My Father's Girlfriend and This Morning's Messages

The buzz of my phone jerked me out of sleep and the light from the half-open blind hit me right in the eyes. It took me a couple of seconds to recognize my room, the low ceiling, the crooked lamp, the clothes thrown over the chair. I smiled. The night with Lorena had been everything I'd been imagining for months, and for once in my life I'd had the sense to get up and go back to my room before dawn.

I figured it was better to leave her alone for a while. Let her wake up with enough time to wrap her head around what we'd done, without my face on the pillow beside hers putting pressure on her. Lorena had a nasty temper, and guilt in her usually showed up as a slammed door.

I rubbed my temples. “The amount of bullshit we said last night. Fuck, what a mess.”

Then I smiled again, because no matter how much I tried to feel ashamed, I couldn't. I’d fucked her. I’d fucked Lorena. And it had been the best fuck of my life. I could still taste her pussy on my tongue, that sour, salty flavor I'd been lapping up for twenty minutes on my knees on the floor, with her gripping my hair and smashing my face against her cunt while she screamed at me not to stop, that I was going to make her cum, to lick her clit harder. When she finally came, she drenched my chin, left my jaw shining with juice, and I looked up and saw her tits trembling above me, her nipples so hard they looked like two pink stones. After that I put her on her back and drove my cock into her with a single thrust, all the way in, until she arched her back and let out a hoarse moan that shot straight up my spine. I fucked her slowly at first, watching her face as I slid in and out, and then fast, really fast, my hands on her thighs prying them apart until her hip cracked. I came inside. Inside, without asking, without pulling out, without anything. I emptied my cock in her pussy and she pressed my ass with her heels so I wouldn’t move, so I’d leave all my cum inside her. The only thing I regretted was not having had the strength to take her from behind after that, grab her by the hips and hammer her until her tits bounced against the mattress, spit in her asshole and shove a thumb in while I tore her apart. But the wine, the endless dinner, and the sheer intensity of what was happening left me with no gas in the tank. I collapsed beside her, gasping, my cock still dripping cum and juice onto the sheet, and fell asleep before I could kiss her shoulder.

Another message vibrated on the nightstand. I stretched out my arm without opening my eyes. I couldn't reach it. I sighed, fed up, and decided that phone could wait another ten minutes.

That was when I heard it. A bloodcurdling scream from the other side of the partition wall.

Lorena.

Apparently she'd chosen the third option: a scene. Very much like her now that alcohol wasn't numbing her nerves anymore. What had been a sweaty, forbidden miracle the night before, in the light of a hangover, seemed to have turned into a catastrophe.

The first thing I thought was to pull the sheet over my head and pretend to be asleep. “What a pain in the ass, having to deal with drama at this hour,” I told myself. But I reconsidered. I put one foot on the floor, sat on the edge of the bed, and took a deep breath. If I had to listen to her scream, I’d at least do it with dignity. After all, I’d been the one who kept pushing until she gave in, who shoved my tongue in her mouth in the kitchen, who pulled her panties down against the doorframe and buried two fingers in her pussy until she panted against my neck.

And now that I thought about it, I'd really fucked up. Lorena wasn't some bar girl. Lorena was MY FATHER'S PARTNER.

“Fuck, Dad. I fucked your woman. I cheated on you… like they did to Mom.”

I massaged my temples again. Maybe I'd drunk more than I remembered too, because suddenly the idea didn't seem so brilliant anymore. A bitter, undefined taste started slowly working its way through me.

Another message. I clicked my tongue. That made three in less than fifteen minutes. I grabbed the phone reluctantly and looked at the screen. It was my mother.

I snorted. I had absolutely no desire to talk to her. The last few months we’d spent together had been suffocating to the point of being unbearable. Moving in with my father had been the closest thing to breathing after years underwater.

The door flew open.

Lorena came in looking wrecked, her eyes swollen and red, still in the nightdress she'd fallen asleep in. Not with rage. With panic.

—He knows —she said, and her voice cracked—. Andrés knows.

She had one hand over her mouth, as if she were trying to hold back tears by force, and with the other she held out her phone to me. I took it, not understanding a thing.

It was a message from my father, sent at four thirty in the morning.

I've been thinking about it a lot during the trip and I've come to a conclusion. What we have has no future. Pack your things before the end of the week, please.

—He's kicking me out —Lorena whimpered—. It's because of last night, for sure.

I read the message three times. It didn't make sense. My father was five hundred kilometers away, in the middle of a suppliers' conference, he couldn't possibly have found out anything. That change in tone was unthinkable.

My own phone vibrated again. It was my mother, again. A bad feeling slid down my spine. I opened the conversation.

Patricia: I spoke with your father. How lovely that you're coming home, darling. I've made up your room with clean sheets.

Patricia: Are you coming for lunch today? I'll make whatever you want, whatever you like best.

Patricia: Or would you rather we go to the movies? When you were little you loved going to the movies with me.

—What the fuck…

I went back through the list of conversations and then I saw it. Another message, right below my mother's. From my father. Sent in the middle of the night too.

I opened it with my stomach in a knot.

Andrés: Your mother misses you and it's time you went back to her. Pack your things before the end of the week. Leave the key in the mailbox, you won't need it anymore.

—No fucking way.

I looked up and met Lorena's eyes. That was enough for her to understand that her worst fears were true. She shook her head once, twice, three times, as if she could undo reality by repeating it.

That was when I saw, on the shelf beside the doorframe, something that shouldn't have been there.

A small acrylic paperweight, with a gold anchor embedded inside. I had jokingly asked my father for it the day he got on the plane, two weeks earlier. I closed my fist around it until it hurt.

—He was here —I said, lifting the anchor—. Last night.

Lorena let out a strangled cry, covered her face with both hands, and sank against the wall until she was sitting on the floor. She was crying openly, without restraint, her back shaking from top to bottom. Her partner, the man she'd been with for three years, had seen her fucking his own son while the two of us said truly vile things about him. He had heard her scream at me, “give me more cock, son, more,” heard her beg me to cum inside her “like your father never does,” heard her moan my name while I licked her ass and shoved two fingers into her pussy at the same time. Andrés had heard all of that on the other side of the wall, probably standing in the hallway, the anchor in his hand.

—Fuck, fuck, fuck —she kept repeating between sobs.

I, still dazed, walked down the hall to the entrance. The front door wasn’t double-locked, which was incredibly weird for my father. When I opened it, I saw something on the doormat.

A rose. Or what was left of one. The stem, two wilted leaves, and the cellophane wrapping. The petals were scattered across the landing, torn off by blows against the wall. I picked up the stalk clumsily, as if it weighed a hundred kilos.

When Lorena saw the mutilated flower in my hand, she let out another scream and staggered to her feet to snatch it away from me.

I went back inside. I dialed my father's number. Waited.

—Busy signal —I said after a few seconds—. He blocked me.

Lorena put her own phone to her ear, her fingers trembling so badly she had to wipe away her tears twice to hit the contact properly. She closed her eyes. Waited. When she opened them again, her whole face crumpled. He'd blocked her too.

I watched her head toward her room, crawl into bed in a little ball, and bury her face between her knees as if she wanted to disappear inside her own body. It was the kind of crying you can't comfort. Even I, who’d spent months plotting how to get her into bed, felt that this time I'd really fucked things up.

***

Lorena didn't come out of the bedroom the rest of the afternoon. The two or three times I knocked on her door, silence answered me. I didn't have much to offer her anyway. My apologies, by then, were worth less than nothing. They weren't going to make my father forgive her.

I hadn't escaped unscathed either. Something had broken inside me that morning, something I'd suspected for years and preferred not to look at head-on. I'd not only betrayed my father. I'd also betrayed Valeria. Poor Valeria, my girlfriend, whom I'd been using as cover for months, telling her intimate details that belonged to no one but Lorena, and even showing her a video in which you could see my cock buried in Lorena's pussy and her asking me to cum inside, a video I should never under any circumstances have shown her.

I called her. I needed to see her, even if seeing her wasn't the most decent thing after having cheated on her that very night with the woman she herself had asked me to take out partying “so she'd get distracted and forgive you for what happened this summer.” The irony stabbed me in the chest.

“I'm in love with her and I'd kill not to lose her. That's the only thing that matters,” I told myself, not entirely believing it.

I grabbed my keys and went down to the street.

I walked to the entrance of her building at a brisk pace. When I got there, I lifted a finger toward the intercom and pulled it back just before pressing. I was afraid her stepfather would answer. I took out my phone and typed.

I'm in the lobby, are you coming down?

One tick. Two ticks. I waited for them to turn blue.

They didn't.

The screen went dark and I stared at the phone as if it were its fault. Valeria never took long to answer me. I started to suspect something I didn't want to think about.

“What if my father told her…?”

It was impossible. He didn't have her number, he didn't know where she lived, there hadn't been time. I ran a hand over my forehead and called her. On the third ring, the buzzer sounded and the door opened by itself.

—Val? —I asked into the microphone.

No one answered. I pushed in anyway and took the stairs two at a time. When I reached the landing for her floor, out of breath, the door was half open.

Hernán appeared behind it.

—Uh… I came to see Val —I said, trying to sound calm.

—Come in —he replied, and disappeared toward the living room without waiting for me.

I cursed under my breath. Of all the people I least wanted to run into that afternoon, Hernán was at the top of the list. And yet I was already inside and couldn't turn back.

There was no sign of Valeria in the living room. I sat on the edge of the sofa. Hernán, opposite me, with his two huge hands clasped between his knees, looked like he was about to say something important. He didn't. I had to break the silence myself.

—Isn't Val here?

—My little girl —he replied, with a booming voice that sounded more like a warning than a name.

And that was it. He fell silent again, staring at me as if he expected something from me I didn't know how to give. I decided to play the clock card.

—Well, I think I'm running late. If you want, I'll come back another day and…

—The other day… —He left the sentence hanging. I had no choice but to drop back onto the sofa—. You saw I have a problem.

I swallowed a sigh. It was the kind of vague line that drove me crazy. He could have been talking about anything: his back, his kidney, his prostate.

—I didn't see anything weird —I lied.

—Adela isn't doing well —he went on, not looking at me—. She's been sad for years. —He rested his chin on his clasped hands—. What I meant that day… I just wanted you to… give her a break. Make her forget everything that's happened. I thought if she got a little pleasure, the kind she hasn't had in years, maybe…

I nodded slowly. Out of the whole sentence, I had understood only three words: Adela, you, pleasure. And I was starting to understand something else.

Hernán buried his face in his hands.

—I wanted us to do it together. Her and me. The three of us, but her and me together. I wanted to see you putting your cock in her mouth while I ate her pussy. I wanted to see her riding you, her tits bouncing in your face while I licked her asshole from behind. I wanted to see you cum in her pussy and then have me clean her up with my tongue. I never wanted me to… her to…

—To be a cuckold? —I blurted out before I could think.

He didn't flinch. He barely moved his head, still hidden between his fingers.

—Would I be? If I were happy that my wife enjoyed a young, hard cock like yours, that she came three times in a row with a kid your age, that you spread her legs and fucked her the way I can't anymore, as long as I'm the one offering her to you?

I held my breath.

—Absolutely not —I lied for the second time.

Hernán looked up and stared at me hard, as if he could see behind my eyes.

—You say that because you hope to sleep with her?

—I say it because… —I regretted the impulse to take him for a fool—. It would be the most generous thing someone can do for the person they love.

The explanation seemed to satisfy him. He hid his face again.

—She got very angry with me. She doesn't understand that I just want her to be happy. That I want to see her enjoying herself. That I want to see her with her cunt dripping and her cheeks red from cumming so much.

—I feel the same about Val —I said, choosing my words carefully—. I'd give anything not to lose her.

—Well, you show it in a very strange way, boy.

I looked at him, not understanding.

—Those videos you send her… so messed up.

My mouth went dry in an instant.

—Videos?

—I've seen you jerking off while smelling an old woman's panties. Slapping your cock with a hand full of saliva, burying your nose in the dirty crotch of those panties and moaning like a dog in heat. I've seen you come all over them, boy. Empty yourself onto the cotton until it's soaked through.

My stomach dropped to my feet. “What the fuck is going on in this house? Does everyone here tell Hernán every filthy thing I do?”

—I… that's not what it looks like.

—It's exactly what it looks like —he said, without raising his voice—. You're a little bastard who steals an old woman's panties while leaving her talking to herself in the kitchen and locks himself in her bathroom to jack off sniffing the dried-up juice of a sixty-year-old cunt. And the worst part is my little girl is into it. So into it that she sticks two fingers all the way in while watching it, legs spread on the bed, biting her lips not to scream.

—How do you know…?

He pointed to a phone resting on the coffee table.

—I usually make sure my girl isn't getting into trouble.

—You check her phone?

—Of course. She's a kid and I'm her guardian. Her well-being is my responsibility.

—And she knows that…?

—She knows. We have an agreement —he replied, with the calm of someone who'd justified the same thing a hundred times in front of a mirror.

I swallowed hard. I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand and prayed that Valeria had deleted the bad chats, the videos where she shoved the handle of a hairbrush into her pussy while calling me “daddy,” the audios in which she asked me to fill her mouth with cum.

—And where is she now? —I asked, because I had nothing else to say.

—Shopping with her mother. Adela takes the chance to spend time with her before going to her father's house. Her biological father —he clarified.

—Is she going back to Puerto Mendaro?

—Didn't I tell you? I'm taking her myself in a few days.

I fell silent, thinking. Valeria would have wanted to tell me in person, at the last minute, so as not to ruin my day. Hernán hadn't stopped watching me. He leaned slightly forward.

—Tell me something, boy. That old woman… —His eyes hardened—. Do you also fantasize about fucking her three times, making her scream like a bitch and getting her pregnant? About opening her legs over the kitchen table and driving it into her all the way to the balls while she screams your name? About emptying your cock in her womb and watching the cum run down her wrinkled thighs until it hits the floor?