The Young Man My Son Sent to Massage Me

That Sunday I got up before any alarm went off. I knew my sons would take advantage of the morning to sleep late after Saturday night, and I wanted to do something nice for them. I made homemade crêpes, something I hadn’t done in months, and the smell of hot butter was enough to get them out of bed without my having to call anyone.

—Is that what I think it is? —Diego poked his head through the kitchen door, his hair completely tousled and a little-boy grin on his face.

—Call your brother.

—Pablo! —he shouted without moving from the doorway.

—What? —a thick, sleepy voice answered from the end of the hall.

—Come here. —And he sat down at the table as though he had done his duty.

—Seriously. —I sighed.— At least get the syrup and cream from the fridge.

Pablo appeared, dragging his feet, still looking half-asleep. They sat down together and took exactly thirty seconds to forget all about me.

—Nico told me you hooked up with Sandra in the car last night —Diego said to his brother with a little smirk.

—We only kissed. It wasn’t that big a deal.

—You’re such a sucker. That Sandra girl has a reputation for being easy.

—Who’s Sandra? —I joined the conversation.

—A girl from the group. She’s about twenty-three. —Pablo shrugged.

—Is twenty-three considered old?

—To him, yes. You, on the other hand, play in a different league, Mom. You’re a MILF. —Diego said it completely naturally, as if he were commenting on the weather.

—A what?

—Nothing, forget it. —Pablo focused on his plate.

I didn’t press him. But the word stuck with me for the rest of the day.

***

The next day I took advantage of the empty house to satisfy my curiosity. I sat down at Diego’s computer and typed the four letters into the search bar.

What came up left me far from indifferent.

The initials stood for “Mother I’d Like to Fuck.” The definitions clarified the rest: mothers a young man would fuck without thinking twice. The kind of woman twenty-year-old guys jerked off to in secret but didn’t always dare admit they wanted. The results included pictures and videos, and I clicked on one before I had finished reading the definitions.

On the screen, a young guy who could have been my son had a woman my age on all fours on a bed, gripping her by the hair and driving his cock all the way into her pussy with a casualness I found fascinating. She wasn’t faking anything: she moaned with her mouth open, pushed herself backward to take him deeper, and shamelessly begged him to fuck her harder. He didn’t need instructions either. They both knew exactly what they wanted and how to get it.

I turned up the volume without realizing it.

I touched myself over my clothes at first, pressing my palm against my pubic mound. It had been so long since I’d allowed myself anything like that that I felt my pussy soaked before I had even slipped my hand beneath my pants. I pulled them down to my ankles for more freedom, pushed my panties aside, and rested my feet on the edge of the desk, spreading my legs in front of the monitor. Two fingers slipped inside without any resistance. I pulled them out glistening and brought them to my clitoris, drawing slow circles while on the screen the guy pulled his cock out of that woman’s pussy and shoved it all the way into her mouth, forcing her to suck it with her own juices smeared over him. My first moan escaped before I could stop it.

—What are you doing?

I jumped to my feet. Diego was standing in the doorway of his room, his backpack still over one shoulder, looking at me with an expression wavering between astonishment and an effort not to laugh. I closed the browser in a hurry and searched for my pants with my feet.

—I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say.

—Mom. —He sighed deeply.— Why don’t you go out and find someone? It’s obvious you need it.

—It’s not as easy as you make it sound. Do you know anyone who’d be willing?

—A few people. But I’m not going to let you hook up with my friends. It would be humiliating for me.

—And for me too. So we agree.

With my eyes slightly damp, I left the room and locked myself in the bedroom. Diego knocked on the door ten minutes later.

—Are you okay?

—Yes. It’s the midlife crisis. Don’t worry.

—Let me think of something. I have an idea, but I need a few days. —He leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed.

—Don’t do anything, seriously.

—We’ll see.

***

Three days later he found me in the living room, reclining on the sofa with a book. He moved my legs aside without asking and sat down beside me.

—I talked to Marcos.

—Why?

—You’re always complaining that your back hurts, right?

—Yes, but I don’t see what that has to do with...

—Marcos is in his second year of osteopathy. He needs patients to practice on, and you’ve got a wrecked back and refuse to see a doctor. It’s perfect for both of you.

—Won’t he hurt me?

—Of course not. And listen: if you don’t want it to go any further, it doesn’t have to go anywhere. You decide how far the session goes. —He looked at me seriously.— He’s willing to do whatever you want.

—Did you tell him anything about the other thing?

—Only that your back hurts and you refuse to see a specialist. Nothing else.

I hesitated longer than I should have.

—All right. But only for my back.

—Of course. He’s coming tomorrow afternoon. Pablo and I have practice, so you’ll have the house to yourself.

He disappeared before I could change my mind.

***

The next day I got home from work, took a leisurely shower, and put on loose, comfortable clothes. Then I poured myself a glass of wine. Then another. I was standing in the kitchen, looking out at the street through the window, when the doorbell rang with the exact punctuality of someone who wanted to make a good impression.

Marcos was twenty-three, with dark, slightly curly hair and a relaxed way of moving that gave away someone who was never in a hurry. When he smiled in greeting, a dimple appeared in his left cheek. He was carrying a long case over one shoulder.

—Hello, Mrs. Lorena. Thank you very much for having me.

—Just Lorena. “Mrs.” makes me feel very old. —I gestured for him to come in.— What’s that huge thing you’re carrying?

—The massage table.

—I thought we’d do it on the sofa or the bed. —I said it lightly enough to sound almost innocent, though not entirely.

—It’s much better with a table. For both of us. —His answer wasn’t entirely innocent either.

He set it up in the living room with quiet efficiency. I watched him from the doorway, wineglass in hand, without bothering to hide it.

—Would you like something to drink?

—No, thank you.

He began with the usual questions: how long I’d had the pain, whether I had ever seen a specialist, whether the tension was concentrated more in my neck or lower back. He addressed me formally, with the visible effort of someone following a learned protocol, and I found it somewhat amusing to watch him being so serious.

—If you don’t mind, I need you to take off your blouse and lie face down. I can step outside for a moment if you’d like some privacy.

—Don’t be silly. We’ve known each other since you were little. —I slipped out of the garment in one movement and settled onto the table.

—I also need you to unfasten your bra. You don’t have to take it off, just loosen it.

I did so. He carefully separated the straps and began working in silence.

His hands were firm and sure. He felt each area before applying pressure, as though reading the muscle before acting on it. When he found a tense spot, he applied steady pressure that hurt a little at first and then released something I hadn’t even known I’d been carrying.

—Does it hurt here?

—Yes.

—And here?

—There too.

—You have quite a lot of tension in your lower back. Have you been under much stress lately?

—No more than usual for a divorced woman with two grown sons.

He worked on my back for quite some time. Then my neck, with slow, precise movements. He asked me to turn onto my back. When I did, my bra ended up completely out of place. I made no move to fix it.

He held my head in both hands and gently moved it from side to side. A subtle twist, and my cervical vertebrae cracked.

—God. That scared me.

—But can you feel the difference?

—Yes. Quite a lot. —And it was completely true.

He asked me to sit on the edge of the table. As I moved, my bra finally fell away. I stayed that way without picking it up.

Marcos positioned himself right behind me. He placed one hand on my head and tilted my neck to one side to stretch the muscles of the opposite shoulder. With his other arm, he reached beneath my armpit and pulled my arm backward. I immediately felt the muscles tightening from my neck down to my shoulder.

—I think I know where much of this tension comes from.

—Where?

—It’s common in women with large breasts. The weight pulls on the shoulder muscles and creates a pattern of chronic tension that travels up the entire back.

—I’ve been told that before. And do you think mine are big enough to cause all this?

There was a brief pause.

—The curve of your back suggests it.

—And do you think they’re pretty? Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you look at me. —I asked it calmly, like someone who had nothing left to lose.— If you need to feel them to confirm the diagnosis, you can. I trust your professional judgment.

Marcos’s hands stopped for a moment. Then, with a slowness that was not clumsiness but decision, they moved from my shoulders to my breasts. He held them from beneath with his open palms, gauging their weight. He ran his hands over them from bottom to top, squeezed them gently and then harder, sinking his fingers into the flesh. His thumbs found my nipples and pinched them until they grew hard as stones.

—Big and heavy —he said quietly, his mouth almost against my ear now.— And your nipples get stiff as soon as someone touches them.

—And pretty, don’t you think? Don’t tell me you hadn’t noticed before. —I changed my tone at the end, releasing the soft irony we both understood perfectly.

He didn’t answer with words. His lips found my neck from behind, sucking and biting the skin while he continued kneading my breasts with both hands, tugging my nipples until I moaned helplessly.

***

My hand went straight between my legs, beneath my comfortable pants and underwear. I was soaked. My fingers slipped inside without resistance and came back out gleaming with juices. I grabbed Marcos’s wrist behind me and guided it to the same place, first over the fabric, then beneath it. The moment his fingers brushed the lips of my open pussy, a gasp escaped him against my neck.

—Fuck, Lorena. You’re dripping.

—I’ve been waiting for you for three days without wanting to admit it.

He shoved two fingers inside at once. He curled them upward, searching within, and found the exact spot on his second pass. He began fucking me with his hand at a firm pace, pulling his fingers almost all the way out before plunging them back in to the knuckles. With his thumb he rubbed my clitoris in tight circles. I bit my lip to keep from screaming and reached with my open palm for the bulge in his pants, which I’d been watching since he came through the door. He was hard, straining against his jeans. I undid the button, lowered the zipper, and slipped my hand inside his boxer briefs.

His cock came out hot and throbbing in my hand. Thick, the kind that filled your palm, with the head already wet at the tip. I gripped it at the base and moved slowly, closing my fist so he could feel every inch. Marcos moaned against my ear and drove his fingers deeper into my pussy in response.

—Like that. Keep going. —I whispered.— Fuck me harder with your fingers.

I obeyed my own command and began jerking him faster, sliding the foreskin up and down, twisting my wrist on every upward stroke to wrap around the head. Every time I ran my thumb over the tip, his whole body trembled and he finger-fucked my pussy more fiercely. We had become two hungry hands that didn’t know where to begin.

The moans came out of me on their own, mingling with both our quickened breathing. His other hand never left my breasts: he squeezed them, alternated between them, ran his thumbs over my nipples with steady pressure that made it impossible for me to keep my composure. I arched backward against his chest and offered him more of my neck so he could keep biting it.

—Take it out. I want to see it —I asked without stopping my stroking.

He pulled down his pants and boxer briefs in one tug, to his thighs. I turned just enough to look over my shoulder and see his cock emerging from my fist, red, its veins standing out, pointing toward the ceiling. I spat into my palm without the slightest embarrassment and wrapped it again, now with more slip, pulling the foreskin with a wet snap that filled the living room. He couldn’t stay standing any longer: he braced his hips against my back and began fucking my fist, thrusting his cock between my clenched fingers as if he were penetrating me.

—I’m going to come, Lorena. Fuck, I’m going to come.

—Come. Come all over me.

Marcos came before I did. His body shuddered violently against my back, he sank his teeth into my neck to keep from shouting, and I felt his cock swell in my hand a second before it began to spurt. The first jet landed hot on my inner thigh and ran down to the table. The second reached my hip. The next ones burst between my fingers in spasms, running over the back of my hand while I kept squeezing and stroking until I milked out the last drop. He stayed still for several seconds, his forehead resting against the nape of my neck, his cock still twitching in my fist and semen dripping between us. The table beneath my thigh was completely stained.

—Are you finished? —he asked softly, still breathless.

—Don’t worry, I...

Before I could finish, he started again. He turned me over on the table and gently pushed me onto my back. He tore off my pants along with my panties and threw them onto the floor. I lay there naked, my legs spread and dangling over the edge, with him kneeling between my thighs. I didn’t even have time to say anything: he buried his face in my pussy and began eating me with the same hunger with which he had fingered me before.

—Ah... fuck, fuck...

His tongue traveled up and down the entire slit, long and flat, savoring the juices. Then he closed his mouth around my clitoris and sucked it as if it were candy, wrapping around it, letting it go, then catching it again. He slipped two fingers inside me once more and curled them upward while continuing to suck me. I gripped the table with both hands and spread my legs wider, seeking his mouth.

—Like that. There. Don’t move from there.

He slipped his arms beneath my thighs and lifted my hips, pressing my pussy more firmly against his face. His tongue went all the way inside me, came out, returned to my clitoris, setting the rhythm. His fingers kept pumping inside me, always finding the same spot. I felt myself climbing very quickly, too quickly to stop.

I sat up abruptly, grabbed his head with both hands, and pulled him upward. I kissed him on the mouth, wet with me, our tongues colliding wildly. I felt his cock hard again against my belly.

—Put it in me. Now. I can’t take it anymore.

Marcos didn’t think for even a second. He gripped his cock at the base, aimed, and thrust all the way in with one stroke. I screamed against his mouth. He filled me completely, until I felt the head strike something deep inside. He stayed still for a second, looking into my eyes with ragged breathing, and began to fuck me.

His pace was slow at first, pulling almost all the way out before driving back into me. The table creaked beneath us with every thrust. He held me beneath the knees, folding me over myself, spreading me wide so he could drive deeper each time. I watched his cock slide in and out of me, shiny with my juices, and didn’t recognize myself: I hadn’t fucked like that in years, hadn’t opened myself like that for anyone.

—Harder —I begged.— Fuck me harder.

The young man obeyed. He braced both hands beside my head and increased the pace until the table began banging against the wall. Every thrust shook my breasts, and every so often he lowered his face to catch one nipple in his mouth and suck it while continuing to hammer my pussy. The sounds coming from between my legs were obscene, wet splashing and flesh against flesh.

—Get on your knees —I told him.— I want to watch you fuck me.

He straightened, grabbed me by the hips, and pulled me toward the edge. He drove his cock into me again and resumed the rhythm, now with his hands free to squeeze my breasts, to bring his thumb down to my clitoris and rub it in time with his thrusts. I planted my heels on his shoulders and let him open me completely. Watching his cock disappear inside me again and again, glistening and stretching my pussy, was what made me begin to tremble.

—I’m going to come. Marcos, I’m going to come. Don’t stop.

—Come. Come on my cock.

His lips traveled from my neck to my ear, which he gently bit between thrusts, whispering filthy things I could barely hear because my orgasm had already gone off inside me. I tried to silence myself by bringing my mouth to his. Our lips met clumsily and urgently, our tongues colliding wildly while I tried in vain to smother the moans rising from deep in my chest.

The orgasm arrived with an intensity I hadn’t expected. My pussy clenched around his cock in spasms, squeezing it inside me, and I felt a hot gush of juices run over my ass to the table. I curled in on myself, grabbed his arm with both hands, and screamed until my own cry startled me. Marcos kept thrusting while I came, stretching out my orgasm, and a few seconds later he tensed again.

—I’m going again. Where should I...?

—On my breasts. Pull it out and come on my breasts.

He pulled his cock out in one motion, straddled my belly, and stroked himself twice with a hand full of my juices. Hot jets landed between my breasts one after another, reaching as high as my neck and chin. He moaned softly with every spurt, squeezing his cock until the last drop, which he left on my left nipple and then rubbed in with the head. I lay beneath him, legs spread and semen running down my cleavage, looking up at him with the satisfied whore’s smile I made no effort to hide.

It took my heart several minutes to return to a reasonable rhythm.

—You couldn’t have chosen a better profession —I managed to say at last.

—It was a pleasure. And I mean that in every possible sense.

I ran a finger over the tip of his cock, still glistening, and brought it to my mouth. I kissed the corner of his lips. Then I went to find something to clean up the mess we had made between us.

***

I walked him to the door after he finished putting away the massage table. Before he could open it, I grabbed him by the waist, pulled him close, and kissed him on the mouth. A long, peaceful kiss, without any hurry. He answered in kind, his hands resting on my hips and a faint smile I could feel against my lips.

—Let me know if your back starts bothering you again —he said when we parted.

—Count on it.

I closed the door and went straight to the shower. I couldn’t stop smiling the entire time, nor could I stop when I came out and sat on the sofa with a third glass of wine that I had completely earned that afternoon.

***

Diego and Pablo arrived together an hour later. The older one waited until his brother shut himself in his room, then came to find me in the kitchen.

—Well? —he asked, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed.

—My back feels much better. Excellent work.

—And the rest?

—I’m not going to give you details.

—I don’t need them. —He smiled smugly.— As long as it went well, that’s enough for me.

I stared at him.

—What do you get out of all this? A few days ago you told me not to even think about it, and now it turns out you arranged it yourself.

—Quid pro quo.

—You’ll have to be more specific.

—Marcos’s mother. Carmen. She’s been looking at me for more than a year in a way that’s anything but maternal. And she needs a place where her husband can’t show up unexpectedly.

I looked at him without saying anything for several seconds.

—Are you telling me you used me to guarantee your son’s discretion?

—I’m telling you I wanted you to be okay. That was the main objective. The Carmen situation is a collateral benefit that turned out to be the only guarantee that Marcos wouldn’t go telling people about it.

—She’s married.

—Yes. And she’s been eating me with her eyes at every family gathering for months. You can see it from a mile away.

—Nothing’s happened yet?

—Not yet. That’s why I need two things: a place, and for you to be the one who invites her. You two have known each other for a long time.

—We haven’t spoken in quite a while.

—I’ll take care of that. I only need you to say yes.

I sighed.

—All right. Heaven help us.

Diego got up from the stool and gave me a quick kiss on the forehead before disappearing down the hall.

I stayed alone in the kitchen, wondering exactly how I had reached this point. And, to my own surprise, I discovered that it didn’t seem so outrageous after all.