The Mature Woman I Met on the App Set the Rules

It had been about six months since I signed the divorce papers, and at last I felt ready to be with a woman again. The problem was how. Going out drinking to pick someone up sounded like a huge hassle, and Albacete is a small city where everybody knows everybody else and where the nights always end the same way. So I did what everyone does: I downloaded one of those apps for meeting people.

At first it was disappointing. I spent a couple of days swiping through profiles without any of them saying anything to me. Until a private message appeared. The profile didn’t stand out for the photos or the username, but something about the way she wrote made me reply.

Her name was Renata. Fifty-three years old, from my own city. Blonde, curly-haired, petite, narrow waist, and a generous chest she carried with a confidence that showed even in a photo. But what hooked me most were her eyes, brown, dark, with an expression that seemed to be getting ahead of everything I was going to think.

We kept talking for two more days, about general things, without getting into anything intimate. I weighed every word; she didn’t weigh a single one. And then came the message that changed everything.

—You’re different from the others who write here —it said—. I want to meet you and find out what you’re hiding. The truth is, you’ve got me hooked.

A woman was saying that to me bluntly, without any beating around the bush.

I stared at the screen for a good while, surprised and, I admit, a little scared. Renata was direct in a way I wasn’t used to handling. After twelve years of marriage and months of self-imposed abstinence, a woman fifteen years older than me wanted to see me. It was exactly the fantasy I’d always kept tucked away, and suddenly it was within reach.

I decided to send her a couple of photos of myself so she could recognize me at the date we were already taking for granted on Saturday. I told her I’m blond, light-eyed, tall, broad-shouldered, and very fair-skinned. Her answer didn’t take long.

—Now I want even more to see what you’re not showing in those photos —she wrote—. If the rest is up to scratch, we’re going to have a very good time. Or do you dare show it to me before then?

I told her that at the date we’d have time for everything. She suggested going to the cinema; they were premiering a film she felt like watching with company, and she’d wait for me in the underground parking lot on Saturday afternoon.

***

I arrived with my heart racing. She was already there, leaning against a red convertible, wearing a black spaghetti-strap dress, stockings, and impossible stiletto heels. Over her shoulders she had a fur coat that barely covered the rest. She was much better than in the photos. More sensual, more self-assured. She gave off a calm power, the kind that comes from someone who knows exactly what she’s worth.

—You’re on time —she said, looking me up and down without the slightest shame—. I like that.

The theater was full. There was a lot of anticipation for the film, and I, who hadn’t seen the previous ones, sat down without really knowing what the story was about. I knew there would be sex scenes, but little else. I tried to focus on the screen and make some comment to her, though the only thing occupying my head were her slim legs covered by black stockings and the curve of those heels.

Renata took off her fur coat and spread it over both our laps, as if she wanted it to get in the way as little as possible. A few minutes passed. Then, without taking her eyes off the screen, she slid her hand underneath the fabric and began stroking me over my pants, giving little pats, gauging my reaction.

We sank a little deeper into the seats. Carefully, I unfastened the buttons of my pants to ease the pressure, and I slipped my hand beneath her dress. Everything was happening in the dark, with the whole theater focused on the film and that coat covering us like a silent accomplice.

She was wearing thigh-high stockings and a tiny lace garment that barely covered anything. She was easy to touch. Her skin was burning hot and her clit swollen, sensitive, reacting to every brush. We kissed deeply while she jerked me off with a speed that cut off my breathing and I sank two fingers into her with no resistance at all.

She came like that, silently, biting her lip so as not to make a sound, with a slight shudder that ran through her entire body and left the seat wet. She didn’t let me finish. She pulled her hand away, gathered up with her fingers the drop she’d brought out of me and took it to her mouth, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye with a half-smile.

—Not yet —she whispered—. It’s not time yet.

***

When we left, she suggested going for a drink at a nearby place. I didn’t recognize the café at all, but after the cinema I’d already learned not to anticipate anything with her. She ordered two drinks, we toasted, and before I could relax she leaned into my ear.

—Follow me —she said.

She took me by the hand and led me to a closed door at the back of the place. She opened it as if it were the most natural thing in the world and we entered a small foyer with an elevator. She swiped an electronic card, the doors opened, and we went up to a second floor. When we stepped out, I understood we were in her home. The place downstairs, the elevator, everything was part of her little empire.

—This is yours? —I started to ask, but she had already left her handbag and coat on a piece of furniture.

She gathered her blond mane into a quick bun and slipped the black dress down without any haste, letting it fall to the floor. Underneath she was wearing a semi-transparent black bra, the tiny lace garment, and those heels she hadn’t taken off. She stood looking at me, waiting, absolute mistress of the scene.

She knelt in front of me and began to work me with her tongue, slowly, concentrating on the tip while with one hand she gripped me firmly and with the other she touched herself. She had a scandalous body, but what disarmed me most was the control. She set the timing. Whenever she noticed I was close, she stopped dead and left me right at the edge, suspended, without allowing me to finish.

—I told you I decide when —she murmured, standing up.

She led me by the hand to the bedroom. There she stripped me completely and got onto the bed on all fours. She pushed the thin lace strip aside, offering herself, and let me see every last detail of her surrendered body.

—I want your mouth first —she ordered—. Don’t stop until I tell you.

I obeyed. I focused on licking her in slow circles while I sank two, then three fingers into her, starting a measured back-and-forth. She kept giving me instructions, never losing command, indicating the exact rhythm she wanted. When she started to tremble, she told me not to pull away, to speed up, not to waste anything. I did as I was told. I tightened the pace with my tongue and, just when she let go, a current shook her from head to toe with a force she hadn’t expected.

She gasped, writhed, breathed in broken bursts. As soon as she’d recovered, she knelt again and took me in her mouth as she had done at the entrance, bringing me once more to the edge only to abandon me there again.

She got back on all fours and asked me to fuck her hard, that she’d already waited long enough. Despite how aroused she was, it took effort to get inside. She was tight, tighter than I’d imagined, and she let out a moan the moment I brushed against her.

—Slowly —she said through her teeth—. You’ve got a big one. Bigger than any toy I have in that drawer.

Little by little she gave way, adjusting, until I could move freely. I started slowly and built intensity, holding her by the hips, by the mane of hair, while she pushed her body back, seeking every thrust. I had no intention of finishing quickly. I was enjoying myself like I hadn’t in years, and I wanted it to last.

Then she pulled away, turned around, and drove her gaze into me.

—I’m the one who decides when you come —she repeated, and from her tone I knew she meant it.

She took off the bra, freeing a firm breast with hard nipples, and opened the drawer of a low table. She took out a small metallic toy with a jewel-like base and put it on with a ease that spoke of habit. Then she got back into position.

—Now keep going —she ordered.

The pressure changed completely. With every movement she made backward, my thrusts became deeper, more intense. I held on as long as I could, but there came a point when I couldn’t take any more and I told her so. She increased the pace, pushing back against me, marking the end just as she had marked everything else. I came inside her with a force that left me breathless, just as her body clenched in one last spasm and I heard her moan into the pillow.

We stayed like that for a while, motionless, catching our breath. When I finally pulled away, she turned, drew me to her chest, and kissed me slowly, without hurry, like someone signing a contract.

—Not bad for a first date —she said with a crooked smile—. But if you want more, you’re going to have to earn it.

I earned it. Though that’s another story, one of the many I had with Renata and maybe I’ll tell you another day. For now I’m left with the memory of that afternoon at the cinema, the red convertible, and a woman who taught me that sometimes the best thing is to let someone else take charge.