The Night My Interns Opened My Eyes

I never imagined that a boring vacation, with two teenagers glued to their screens and a mother invisible to them, would end up being the trigger for the most exciting thing I have ever lived through.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. As my grandfather Anselmo used to say, everything comes in its own time and at its own pace.

My name is Carmen, I’m forty-eight years old, and I’ve been divorced for six. I’m the mother of two sons, twelve and sixteen, with everything that entails: endless arguments over the phone, afternoons locked away in their rooms, and a woman who, for far too long, put herself last on the list.

I live in Málaga, a city of gentle weather, good food, and long nights for anyone who knows how to make the most of them. I, however, had barely made use of them. Between the divorce, the strange years that came after, and my habit of always putting myself off, I had gone six summers without allowing myself a proper vacation. This year I decided that had to change.

Despite my sons’ initial protests, I managed to get them out of the house. My friend Marisa rented me one of her apartments in Pedregalejo, one of the prettiest and least crowded beach areas on the coast, ten minutes from the center. What seemed like a simple escape to break the routine soon turned into something much bigger.

I’m five foot eight and weigh just a little over fifty-eight kilos. Marisa, always blunt, swears I have a body many twenty-year-olds would envy. I think she exaggerates, but I don’t deny it entirely: the figure is still slim, the ass firm, and my breasts, though not abundant, have retained something after two pregnancies. What I like most about myself, though, are my nipples, with those broad pink areolas that more than one man has called a small treasure.

I work as an auditor at City Hall, just like Marisa. And this summer I discovered something curious: a lot of men go crazy at the idea of sleeping with someone who, by profession, exercises authority. I don’t know what lights up in their heads, but the kink of bending someone who usually gives the orders drives them wild. The boldest ones make comments about letting themselves be “inspected thoroughly.” Others are more subtle, but their eyes give them away. Before, it grossed me out. Now, I confess, it’s starting to amuse me.

Under the divorce agreement, my vacations with my children fell in the first fortnight of July and August. In July I couldn’t get them off the sofa. In August I put my foot down. If they wanted to stay trapped in their phones, that was their problem; I needed to breathe. But to understand how what was awakened was awakened, you have to go back to the farewell dinner the workmates organized, a dinner that, fortunately, no men signed up for.

***

The two veterans, Marisa and I, went, along with the two interns who were doing placements in the department that year, two girls who weren’t yet twenty-three. If Málaga has anything going for it, it’s that you can have dinner overlooking the sea, in La Malagueta, and get home by taxi without breaking the bank. That freedom of not having to drive meant we all overdid it a little on the wine. And everyone knows: when we drink, the conversation gets bolder.

The two girls spoke with a candor that left me stunned. They began recounting their experiences with a mix of pride and shamelessness that, to me, seemed to come from another planet. They talked about it the way someone shows off trophies. At first I thought they were exaggerating, but Marisa, much less scandalized than I was, made it clear with a glance that there was no joke.

Carmen, you need to get up to speed, she had told me a thousand times. It wasn’t until that night that I understood how much the world had changed. Or, better said, how far behind I had fallen.

When I dared to comment, in a rather moralizing tone, Vanesa, the youngest, burst out laughing so spontaneously it made me feel ridiculous. Luckily, they all assumed I was joking because of the wine.

—You’re such a horny bitch, Carmen! —she said between laughs—. With that killer body of yours, the guys must be crazy about you. I bet you go straight for the point.

I couldn’t believe it. I looked at Marisa hoping she’d say something, but she only pinched me under the table to shut me up.

—Mine is something else —Noelia chimed in with a mischievous smile—. The last time it was two fellow students from college and me. One in front, one behind. Do you know what it’s like to feel completely full? It’s indescribable.

At that moment I felt the ground moving beneath my feet. Was it the alcohol? Or the ease with which they talked, as if it were the most normal thing in the world? I had never heard anyone describe something like that in person, let alone with such detail.

I was still standing there with my mouth open, trying to figure out whether what I felt was disbelief, a touch of envy, or something new I didn’t know how to name. The interns kept swapping anecdotes like traders at a story market, and I, utterly outside that world, didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or ask for another drink.

***

On the way home, alone in the taxi after dropping off the girls, Marisa decided to go one step further. At fifty-one, divorced for more than ten years and with a tongue as sharp as her personality, she had no intention of leaving me in peace. Taking advantage of my confusion, she gave me an impromptu lesson in what she called the real pleasures of life.

—Let’s see, darling, enough is enough —she said in that brutally honest tone of hers—. How long has it been since you last slept with someone? Six years? That just can’t be.

The driver, a gray-haired man in his sixties, couldn’t quite hide his interest and kept glancing at me in the rearview mirror. I, in the front passenger seat, wished the earth would swallow me.

—You have to stop thinking about Ricardo once and for all. Move on and enjoy yourself. Look at this! —And she pulled out her phone with the ease of someone showing wedding photos.

On the screen there she was, half-naked, in what looked like a restaurant bathroom, with two young men and a smile of pure satisfaction. She flipped through two or three more images, each one more explicit.

—But they’re kids, Marisa? —I protested.

—Yes, darling, but I can assure you they’re not kids where it matters —she laughed—. Do you know what it’s like to have them at your feet, looking you in the eye? It’s a feeling of power you can’t even imagine.

I was on the verge of collapse. Every word left me more stunned, and yet part of me was starting to feel curious. It wasn’t disgust. It was something else.

—They’ve been hanging around our floor quite a bit since the Christmas dinner… —I managed to say between stammers.

Marisa let out one of those laughs that always meant she was up to something.

—Darling, change. This isn’t you. You’ve got a fantastic body, even the girls said so. If you set your mind to it, you’ll stop being such a prude in no time.

When we got to her building, she said goodbye in the most unexpected way. She leaned toward my seat, held my face, and planted a long, shameless kiss on my lips. Her tongue invaded my mouth with such intensity that I didn’t realize that, with two nimble fingers, she had unbuttoned a couple of buttons on my blouse.

—That’s so you’ll remember how it’s done, if you’d forgotten —she joked.

And she disappeared into the building, leaving the taxi driver speechless. I sat there staring at the street, trying to take in the whole night. One idea kept striking me again and again: maybe she was right. Maybe it was time to change.

***

The taxi started moving again and a heavy silence filled the car, in contrast to the laughter from minutes before. The driver had shown admirable patience throughout the ride. Now, however, the tension was palpable.

I didn’t take long to notice the way his eyes sought out my cleavage in the reflection of the glass, furtive, nervous. At first I didn’t give it any importance. Let him look, he’s not doing anything wrong, I thought. But something stirred in me when I saw the effort he was making to control an emotion that was clearly overwhelming him.

Near my building, a couple kissing beside a badly parked car forced us to stop a little farther ahead, next to a dark vacant lot. I reached for my purse to pay the twenty-eight euros on the meter, and when I turned toward him, I discovered the reason for his stiffness: his gaze was fixed on my chest, torn between fear and desire.

Marisa, when she unbuttoned my blouse, had left my breasts almost bare. That night, too, I had put on a bra one size too small to enhance them, and the areolas were peeking over the edge of the cups. When I realized it I hurried to cover myself, but one strap slipped and left one of my breasts completely exposed.

My little gasp of surprise frightened the man even more, and he went red and began to stammer:

—I won’t charge you anything, ma’am… Please, don’t report me. I have a family to support…

His words got me out of trouble and made me feel sorry for him. “Relax, it’s fine,” I said with a nervous smile as I tried to button myself up. But the rush made everything worse: the bills slipped from my hand and rolled between the seats. I leaned down to pick them up and, as I did, the other strap gave way. Both breasts were left exposed.

The man swallowed, petrified. There was something almost childlike in his expression, as if he didn’t know what to do with that unexpected sight. I froze for a second, not knowing whether to laugh or scream. The only thing that came out was a nervous laugh.

—What a mess, right? —I said, crossing my arms without much success.

He shook his head, frantic.

—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to look… —he murmured, turning his gaze toward the windshield.

His nervousness, far from offending me, softened me. He looks like a kid who’s been caught doing something forbidden, I thought. And my hands, wrestling with the bra, stopped on their own. There was something in that mix of panic and desire that gave me an unexpected feeling of control. And, to my surprise, of arousal.

—Do you like it? —I blurted out, almost without thinking, with a shy but playful smile.

He didn’t answer with words, but the blush and the stiffness of his posture spoke for themselves. Then, without weighing the consequences, I took his trembling hand and placed it on my naked breast.

At first he stayed still, as if any movement might ruin everything. Little by little, his fingers began to explore, timidly at first, then with growing confidence. I closed my eyes and let out a sigh. Such a simple gesture, and yet I felt completely alive.

His other hand found my other breast, and this time I was the one who leaned toward him. His breathing was heavy, ragged. When his lips sought out my nipples, I did nothing to stop him. His tongue, rough and clumsy, circled them with an almost reverent enthusiasm that made my back arch. I bit my lip to keep from moaning.

It was delicious, despite how absurd the situation was: a taxi, the early hours of the morning, a stranger quite a bit older than me. All the ingredients for failure and yet he was managing to do what no one else had managed in a long time. I was soaked, with that tingling in my belly and thighs that heralds my best orgasms.

He noticed my state and slid a hand down to my crotch, stroking me through the thin linen pants I was wearing. A shiver ran through me from head to toe. I was losing control, and the worst —or the best— was that I no longer cared.

Suddenly I opened my eyes and was frightened of myself. What am I doing? I thought, sitting up. The taxi driver, terrified, leaned back babbling apologies, begging me not to say anything. But seeing him so vulnerable finished stripping away my shame. I looked at him steadily, lowered my hand to his pants, and freed him.

It was an unexpected contrast with his ordinary appearance. I smiled. In for a penny, in for a pound, I told myself, and leaned down to take him slowly into my mouth. His moans were low, restrained, as if he still feared being caught. His control lasted almost no time at all: within seconds his body tensed and he finished all over my face and hands before I could react.

I laughed while he kept murmuring apologies. “Thanks for the ride,” I said with a smile, gathering my things. I left the bills on the seat and got out of the car.

***

In the elevator, I could still feel the warm dampness on my cheeks and hands, remnants of a night plucked from a dream. In front of the mirror I looked at myself: hair tousled, cheeks flushed, blouse disheveled. Something in me had changed and was asking me to explore without limits.

I raised my hand and looked at the thick liquid sliding between my fingers. It was something I had never even dared to imagine. And yet, a twinge of curiosity ran through me. I brought a finger to my lips. I hesitated, closed my eyes. But the idea was terribly exciting, and in the end I did it. My tongue caught a bit of that salty, strange flavor. It wasn’t unpleasant. There was something almost addictive about it, something that made me want more.

I let myself sink to the floor of the elevator, my back against the wall and my legs slightly open, my body trembling. With my eyes fixed on my reflection, I licked my fingers one by one, like someone savoring a forbidden delicacy. Every time I did, a wave of pleasure washed over me, as if I were breaking every barrier that had held me back for years.

When the elevator reached my floor, there was still some in my mouth and I didn’t bother to clean myself up completely. Far from wanting to erase the traces of that night, I wanted to remember it, to savor it again and again.

That early morning wasn’t just an awakening. It was a liberation. In bed, as I went over every detail, my hands never stopped between my legs. I don’t know how many times I took myself to the edge, but when dawn came I knew something had changed forever.

And right then my vacation alone with two adolescents and their screen addiction was just beginning. It didn’t seem like the best time to reinvent myself.

Or maybe it was exactly the time. But that’s another story.