The Mature Woman from Town Came Looking for Me Again

When I think about my sexual awakening, I don't remember an actress, a classmate, or a hidden magazine. I remember an adult woman, a blonde with a husky voice who arrived in our town when I still didn't know what to do with the tremor she caused in me whenever I looked at her.

I'll change her name and call her Eva. She was considerably older than me, one of those women who don't draw you in because of a pretty face but because of the whole package: the way she walked, her confidence, her calm boldness, her body shaped by work and sun. She wasn't delicate. She was pure presence.

I grew up in a small place, the kind where everyone knows who comes in, who goes out, and who each person has a beer with. When that group of outsiders connected to a livestock operation appeared, they were the subject of conversation for weeks. Among all of them, Eva stood out without doing anything special.

She was short and wiry, with strong legs and weathered skin. Her light hair fell messily over her shoulders, and she had eyes that seemed to laugh at everything. But what stuck in my mind at first wasn't her eyes, but her tits.

I'm putting it that way because that's how it was.

One August afternoon, at the municipal pool, she was lying on a towel beside another woman from town. I was playing in the water with some other boys, thinking of nothing but throwing a ball around and enduring the heat. Until I saw her sit up, rub cream onto her legs, and take off the white T-shirt she was wearing over her bikini.

I froze.

She had a slim, almost athletic body, a flat stomach, and a small but firm ass. And above it, two big, round, heavy tits, pressed together, the kind that dominate any cleavage and make you look even when you don't want to. That contrast blew my mind. I didn't even know what to call what I was feeling, but that afternoon I went home with a hard-on and jerked off for the first time, remembering the way her nipples showed through the wet fabric.

From then on, Eva took up permanent residence in my imagination.

The years passed. I saw her now and then running errands, cleaning houses, or cooking for older men who lived alone. Life hadn't treated her gently, but she still had that wild edge that drove me crazy. And every summer, I kept finding excuses to run into her.

Once I watched her while she was ironing at a neighbor's house. She was wearing a white tank top, no bra, and from the stairwell just enough showed through for me to see the full shape of her tits and the darker shadows of her nipples. I jerked off right there in silence, holding my breath in case she caught me.

I came with my teeth clenched so I wouldn't moan.

That's how deeply she had gotten into my head.

When I finally became an adult and returned to town as a man, she looked at me differently. I noticed it at once. I was no longer the skinny kid who ran away whenever he ran into her. I was taller than she was, I'd already had my first experiences, and although she still made me nervous, I could hold her gaze now.

At a summer festival, she accepted a drink I sent her from the bar. Then she blew me a kiss from across the way. That night, when she told me to come with her to her place to keep drinking, I panicked at the thought of becoming the talk of the whole town. I was a coward. I made up an excuse and let her leave.

I spent years regretting it.

***

A long time later, with the world turned upside down and people still getting used to living again, I ran into her in a nearby city. She was coming out after picking up a package, and I recognized her immediately, even with half her face covered. It took her a second longer to place me, but when she did, her eyes widened in surprise and a smile tightened her mask.

—It can't be —she said—. Look at you.

We greeted each other awkwardly. We talked about the usual things: the years, work, people we knew, who was still in town and who wasn't. Then she suggested we have coffee at her apartment, which was a couple of streets away.

I accepted because there was no dignified way to refuse, but also because I'd spent half my life imagining an invitation like that.

The apartment was small, tidy, modern without being luxurious. Nothing like the country houses where I remembered her. There were traces of someone else in the home, a few masculine details, a framed photograph, a jacket hanging up. I didn't ask too many questions. She explained, with that dry naturalness of hers, that she shared the place with a friend. They weren't a couple. Or not entirely. That was enough for me.

We sat on the sofa with our cups in our hands and started talking about the past. At first we laughed. Then her voice dropped. She told me that when I was young I'd been very evasive with her, and that more than once she'd thought she rubbed me the wrong way. I laughed, perhaps to disguise my blush, and told her the truth.

I told her she was the first woman who had really turned me on. That I'd jerked off for the first time in my life thinking about her tits. That for years I'd fantasized about touching her, seeing her naked, fucking her. I said it without embellishment, almost unable to believe I was hearing myself say those things.

She wasn't offended. On the contrary. She settled back against the cushions, crossed her legs, and smiled with a mixture of vanity and mockery.

—My tits have always caused trouble —she said.

I looked at her in silence.

—Don't give me that shit, they still cause me trouble —she added, letting out a husky laugh.

The conversation grew thick, charged, increasingly intimate. I could feel the fabric of my pants stretching over my cock. She noticed too. Her gaze dropped for barely a second, then slowly rose again.

I don't know where I found the courage, but I asked her.

—Show them to me —I said—. Even if it's only for a minute. They've been in my head for too many years.

There was a brief silence. Then she set down her cup, stood up, and dragged a chair over until she was sitting in front of me. She sat very close, her knees almost touching my legs. Without taking her eyes off mine, she undid her blouse and then unclasped her bra.

When she lifted the fabric, I felt a sharp blow in my chest.

They were still incredible.

They weren't the taut tits of a young girl, of course not. They were a mature woman's tits, big and full, with the visible weight of the years and just a slight sag that made them even more real, more obscene, more fucking desirable. Her nipples were large and dark, already half-hard before I touched them.

I slowly raised my hands, waiting for a sign. She said nothing. She only spread her legs a little farther.

I grabbed them with both hands and almost moaned.

They were heavy. They yielded beneath my fingers and filled my palms again. At first I squeezed them carefully, then hungrily, sinking my thumbs into the soft flesh at the sides, brushing her nipples with my fingertips. She exhaled through her nose and tipped her head back.

—Fuck —I murmured.

—You waited all that time for this and all you can say is “fuck”? —she teased.

I didn't answer. I lowered my face and sucked one of her nipples.

Her body jerked. The nipple hardened completely inside my mouth. I licked it in circles, barely bit it, then sucked harder while my other hand kneaded her other tit. I felt her skin break out in gooseflesh. She buried one hand in my hair.

—Slowly... —she said, but it didn't sound like an order to stop, only an order to make it last.

I devoted my mouth to both breasts, alternating licks and sucks, swallowing her short moans. She smelled of clean skin and fresh coffee. Of woman. Of an old fantasy finally made real.

When I looked up, she was biting her lip.

—Stand up —she told me.

We stood in front of the sofa. I wanted to kiss her at last, but she turned her face slightly, as if she didn't want to start there. Instead, she opened my pants with a deftness that made it clear she wasn't a novice. She pulled down my zipper, slipped her hand inside my boxers, and took out my cock.

It was hard in an almost painful way.

She held it for a second, gauging its thickness, and smiled.

—So all this time it was because of my tits —she murmured.

—And because of you.

She gave an amused snort and knelt down.

Seeing her below me, her light hair falling over her face and my fingers almost brushing her cheek, was too much. She ran her tongue over the tip, slowly, gathering the fluid already beading there. Then she opened her mouth wider and started sucking me.

She didn't hurry. She took me as deep as she wanted, then drew me out slowly, using her tongue underneath and pressing with her wet lips. Her hand worked the base while her mouth took care of the rest. Every so often she looked up at me, and that mixture of experience and shamelessness pushed me to the edge.

—Holy shit... I'm not going to last like this —I said.

She pulled away only to answer:

—Then don't come yet.

She took me back into her mouth, and this time she squeezed harder. I held her hair and set the pace slightly, careful not to push too far. Saliva dripped from the corner of her lips, and she wiped it away with the back of her hand so she could continue. The wet sound of her mouth filled the living room.

I pulled away before I came. I made her stand and finally kissed her. She tasted of me, coffee, and pent-up desire. Her mouth was rougher than I'd imagined, less sweet and much more exciting. She kissed the way she lived: without putting on airs.

I took off her blouse completely, then her pants. She was left in her underwear for a second, and that second let me see her whole body. She was still incredibly hot. Her hips were a little more pronounced, her stomach not as flat as it had been years before, her tits dominating everything. This time I knelt down and slowly pulled her panties off.

She was only half-shaved, not with the perfection of a magazine but like a real woman who didn't need to pretend anything. I parted her thighs, and the first thing I saw was the glistening between her legs.

She was already wet.

I ran a finger along her slit, and she let out a deep moan.

—Don't look at me like that or I won't be responsible for myself —she said.

I licked her from bottom to top, opening her with my tongue. She had a strong, adult, hot taste. Nothing shy about it. She gripped my shoulders and began moving her hips, seeking more pressure when I pushed my tongue into her pussy. I alternated my tongue with my fingers, first one, then two, sliding in and out slowly while I sucked her clit.

—Yes, like that... like that, fuck... —she panted.

Her husky voice barely broke when I touched her exactly where she wanted. I spread her legs farther and pushed two fingers all the way inside, curling them. She squeezed her thighs around my head. She was soaking my mouth.

—I've wanted to eat this pussy for years —I told her against her skin.

—Then eat it properly.

I did. I licked her hungrily, driving my tongue in again and again, sucking her clit until she began to tremble. Her hands gripped my hair hard. When I felt her orgasm approaching, I finger-fucked her pussy faster and deeper, wetly, listening to the obscene sloshing of her arousal.

She came with a long moan, without screaming, more animal than loud. Her body arched, and she squeezed my head between her thighs. I kept licking until she pushed me away, trembling.

—Stop, you bastard... stop for a second.

She let herself fall onto the sofa with her legs spread and her chest rising and falling. Her nipples were hard, her face flushed, and an expression of pure lust made me lose what little patience I had left.

I went to get a condom out of instinct, but she stopped me with a hand on my wrist.

—There's no need —she said—. I'm protected. And I'm fine.

I looked at her for a moment to make sure. She nodded without drama, like an adult woman who knew perfectly well what she was doing.

I sat down, and she climbed on top of me. She took my cock, rubbed the tip between the lips of her pussy, wetting me further, and then slowly lowered herself. I entered her all the way in one motion, and we both let out a raw, sincere sound.

She was tight and hot. Much more than I'd expected.

She stayed still for a second, adjusting to me, with her hands on my shoulders. I held her by the waist and felt her pussy swallowing me whole.

—Fuck, Eva... —I growled.

—Say it better this time —she replied, and started moving.

At first she moved slowly, lifting herself just enough to let me slide out before impaling herself on me again. Her tits bounced against my face, heavy and alive. I grabbed them and started sucking them again while she rode me. The friction was deep and wet, accompanied by the sound of a thoroughly aroused pussy swallowing a cock without shame.

She increased the pace on her own, her legs spread on either side of my thighs, moving her hips with obscene confidence. She wasn't doing it to show off; she did it because she knew exactly how to make herself come. I thrust my hips up to take her better, and every stroke rubbed against the places that excited me most.

—Is this how you imagined fucking me, or not? —she asked between gasps.

—Yes.

—You're lying. I'm sure I was better in your fantasies.

I pinched one of her nipples between my fingers.

—No. You were exactly this dirty.

She laughed and almost immediately moaned when she felt me deeper. She took my hand and guided it between her legs.

—Touch me there while I ride you.

I obeyed. I rubbed her clit with two fingers while she kept rising and falling on top of me. The effect was immediate. Her stomach tightened, her breathing quickened, and she began fucking me harder, losing her elegant rhythm and becoming clumsier and more desperate, which was far more exciting.

—Don't stop... don't stop... —she repeated.

I grabbed her back and held her tight against me as she came again, trembling on my cock. I felt her pussy clench in clear, wet, delicious pulses. I wanted to come right there, but I held back with difficulty.

I lifted her off carefully, laid her on her back on the rug, and spread her legs.

—Now I'm going to fuck you the way I've wanted to for years.

Her gaze lit up.

I lifted one of her legs onto my shoulder and entered her again. From that angle the penetration was more brutal. Every thrust made her tits shake from side to side. I grabbed one with one hand while holding her thigh with the other and started pounding her without gentleness, pulling almost all the way out before driving back into her to the hilt.

—Yes... like that... put it all the way in —she panted.

The sound of our bodies colliding filled the apartment. Her mouth was open, her eyes half closed, and her throat released those husky moans that had obsessed me for so long. I slipped my hand beneath her back to raise her hips higher and fucked her even deeper.

—Look at me —I told her.

She looked at me.

—Tell me if you wanted this that night at the festival.

She smiled boldly even as I pounded her.

—Of course I did, idiot. And you took too long.

I clenched my teeth and kept fucking her with restrained fury, with old desire accumulated over half a lifetime. I wiped the sweat from her forehead, sucked one of her nipples again, bit her neck, and pushed my tongue into her mouth while I kept thrusting in and out of her soaked pussy.

She was so hot that every time I put it in, it felt as though she were sucking me in.

I turned her over. She ended up on all fours, leaning against the sofa, her back arched. From behind she looked even better: firm legs, a tight ass, her tits hanging and swinging underneath her every time I pounded her. I spread her cheeks wider with one hand and guided my cock with the other until I entered her again.

This time I fucked her hard from the very first second.

The smack of the blows mingled with her moans and my grunts. I grabbed her hair in my fist and tugged just enough to make her lift her head.

—I wanted you like this —I told her in her ear—. On all fours and moaning for my cock.

—Then fuck me, goddammit. Don't talk so much.

That's what I did. I pounded her without delicacy, setting a rhythm that emptied my head. She reached one hand between her legs to touch herself while I penetrated her. Seeing her fingers rubbing her clit, hearing how wet she was, watching her tits appear and disappear at the sides of her torso with every thrust, pushed me to the edge.

I pulled her hand away and replaced it with mine, rubbing her myself while I kept pounding her from behind.

—I can't hold out like this —I said.

—Then come whenever you want.

—Not yet.

I increased the speed. She began to moan for real, without holding back, her voice breaking. I felt her pussy tighten again, squeezing me as she drew close to orgasm.

—I'm going to come... —she panted.

—Do it.

She came with a powerful spasm, throwing her body backward against mine, and that finished me. I held out for two more thrusts. Three. By the fourth I was losing control. I pulled out just in time and came across her back and the upper part of her ass, letting out an animal moan that rose from the deepest part of me.

I stayed bent over her, breathless, watching the white spurts slide down her sweaty skin.

She turned her head and smiled, satisfied, still panting.

—That's one hell of a thorn you just pulled out —she murmured.

I let myself fall beside her on the rug. We stayed silent for a moment, recovering our breathing. Then we went to shower together. There was no complete second round, but there were hands, slow kisses, and my mouth returning again and again to her tits while the water fell over us.

I still couldn't believe I was finally touching them without hurrying, sucking them the way I'd imagined hundreds of times.

***

Before I left, I asked for her number. Eva shook her head while buttoning her blouse.

—I don't like making things complicated —she said—. This happened because it was meant to.

She left me disarmed. Even so, I gave her mine on a piece of paper. She didn't promise anything. She didn't even read it in front of me. She put it away and opened the door.

I thought it would remain one of those stories that arrive late and are consumed only once.

I was wrong.

Months later she called me. We met again. Then again. And again. Never with too many words, never romantically. That wasn't what we were about. We were about delayed desire, naked trust, and a mature woman who still brought me to my knees as soon as she unbuttoned her clothes.

In time she made it clear that she didn't want to belong to anyone, and that had been part of her appeal from the beginning. Sometimes she welcomed me with a beer and a tired smile. Other times, the moment she opened the door, she took me by the hand to the sofa and told me:

—Don't come here to talk today. Come fuck me.

And I happily obeyed.

Years have passed since the first time I entered that apartment and she showed me the tits I had jerked off over for the first time. If I close my eyes, I can still see them swinging over me, feel their weight in my hands, hear her husky voice ordering me to keep going. Some fantasies disappoint you when they finally come true.

She didn't.

She fucks exactly the way I remembered her for an entire lifetime, only better, because now when I come, it's not into my hand, hidden in a teenage bed, but across the sweaty back of the mature woman who finally taught me why I could never forget her.