Beatriz

Four months ago, my friend Amy recommended I visit the salon she goes to. I didn't think much of it at the time, but now, I can't thank her enough because that's where I met Beatriz Santos.

When I first saw her, I couldn't take my eyes off her. She had straight jet-black hair that cascaded past her shoulders, the most mesmerizing brown eyes, warm cinnamon skin that glowed softly under the headlights, and a body that was all curves and elegance, the perfect balance of slim and thick. I guessed she had a decade or so on me, but I didn't care. If anything, it only added to her allure.

As I continued visiting her shop, I realized that her looks were just the surface. Everything about her, from her smile to the smoothness of her accent to the way she made each client feel important, was magnetic. Beatriz wasn't just a beautiful woman; she was captivating, in every sense of the word. Soon, she became the centerpiece of all my thoughts, and those thoughts ranged all the way from PG to NC-17. It wasn't until about a month after I first came in when things really began to change.

My usual stylist was out sick, so Beatriz filled in for her. As she trimmed my hair, she casually asked about my work on Wall Street. She must get a lot of us in her chair, but it was clear she wasn't just going through the motions with her questions. I asked her about running a business, and she told me how she built it from the ground up after moving to the city from San Juan. Her passion for what she did was evident, her voice smooth and lilting with that lovely Puerto Rican accent. Once she was finished brushing the loose hairs away from my face, Beatriz gave me a wide smile through the mirror. At that point, I realized my attraction to her wasn't just physical anymore. Everything about her, from the way she spoke about her salon to the way she carried itself - it hooked me. By the time I got out of the barber's chair, I couldn't stop replaying our conversation. Beatriz was no longer a woman I admired; she was a woman I was beginning to fall for.

The next time I came in a few weeks later, her niece Nadine, a high school sophomore who worked the register on weekends, pulled me aside with a knowing smile.

"You've got it bad for my tia, don't you?" she said, leaning toward me.

"I--" I began, running my hand through my hair, trying to figure out how to answer. "I don't know what you mean."

"Save it, John," Nadine interrupted, but her tone was light, teasing. "What if I told you I could get you alone with her?"

I blinked. "You could do that?"

Nadine's smirk deepened. "I can, and I want to. She could use some love in her life."

"Okay, but how?"

"Leave the how to me. You just focus on what you're gonna say when it's your turn." She raised an eyebrow, mischief twinkling in her eyes. "And don't worry about it. Aunt Beatriz has a thing for younger guys. I think you're gonna be just fine."

She winked at me, and I left, feeling both confused and excited by what she'd said.

The next few days crawled by, each one stretching with anticipation. I replayed Nadine's words over and over: 'She could use some love in her life.' When Beatriz finally called, asking if I could come by after hours to talk, my heart raced. This was it. My chance to prove I was serious about her, not just some Wall Street guy chasing a fantasy.

As I rounded the corner to the salon, my mind was flooded with thoughts of her: my hands on her soft skin, tracing her curves, her lips parting beneath mine, hearing her moan for me in Spanish as we tangled together. But I forced myself to push them aside. Beatriz was smart. She'd notice if I walked in distracted.

I knocked on the door. Beatriz opened it, looking stunning in a midnight blue dress that was the perfect blend of elegant and seductive. The moment she smiled at me, that warm, inviting grin, I felt a rush of heat flood my chest.

"Ms. Santos," I said, still feeling a bit nervous. "Thanks for meeting me."

"Please, call me Beatriz," she replied, her voice smooth, with just a hint of that accent that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. The way she said her name - "Beh-a-thriss" compared to the "Bee-a-triz" I'd been saying - made it sound all the more captivating. "My sobrina's told me a lot about you." She stepped aside to let me in. "Honestly, I find you intriguing myself. Come on in to my office, and we can get to know each other better."

As I followed her to her office behind the main lobby of the salon, I couldn't help but notice the way the dress she was wearing hugged her curves. Every single inch of her was calling out to me. Beatriz had to have known the effect this dress would have on any red-blooded man, and even the women in her orbit. She wanted me to see her like this. She had to, right?

"So, how was your day?" I asked her once we sat down at her desk. Not the greatest, or most original, conversation starter in the world, but it's enough to get the ball rolling.

"It was nice. I ran some errands in the morning then got a nice workout in. My sister - Nadine's mother - she told me I just had to try this Pilates class she goes to. I'm glad to say she was right," Beatriz hummed happily, drumming her fingers across the table softly. It made sense; she was in great shape, so Pilates was something that suited her. But it was what she said next that completely changed the way I saw her.

"If you're serious about me, John, you should know something," she started, her tone becoming more serious. "I have a daughter. Her name's Sofia. She's nine. I understand if you're not interested anymore; you wouldn't be the first it's scared off."

"You're a mom?" I replied, raising an eyebrow at her. She nodded. I wasn't asking from any place of judgment; I was genuinely intrigued by this development. Either way, I'd always been good with kids, so this wouldn't be an issue.

Hearing her talk about Sofia added a new layer to how I saw her. Beatriz wasn't just a brilliant businesswoman or the most stunning woman I'd ever met. She was a mom, juggling a world of responsibilities I couldn't begin to imagine. It didn't make any her less desirable; it made her extraordinary. And suddenly, my nerves weren't just about impressing her, they were about proving I was worthy of her.

"I am interested, Beatriz. Honestly, I respect you even more," I told her, reaching across the desk to grip her hand softly. She didn't move her hand away; instead, she took mine in hers, running her thumb softly across my palm.

"Good," Beatriz nodded, clearly relieved to hear me say that. "How old are you, John?" She asked next.

"I'm twenty-five. Why do you ask?" I responded. This felt like more than a question of demographics.

"Because you seem so much more mature than that," Beatriz said, shooting me a soft smile. "I get a lot of you Wall Street guys into my salon. The ones your age, all they're concerned with is what club they're going to after work or how they can get into some model's pants. The older ones aren't much different. Most of them treat my staff and I like garbage to boot. If they could see how much I make," she smirked to herself. "You're not like that. You treat people well; I got that when you asked me about San Juan when I was cutting your hair," Beatriz smiled at me. I could tell she wasn't just saying this to butter me up; she meant everything she was saying. It was refreshing. "Plus, you're quite easy on the eyes. That's a nice bonus."

I sighed softly, thinking of a way to respond. Everything Beatriz said was true; I'd grown out of the club scene my junior year of college, and I'd never really been one for meaningless sex anyway. "Thank you, Beatriz. That means a lot," I smiled at her, feeling closer to her by the second. "I know they say never to ask a woman's age, but since we're sharing stuff about ourselves..."

"Way ahead of you," she laughed, waving a hand in the air. "I'm thirty-eight. I don't look it, do I?" Beatriz teased.

"You do not look 38," I laughed back, the tense atmosphere dissipating by the second. "If you hadn't told me that, I would've thought you were my age," I teased playfully.

"Stop it! What's next? You'll say we could be siblings?" she retorted, smiling softly at me. Eventually, Beatriz spoke up. "Would you like to take a walk with me, John? It's a beautiful evening," she asked, standing up from her chair. The overhead light from her office caught her midnight blue dress just right, giving her this almost ethereal quality. In that moment, nothing mattered except Beatriz.

I got up with her, offering her my hand. She took it without a second thought, the sensation of her skin on mine sending a palpable warmth through me. "I'd really like that."

Once we left the salon and began walking in the cool Manhattan air, I was struck by just how warm Beatriz's hand felt in mind. Sure, it was cold outside and the breeze nipped at my skin, but once Beatriz laced her fingers around mine the cold air paled in comparison.

"Have you lived in the city long?" She asked me as we rounded a corner. Aside from the occasional car passing by and the hum of the subway beneath us, it was a little too quiet for a Saturday night in downtown Manhattan. But I liked that. I could focus on the woman I was develop a great affection for. As someone who worked in an environment where screaming investors was the norm, it was more than a nice change of pace.

"Yeah, since I graduated from college. I grew up in Scarsdale too, so I've been a New Yorker my whole life," I chuckled.

"Scarsdale, huh? Your family must be very wealthy," Beatriz said as she raised an eyebrow at me. The way she said it, it wasn't a judgment. She was interested in me, I could tell.

"That's right. My dad was this big shot caller up until a few years back when he retired. There was only a little nepotism involved in getting me my job, I promise," I laughed, a knowing smile on my face. "What about you? Do you go back to San Juan often?"

"Yes," Beatriz smiled at the mention. I'd always respected how in tune she was with her roots. "I try and take Sofia back to Puerto Rico every summer for a week or so. I think it's important she understands her heritage, no matter how 'All-American' she insists she is," she chortled. Hearing Beatriz speak about her just made me realize how different she was from the women I'd dated in the past, in the best way possible.

"That's awesome. My parents also love to travel, so they'd try and get me to see the world growing up," I mused as we peeled off to grab a pretzel from a nearby stand. "What's it like, running a salon? It's just... it's so different from what I've experienced," I asked as we continued to walk, munching on the pretzel.

Beatriz paused to think about my question before responding. "It's definitely rewarding, and I love what I do. I think it's less about cutting people's hair now; I've built a community through the salon. I wouldn't wanna do anything else," she smiled at me.

I sighed softly as Beatriz spoke. Even though she spoke about her job with such reverence, I couldn't help but notice how different we were in some ways. "I respect that," I started. "I just wonder if there's more to life than our jobs. I did what I did in college with the goal of making money, but sometimes I feel like it's come at the expense of other things. More important things," I shrugged.

As she listened to me, I felt Beatriz's grip on my hand grow stronger, as if to rein me in. "You're young, John. You have plenty of time to figure it out," she smiled reassuringly at me. Just then we stopped outside an apartment building. "This is me," Beatriz continued. "Would you like to come in for a while? Sofia's with her father, and I'd love to continue this conversation. Plus, we could use some time to warm up," she snickered.

I hesitated for just a second before nodding. Beatriz was a woman who was sure of herself, knew exactly what she wanted in every sense of the word - and right now, that included me. That confidence was probably what I admired most about her. With a nod, we headed inside.

As we walked inside, I took a second to look around Beatriz's apartment. It was large, spacious, and exactly what I'd expected from her. The walls were painted a soft coral hue, no doubt influenced by her island heritage; they contrasted beautifully with the white walls in my apartment and the ones I was used to seeing in New York. Inside, Beatriz led me to her living room, pouring us each a glass of wine.

A minute or so passed before she joined me on her couch, our fingers lightly grazing one another as she passed me my glass. "You have a lovely home, Beatriz," I started, shooting her a soft smile. Given how the evening progressed and how close we were to one another, the X-rated scenes that had occupied so much of my thoughts began to filter back into my mind. But this time, they weren't just about sex; everything about Beatriz, from the way she spoke to her confidence to her smile, was at the forefront of my mind. She wasn't just a woman I wanted to bed anymore, she was a woman I wanted to truly be with, in every sense of the word.

"Thank you," she responded as she took a sip of the red she poured for us. We made small talk for a few minutes, but the conversation eventually lulled for a few beats before she spoke up. "John, can I ask you something?" She said.

"Anything," I nodded back, though I was more than a little nervous about what she'd have to say. Everything had been going amazing so far, but what if there was some curveball I hadn't been expecting?

"I know you're here with me, so this might seem like a moot point to you," she started, her warm brown eyes locking onto mine. "But at the end of the day, I am a good bit older than you. Not old enough to be your mother," she laughed softly, though I could tell her laugh was more a defense mechanism than anything else. "But still. You're in the prime of your life, and you could easily have a girl your age. Why me?"

As she spoke, her voice softened, her eyes searching mine. For the first time that evening, I saw the cracks in her confident exterior, and it made me want to hold her closer. Even though Beatriz seemed to have it all together - running a successful business, raising a daughter, and still smiling and laughing - she was a human, someone who still struggled with the weight of everything in her life. I sighed softly before taking her hand in mine. "Beatriz," I started. "I'm here because there isn't a place on Earth I'd rather be than here, with you. You're not just some 'older woman' or a novelty to me; you're a kind, strong, beautiful woman who just happens to have a few years on me. Honestly, I haven't felt this way about anyone in years. Maybe ever," I told her, and I meant every word of it.

My words had a calming effect on her, and as that radiant smile of hers returned to her face I could feel the tension in the room melt away. "That's all I needed to know," Beatriz smiled, placing her free hand on top of mine. "I know it's kind of a heavy topic for a first date, but I like it that way. I don't want to bring someone into my life, into Sofia's life, without knowing they're serious about me. Thank you for not getting scared off," she chuckled softly.

"I completely understand. You're just doing your due diligence," I nodded back. With that, the conversation shifted back to lighter topics, ranging from our jobs to the weather to sports. I found out that she's a die-hard Mets fan, and even though I pull for the Yankees I couldn't help but appreciate our banter there.

"If we suck, how come we took Soto from you?" Beatriz teased me, a smirk on her face.

"You can have Soto. I'll take the 27 pennants," I retorted, leading to a crack about how I wasn't even alive for the majority of them. Eventually we got hungry, but neither of us wanted to leave her apartment, so we settled on getting delivery from a Chinese place nearby. I'd never had it before, and let's just say Beatriz's taste for food's just another thing I grew to love about her. Once the food arrived, we moved back to her couch, nibbling on lo mein and kung pao chicken and sipping our wine while she put on Casablanca, her favorite. We stayed like this for the duration of the movie, eating, enjoying the film, and occasionally brushing our hands against each other. Nothing more, nothing less.

By the time the credits rolled, the tension in the air was different, not born out of vulnerability or apprehension, but the desire for something more. As our eyes met, Beatriz was the first to speak up.

"Do you want to?" She asked, her voice soft and melodic as always. She didn't need to finish the question; we both knew exactly what she was referring to, and exactly what we wanted.

I leaned in softly, caressing her cheek, savoring the feeling of her soft skin. "I'd like nothing more," I responded. Without another word, I leaned further, closing the gap between us, and locked my lips to hers, wrapping my arms around her waist to pull her closer.

The kiss started slowly, like we were testing the waters, but the kiss quickly built on itself, becoming hungrier with each passing second. I heard Beatriz moan softly into my mouth and took it as an invitation to explore further, sliding my tongue into her mouth and allowing her to swirl hers around mine. I felt her hands slip under my shirt, the feeling of her perfectly manicured nails on my skin sending shivers down my spine, and returned the favor, sliding my hands underneath her dress and savoring the feeling of her soft, supple skin.

We stayed in this position for a few minutes, going no further than our kissing and touching, and by the time I came up for air it felt like an hour had gone by, and I couldn't help but smile at her. "You taste good," I breathed out, caressing her cheek softly.

"So do you," she smiled back before getting up, taking my hand and leading me down the hall. "The bedroom's just down the hall," Beatriz started, "and I don't wanna leave it for the rest of the night."

"I think that can be arranged," I teased as I followed her to her bedroom, closing the door behind us once we reached it. Once the door clicked shut behind us, we picked up right where we left off, kissing like nothing else mattered. Soon my hands found the straps of her dress, tugging them gently. She helped me pull it off and the dress fell to the floor with a flourish, revealing a white bra and thong set that contrasted beautifully with her skin tone. For a second, I paused to marvel at her beauty. "Wow," I whispered. "Beatriz, you - you're beautiful," I breathed out, pecking her lips.

"You're sweet," she teased as she stepped towards me, deftly undoing the buttons of my shirt and allowing me to slide it off and reveal my frame. I'd never been the most imposing guy, but I'd run competitively since high school and that had kept me in shape. "And you're pretty easy on the eyes yourself," Beatriz purred approvingly as she took me in, running her hands across my chest. "But you'll have plenty of time to admire me later. Now, I want you, all of you," she whispered, leaning closer to me before her hands went to the buckle of my belt.

The next thing to go was my pants, which I discarded in the same corner I'd tossed my shirt earlier. I then helped Beatriz unhook her bra, revealing her bare breasts to me for the first time. They weren't overtly large - B cups, maybe a small C at the most - but their shape was just perfect. I'd always found sheer size to be overrated anyway, and as I cupped each of them gently Beatriz moaned for me for the first time. "Eres perfecta," I breathed out before leaning down to plant a few kisses on her collarbone. I wanted every inch of her soft, warm skin.

As we shed the last layers, I felt the weight of her gaze, an equal mix of longing and trust. Vulnerability never felt so good. Beatriz's eyes instinctively trailed down to my erection. It wasn't anything you'd see in porn, measuring at a hair under six inches, but it had been standing at attention since I first kissed her and was begging for release. Beatriz looked down and licked her lips at the sight of it. "We're gonna have some fun together," she smirked wickedly at me, backing onto the bed and laying down.