The Mature Man 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 easy it was to let myself get carried away.

I work coordinating projects at a company that lives off presenting them at trade fairs and conferences. That year it was a three-day one in Santander. No one on my team had anything ready to exhibit, 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 strange: Adrián. He led another group in the sector, we’d worked together on a couple of projects, and we knew each other by sight. He was tall, with salt-and-pepper hair and a well-groomed beard, and dark eyes that seemed to laugh at everything. He was fifty-one, and according to the women colleagues, he looked better than many men in their forties.

He also had a reputation. The kind of reputation women talk about with laughter and knowing looks: the man who always found someone to disappear with at conferences. More than one of my coworkers had fantasized about him out loud, and I, why deny it, had wondered more than once what it would be like to sleep with someone like that. That first day we barely talked about work. He asked me why I’d come alone, I explained about Esteban, and that was that. At night I was so tired I didn’t even open the apps; a lukewarm shower and I collapsed.

***

The next day I woke up at six twenty. My plan was to go down to the gym before breakfast. I put on a snug pair of moss-green leggings, a matching 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 arms that were defined, without being overdone. He greeted me with a wave and I gave him a half smile before getting back to my workout. The leg curl machine was facing the mirror, and when I lay down the T-shirt shifted, leaving my leggings exposed. Through the reflection I saw him sit down behind me with some dumbbells.

On one of the sets I caught him. His eyes were fixed on my ass, completely still, as if he’d forgotten he was there to train. And me, who has always liked being looked at, felt something ignite inside me. When I finished the set I stayed motionless, watching him through the mirror. It took him a while to realize. When he did, he shook his head in embarrassment and looked away. I smiled at him, teasingly, 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 approach, wiping sweat from his face with his T-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 next to mine and started talking.

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

—Well, there are a few of us —I answered.

—With all the work he gives you, I thought you’d have no energy left.

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

—It shows.

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

—Did you like the view? —I let 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 need to look at yourself 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. Although what I really enjoy is appreciating a good female body.

—And do you think mine is a good body? —I asked, and I could feel the heat urging me on.

—I’d say one of the best I’ve been lucky enough to see. I’d even dare say the best at this conference.

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

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’d 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 it with a confidence that disarmed me. During the coffee break I stayed leaning against the counter, pretending to watch the people when in reality I was looking for him. Just as I was laughing to myself at how ridiculous the situation was, a hand landed on my back.

—How were the morning talks? —he asked, sipping his coffee.

—Interesting. Some of it can be used.

His hand, instead of withdrawing, slid slowly down to my waist and stayed there, resting his forearm on the counter to make it look casual. The gesture took me by surprise and, 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 hypnotic elegance. Haven’t you noticed how many looks you’re getting?

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

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

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

Someone called to him from the other side of the hall. He pulled his hand away to answer, and I was frustrated that he did. He said goodbye with a promise to see me later and left me there, aroused and disoriented by how little effort it took to surrender to him.

That night I had dinner with my friends. Over beers I told them what was going on and they laughed at me, at how easily I let myself be seduced when I never lacked for sex. One of them, already well into her drinks, dropped the line that haunted me for the rest of the trip: «You should sleep with him, if only to live the experience of doing it with a married man.» I went back to the hotel with that idea lodged in my head.

***

The third day was the last, the official dinner. I ran into Adrián in 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 save us a table.

—Sounds good. I hate having to beg for a place to eat.

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

I chose the most provocative thing I’d brought: a black faux-leather mini skirt, sheer tights, a cream satin blouse with a neckline that came almost to 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 afterward. I sat at the corner of his group’s table and left a chair empty 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 under the tablecloth his hand found my knee and slowly worked its way up with languid caresses to the hem of my skirt, where it would stop and begin again. I didn’t resist. 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. As 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 between the wall and his body. I leaned to one side, held his elbow so he wouldn’t move his hand away, and looked into his eyes, biting my lip.

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

—And I enjoy every minute at your side.

His breathing was ragged a handspan from mine. Anyone passing by would have sworn we were about to devour each other’s mouths. The sound of footsteps coming down the stairs broke us apart at once.

***

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 on a show. When I told him I was going out onto the balcony for some air, he waved goodbye and stayed with his group.

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

—Can I keep you company? —he said, taking out a cigarette. He was alone. We were alone.

—Please.

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

—Smoking or looking at me? —I no longer wanted roundabout answers.

—If you put it that way, looking at you.

—And now that you’ve had the chance, what do you plan 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 end up being a disappointment?

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

He grabbed my waist and pressed me against his body. I wrapped my arms around his neck and then he kissed me, hungry, slipping his tongue in from the very first instant. I let him. He controlled every inch, and I fell apart with every movement. When he pulled away, a thread of saliva still held our lips together.

—I’ll be waiting for you 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 front of a mirror, and went upstairs.

***

He opened the door right away. He’d already taken off his jacket and shoes, and he was wearing his shirt open down to his chest. He yanked me by the arm inside, locked the door, and kissed me again, this time without holding back, 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 stood there staring at my breasts before touching them. He ran his tongue over one and then the other, slowly, teasing my nipples until he’d 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 shiver, and slid my hand down to his belt.

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

—All yours.

I gave him a short kiss, stood up, and let my skirt fall. I knelt between his legs, pulled down his trousers, and finally had him in front of me. I took him into my mouth slowly, playing with the tip, listening to his breathing grow agitated with every movement of my head. When I looked up, his eyes were closed and his hands were buried in my hair. I was about to settle into a rhythm when he cupped my face and stood me up.

He kissed me again and with one sharp tug tore one whole stocking. He gently pushed me toward the bed and climbed on top of me, kissing my neck, my breasts, my stomach, while he took off my 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 started easing in slowly.

—You set the pace —he said.

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

He started slowly and then sped up, sinking deeper with every thrust. I wrapped my legs around his waist and let myself go, unable to hold back the moans. At one point he pulled out, turned me over, and put me on all fours at the edge of the bed. He entered me all at once and a cry slipped from me against the sheets.

One hand on my hip, the other running up my back to the nape of my neck, pushing me down slowly. He alternated the pace, slow and fast, until everything else stopped mattering. When he slapped my ass, something snapped inside me and I came with a force I didn’t remember. He kept going a few seconds more before pulling out and finishing across my back.

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

—You’re soaked —I told him.

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

I turned to look at him. His hand stroked my hip and I traced 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 that all you can give me? —I asked, sliding my hand downward—. You said you were going to satisfy me.

—And haven’t I?

—You’ve 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, I was the one 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 how many times he told me my body was a sculpture, and I lost the shame of believing it.

***

We ended up wrecked. He lent me his shirt to sleep in and I stayed on his chest, his hand resting on my hip. I woke to the sounds in the room. 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 to 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 lay there staring at the ceiling, with my friend’s phrase echoing again: «do it to live the experience.» And what an experience.

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 one more of his stories, just as he is one of my safe indulgences. But as long as we’re both enjoying it, I don’t plan to put a stop to it.