What My Neighbor Did with the Forty-Something from the Eighth Floor

—I swear, I had a coffee with the woman from the fifth floor this morning and she spilled everything. Everything, I mean everything. She left me speechless.

—With whom? Don’t leave me hanging.

—With Marcos. The guy from the eighth floor. Yes, girl, the dark-haired one with gray at his temples and the legs of a retired soccer player. Diana’s husband, the one who looks like she stepped out of a magazine but smiles as if it hurts.

—I can’t believe it.

—Well, believe it. She told me herself, Lorena, every detail, leaving nothing out. And get this, I’d only gone to return her blender, but apparently she needed to tell someone and I happened to be the one.

—Start at the beginning, please.

—The beginning was the usual stuff. Saying hello in the elevator, smiling in the hallway, “What a coincidence running into you again.” You know how it goes. But Lorena says things changed one Tuesday, when he ran into her leaving the neighborhood gym, all sweaty, her ponytail coming undone. And the guy, instead of saying hello and moving on, looked her up and down and said, “Do you still want to get even hotter?”

—That’s what he said? What nerve.

—Word for word. And she, who isn’t stupid, replied without batting an eyelid, “The hotter, the better, don’t you think?” She says the poor man went speechless, red as a tomato, and practically ran into the building. Lorena thought that was where it would end.

—But it didn’t.

—Not at all. Three days later, her phone rang. Unknown number. It was him. “What are you doing this afternoon?” Her: “Nothing.” And him: “I’ll see you at the mall, in the café by the entrance.” Just like that, direct, no beating around the bush.

—And did she go?

—Of course she did. They sat down, ordered a couple of beers, and at first they talked about silly things—the building, the homeowners’ association, the bills. But she says he was looking at her in a way that left no room for doubt. Then, all of a sudden, he took her hand under the table and guided it to his pants. He placed her palm right over his fly, and Lorena found the guy’s cock already half-hard, pressing a bulge against the denim. She gave it a long squeeze, feeling it grow beneath her fingers, and noticed Marcos clenching his jaw so he wouldn’t let out a moan in front of the waiter.

—In the middle of the café!

—Right in the middle of the café. And instead of pulling away, she ran her hand over his entire cock through his pants, from top to bottom with all five fingers, and whispered in his ear, “Let’s go somewhere I can really touch you. Somewhere I can pull it out and see what you’ve got.” Just imagine the look on his face.

—Good God. And where did they go?

—To a roadside motel. Without stopping by home, without thinking twice, without anything. She says they barely spoke in the car, both of their hearts pounding like two teenagers up to no good. He drove with one hand while with the other he hiked up her skirt, pushed aside her panties, and slid two fingers all the way into her pussy, no preliminaries, while she clung to the overhead handle and bit her lip so she wouldn’t come right there on the shoulder before they reached the room.

—Keep going, keep going.

—They went into the room and, according to her, it was as if they’d been waiting their whole lives for that moment. He locked the door, turned around, and confessed that he’d been watching her for months, that every time he saw her waiting for the elevator he lost his head, that he’d jerked off countless times thinking about her ass. Lorena says those words affected her more than any groping could have, that her panties got soaked instantly just from hearing him say, “I’ve jerked off thinking about you.”

And I understand her perfectly, I thought as she told me. Some things get cooked more in your head than in your body.

—She says they kissed slowly at first, sizing each other up, as if getting acquainted. But the kiss grew hotter, and suddenly they were tearing each other’s clothes off. He’s in his late forties, but he’s built like a bull, lean and muscular, with broad shoulders and a thick cock, thicker than it is long, prominent veins, and tight, clean balls. She lay down on the bed like a queen, wearing only her panties, her tits bare, and watched him finish undressing while he took hold of himself in front of her, using his hand to make himself fully hard.

—And she wasn’t uncomfortable? I mean, a married woman, a married man, in some lousy motel…

—That’s exactly what I asked her. And she told me something that stuck with me. She said that was precisely why—because it was wrong, because she shouldn’t—that was why she felt alive for the first time in years. No one at home had looked at her hungrily in so long. Her husband was a good man, but he treated her like a pretty piece of furniture; he hadn’t fucked her in months, and when he did, it was three minutes of missionary and then off to sleep. And suddenly this forty-something man appeared, looking at her as if she were the only thing in the world worth eating, his cock pointing at her from the other side of the bed.

—Oh, I understand that all too well.

—The thing is, the room smelled damp, the lamp kept flickering, and she didn’t care about any of it. She says she noticed his hands trembling slightly as he undid her bra, and that awkwardness touched her more than any technique could have. A man his age still getting nervous like a kid seemed like the sexiest thing in the world to her. He freed her tits, grabbed them in both hands, bent down, and started sucking her nipples one after the other, nibbling them, tugging at them with his teeth, while she buried her fingers in his hair and pressed his head against her chest.

—I don’t know if I want to hear what comes next.

—Of course you do, don’t pretend otherwise. Look, she proposed a deal. She said, half joking but with the guy’s cock already rubbing against her thigh, “If you make me come with your mouth, I’ll suck you all the way afterward, right down to your balls.” And Lorena says the man took it on like a sacred mission.

—Was he really that good?

—According to her, no one had ever done to her what that man did. He threw her onto the bed, yanked off her panties, and knelt between her legs as if he were about to pray. He spread her pussy open with both thumbs, stared at it for a second, and said, “Fuck, you’re so wet.” Then he went for it. He ran his tongue all the way from bottom to top, slowly, stopping at her clitoris to suck it with his lips, lick it in circles, take it between his tongue and palate and draw on it. He slipped two fingers inside her and curled them, searching for her sweet spot, while he kept sucking her clitoris without stopping, without changing rhythm when she tried to pull away because she couldn’t take any more. With the patience of a saint, unhurried, exploring every inch, every fold, every corner, as if he had all the time in the world and nowhere else to be. He read her breathing, speeding up and slowing down according to how she tensed. He had her arching within minutes, clutching the sheets, biting her hand to keep from screaming and letting the people in the next room hear. Lorena says she came harder than she ever had in her life, her pussy trembling against the man’s mouth, soaking his face, and he didn’t pull away, swallowing everything, licking her through her final contraction.

—That’s outrageous.

—But that’s not the end of it. While she was still trembling and catching her breath, he kept his side of the bargain and she kept hers. She knelt at the edge of the bed with him standing in front of her and grabbed his cock with both hands. She brought it slowly to her mouth, first licking the tip, coating the whole thing with saliva, sucking his balls one at a time before taking him all the way in. She gagged when he reached the back of her throat, but kept going, eyes watering, looking up at him, strings of drool running down her chin. Only the man came almost immediately, without even warning her, completely lost in it. He suddenly filled her mouth with hot, thick spurts of cum, and Lorena, caught off guard, swallowed what she could while the rest ran down over her tits. She got a little annoyed because it took her by surprise, but she laughs when she tells it, saying it wasn’t that big a deal—and besides, she liked seeing him so spent, his cock still spitting the last drops over her nipples.

—You’re terrible at telling a story like this, you know that, right?

—You asked me for the beginning. So put up with the ending too. They got into the shower together, laughing, still high on adrenaline. And she says that under the water, with their soapy hands roaming over each other, he was ready again. She grabbed him under the spray and slowly jerked him off, and the guy was at full strength within two minutes. At his age, too, and with that kind of energy. Some forty-somethings are enough to make you jealous.

—Definitely.

—They got out of the shower barely dried, still wet, and she climbed on top of him. She says he was hard as an iron bar, which she hadn’t expected so late in the afternoon. She impaled herself on him in one sitting, in a single movement, all the way down, then stayed still for a second, adjusting to his thickness and feeling him pulse inside her pussy. She set the pace, riding him, slowly lifting and lowering herself, bracing her hands on his chest and rubbing her clitoris against the base of his cock each time she came down. He squeezed her tits, sucked them, bit her neck, and whispered filthy things in her ear: “Your pussy’s so tight, you ride me so well, don’t stop.” Lorena kept that up for quite a while, coming again on top of him with his cock buried all the way inside her. But he didn’t last long with her in that calm position.

—Why not?

—Because he turned her over. He put her on all fours because, he confessed, he’d been obsessed with her ass for weeks. Ever since he’d seen her one morning in leggings in the elevator, he couldn’t think of anything else. And he told her so without filters while he gave her a few smacks and squeezed her hips with both hands: “This ass drives me crazy. I’ve been jerking off for months thinking about fucking you like this.” He shoved it in from behind, all the way to the hilt, and started fucking her hard, without mercy, with dry, noisy thrusts, his balls slamming against her pussy. He grabbed her hair with one hand and held her hip with the other so he could drive himself deeper. Lorena’s face was pressed into the pillow, moaning and biting the fabric, her tits hanging and bouncing with every thrust.

—That man has no shame at all.

—None, and that was exactly what she loved about him. That he was so direct, so unapologetic. She says everything in her marriage was so proper, so controlled, that being desired in such an animalistic way undid her. He began rubbing her with a finger where she hadn’t expected it, at her asshole, slowly, wetting it with the saliva he brought from his own pussy, pressing the fingertip and testing her, and she admits the sensation nearly drove her crazy. He eased the finger in little by little, up to the knuckle, while continuing to pound his cock into her pussy, and she felt both things at once: the finger opening her ass and the cock hammering inside her.

—And she let him…?

—Not this time. This time it was only the finger, slowly, while he kept doing his thing with his cock in her pussy. And when he was about to come, he pulled away abruptly, pulled his cock out, jerked it twice with his hand, and finished over her back, pouring his cum all the way down her spine and over her ass, letting go with a groan she swears could be heard throughout the motel hallway. They collapsed on the bed, breathless, her lying facedown and feeling the hot semen running down her sides, both of them laughing like idiots.

—What an afternoon.

—And while they were getting dressed, the shameless bastard, as he buttoned his shirt and she was still wiping herself with a motel towel, gave her a little grin and said, “Next time I’ll put it in your ass, taking my time, the way God intended.” And she, pretending to play hard to get, replied, “Who knows…” But she confessed to me that she’s already dying for him to call again. She checks her phone every half hour, and she masturbated twice this morning remembering how he fucked her from behind.

—And Diana? His wife?

—That poor woman has no idea. She still has her magazine-cover face, greeting people in the entrance hall as if nothing were happening. But when she finds out, all hell is going to break loose in this building. Because these walls have ears, and elevators talk more than you’d think.

—Don’t tell me you’re going to…

—I didn’t say anything. I’m only telling you what I was told. What you do with this information is your business. But do me a favor.

—What?

—The next time you run into Marcos in the elevator, pay close attention to how he looks at you. Then tell me. That’s what friends are for, right?