The Young Lover Who Came After My Divorce

At forty-four, I feel like I’m starting over. Far from sinking me, the divorce gave me back my breath. I wrapped up the last bit of paperwork with my lawyer and turned the page without nostalgia, almost with relief. My ex will have to pay me a substantial allowance —his financial situation easily allows it— and, on top of that, the apartment stays with me. We don’t have children. Nothing to tie me down. For the first time in a long while, I belong entirely to myself.

We split up when he met another woman, someone I want absolutely nothing to do with. Let her put up with him now. Meanwhile, I console myself in my own way: browsing the internet at hours when the whole house is silent. I discovered a whole bunch of sites that piqued my curiosity. Among them, one that sells toys. I got a fixation on a pair of Ben Wa balls and a simple dildo, the kind that promise to stretch pleasure out when you’re alone. The truth is, I distrust men so much that I prefer to satisfy myself. For now, I can’t complain.

One night, while browsing male profiles on Deseante, a no-strings-attached dating site, I came across a guy I liked a lot. I wrote to him through the chat and he replied right away. We talked, there was a connection, he had me wanting him with barely three sentences. And then, all of a sudden, the screen froze. A connection failure. Nothing more.

—Shit! —I said out loud, alone in the living room.

I’d have to wait until tomorrow. That brief conversation had left me lit up, with my lower belly demanding immediate gratification. I went to the bedroom, undressed, and held myself back from touching myself. I made myself a quick dinner. I forced myself to watch television. Nothing worked: I had to go back to bed. This time I stroked my clit slowly, drawing it out, letting my hand rise to my navel for a moment before stopping, only to start again a little later. I was still fantasizing the same thing: him fucking me. I came long and hard. At last I fell asleep.

The next day I woke up naked on rumpled sheets, and took the opportunity to touch myself again, this time with the dildo. By that night I had already decided: I was going to be a real woman, one who’s dying for a young man to take her. I wanted to act without shame. I was only wearing a dress, the kind with buttons down the front, with nothing underneath. If he saw me like that, I hoped he’d throw himself at me; and if not, I’d know how to provoke him. In the meantime, I left on the low table a bottle of aged Armagnac, another of whisky, and one of sweet liqueur.

***

At last the doorbell rang. I stopped for a second in front of the hallway mirror, checked that the neckline of my dress fell exactly where I wanted it to, and opened the door. I would have eaten him right there on the threshold. His name was Iván, and he was even more handsome than in the photos: tall, with that clumsy self-assurance of someone who still doesn’t fully know how attractive he is. In the living room he chose the Armagnac, just like I did. We warmed the liquor between our hands, unhurried, watching each other over our glasses while the lamp’s soft light cast shadows over his face.

—You have a beautiful house —he said, letting his gaze wander around the living room before bringing it back to me.

—Sit here, next to me —I replied, patting the sofa.

I would have liked him to kiss me first. In the end, that would be the prey letting itself be hunted. I looked at his lips insistently, without hiding it. He understood right away that I wanted him. Finally he leaned in and kissed me. Our tongues set up a slow, exciting dance. I clutched the back of his neck. Now he was the one taking the initiative: one hand settled on my shoulder and I stayed still for a moment, letting him do what he wanted. The other hand moved up toward my breast.

He started squeezing too hard.

—Slowly —I asked him—. You’re hurting me like that.

If the girls he goes out with don’t tell him, of course he’ll never learn. He corrected himself at once, and his touches became exactly what I needed. He unfastened another button to free my breasts and bent down to kiss my nipples, this time with just the right pressure. I was already wet. His hand slid down to rest on my knee and stayed there, uncertain. He was just waiting to dare to move up toward my crotch.

He dared. And then it was my turn to take the initiative.

Through his trousers, I could see the bulge, and I wrapped my whole hand around it. I undid his button, lowered the zipper, and managed to get him out. I jerked him off the way I know how: slow at first, firm afterward. When he tried to return the favor and find my clit with his fingers, he couldn’t find the exact spot. I had to guide him. I wondered whether he’d really been with as many girls as he claimed. He wasn’t a virgin, that was certain; he just lacked experience. Once steered in the right direction, he touched me properly. He managed to make me come, and he was so proud of himself he even asked if I’d liked it.

—A lot —I told him, still short of breath—. Keep going.

***

He took the dress off me completely, which wasn’t difficult with the few buttons left. Naked in front of him, I let him look without shame, turning slowly so he could see every angle. My body has barely changed since I was twenty, and he had no idea what he’d found. Nor what would come next.

I knelt between his legs and took his cock into my mouth. It tasted good. First I licked the tip, slowly, before taking almost all of it. I moved up and down, setting the rhythm. I was going to make him come: at his age, he got hard again within minutes. He lay back, his spine against the sofa and his eyes closed, completely surrendered. When he came, he didn’t even warn me. Luckily, I like swallowing, and that’s what I did, though it wasn’t much: he’d probably jerked off a couple of times before coming to see me.

I sat back down beside him.

—Now you —I murmured—. Get down there.

Without a word he slid to the floor and knelt. I spread my legs and let him see all of my sex. I took his head and guided it where I wanted it. I asked him to start slowly, to play with his tongue before diving in, to go deep. And finally he reached my clit and stayed there, licking patiently. What he never knew is that I came three times in a row against the tip of his tongue. When he sat up, he was harder than the first time.

—Did you like what we did? —I asked.

He didn’t answer. He kissed me, and in that kiss was the whole response.

***

I took him by the hand to my bedroom. Once we lay down, he went back to kissing every part of my body. I searched for his cock again, ready to stroke him once more, but he stopped my hand. This time I knew he was finally going to fuck me. I opened my legs, inviting him to take me. At least he knew how: he entered slowly, too slowly for my taste, but I let him do it. His thrusts grew faster as he neared his pleasure. I was just about there when I felt his semen burst deep inside me. I came only a moment too late.

—I think you’re the first woman I’ve ever given a real orgasm to —he confessed, still inside me.

He came out of me looking like a satisfied boy. I wasn’t about to let him rest that much. I showed him how I touched myself, slowly, looking him in the eyes while I did it. He was the first woman he’d seen give herself pleasure like that, and you could tell by the way he breathed. I looked at his sex: hard again. I wanted it somewhere else.

I got on all fours, took his hand, and guided his fingers toward my other opening.

—Here —I told him—. But very slowly.

—I’ve never done it like this —he admitted, almost embarrassed.

—Then learn. Slowly, at first.

He obeyed like a diligent student. He pushed only the widest part, the head, and stopped. At that moment, I was the one who thrust back and took him all the way in. I heard him suck in a sharp breath. He started moving, first carefully and then faster, and I came like a madwoman, feeling him even more with each spasm. It took him a long time to finish. Better for me: I was making up for every bad day in one shot.

When I knew he was going to come one last time, I wanted to watch. This time I didn’t have to teach him anything: he already knew what I wanted. He gave me his sex, I took it in my hand, and very slowly I pulled the skin down and up, the way I’d discovered he liked. He, in turn, demanded access to my clit, and I granted it. I felt him tense, the head burning hotter and hotter, until he came and I watched calmly, almost tenderly, as it gushed out in spurts.

***

It’s over, I thought. And yet he made a move to get dressed and go home.

—Stay —I said, and it wasn’t only because I was afraid of the empty house—. I don’t want to sleep alone tonight.

He looked at me for a second, hesitating, then took off the shirt he had just put on. We went back to bed several more times before dawn. Now it’s serious: I have a lover much younger than me. And I don’t intend to give him any respite whenever we see each other again.