The Mature Gentleman Who Seduced Me in Three Days at a Conference

As those who read my previous story already know, I use the name Selene when I tell these things. This time I’m going to tell you about the night I spent with a married man during a work conference. I was thirty then, and I’m still surprised by how easily I let myself get carried away.

I work coordinating projects at a company that makes a living presenting them at trade fairs and conferences. That year there was one in Santander that lasted three days. No one on my team had anything ready to present, but my boss, Esteban, wanted someone to go, observe, make contacts, and steal ideas we could apply later. He sent me alone. The company paid for the flights and the hotel, the same one where all the attendees were staying, so there was no possible social escape.

The first day went exactly as I had planned. I arrived on time, attended the talks, exchanged a few business cards, and introduced myself to half a dozen strangers. One of them wasn’t so much of a stranger: Adrián. He headed another group in the sector, we had collaborated on a couple of projects, and we knew each other by sight. He was tall, with graying hair and a well-groomed beard, and dark eyes that seemed to laugh at everything. He was fifty-one, and according to my coworkers, he looked better than many men in their forties.

He also had a reputation. The kind of reputation women mention to each other with laughs and knowing looks: the man who always managed to find someone to disappear with at conferences. More than one of my colleagues had fantasized about him out loud, and I, why deny it, had at some point wondered what it would be like to sleep with someone like that. That first day we barely talked business. He asked me why I had come alone, I explained the thing with Esteban, and that was that. At night I was so tired I didn’t even open the apps; I took a warm shower and collapsed.

***

The next day I woke up at six twenty. My plan was to go down to the gym before breakfast. I put on snug moss-green leggings, a matching sports top, and over that a loose white T-shirt so I wouldn’t draw attention if I ran into anyone. I had the gym to myself and it was leg day and glutes.

I wasn’t alone for long. Ten minutes later Adrián came in, wearing shorts and a tank top that showed off well-defined arms without being exaggerated. He greeted me with a wave and I gave him a half smile before getting back to work. The leg curl machine was positioned facing the mirror, and when I lay down my T-shirt shifted, exposing my leggings. Through the reflection I saw him sit behind me with a pair of dumbbells.

On one of the sets I caught him. His eyes were fixed on my ass, completely still, as if he had forgotten he was there to work out. And me, who has always liked being looked at, felt something light up inside. When I finished the set I stayed motionless, watching him through the mirror. It took him a while to notice. When he did, he shook his head, embarrassed, and looked away. I smiled at him, teasing, as if to say I saw you. He answered with a shy smile and went back to his dumbbells.

I saved the last few minutes for the treadmill. I saw him coming over, wiping sweat from his face with his shirt, revealing an abdomen I hadn’t expected. I felt a tingle between my legs that made me uncomfortable for how early it was. He got on the treadmill beside mine and started talking.

—I didn’t know Esteban’s team had athletic people —he said.

—There are quite a few of us —I replied.

—With all the work he gives you, I thought you wouldn’t have any energy left.

—I like taking care of myself. I always make time for this.

—It shows.

I looked at him curiously. I wanted to see whether the rumors were true, whether he really was as skilled with words as people said.

—Did you like the view? —I blurted out.

—Impossible to say no. I wasn’t expecting the day to start this well.

—I can see that. You couldn’t take your eyes off me.

—You only have to look in the mirror —I said, and only after I finished the sentence did I realize I’d just paid him a compliment.

—I’m like you —he replied—. I like staying in shape. Though what I really enjoy is appreciating a good female body.

—And do you think mine is a good body? —I asked, feeling the heat push me to keep going.

—I’d say one of the best I’ve ever had the luck to see. I’d even dare say the best at this conference.

I blushed and he noticed it, of course he noticed it. I turned off the treadmill, said goodbye, and before I left he threw out the night invitation: beers with his group. I told him I had plans with some friends. He didn’t insist.

At breakfast I couldn’t stop thinking about that conversation. It wasn’t just the compliment. It was that, for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t the one in control. He had made me feel small, effortlessly, and I discovered that I liked that feeling more than I was willing to admit.

***

I spent the second day of the conference feeling his gaze on the back of my neck. Every time our eyes met, he held my gaze with a confidence that left me disarmed. At the coffee break I stayed leaning against the counter, pretending to watch people when really I was looking for him. Just when I was laughing to myself at how ridiculous the situation was, a hand landed on my back.

—How were the morning talks? —he asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

—Interesting. There’s something we can use.

His hand, instead of pulling away, slid slowly down to my waist and stayed there, his forearm resting on the counter as if to disguise it. The gesture caught me by surprise and, once again, I simply let him do it.

—I found something more interesting than the talks —he murmured—. A woman moving through this hall with a mesmerizing kind of elegance. Haven’t you noticed how many looks you’re getting?

That day I was wearing classic-cut beige trousers, fitted at the waist, and a slightly loose white blouse under a matching blazer. When I chose it, it had seemed discreet. With his fingers playing at my lower back, it no longer did.

—Do you think I’m stealing all the looks? —I asked.

—I’m sure of it. And as for me, I’m not planning to miss a single one of your curves.

Someone called him from the other side of the hall. He removed his hand to wave and I was frustrated that he did. He said goodbye with a promise to see me later and left me there, turned on and unsettled by how little it took for me to give in to him.

That night I had dinner with my friends. Over beers I told them what was happening and they laughed at me, at how easily I let myself be seduced when I had never exactly been short of sex. One of them, already laughing hard, said the line that haunted me for the rest of the trip: “You should sleep with him, if only to live through the experience of doing it with a married man.” I went back to the hotel with that idea stuck in my head.

***

The third day was the last one, the official dinner. I ran into Adrián at the gym, though this time there were more people around and we could barely flirt. Before I left, he grabbed my arm.

—Tonight, if you don’t want to be alone, sit with us. I’ll talk to the organizers so they hold a table for us.

—Sounds good. I hate begging for a place to eat.

I spent the afternoon getting ready. Under the hot shower water I closed my eyes and imagined my hands were his, tracing my breasts, my stomach, going lower. I stopped before finishing. I’m saving myself for tonight.

I chose the most provocative thing I had brought: a black faux-leather miniskirt, sheer stockings, a cream satin blouse with a neckline that almost reached my navel, and nothing underneath. I lined my eyes, painted my lips red, and looked at myself in the mirror. I didn’t look vulgar; I looked determined to devour the night.

Dinner was served in the hotel lounge, with a bar in the basement for afterwards. I sat at the corner of his group’s table and left a chair free beside me. Adrián arrived last, greeted his people, and gave me two kisses so close to my lips I could almost feel them. He sat next to me.

It was a three-course dinner that went by “calmly,” in quotes, because beneath the tablecloth his hand found my knee and slowly worked its way up in lazy caresses to the hem of my skirt, where it would stop and start again. I made no resistance. At some point I crossed my legs so the skirt would ride up and give him more skin to touch.

When dessert was over I went to the bathroom, which was downstairs on the way to the bar. When I came out I found him in the hallway. With complete naturalness he put his hand on my waist and backed me up until I was trapped between the wall and his body. I leaned to one side, took his elbow so he wouldn’t pull his hand away, and looked into his eyes, biting my lip.

—I’m having a very good time with you —I told him.

—And I’m enjoying every minute by your side.

His breathing quickened a handspan from mine. Anyone passing by would have sworn we were about to devour each other’s mouths. Someone’s footsteps coming down the stairs separated us abruptly.

***

After that we all went down to the bar. We danced and drank for about an hour, him awkwardly, me just enough to be attractive without drawing attention. He was married; he couldn’t put himself on display. When I told him I was going out onto the balcony for some air, he waved me off and stayed with his group.

Leaning on the railing, looking out at the avenue, I went over the three days: the gym, the coffee, the hallway, his cologne, his hand at my waist. I didn’t hear him come up.

—May I join you? —he said, taking out a cigarette. He was alone. We were alone.

—Please.

—I felt like smoking when I found out you were here.

—To smoke or to look at me? —I no longer wanted detours.

—If you put it that way, to look at you.

—And now that you’ve had the chance, what are you going to do? —I moved closer as he let the cigarette fall.

—I can do whatever you want.

—And how do I know it won’t turn out to be a disappointment?

—To find out, you’d have to try me. I think I can satisfy you more than you imagine.

He grabbed my waist and pulled me against his body. I wrapped my arms around his neck and then he kissed me, hungry, his tongue slipping in from the very first instant. I let him do it. He controlled every centimeter, and I surrendered with every movement. When he pulled back, a thread of saliva still connected our lips.

—I’ll be waiting in my room —he whispered—. Thirteenth floor, room 1303.

He kissed me again, now with a firm hand on my ass, and left. I waited a few minutes, fixed my smudged lipstick in a mirror, and went up.

***

He opened the door right away. He had already taken off his jacket and shoes, and he wore his shirt open down to his chest. He pulled me by the arm inside, locked the door, and kissed me again, this time without restraint, his hands roaming over my back, my ass, my breasts. He lifted me up, I wrapped my legs around his waist, and he carried me to the sofa, where I ended up straddling him.

He took off my blouse and stared at my breasts before touching them. He ran his tongue over one and then the other, slowly, playing with my nipples until he made them hard. I moved my hips, trying to feel him through his clothes, while I finished unbuttoning his shirt. I dug my nails into his chest, not hard, just enough for him to feel the tingling, and slid my hand down to his belt.

—Will you let me start? —I asked, biting my lip.

—All yours.

I gave him a quick kiss, stood up, and let my skirt fall. I knelt between his legs, pulled down his pants, and at last had him in front of me. I took him into my mouth slowly, playing with the tip, listening to his breathing grow unsteady with every movement of my head. When I looked up, his eyes were closed and his hands were buried in my hair. He was about to find a rhythm when he held my face and got me back on my feet.

He kissed me again and with one sharp yank tore one of my stockings clean through. He gently pushed me toward the bed and climbed over me, kissing my neck, my breasts, my stomach, while he took off the last garment. When he managed it, he stood up and dragged me to the edge of the mattress. His fingers checked how wet I was, he smiled, and he started easing in slowly.

—You set the pace —he said.

—Make me yours —I answered—. However you want.

He started slow and gradually sped up, sinking in deeper with every thrust. I wrapped my legs around his waist and let myself go, unable to hold back my moans. At one point he pulled out, turned me over, and put me on all fours at the edge of the bed. He drove back into me in one stroke and a cry escaped me against the sheets.

One hand on my hip, the other tracing my back to my nape, pushing me down slowly. He alternated the rhythm, slow and fast, until nothing else mattered. When he spanked my ass, something snapped inside me and I came with a force I didn’t remember. He kept going a few seconds longer before pulling out and finishing on my back.

I collapsed face down, exhausted. He went to the bathroom for tissue and came back to lie beside me, sweating as if he’d just come from the gym.

—You’re soaked —I told him.

—You’ve made me work harder than any of those machines.

I turned to look at him. His hand was stroking my hip and I was drawing circles on his chest. We stayed like that for a while, in silence, until I broke the ice.

—You’ve got experience. You move better than a lot of younger men.

—And you know exactly what you want.

—Is this enough for you? —I asked, sliding my hand downward—. You said you were going to satisfy me.

—And haven’t I?

—Getting started, yes. But something tells me you can give me more.

It didn’t take long for him to be ready again. That night I discovered why he had the reputation he did: the second time it was me who took control, on top of him, setting the pace however I liked while he let me do it; the third he returned the favor with his mouth until I could barely stand. I lost count of the times he told me my body was a sculpture, and I also lost the shame of believing him.

***

We ended up wrecked. He lent me his shirt to sleep in and I lay on his chest with his hand resting on my hip. The sounds of the room woke me. I saw him dressed, gathering his things.

—You’re leaving already?

—My flight is very early.

—And you’re leaving without saying goodbye?

He came closer, kissed my forehead, and pointed at the shirt I was wearing.

—Keep it. So you remember who you spent these conferences with.

I blew him a kiss and he left. I stayed staring at the ceiling, with my friend’s phrase echoing again: “Do it for the experience.” And what an experience it was.

We ran into each other again at other conferences, and more than once we ended up in the same bed again. I know I’m just another one of his stories, just as he is one of my sure things. But as long as we both keep enjoying it, I don’t plan to put a stop to it.