The Proposal from My Classmate’s Grandfather

I was twenty-two years old and in my third year of college. That semester I had a final group project, and the professor put the teams together however he pleased, without asking anyone. I ended up with two girls from class whom I’d sometimes greet in the hallway, but whom I would never have called friends.

When we sat down to organize ourselves, the plan came together quickly: we would meet at Sofía’s house. Her place was almost halfway between Carolina’s and mine, and for both of us the trip was convenient. In those years, virtual meetings didn’t exist the way they do now. We had chats, of course, but the important assignments were done in person, face to face, with our notes spread out over a table.

That project was worth sixty percent of the course grade. The other forty came from the average of the midterm and the final exam. I’d gotten a seventeen on the midterm, so with a good project I had the course practically guaranteed. For Sofía and Carolina it was different: both had failed the midterm and needed a high grade so they wouldn’t fall short. The three of us aligned around the same goal. In the end, though that isn’t the point, we did an excellent job and all passed without a hitch.

During the second meeting Sofía’s grandfather showed up. A man of about sixty-two, thin, with silver hair combed back and very well dressed. Sofía’s family had money, and it showed in every detail of the house. He greeted us with old-fashioned courtesy, asked about the degree program, and ordered Chinese food for delivery so we could have dinner while we studied.

I thought he was a kind, talkative man, and nothing more. I didn’t think about him again that night.

At the third meeting he was at the house again, and once more he took care of the food. When we finished and were about to leave, he asked Carolina and me where we lived. I was on his way. He offered to drive me in his car and, on the way, drop Carolina at the bus stop. A generous gesture, the sort you’d expect from an attentive grandfather. At that point it never crossed my mind to think of anything else.

We dropped Carolina at her stop. And then, once we were alone in the car, something in his manner changed.

—You’re a very beautiful woman —he said, looking at the red light—. And there’s something about you that’s not just beauty. It’s the way you move, the way you talk. Sensuality, I suppose.

I blushed all the way to my ears and thanked him in a low voice, not really knowing where to look. The air inside the car suddenly turned thick.

—Don’t get me wrong —he went on, without losing that elegant calm—. I’m a direct man; at my age you stop beating around the bush. I could help you financially if you agreed to see me privately from time to time. Nothing you don’t want. —He paused and pulled off as the light changed—. Don’t answer me now. Think about it calmly.

Had I just heard what I thought I heard?

After dropping that on me, he was back to being the cordial old man as always. He asked about my classes, my plans, talked about his granddaughter with a grandfather’s pride, about the trips he’d taken when he was young. As if the last thirty seconds had never happened. We arrived in my neighborhood —it wasn’t a poor neighborhood, but it was much more modest than Sofía’s gated development— and he dropped me in front of my house. We said goodbye with a soft kiss on the cheek, his expensive perfume still hanging in the air when I closed the car door.

***

I spent several days turning his proposal over in my head. I couldn’t get it out of my mind.

I knew several girls at the university who had older men who helped them with money. It wasn’t something people talked about openly, but in the end everything gets known. What people now call a sugar daddy has always existed, only without the freshness or naturalness with which it’s named now. Back then it was a secret carried with shame; today it’s almost a category.

I wondered what kind of woman would accept something like that. And immediately I answered myself that maybe I was that woman. The idea frightened me and, at the same time, lit something in my stomach that I didn’t want to name. It wasn’t love, that much I knew for sure. It was something else: the curiosity of crossing a line, the feeling of having a power I had never exercised, and yes, the money too, which at that age and with my accounts always stretched tight was no minor detail.

I thought about my boyfriend at the time. A guy my age, sweet, awkward, who still treated me as if I were made of glass, who fucked me afraid of breaking me and came three minutes later apologizing. I thought about how different everything would be with a man who knew exactly what he wanted and wasn’t afraid to ask for it, a man who would open my legs without asking permission and make me come without asking if it was okay.

Several nights, lying on my back in bed, I slid my hand inside my panties while imagining him. My cunt got soaked just thinking about his voice telling me filthy things in my ear. I worked my clit with two fingers, slowly at first and then desperately, and came biting my lip so they wouldn’t hear me on the other side of the wall. When I finished, instead of shame, I felt a dark little shiver in my belly: I knew I was going to say yes.

A week later I had made my decision.

***

The next time I went to Sofía’s house, her grandfather was there. I never asked her anything, but today I’m sure he got the information out of her to know which days I would be there. That precision was no coincidence.

We studied all afternoon. I could barely focus on the project. Every time he came near with a tray of coffee or some kind comment, I felt my heart leap up into my throat. Sofía and Carolina didn’t notice anything; to them he was the same old grandfather, handing out cookies and anecdotes.

When we finished, the ritual repeated itself. We dropped Carolina at her stop. And when the car was silent again, with the two lone figures reflected in the windshield, he looked at me through the rearview mirror.

—Have you thought about it? —he asked, without beating around the bush.

—Yes —I said. My voice came out firmer than I expected—. I accept.

He nodded slowly, like someone closing a deal he’d already taken for granted. At the next stoplight he opened the glove compartment, took out his wallet, and handed me a few bills. The equivalent of about a hundred dollars, counted calmly.

—I don’t have much time this afternoon —he said, while I put the money in my purse with fingers that were a little clumsy—. But I want you to suck me off here, in the car. I want to see your mouth full of my cock before I drop you at your house.

It threw me completely off balance. I hadn’t expected him to be that direct, that unwrapped, that filthy in his vocabulary. Part of me had imagined an apartment, a glass of wine, a gentler transition into what was inevitable. And yet the money was already in my purse, its real weight against my hip, and that changed everything. I felt my cunt throb between my legs all at once.

The car had tinted windows. He drove a few blocks toward the riverfront, that avenue that runs along the river where couples park at dusk. It wasn’t exactly the route home, but it wasn’t an outrageous detour either. He turned off the engine in a secluded corner, away from the lights, and the silence in the cabin grew enormous.

He unbuckled his seat belt. Then his pants, unhurried, with the natural ease of someone who has done this many times. He pulled his boxer briefs down halfway over his thigh, and there it stayed, the soft cock resting on the gray hair of his pubic mound, thick even at rest, with marked veins and heavy balls hanging between his spread legs. I stood staring at it for a second, hypnotized. It was bigger, more adult, more man than any I had ever seen up close.

—Come on, sweetheart —he said in a low voice—. Take it out yourself. Grab it with that little hand and bring it to your mouth.

I got myself positioned as best I could on the seat, bent toward him in an awkward posture, my skirt hitched up over my thighs and my hair falling across my face. I circled the base with my fingers, feeling its warm weight in my palm, and brought it to my lips. I ran my tongue over the tip first, a timid lick, and he let out a long breath. Then I took it all into my mouth, as much as I could, and started sucking it slowly, moving up and down, coating it in saliva.

I remember everything with a strange clarity. The warm feel beneath my tongue, the smell of soap and cologne mixed with a more intimate undertone of a man’s skin, his breathing that started out measured and gradually became deeper, more animal. I felt a weird, contradictory arousal: part of my body responded on its own —my cunt was getting wetter inside my panties, soaking them through— but in that moment what really pushed me was the money, the transgression, the crystal-clear awareness that I was sucking off an old man for cash in a car parked by the river.

—Just like that, exactly like that —he murmured, resting one hand lightly on the back of my neck, not forcing, just guiding—. Suck it well, with feeling. Use your tongue on the tip. That’s it, like that, my love. You have no idea what you do to me.

It kept hardening in my mouth until it turned to stone. It was so much bigger than my boyfriend’s, thicker, longer, and I noticed the change, that new firmness against my palate, the swollen head bumping the back of my throat every time I went down. I’d pull it out of my mouth for a second to breathe, a string of saliva hanging from my lip, and lick along its length, from the balls to the tip, while he looked down at me through narrowed eyes and the faintest smile.

—Spit on it —he told me, his voice hoarse—. Spit on my cock and keep going.

I gathered spit and slowly spat it over the head, and watched the thread slide down his shaft. Then I took it in my hand again and gave him a handjob while I sucked him, my palm circling and my mouth drawing on the tip, and he let his head fall back against the headrest and gave out a long groan that made the air tremble.

—Take it all the way in, as much as you can —he panted—. Choke on it a little, go on.

I pushed it to the back until my throat closed and a gag shuddered through me, my eyes filling with tears. I pulled off coughing, my mouth a mess of spit and drool, and shoved it back in right away, slower, searching for the rhythm. My blood hammered in my temples and my cunt was throbbing so hard between my legs that, without thinking, I slipped one hand under my skirt, pulled my soaked panties aside, and started rubbing my clit at the same time as I sucked him. I was slippery, swollen, wetter than I had ever been.

Outside, cars passed by, their headlights sweeping across the cabin roof for a second before moving on, oblivious to us, inches from a secret they would never know: a twenty-two-year-old girl with an old man’s cock in her mouth and her fingers buried in her own cunt.

—Look how much you like it, slut —he said, glancing down and seeing my hand working between my legs—. Look at you touching yourself while you suck me. You’re gorgeous.

It didn’t take much longer. I felt his whole body tense, his cock swelling even more inside my mouth, and his hand closed on the back of my neck, keeping me from pulling away.

—Here it comes, swallow it all —he growled through clenched teeth—. All of it, don’t waste a drop.

He came in my mouth with a rough groan he could barely contain, hot spurts slamming against my palate and tongue. Four, five, six thick lashes, more semen than I had imagined a man could produce. The load filled my mouth to overflowing, and a little escaped at the corner of my lips and ran down my chin.

I didn’t know what to do. It was the first time a man had finished like that inside me, and I hadn’t expected it. I could think of nothing else to do but swallow. I swallowed as much as I could, in two gulps, tasting the bitter, salty, hot flavor sliding slowly down my throat. I stayed there for a moment with my head bowed, his cock still in my mouth softening little by little, sucking the last drop from it, my heart pounding wildly, too afraid to look up. The fingers I’d had between my legs were shiny with my own wetness, and my whole body was trembling with an arousal I hadn’t yet found a way to resolve.

He stroked the back of my neck with the pad of his thumb, slowly, almost tenderly, and took it out of my mouth. With the same thumb he wiped the trail from my chin and slipped it between my lips so I’d lick it off. I licked it without thinking.

—Good girl —he murmured—. Very good.

Then he pulled his boxer briefs and pants back up with the same calm with which he had taken them off. He fastened his belt, started the engine, and pulled back out onto the avenue as if nothing had happened.

—I’ll drop you at your house —he said, and his voice was once again that of the courteous grandfather from the dining room.

The rest of the ride passed in complete silence, both of us. I looked out the window at the dark river sliding by to the side, still with his taste in my mouth, my soaked panties sticking to my swollen cunt, and a mix of vertigo and power I had never felt before. It wasn’t guilt. It was something more complicated than guilt.

When he stopped in front of my house, I turned to get out and he held me back just a little, brushing my wrist with two fingers.

—Next time —he said, looking me in the eyes with a serene smile— we’ll have real time. I’m going to fuck you slowly, on a bed, with your legs wide open. And I’m going to make you come so many times you’ll forget your own name.

I nodded without saying anything, my cunt tightening on its own at the sound of it. I got out, closed the door, and walked to the gate with my legs a little weak. The car started up and disappeared down the street, the taillights shrinking until they vanished around the corner.

That night, already in bed, I counted the bills again in the dark, just for the pleasure of feeling them between my fingers. Then I left them on the bedside table and slipped off my panties, still damp from the riverfront, and rubbed my clit thinking about his cock, his voice, his promise. I came twice in a row biting the pillow, my legs trembling. And I knew, with a certainty that surprised even me, that there would be a next time. And that promise that it would be different would keep me awake for many nights.