The Night I Told My Uncle the Truth About Sofía

It wasn’t my intention to tell him that night. But the whiskey was good, Rubén’s apartment smelled of tobacco and old books, and my uncle had that way of listening that made things come out on their own.

We hadn’t seen each other in almost a year. Rubén was my mother’s younger brother: long divorced, no children, with more books than furniture and the calm of a man who didn’t owe anyone any explanations. I always liked him. He was the kind of man who didn’t judge, or at least that’s what I thought.

After dinner, we stayed in the living room. Two glasses, the lights low, the noise of the street softened by the closed windows. We talked about work, politics, things that didn’t matter too much. And then he asked me about Sofía.

—How’s your wife? —he said, with that half smile of his that never quite fully appeared.

—Good. Buried under a million things. Work, classes, the gym…

He nodded and looked at his glass. There was a long silence.

—Sofía always seemed like a special woman to me —he said, without looking at me—. The kind you can’t help noticing when she walks into a place.

I felt a knot in my chest. Not jealousy. Something else. What I knew and kept quiet about.

—Yeah —I said—. I notice all that.

He turned his head. He didn’t speak, but his eyes asked me something.

I wanted to shut up. I took a long drink and changed the subject. I asked him about a trip he had planned, about some pain in his back he’d mentioned earlier. But Rubén was patient.

—You okay, Marcos? —he asked a few minutes later, in his usual slow tone.

—Yeah. Sure.

—You sure?

Something in that word opened me up inside. I swallowed.

—I’m weird. With Sofía, I mean. We haven’t had much of anything between us for a while. And something’s happening to me that I can’t really explain.

He waited without rushing me.

—It turns me on when she’s with other men —I said, lowering my voice—. When other guys fuck her. When they use her. When they fill her with cum while I watch or while she tells me about it later.

The silence that followed was complete. I went on before I could regret it:

—It wasn’t something I went looking for. It started as a game, three years ago. But it kept growing until now it’s the only thing that really gets me going. What we had before doesn’t do it for me anymore. Seeing Sofía with another dick in her mouth, with her cunt open and dripping other men’s loads, is the only thing that gets my cock hard the way it was when I was twenty. And that… I don’t know how to handle that either.

Rubén didn’t move. He didn’t blink. He just listened.

—You’ve seen her with other men? —he asked at last.

I nodded. My face was burning, but I couldn’t stop.

—Yeah. Several times. Different men. Sometimes I’m there, sometimes I’m not. Sometimes she texts me while they’re fucking her. Photos. Videos. She’s shown me cocks buried deep in her cunt, in her ass, in her mouth. And I… when I see them, I lose my mind. I strip off and jerk off until I come all over the screen.

I watched Rubén lean just slightly forward. A fraction. Enough to notice that something had changed in him too.

—Do you have them? —he asked, in a lower voice than before.

I hesitated. But I took out my phone. Found the folder. Handed it to him.

He took it with both hands and started scrolling through the images slowly. In the first, Sofía was facing away in a hotel room, her dress hiked up to her waist, no panties on, her ass cheeks spread and a dark cock sunk to the hilt in her cunt. Her hands were braced against the wall so she wouldn’t fall. In the second, face-on, eyes closed and mouth parted around another cock, a strand of saliva running down her chin to her tits, which hung hard with her nipples pinched between two чужд fingers. In the third, taken from behind, completely given over, with the curve of her ass lit only by a small lamp, a guy gripping her hip and hammering her up to the asshole, cum running down the inside of her thighs as if she’d already been used earlier that same night.

Rubén took a while to speak.

—Fuck… —he muttered, almost to himself—. What a ass your wife has, nephew. What a beautiful pussy. And how that son of a bitch is devouring her.

He ran a hand slowly over his jaw. With the other he kept flipping through the photos. Now there was one where Sofía was kneeling between two men, one cock in each hand, mouth open waiting. Another, with her cunt spread by two чужд fingers pulling her open to show the camera how a thick white puddle was dripping inside her.

—I always knew Sofía had something. From the first time I saw her. Do you remember that year-end gathering at your mother’s house? She wore that black dress…

—I remember —I said, and felt the heat rising through my body.

—I couldn’t take my eyes off her. I felt like an idiot about it, because she was your wife. But there are women who leave you no choice but to look. That night I went home and jerked off thinking about what her naked ass must look like. And now I’m seeing it. And it’s even worse than I imagined.

We stayed quiet for a moment. It was another kind of complicity. Something darker, more intimate than anything we had talked about before.

—How many, Marcos? —he asked, not taking his eyes off the phone.

—A lot. More than I can count without thinking.

—Tell me who they are.

I don’t know why I answered him in detail. But I did.

—One of our neighbors, retired, very proper on the surface. He pressed her against the elevator door and fucked her standing up while I was waiting for her inside the apartment. A coworker of hers in his fifties who started looking at her differently from day one, and ended up emptying himself in her ass in a restaurant bathroom. Two young lawyers who came over for a consultation and took turns on her over the dining table, one in her pussy and the other in her mouth. My ex-boss, who’s almost seventy and still has that way of walking into a place as if it belonged to him. He had her on top of him for three hours, impaled, until she couldn’t even stand up.

Rubén opened his mouth and closed it again.

—Your boss? —he repeated.

—And the doormen from the old building. Three of them. Not all at once, but in the same week. They lifted her like she weighed nothing. One held her ass with both hands while he drove into her standing against the closet, while she scratched his back and screamed at him not to stop. And I… I didn’t do anything. I just watched from the hallway, with my cock out of my pants, coming all over the doorframe when I heard him finish inside her.

My uncle set the phone on his knee, but didn’t let it go. His breathing was heavier. I noticed it in the rise and fall of his chest. And I also noticed, though I tried not to stare, the bulge that had formed in his pants.

—Marcos —he said, using my name in a way that wasn’t usual—. What turns you on the most?

I took a moment to answer.

—When they fuck her in the ass. When they shove the whole cock into her hole and she begs for more. She changes when that happens. She gets on her knees, arches her back, pulls her own cheeks apart with her hands and begs them to fuck her to the hilt. She gives herself in a way that never really happened with me.

Rubén closed his eyes for a moment.

—Does she seek it out?

—She provokes it. She lubes herself up, lies on her stomach with her legs open, or gets on all fours on the bed, and tells them: “there, fuck me there, tear my ass up.” When she feels them filling her there, she bites her lips, grabs her tits and comes hard. Several times in a row. She comes screaming, trembling, with her pussy dripping even while they’re fucking her from the other side. She says it’s the only thing that empties her out completely. That no amount of her own cum compares to what comes out of her when a cock explodes in her ass.

He looked at the photos again. He ran his tongue over his lips. He stopped at one where Sofía was on all fours, looking over her shoulder at the camera, mouth open and a thick cock sunk all the way to the base in her ass, so deep you could barely see the man’s skin pressed against her cheeks.

—When she comes back —he said more slowly— after being with one of them… do you…?

—I jerk off while she tells me about it —I said, unable to hold his gaze—. She lies down next to me, still smelling like them on her skin, with her pussy swollen and her ass red, and she describes everything. The sizes. How big each one is. How they hold her. Whether they pull her hair or squeeze her neck. How long it takes her to be able to walk normally the next day. Sometimes she spreads her legs and makes me watch how cum keeps coming out of her hours later. She puts it on my fingers and makes me taste it. And I end up shaking, coming all over her stomach, with my cock swollen like it’s the first time in my life.

My uncle closed his eyes for a moment, as if the image hit him straight in some place he didn’t want to show.

—Your wife —he said— is serious business.

—I know.

—And you’re the only one who really understands that about her.

He said it without judgment. As if it were a strange but irrefutable truth.

Then Rubén leaned back in the sofa and changed tone completely. It was as if someone turned off one light and turned on another.

—Can I tell you something, nephew? —His voice was more serious now. More reflective.

—Of course.

—Everything you’re telling me, beyond what it stirs up… I think it’s covering something. A crack between you two that never really closed properly. And that, over time, ends up breaking everything else.

It wasn’t what I expected to hear. It took me completely by surprise.

—I have a friend who works as a couples therapist. His name is Heredia. Many years of experience, trained in sexuality, very discreet. It’s not about him telling you what to do or what not to do. It’s about looking at what’s underneath all this.

I stayed silent. He went on:

—You can bring Sofía. She doesn’t have to know everything from the start. He knows how to read between the lines. He knows how to find what people don’t say.

—I thought you were going to ask me for more photos —I said, almost without thinking.

Rubén smiled. It wasn’t a mocking smile.

—Of course your wife got something moving in me. I’m not going to pretend otherwise. I’ve had a hard-on for half an hour. But what matters to me now is you. And what you’re building, or what you’re losing without realizing it.

He put a hand on my shoulder and said nothing else.

That night I went home feeling lighter. Not because anything had been solved. But because someone had heard it all without making a scene, and had reached out a hand to me.

***

The waiting room at Heredia’s office was small and austere. Three chairs, a low table with old magazines, a plant in the corner. Sofía was sitting next to me with her arms crossed and that look she got whenever something didn’t quite convince her.

Rubén was in the chair opposite, calm, his hands resting on his knees.

—Will you explain again what I’m doing here? —Sofía said in a low voice.

—Talking to someone who can help both of us —I replied.

She turned to Rubén with one eyebrow raised.

—And what are you doing here?

—I came along because you asked me to —he said, unfazed—. Heredia is good. More than forty years working with couples and complicated relationships. He knows what he’s doing.

Sofía didn’t answer. She looked toward the inner door.

A few minutes later, that door opened.

Dr. Heredia came in without hurrying. He must have been about sixty-five, though he moved as if he were ten years younger. Burly, broad-backed, with gray-streaked hair slicked back. A dark shirt with the first two buttons undone, showing a firm chest, still that of a powerful man. Big, thick hands, with long fingers. A strong, warm scent that reached us before he did.

He greeted Rubén with a brief, firm hug. To us he offered his hand with a measured but confident shake. He looked at Sofía a second longer than necessary. Held her hand one second too long. And I saw it. She did too.

—Come in —he said—. Inside here, there’s nothing to fear.

The office was larger than the hallways suggested: ochre-colored walls, hundreds of books, a floor lamp, a large sofa and two armchairs facing each other. It smelled like leather and something else, a mix of incense and his own cologne that floated softly in the air.

Before we sat down, Heredia asked Rubén to wait outside. I jumped in first:

—I’d rather he stay. He already knows everything. He was the first person I talked to about this.

Sofía looked at me. She didn’t understand what “everything” meant. But she didn’t ask.

The doctor nodded and pointed to the armchairs.

We sat down in front of him. Sofía a little rigid. Rubén a bit farther back, still.

Heredia crossed one leg and took a notebook, resting it on his knee without actually writing anything.

—Tell me what brought you here —he said.

I started.

—We lost something. The connection we used to have. I don’t know if it’s routine or exhaustion, but we’re not the way we were at the beginning anymore.

—And emotionally? Do you get along well?

Sofía answered before I did.

—We love each other. That never changed.

—Then there is love —Heredia said calmly—. That narrows the map of possible problems a lot.

His eyes settled on me.

—When you say “connection,” Marcos… are you talking about emotional closeness or sexual closeness?

—Sexual —I admitted—. Mainly.

Sofía lowered her gaze. The doctor noticed it.

—Sofía. Do you feel that distance too?

She hesitated a few seconds.

—Yes. But I don’t really understand what needs fixing.

Heredia leaned slightly forward, without invading her space, but making himself felt.

—Nothing is broken —he said—. Something is looking for a way out. And when you’re looking without really knowing what you’re looking for, you lose yourself a little along the way.

His words hung in the air. There was something in the way he spoke that made the room feel smaller.

—Desire takes unexpected forms —he continued—. And the most dangerous thing isn’t having that desire. It’s keeping it quiet until it becomes an enemy.

He said it looking directly at Sofía. His eyes dropped for a second to the neckline of her blouse. Then returned to her face. It was so quick that only I, who knew her, could notice how Sofía’s nipples tightened under the fabric.

She didn’t move, but something in her posture changed. Something tiny that I knew well.

Rubén noticed it too.

—I’d like Sofía to have the first chance to say what she feels —Heredia said, placing the notebook on the table without having written a word.

She took a moment.

—I like feeling desired —she said at last—. A lot. It’s always been that way.

My heart tightened. The doctor nodded slowly.

—That’s completely natural. The desire to be seen, admired, pursued… there’s nothing wrong with that.

He looked at me.

—And you, Marcos? What do you feel when others desire her?

—It depends. Sometimes fear. Sometimes something like pride. And sometimes —I swallowed— something that gets hard in my cock before it gets hard in my head.

—Pride because you know they see what you already know is valuable —Heredia said, as if finishing a sentence I’d left half done. And he gave a slight smile at hearing the last part—. And also something more honest, from the body. There’s nothing to hide here.

Then he went back to Sofía. This time his gaze lasted a little longer. It lingered on her neck, on her shoulders, on the way her hands were crossed over her skirt, and went lower, without trying to hide it, to where the fabric clung to her thighs.

—Sofía. What happens in your body when you feel that attention?

She swallowed.

—I get turned on —she whispered—. I get soaked.

The doctor moved a little closer, without invading her space but making his presence felt in another way.

—And when Marcos knows other men are looking at you… when he’s aware of that… what do you feel?

Sofía looked at him. Not at me.

—More —she said. Just that one word—. A lot more. My cunt leaks.

Heredia held her gaze for a long, long moment. She blushed, but didn’t look away.

Then he leaned back in the chair with the expression of a man who has just confirmed something he already knew.

—Good —he said—. We have a very clear starting point here.

No one spoke for a few seconds.

Then Heredia asked Sofía to close her eyes. She did so without hesitation, as if she had been waiting for that instruction.

—I want you to imagine you’re in a place full of people. A room, or a terrace, with men all around. You can’t see them, but you can feel them. You can feel their eyes moving over you. How they stop. How they can’t keep going.

He paused.

—On your back. On your waist. In the place where your hips begin to curve downward. In the hollow between your ass cheeks, even though you’re wearing clothes. On the nipples that are hardening right now while I’m talking to you.

Sofía breathed more slowly. Her hands stopped being crossed. They parted over her thighs and her palms settled open on her skirt.

—You can feel one of them adjusting himself to look at you better. Another tensing his shoulders because he can’t control himself. Because you know, without having to see them, that what they’re imagining doing to you… isn’t gentle. They’re thinking about grabbing your hair. About ripping off your clothes. About spreading your legs and shoving their cock all the way into your pussy.

Sofía’s fingers moved a little. They rested on her thigh. Began to slide the fabric of her skirt up, slowly, without her seeming to notice.

—Do you like that? —Heredia asked, his voice turning into a deep, slow thread—. Knowing they’re thinking about opening you up, taking you from behind, fucking you in the ass until you scream? About holding you by the waist and fucking without stopping, one after another, until they fill you with cum through all three holes?

She didn’t answer with words.

But her hand moved inward. Slowly. With a naturalness that left me breathless. Her fingers slipped between her thighs, under the skirt that had already ridden halfway up, and sank where I knew she was getting wet. I heard her sigh. Her neck arched back slightly, and her lips parted to let the air out.

Heredia was watching her without looking away. The fly of his pants was tight. Rubén had his fists clenched on his knees and a heavy shadow between his legs. I couldn’t breathe. I felt my own cock harden inside my pants until it hurt.

—What you’re feeling now —the doctor said, almost in a whisper— isn’t a problem. It’s your truth. And the most powerful thing you can do with a truth like that is not hide it.

Sofía trembled slightly. Her lips parted without a sound. Her hand kept moving under the skirt, with a rhythm that became more marked by the second. A short, bitten-off moan escaped her, something she tried to swallow but couldn’t.

—Keep going —Heredia said—. Don’t stop. Show us what happens when a woman stops pretending she doesn’t need it. Open your legs, Sofía. Show us that wet pussy. Let it show.

And she did. Without opening her eyes, without saying a word, she spread her knees and let her skirt fall back. I saw her pussy, shaved, pink, shining with wetness, with her lips already swollen and two of her fingers buried in it. I heard her gasp when she pulled them out and realized she was dripping. A thick thread fell onto the leather of the chair. Heredia looked at it without shame. Rubén too. So did I.

—Put them back in —the doctor said, without taking his eyes off her between her legs—. Finger yourself, Sofía. Touch yourself right here in front of your husband, in front of us. Let us see how you do it when there’s no one to hold you back.

She obeyed. She shoved three fingers in to the knuckles and began to pump herself. With her other hand she tore open her blouse, sent two buttons flying, pulled one breast out of her bra and pinched her nipple between thumb and forefinger. She twisted it hard. She moaned loudly, no longer caring. Her hips started rising against her own fingers, with the same motion she used when moving on top of a man.

—That’s it —Heredia murmured—. No shame. Show how much of a slut you are when they let you.

And at that moment I understood that I had stopped existing in that room as a husband.

I was only a witness.

And the only thing I wanted was to keep watching.