The Widow, the Eleven Laborers, and a Hot Afternoon

My name is Mireya, I was born in Guadalajara, and I’ve been living in Tucson for almost twenty-five years. I’m forty-nine, and I’m writing this because I’m tired of men being the only ones who tell what they do. We women desire too, we’re daring too, and sometimes we’re hotter than they are. This is my story, and I’m telling it without asking forgiveness.

I came with a work visa when I was very young and I stayed because I fell in love with a marine who was fifteen years older than me. Everything happened fast: in less than a year we were already married. We had three children, who now study far away, each in their own state. I lost him during the pandemic; he came back from a deployment with damaged lungs and, although we both got sick, he didn’t make it.

When we were dating we fucked four or five times a day. With the kids that started dying down, and with his months-long deployments it almost disappeared. Even so, I was never unfaithful. He himself bought me toys so I could entertain myself in his absences, and I would record myself to show him the videos when he came back. The last time we were together was the contagion that made us both sick. If I had known it would be the last time, I would have let him knock me up.

His death destroyed me. I picked up his ashes a month later, because I was still isolated in the hospital, recovering. Then my children left, I was left alone in the house with the inheritance, and depression started eating me alive.

Encouraged by them, I had some work done: my breasts, my butt, my face, liposuction. When I was discharged and saw myself in the mirror, I felt alive again. My sons, happy with my change, told me to look for love if I needed it. I never imagined that instead of love I’d end up looking for sex, the kind I’d been missing ever since I was widowed.

***

It was last summer, with hellish heat that gave no relief. In front of my house there was a crew repairing the street. From the window I watched them sweat and drink water nonstop. One afternoon, with the thermometer pegged to the max, I prepared several pitchers of lemonade and went out to offer them some.

I spoke to them in English and one of them came over, smiling, to tell me they were all Latino. Once I knew that, I invited them in to cool off for a while. That man, about thirty, wouldn’t take his eyes off my face or my cleavage. I was wearing a pink spaghetti-strap blouse, denim shorts, and my hair pulled back. He went to tell the others, and within minutes they started coming in, wiping their foreheads, a little embarrassed.

There were eleven of them. Two Hondurans, two Colombians, a Venezuelan, three Mexicans, a Cuban, a Costa Rican, and an Ecuadorian. We introduced ourselves while breaking the ice. The first one, the smiling one, was called Bruno and he was from Saltillo.

—It’s time to eat, guys —he said in a firm voice—. Let’s hurry.

They left their empty glasses on the table. I noticed they were impatient, and my clothes weren’t helping hide anything.

—Why don’t you eat here? —I offered, never taking my eyes off Bruno—. Bring your lunch, I’ll make more water, and you can rest from the sun for a while.

—Are you sure it’s not a bother? —he asked, doubtful.

—Of course not. Go get your food, I’ll be here.

While I prepared more water, I let my imagination run wild. I don’t know if it’s menopause, but for months now I’ve only been thinking about that. The smell of sweat, their rough hands, their broad backs; the mere idea of having a man inside me again lit me up. I thought it was impossible, until they came back.

—Excuse us, Mrs. Mireya —Bruno said.

—No Mrs. anything. For you, I’m just Mireya.

They sat down to eat and I served them, brushing each of their hands as I did, to see if they’d get the hint. One of them, Marcos, from Durango, asked if I wasn’t going to eat. I told him no, smiling. Another, the Ecuadorian, muttered something under his breath about “eating something else,” and the Cuban scolded him. I pretended not to hear, but inside I caught everything.

I needed to be patient. If it wasn’t today, it would be tomorrow.

***

When I came back from the kitchen with another pitcher, I heard them whispering: “that old lady’s really hot,” “you can tell she’s desperate,” “do you think she’ll give in?”, “if she gives in, we’ll all take a turn.” It made me smile and nervous at the same time. My idea was to have just one. But if it happened, when bread is given, let them cry.

When I went back in, Genaro, the most mature one, stood up without seeing me and hit my arm. The whole pitcher spilled over my blouse and shorts.

—Sorry, sorry! —he said, embarrassed.

—It’s fine —I answered, though the cold water had already made my nipples hard and visible to everyone. I didn’t care. On the contrary, I adjusted the fabric so they’d stand out even more—. I’m going upstairs to change, I won’t take long. Keep eating.

I walked upstairs slowly and stopped three steps before the landing. From there I could still hear them.

—That woman wants cock, you can tell —said one.

—When she goes out in her pickup, she drives by slow and looks at us like she wants it —another commented—. And she spies on us from the window.

—Yeah, she’s in heat —Genaro cut in, serious—. But be careful, she could get us into trouble and they’ll deport us all.

—I’ll go up to spy on her on purpose —Bruno said, getting into it—. If I take too long, that means it’s on. If she lets herself go, we all get a piece. They put me in charge, so any complaint goes to me; you cover the hours.

I smiled, proud. I finished going upstairs, went into my room, and left the door half open, with my back turned, waiting.

***

I heard footsteps. I started taking off my blouse and let it fall. In the window reflection I saw Bruno spying on me, squeezing the bulge over his pants. I slowly pulled down my shorts, moving my hips, letting my thong show. Nervous, he made a noise. I turned around half-naked.

—Bruno! —I exclaimed, pretending to be surprised.

—Sorry, ma’am, I didn’t mean to.

—We said no ma’am. What were you doing spying?

I saw him so tense that I decided to help him. I walked toward the door touching my breasts.

—Let’s not play stupid. You’re a man, I’m a woman, and we both know what we want. Why don’t we skip the bullshit?

—Really? —he couldn’t believe it.

—Come in. And leave the door open —I said, pulling down my thong.

He didn’t need to be told twice. He took off his cap, his T-shirt, his pants, and we started kissing. His breath tasted like food, his scent like a real man; I loved all of it. He squeezed my breasts, licked me like a calf, and I moaned.

—Shut up, they’ll hear us —he said, covering my mouth.

—I don’t care. I hope they come up. There’s room.

***

I left him sitting on the bed and went back down the stairs. I’ll be honest: I was nervous, but the adrenaline and years of hunger had me blinded. I reached the dining room naked and left them stunned.

—I can see the way you look at me, and I look at you the same —I said—. Do you want to come up to my room? It’s big, we all fit. The only rule is that you come in completely naked. When you’re like that, close the downstairs door and come up. I’ll be waiting.

I turned around and went back to Bruno. Behind me I left the scandal of clothes hitting the floor. I went straight to him, kissed his neck, lifted his arms, and ran my tongue through his armpits, tasting his sweat. One by one, his coworkers came in, murmuring compliments about my body.

Bruno threw me onto the bed and looked at me like a horny dog.

—We’re going to give it to you so hard you’ll be throbbing —he spat on his dick and shoved it into me.

You can’t imagine what I felt after so many years. I closed my eyes with every thrust and, when I opened them, I saw the others masturbating, getting closer little by little. Bruno pulled out, lowered his head, and licked me from bottom to top without stopping. I was in heaven. May my dead husband forgive me, but I needed this.

He came inside and stepped away. Then Nelson arrived, the older Honduran, with his thickness and his heavy balls. He kissed me, sucked my breasts, took my feet and licked them like they meant nothing. He picked me up, sat me on top of him, squeezed my ass. Meanwhile, Mauricio, the Costa Rican, settled in behind me. I felt a spit between my butt cheeks and then his push. I screamed so much I bit Nelson’s lips, but neither of them cared.

One in the vagina, the other in the ass. We panted, shouted, moaned. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Bruno sitting on the floor, jerking off, and the others standing by waiting their turn, like dogs behind the bitch in heat.

***

Mauricio finished in back and Nelson inside, exhausted, staggering when he stood up. I took the chance to catch my breath, but Genaro was already dragging me to the center of the bed. He spread my legs and started eating me with that mouth, his beard and mustache tickling me until I was clutching the sheets. Meanwhile, the Ecuadorian, Damián, came over shyly showing me his dick, and I sucked him off eagerly. On the other side, Marcos did the same, taking turns between the two of them.

Genaro knew what he was doing. With his experience he made me come in spurts that soaked his face. He climbed up, we kissed, and then he shoved into me hard. My hips already hurt, but I was in heaven. When he finished, Marcos and Damián asked me to close my eyes and open my mouth. I felt both loads almost at the same time.

I wanted to close my legs, but Édgar, the Colombian, turned me face down and put me on all fours. He went in and out, alternating between my ass and my pussy, spanking me. The youngest one, Wilmer, the twenty-one-year-old Venezuelan, climbed onto the bed with a thin but big-headed dick and put it in front of my mouth. He moved softly, different from Édgar. His cum was thick and sweet-sour; I tasted it only a little, because I noticed he was sensitive and let him go.

Next came Camilo, another twenty-two-year-old Colombian, thick and circumcised. He held my head so I would suck him while Édgar kept punishing me from behind. Oh my God, but how fucking good. Édgar finished inside and came out fast. Camilo then lay down the other way on the bed and I sat on top of him. I thought that because he was young he wouldn’t know what to do, but no: I moved my hips, he played with my nipples, licked between my breasts. In the middle of a kiss he panted so hard that my pussy clenched around him, and he ended up shouting with pleasure. How delicious it is when a man shouts too; that turns us on too.

***

I thought that was the end of it, but there were two left: Darwin and Yunior, the Honduran and the Cuban. They were the two biggest, thickest cocks of them all, dark, with reddish heads. I got a little scared, but I thought that if I’d already taken so many, I must be pretty stretched out by then.

The whole room stank of concentrated sweat, armpits, and feet, and instead of bothering me, that only turned me on more. An idea came to me that I’d never done before: I asked them both to try to fuck me at the same time. Convinced by the proposal, they got into position and I spread my legs, letting them both start to go in.

Even though I was stretched out, their thickness tore at me. I tried to pull away, but the others held me, pushing carefully until they were all the way in. I screamed from the pain and a hand silenced me. I saw a little blood, but the excitement numbed me. The friction of both of them grinding my walls made me leak again, soaking them right down to the hair.

All of them helped move me up and down. My contractions rushed their finish, and I felt them melt into me in one single scream. At last I had what I had wanted during years of widowhood. My intention had been one cock, and I ended up taking eleven. What a thrill.

***

I got up off their bodies and went to the closet for towels so they could dry off. One by one I said goodbye to them with a kiss, leaving Bruno for last. Now dressed, he grabbed my ass and whispered in my ear:

—No doubt about it, you turned out to be a nymphomaniac. I hope it happens again, because several of us are still wanting more.

He kissed me and left satisfied. From the railing, now alone, I shouted at them to close things up properly when they left and that I hoped we’d do it again. I went back to shower, washed the dishes, left everything sparkling as if nothing had happened. I went upstairs tired, with the room smelling of sex and sweat, and slept better than I had in years with that masculine scent I’d missed so much.

***

It happened again a few days later, on a Saturday after the shift ended, with alcohol, cigarettes, and more fantasies. Bruno wanted to bring in the two supervisors, one American and one Canadian, and asked me to use my charms to convince them. In the meantime, the encounters kept going, even if they delayed the work a little.

But every action has its reaction. I thought I was entering menopause, and it turned out I wasn’t. I had a two-week delay, discomfort, tender breasts. I’m a woman and I’ve already had children: I knew how to read the signs. I bought several tests and they all came back positive, between seven and nine weeks. I wasn’t going to have a baby by God knows who, so I scheduled an appointment.

I’m writing this from the hospital bed, waiting for my turn. I don’t regret a thing. If there’s anything I want, it’s for this story to encourage other women to let themselves go, to be bolder, more adventurous, not to cling to the idea that they have to be decent. We desire too, we enjoy too, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Mireya signs off, grateful for your trust.