The Mature Man I Met by the River

My name is Camila, and that Friday I fled the city without telling anyone. I was twenty-five and had spent a whole week with a tightness in my chest, one of those weeks when work, deadlines, and phone calls pile up until something inside you starts begging for a different kind of air. I grabbed my keys, left the apartment as it was, and drove to the delta without thinking too much about it.

The idea was simple: walk, look at the water, and take a couple of photos with my phone. The river had always calmed me down. There’s something about the slow current that puts in order whatever I have tangled up inside.

When I reached the old wooden dock, the wind tossed my hair in my face as if it wanted to tell me something. I sat on the edge, right where the river branch widens, and let the late-afternoon sun hit me full on. I was wearing a light T-shirt and a denim skirt that the damp breeze clung to my body with. I liked the silly freedom of not waiting for anyone.

That’s when I saw him.

He was leaning against the metal railing, looking at the water with his hands in his pockets. Tall, short gray hair at the temples, neatly trimmed goatee. He didn’t have a tourist’s face. He had the face of a man who had lived several lives and learned from all of them. Our eyes met for a second, and he looked at me like he recognized me from somewhere.

—Are you from around here? —he asked, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

—No. And you?

—Neither am I. But I’d bet we both ended up on this dock for the same reason.

I looked at him curiously.

—And what reason would that be?

He smiled to one side, unhurried.

—To escape the noise for a while.

To escape the noise for a while. I repeated the phrase under my breath, as if tasting it. He was right, and that annoyed me a little.

He came closer at an easy pace. He wasn’t pushy, but he moved with that confidence of men who no longer have anything to prove. It stirred up a mix of curiosity and alertness in me, the kind that speeds up your heart for no logical reason.

—Do you mind if I sit? —he asked.

I shook my head. He sat beside me, leaving a proper space, just enough not to seem like he was after anything, but close enough for me to feel the warmth of his body near mine.

—Esteban —he said, looking at the river instead of at me.

—Camila.

—So what is Camila doing on a Friday afternoon, alone, sitting by the water’s edge?

I smiled without answering right away. I liked the way my name sounded in his deep voice. It wasn’t syrupy or cheap flirtation. It was natural, like he really cared about the answer.

—I don’t know. Maybe I needed to remember I can be alone without falling apart.

—That sounds heavy for a Friday.

—And you? What are you escaping from?

He gave a low laugh, eyes on the water.

—The same thing everyone is. Work, pressure, a breakup that left me with more questions than answers.

I looked at him more closely. He had dark, opaque eyes, as if they held a history. Large hands, veins pronounced, and an old watch on his wrist. I figured he was about fifteen years older than me, maybe more, and for some reason that didn’t scare me. On the contrary, the image flashed through my head of those hands gripping my tits and I felt my panties get wet right then and there, sitting beside a stranger.

***

—Want to walk? —he said suddenly.

I nodded. We stood up almost at the same time, as if our bodies had already agreed before we did.

We walked along the riverfront without hurry, without needing to fill the silence. Every so often our hands brushed. I didn’t know if it was accidental or deliberate, but every time it happened I felt a shiver run down my back and end straight in my pussy.

At one point he stopped in front of an old wall covered in graffiti and looked at me.

—Can I tell you something weird?

—Try me.

—Since I saw you, I felt like this had already happened before.

—Like déjà vu?

—Like a scene I dreamed.

And without giving me time to answer, he closed the distance. He didn’t touch me. He stayed there, his face centimeters from mine, waiting. His eyes stayed fixed on mine and for an instant the world intentionally went silent. No one was passing by. Just the faint sound of the river, a distant car, and that soft emptiness that opens up when someone looks at you as if they already knew you.

I didn’t move away. I didn’t say anything. I just felt how the air between us started to weigh differently.

It was him who took the final step. His hand brushed mine first, softly, as if asking permission. Then he rested his fingers lightly on my waist, firm but attentive. His mouth found mine slowly. Nothing abrupt. A kiss that started as a question and ended as an answer. I felt it in my skin, in my back, in the nipples that hardened under my shirt.

—Sorry —he whispered without pulling away completely—. I don’t usually do this.

—Neither do I —I answered. And I wasn’t entirely lying.

We walked a little farther without letting go while the promenade lights came on one by one. The city turned golden. Those big arms knew how to hold.

—I’m staying in a house nearby —he said softly—. A few blocks away, among the trees. Quiet, with a view of the water. Want a glass of wine before you head back?

My heart started pounding in my chest. Not from fear, but from that certainty that I was about to do something that wasn’t in any plan and that suddenly felt inevitable. Wine, my ass, I thought. We both knew why he was inviting me.

—Let’s go —I said.

***

The house was exactly as he had described it: a refuge hidden among the trees, with large windows reflecting the river and the sky, already filling with stars. Esteban opened the door with an old key and a smile that was almost shy, as if he were letting me into not just the house but a private universe.

Inside it smelled of old wood and something sweet I couldn’t name. He invited me to sit by the window, turned on a warm lamp, and uncorked a bottle of Malbec.

—I don’t drink much —I warned him, taking the glass with both hands.

—No need to drink much. Just enough.

We talked. At first timidly, then with an honesty I hadn’t allowed myself in a long time. About his breakup, about my half-finished career, about the fears that sometimes paralyze us. At one point he took my hand and interlaced our fingers with a softness that made me shiver. When I leaned in to kiss his cheek, he stopped me with a gentle gesture and brought me to his lips.

This time the kiss was slower, surer, with tongue, with a bite to the lip, with his hand closing around the back of my neck like someone who no longer plans to let go. As if the outside world no longer mattered. He led me to a room with a wide window overlooking the river lit by moonlight. The silver light came in faintly, painting soft shadows on the walls and across the bed.

I sat on the edge of the bed and he sat beside me, unhurried, letting time work in his favor. I slowly took off my T-shirt, looking at him, and I was left in my bra. He looked at my tits like he had never seen a pair like them, and that look turned me on more than any words could have.

—Come here —I said, taking his hand to place it on my chest.

His hands slid over my thighs under the skirt, came up to my waist, unfastened it, and dropped it to the floor. I was left in my bra and panties, with my legs just barely apart, and he settled between them. He kissed me again, long and deep, until I was breathless, and then moved down my neck to nibble at me. He pinched my nipples through the fabric and I could already feel the dampness soaking my panties.

He undid my bra with one hand, with the skill of someone who doesn’t learn these things in a hurry. He tossed it over his shoulder without looking and for a few seconds my tits were right at his mouth level, his breath washing over me.

—They’re beautiful —he murmured, and latched onto one nipple like a hungry boy.

He sucked hard, alternating with circles of his tongue, biting lightly before sucking again. He worked the other breast with his hand, those thick fingers rolling my nipple until I moaned. I arched against his mouth, one hand on the back of his neck, pushing him not to stop.

—Like that, like that, don’t stop —I begged, completely unfiltered now.

His hand slid down my stomach, slipped inside my panties, and found me completely soaked. He smiled against my breast, bit once more, and kept moving down my stomach with his mouth, leaving a trail of saliva. He tugged my panties aside with two fingers, crouched down, and blew on my pussy before touching it. A curse slipped out of me just from the anticipation.

Then he slid in his middle finger and moved it slowly, looking for the spot inside. When he found it, he started massaging it while his thumb worked my clit in slow circles that gradually picked up speed. I could no longer control my hips; they moved on their own against his hand. My first orgasm hit me like that, sitting on the edge of the bed, with two of his fingers buried in my pussy and his thumb hammering my clit. I came hard, biting my lip to keep from screaming, squeezing his fingers with my whole pussy while he looked up at me from below as if he loved what he saw.

—It’s not over yet —he told me, and finished ripping my panties off my ankles.

Without giving me time to recover, he spread my legs wide, knelt on the rug, and buried his face between my thighs. His tongue belonged to an experienced man: he knew when to lick flat, when to point at my clit, when to drop down and suck at my entrance. The rough scrape of his beard against the inner thighs and against my lips added a new sensation, that delicious burn that makes you open your legs wider. He had me at his mercy, my hands gripping the mattress.

—Jesus, Esteban —I blurted when he pushed his tongue into me and moved it like it had a life of its own.

He went back to my clit and took it between his lips, sucking me slowly at first, then harder, until soft bites right where I ached most from wanting finally bent me over. I clamped his head between my thighs, dug my heels into his back, and the second orgasm ripped a cry from me that escaped me whole, impossible to hold back. I lay trembling, my pussy pulsing against his mouth, while he gave me soft licks to help me come down.

Then he sat on the bed. He didn’t need to say anything: it was my turn. I stroked his cock through his pants, already completely hard and straining against the fabric, and when he finished undressing, I confirmed what my hand had already promised me. It was thick, long, veined, and the tip gleamed with pre-cum.

I knelt in front of him on the rug. I had some experience from other encounters, though never with a cock like that or a man like him. I took the base with one hand and ran my tongue over him from bottom to top, unhurried, following a thick vein all the way to the tip. There I paused, licked the head in circles, took just the crown into my mouth, and sucked hard until a groan shook him.

—Like that, Cami, like that, you have no idea how good you suck cock —he said, his voice roughened.

Hearing my name in that tone made me even hotter. I opened my mouth and started taking him as far down as I could, pulling back and going in again, letting saliva drip down my chin and onto his balls. I took his balls in my other hand, massaging them slowly while I kept sucking. He rested his hand on the back of my neck, not to force me, but to set the right rhythm. Every so often I’d take his cock out of my mouth to breathe and run my tongue over his balls, one first and then the other, while I jerked him with my hand.

I spent a good while at that, lost in the taste and in how his whole body kept tensing, until he stopped me with a gentle tug on my hair.

—Stop, stop, you’re gonna make me come and I want to fuck you —he said.

He lifted me onto the bed and lay back. He sat me on top of him and asked me in a whisper to lower myself slowly. I settled over the tip of his cock, felt it opening me slightly, and lowered myself a few centimeters. I was already soaking wet and even so it was hard at first; he was thick and I’m small. I rode the tip up and down a couple of times to get used to it, and little by little I took him all the way until I was seated completely, with his whole cock buried to the hilt. I felt a succession of new sensations, that fullness of being completely occupied, filled to a place I didn’t know I had.

—Fuck, you’re so tight —he groaned, grabbing my hips hard.

I started moving slowly, in circles first, then up and down, rising almost to the tip and dropping down hard. He guided me with his hands on my waist until I found the rhythm, and then I let go. I rode him as if something inside me had been uncovered, while his hands came up to my tits, kneaded them, squeezed my nipples, and his tongue moved from one nipple to the other. Every time I came down I heard him grunt, and every one of those grunts sent a jolt straight to my clit.

—Touch yourself —he asked without stopping his movement beneath me.

I took my hand to my clit and started massaging it while I kept fucking him. When he felt close, he squeezed my hips harder and whispered for me to keep going like that, not to stop. I moved with more force, letting myself drop all the way onto his cock, and he started thrusting up from below, crashing into me with a wet sound that filled my head.

—I’m gonna come, Cami, I’m gonna come inside —he warned through clenched teeth.

—Come, give me everything —I answered, and that was me talking like that, not recognizing myself.

I felt everything tense in him, felt his cock pounding inside me and filling me with hot spurts of cum. My body responded with an orgasm even more intense than the previous ones, dragged along by his, squeezing his cock in pure spasms, milking out every drop. I stayed seated on top of him for a while without moving, too sensitive to separate, feeling his cum start to leak out of my pussy and drip down onto his balls.

I collapsed beside him, breathing in short gasps. He slid an arm under me, settled me against his chest, and kissed my forehead without saying a word. No words were needed anymore.

***

He got up to fetch something cold from the kitchen and came back half an hour later with two glasses of water and hard again. Watching him come in naked, his cock hard once more and swinging as he walked, made me clench my thighs on my own. Without a word he set the glasses on the nightstand, took my hand tenderly, helped me to my feet, and led me against the wall beside the window. He cornered me with his whole body, his cock wedged between my ass cheeks, his hands on my breasts, his teeth at my ears, his beard scraping my neck.

—You turn me on so much, Cami —he said in my ear while he pinched my nipples from behind—. You have no idea what you do to me.

I felt his cock settle between my ass cheeks, hard, heavy, and he pressed me against the cold wall. My tits were flattened against the glass and I could see the river outside, the moon reflected in the water, all while he groped me all over. He lowered a hand to my pussy, slid two fingers inside, and pulled them out gleaming with everything he himself had left in there. With that wetness he coated me from behind, and then I knew exactly where this was going.

—I’ve never done it there —I confessed, my voice trembling.

—Easy. We’ll go slow. If it hurts, we stop.

He stretched toward the nightstand, found a tube of gel, and squeezed a good amount into his hand. He spread it all over my asshole with two fingers, massaging in circles until I felt it loosen. He slid in one finger barely, then all the way, and when I was no longer tense he added the second. He moved them slowly, scissoring, opening me little by little. My forehead was pressed to the glass, mouth open, breathing hard.

—That’s it, you’re ready now —he told me, and I felt him coating his cock with more gel.

He pressed against my entrance and started pushing with patience. At first it was uncomfortable, that burn that forces you to stop breathing, but the gel helped and so did the patience. He gradually gained ground along a less-traveled path, pushing and easing, pushing and easing, until the head got through. Then he filled my neck with soft kisses while I got used to the invasion.

—Breathe, Cami. Relax for me.

I did as he said. I let the air out slowly and felt more of him slide in, centimeter by centimeter, until his whole cock was inside me. When everything gave way, he stayed still for a moment, letting me feel that brand-new thing, that sensation of being taken in a place where no one had ever taken me before. And then he grabbed my hips and started in.

At first slowly, almost carefully, so I could find my rhythm. Then, when he heard the first moan slip out of me in pleasure rather than pain, he started fucking me harder. Each thrust lifted me slightly off the floor, his pelvis crashing into my ass cheeks, his fingers digging into the flesh of my waist. He took one of my hands to my pussy and put it there so I’d touch myself.

—Touch yourself while I fuck your ass —he ordered, and I obeyed instantly.

I worked my clit with two fingers while he pounded me from behind, and pleasure mixed together until it became one dense, deep thing. I had never felt anything like it, that combination of being completely full from behind and the explosion building up in front. I started moaning without restraint, braced against the window, my tits sliding over the fogged glass from my own breathing.

—Like that, daddy, like that, fuck me harder —I begged him, and I was surprised by my own voice.

That word lit him on fire. He grabbed my hair with one hand, yanked my head back, and drove his cock in harder, faster, until he couldn’t hold back anymore. He emptied himself into me with groans, his cock throbbing in my ass, while I tore my last orgasm out with my fingers, an orgasm that shook me whole and left me trembling against the wall, my legs too weak to hold me.

We stayed still for a while, him holding on to my body, his cock still inside me, me trying to catch my breath with my cheek against the cold glass. He slid out slowly so he wouldn’t hurt me, and I felt a warm trickle run down the back of my thigh. Then I went to the bathroom, took a quick shower, came back to bed, and we fell asleep wrapped around each other as if we’d done it a thousand times.

***

When I woke up, the soft light of dawn was coming in through the window and he was still asleep beside me. I felt a peace I hadn’t experienced in a long time, a calm after the storm. I got up slowly and walked to the window. The river was serene, as if it too had run out of words.

—Have you been awake long? —Esteban asked behind me, his voice rough.

—Just a little.

He came over and wrapped his arms around me from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder. We stayed like that, looking at the water.

—I don’t know what this was —I said, almost in a whisper.

—Me neither —he replied—. But I wouldn’t want it to end with breakfast.

I turned to look at him. His gaze was calm, without anxiety, without pressure. Just the desire for what we had built in that tiny corner of the world not to break.

—Then let’s start with coffee —I said, smiling.

I didn’t know whether this would last, whether it was the beginning of something or an intense, fleeting crossing. But for now it didn’t matter. Because at last I had managed to find what I had come looking for without knowing it: to breathe differently.