The Mature Woman I Found Alone That Autumn

That autumn arrived with a heat that had no business being there. The afternoons stretched on as if summer were refusing to leave, and the air had that sticky density that makes every step twice as hard. I had been walking aimlessly for almost an hour, sweating more than I would have liked to admit, when I saw the battered sign for that bar on the outskirts of town.

It was an unassuming place, half-hidden between a couple of scrawny trees that offered hardly any shade. The door stood ajar, and from outside came that unmistakable smell of old wood and air-conditioning on its last legs. Good enough reason to go in.

The transition from the bright outdoors to the dim interior left me blind for a few seconds. I blinked several times as my eyes adjusted. The bar on the left, a few plastic tables on the right, and at the back, almost in the darkness, a figure sitting alone before a glass that had been there for a while.

I ordered a beer and stayed at the bar. The bartender set it in front of me without saying a word. I took a long drink and let the cold slide slowly down my throat. I turned my head toward the back without any particular intention, and then I recognized her.

Marta.

Tall, a little more stooped than the last time I had seen her, but with that presence she had always possessed. Her hair was somewhat shorter, with a few gray hairs at her temples that had not been there before, but she still carried herself the same way. The same way of holding her glass in both hands, as if she needed to warm it even though we were in the middle of a hot autumn. We had not seen each other in years. Maybe three, maybe more. Time had taken away the details, but not what mattered.

I got down from the stool.

She looked up as I approached and took a moment to react, as if she had not expected to find me there either.

“Oh my God,” she said, standing up before I reached her table.

It was a real hug, the kind that squeezes, not a perfunctory one. She put her hands on my back, and I felt her body against mine, a little softer than before but just as warm. She brushed my cheeks with her lips, first one, then the other, and when she pulled away, she looked at me with that same old smile, the one that wrinkled the corner of her left eye.

“Sit down,” she said. “I can’t believe it’s you.”

I sat down across from her. I pointed at her glass, and the bartender understood. For a while we talked about nothing, about the usual things: the town, the people we had known, what had changed and what remained the same. Marta had a knack for turning any conversation into something intimate, as if her words were meant only for you even when other people were around. That afternoon there was no one else, and the intimacy began filling with something I did not want to name too quickly.

She was the one who said it, without beating around the bush, like someone who no longer needed to rehearse the sentence.

“Rodrigo died six months ago.”

“I’m sorry,” I replied, and I meant it. “I didn’t know.”

“No, of course you didn’t.” She turned the glass between her fingers. “He’d been ill for a while. You saw it almost better than I did, the last time we ran into each other.”

I remembered. The three of us had been at dinner, and I had noticed that something was wrong, not only with Rodrigo’s health but also with the cold space between him and Marta. I said nothing then. I never said anything about certain things.

“Have you been alone here ever since?”

“Alone at home, alone in town.” She smiled, but it was not a happy smile. “My children are in the capital. They come when they can, but they have their own lives. That’s normal.”

There was a silence neither of us hurried to fill. Through the half-open door came the distant sound of a car and the chirping of some bird. The heat was still there, pressing down on the entire building, and the air-conditioning could barely cool the room.

“And you,” Marta said. “What are you doing around here on a Tuesday in the middle of the afternoon?”

“Walking. I was bored at home.”

She let out a small, genuine laugh.

“Both of us equally alone.”

It was not exactly what I would have said, but it was not a lie either. She looked at me for a moment longer than usual, with that attention she had always possessed, the kind that truly observes rather than merely sees. Under the table, without commenting on it, she placed her foot next to mine. A tiny gesture. It could have been accidental.

It wasn’t.

I looked at her, and she did not look away. Her foot rose slightly, brushing my ankle, my calf. Unhurried. Her eyes fixed on mine, unblinking, with that determination of hers that I knew from other times.

“It’s been so long,” she said quietly.

“Too long,” I replied.

“Do you know what I’ve been thinking since I saw you come in?” She leaned over the table and lowered her voice even further. “That you have the same mouth. And that I remember perfectly what you knew how to do with it.”

My cock hardened beneath the table so suddenly that I almost shifted uncomfortably in my chair. She noticed it in my face and smiled without the slightest embarrassment.

***

We paid and went outside. The light hit us full in the face. Marta put on a pair of sunglasses and started walking beside me along the sidewalk without either of us saying where we were going. Her house was two blocks away; I knew that. I had visited it before, a long time ago, when things between us were different.

We walked slowly. She was wearing a thin dress, one of those that turns slightly transparent in direct sunlight, and I tried not to look too much. I tried, and did not entirely succeed. The fabric fell over her hips with a naturalness that was hardly accidental, and in the backlight I could make out the line of her ass with nothing underneath, two full half-moons moving with every step.

“I have the air-conditioning on at home,” she said without looking at me.

“Good thinking.”

“And I’m not wearing panties, in case you were wondering.” She said it as if she were talking about the weather. “I took them off in the bar bathroom when you went to pay.”

I swallowed. She kept walking as if nothing had happened.

When we reached the door, she searched for her keys in her handbag and took a moment to find the right one. I stood behind her, close but not touching, noticing the perfume she was wearing. Something soft, with a warm base I could not describe in exact words but would recognize anywhere because I had recognized it many times before.

The door opened.

The house was cool and dim. Marta had lowered the blinds to combat the heat, and the light coming in was that filtered, almost golden light that turns ordinary rooms into something different. The living room had the same furniture as always, though it had been rearranged. There were fresh flowers on the dining table.

We closed the door.

I do not know who moved first. I think it was me, though perhaps it was her. What I do know is that one moment we were standing in the hallway and the next my hands were on her waist and hers were on my shoulders, and we were looking at each other up close, so close I could see the fine lines around her eyes and the soft freckles across the bridge of her nose.

“It’s been so long since this,” she murmured.

I kissed her.

It was a slow kiss at first, without urgency, the kind that reclaims ground little by little. It lasted three seconds that way. Then she pushed her tongue deep into my mouth and grabbed the back of my neck with both hands, squeezing, and the kiss turned dirty and wet, our teeth knocking together and our saliva mixing. Her hands moved down my back to my ass, pulling me toward her, pressing herself against me so there was no space left between us, and she felt my hard cock against her belly through my pants.

“You’ve already got it hard,” she said against my mouth, sliding one hand between us to squeeze me through the fabric. “Fuck. I’ve missed it.”

The dress was as thin as I had imagined, and beneath my palms I felt the heat of her skin through the fabric, the curve of her hip, the absence of what I would have expected to find underneath. I lifted the skirt of her dress to her waist without ceremony and ran my hand over her bare ass. It was warm, soft, with that mature-woman texture unlike anything else. I squeezed one cheek with my whole hand, and she moaned into my mouth.

I slid my hand between her legs from behind. She was wet. Not a little, not just beginning to get there: truly wet, soaked, the lips of her pussy swollen and hot.

“See how I am?” she panted. “I’ve been like this ever since you put your foot next to mine in the bar.”

I slipped in one finger. It went in without resistance, with a wet sound that filled the hallway. I added a second, and she arched against my hand, throwing her head back and leaning against the hallway wall.

“Yes,” she said. “There. Like that.”

***

I guided her toward the sofa without letting go of her, my fingers still inside her, while she walked backward in small steps because she did not want me to stop. When we reached the sofa, I pulled her dress off over her head in one tug and left her completely naked in front of me.

Her breasts sagged a little more than before, their nipples already hard and dark. More mature skin, the kind of body that had lived and showed it without apology. Her pussy was shaved in front, its lips glistening with how wet she was. She looked more fuckable to me than in any memory.

“Get naked,” she said. “Now. I want to see it.”

I took off my shirt and pants without taking my eyes off her. When I lowered my underwear and my cock sprang upward, hard and already wet at the tip, Marta licked her lips without the slightest attempt at discretion.

“Come here,” she said, dropping onto the sofa with her legs spread. “Come here. Let me suck it first.”

I approached and stood in front of her. Marta took my cock in her right hand and looked at it for a moment, as if gauging it, as if recognizing it after so many years. Then she opened her mouth and took it all the way in, down to the back of her throat.

“Fuck,” I moaned.

She sucked hungrily. This was not a polite blowjob or a warm-up: it was the blowjob of a woman who had gone months without a cock in her mouth and was enjoying every inch. She moved her head up and down, tightening her lips around the shaft, sometimes pulling it all the way out to lick my balls, circling her tongue around the glans before swallowing me down to the base again.

Saliva ran down her chin. She looked up at me with shining eyes and did not stop. With her free hand she stroked her pussy, spreading her lips and rubbing her clitoris with two fingers at the same rhythm she used to suck me.

“Marta, stop,” I told her after a while, grabbing her hair. “Stop or I’ll come in your mouth.”

She pulled my cock out of her mouth with a wet sound and smiled, her lips swollen and shining with saliva.

“And what’s the problem with that?” she asked without letting go of me. “You’ll get hard again afterward. I know you will.”

“I want to fuck you first.”

Her smile widened.

“Good answer.”

I pushed her back onto the sofa and knelt between her legs. I opened her thighs with both hands and took a second to look at her: her pussy open before me, pink inside, soaked, her clitoris swollen and visible between her lips. I lowered my head and ran my whole tongue from underneath up to her clitoris, very slowly, savoring her.

Marta gasped loudly, her hands going straight into my hair.

“Oh God. Yes. Keep going.”

I started slowly. With my hands on her thighs, barely spreading them, I felt the tension in them ease as I licked her. I kissed the inside of her left thigh, then the right, and returned to her pussy without hurrying. I sucked her lips one by one, first the outer one, then the inner one, taking them into my mouth and tugging gently. She writhed on the sofa.

When I finally caught her clitoris between my lips and began sucking it with a steady rhythm, Marta let out a long moan she made no attempt to hide.

“There. There. Don’t stop, fuck, don’t stop.”

I inserted two fingers and curled them upward, searching for the spot I knew she had on the roof of her pussy. I found it by the immediate change in her breathing, and when I rubbed it with my fingers while continuing to suck her clitoris, she began lifting her hips against my face, out of control, thrusting herself against my mouth.

“I’m going to come,” she said between pants. “I’m going to come now, don’t stop, keep going, keepkeepkeep...”

I maintained exactly the same rhythm, the same pressure, my fingers moving over the same spot. She went rigid, arched her back, and clamped her thighs around my head with a force that surprised me. Then she came screaming, really screaming, with a long, unadorned sound that filled the entire house. Her pussy pulsed around my fingers in waves, squeezing and releasing, squeezing and releasing, while I kept sucking her clitoris slowly, prolonging her orgasm until she herself pushed my head away because she could not take any more.

“Stop, stop,” she panted, laughing and trembling at the same time. “I’m dying. Stop.”

I lifted my head, my mouth and chin soaked with her. Marta was spent on the sofa, her hair stuck to her temple and her chest rising and falling very quickly, but when she saw that I was still hard, my cock pointing toward her, she shook her head and licked her lips.

“Come here. Fuck me. Now. Right now.”

I climbed onto the sofa over her and pressed my cock against the entrance to her pussy. She looked me straight in the eye, her legs already spread and her knees raised.

“Put it all the way in,” she whispered. “All at once. Without a condom. I want to feel all of it.”

I pushed slowly and buried myself inside her to the hilt in a single thrust. The heat and wetness of her pussy wrapped around me completely, tight, and we both moaned at the same time. She dug her nails into my back.

“Fuck,” she moaned. “So full. You make me feel so full.”

I began to move. Long withdrawals and thrusts all the way in, calmly at first, enjoying every inch. The sofa creaked beneath us. Marta sought my mouth and kissed me while I fucked her, continuing to moan into my tongue.

“Harder,” she panted after a while. “Don’t treat me like I’m going to break. Fuck me properly.”

I grabbed her hips and sped up. I began thrusting hard, all the way in every time, with those sharp impacts that made her slide upward on the sofa with every thrust. Her tits bounced with the rhythm. The sound of my body colliding with hers filled the living room, along with the wet sound of her soaked pussy taking me every time.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she repeated. “Like that. Break me. Break me inside.”

I was driving into her with my whole pelvis when she pushed against my shoulders.

“Wait. Pull it out. I want to get on all fours.”

I pulled out, and she turned around on the sofa, bracing herself against the back with her knees spread and her ass pushed back, looking at me over her shoulder with a provocative smile. I looked at her open ass and her glistening pussy between her legs, offered up completely, and I almost came without touching her again.

I knelt behind her, grabbed one cheek in each hand, and drove my cock into her again in a single thrust. She let out a muffled cry and lowered her head against the back of the sofa.

“There. That’s where I wanted it.”

I began fucking her from behind with the full weight of my hips. In that position I went deeper, and she felt it from the very first stroke. I grabbed her hair with one hand, pulling gently backward to lift her head, and with the other I spread one cheek to watch my cock slide in and out of her pussy, gleaming with how wet she was.

“You look beautiful like this,” I growled. “All mine.”

“All yours,” she panted. “Anything you want. Fuck me in the ass if you want. Today, do whatever you want to me.”

I ran my thumb, wet with her own juices, over her asshole, and she shuddered all over. I did not put it in, not yet, but left it there, pressing, while I continued thrusting into her pussy. She began pushing her ass backward against me, setting the rhythm herself, fucking herself on my cock.

“Again,” she panted after a while. “I’m going to come again. Don’t stop.”

I reached around in front of her and found her clitoris with two fingers. I began rubbing it in quick circles without stopping my thrusts from behind. She started trembling all over, her breathing cut short, and a few seconds later she came for the second time, her pussy squeezing around my cock in spasms so strong they nearly dragged me over the edge with her.

I held myself back. I pulled out of her for a moment, squeezing the base of my cock so I would not come yet, while Marta collapsed onto her side on the sofa, panting.

“I’m not finished yet,” I told her.

“Then come back here,” she said, lying on her back and opening her arms and legs to me at once. “Come inside me. I want to feel it.”

I got on top of her and pushed my cock back inside. This time I fucked without a rhythm, already out of control, with quick, deep thrusts, now seeking only release. Marta wrapped her legs around my waist, crossing her ankles behind my back so I could not pull out, and whispered in my ear while I drove into her.

“Come inside me. Come on. Fill me. I want to feel you coming inside me.”

That was the phrase that finished me. I let out a long growl and came in bursts inside her, thrusting to the hilt with every pulse, emptying myself completely into her pussy. I felt my semen fill her inside, felt her tighten around me to keep it all in, felt her tremble beneath me with what I would swear was another small orgasm simply from feeling me finish.

I stayed on top of her for a long while, my cock still inside her, slowly softening. She stroked my back with both hands, very gently, without saying anything.

When I finally pulled out, a thick string of semen slid down between her legs onto the sofa. She laughed without opening her eyes.

“We’re going to have to wash the upholstery.”

***

When I looked up, she was watching me from the sofa with that disheveled, satisfied look that cannot be faked. Her hair was stuck to her right temple with sweat, her lips slightly parted, her tits still rising and falling with her breathing.

“God,” she said very quietly.

I sat up and settled beside her. She turned toward me and rested her head on my shoulder without saying anything else for a while. The air-conditioning was still running. Outside, the heat of that autumn afternoon that should not have been so hot continued to press down.

“I’ve been thinking about this for months,” she said at last.

“About this exactly?”

She let out a small, genuine laugh, the same one as before.

“Something like this. About someone fucking me properly. About not being alone in this.”

I took her hand. Neither of us moved from the sofa for a long while.

Sometimes a directionless walk takes you exactly where you need to go.