the best I’d ever had. I sucked him with an insistence I barely recognized in myself, hearing him groan above me while he held my head with both hands.

I don’t know how long I stayed down there. I licked every part of him, the testicles too, I jerked him off until a drop appeared at the tip and I took it into my mouth, drawing out a moan that made him twist and pull away a little. I was in another world, clutching his legs, trying again and again to take him all the way in without managing it. It was precisely my gagging that caught the attention of a security guard, who started banging on the door and yelling at us to get out.

***

At first we ignored him and kept going, but when he threatened to kick the door down, we hurriedly started putting our clothes back on. When I saw him tuck the still-hard bulge off to one side in his briefs, I couldn’t resist kissing him one more time. Only after that long kiss did we finish dressing and go out.

Outside there was a group of men waiting who, when they saw us come out together and disheveled, applauded and whistled. I walked straight toward my friends, dying of embarrassment and laughter at the same time, while he headed off toward his crew. We kept looking for each other the rest of the night. We had planned to sneak off together somewhere else later, but the plan fell apart: one of my friends’ husbands showed up causing a scene and I had to leave with them.

Over the next few days we kept texting, sending each other photos, trying to work out where we could meet. But the infections started rising and everything shut down before we could. It wasn’t until after the quarantine that we saw each other one last time, and that night he did give me the best night I’d had in years. I also found out he was already living with his girlfriend, so that was our goodbye.

I never ran into Mateo again. But that night at the club gave me back something my husband had made me believe was lost: desire. Not long after, I started seeing someone else, and for the first time in a long while I did it feeling desired again.