Don Anselmo Was Not the Quiet Neighbor He Seemed

Maribel had always known that her brother was different, and it had never bothered her. Since adolescence, Dilan had been the most handsome one in the family: smooth skin, honey-colored eyes with a glint that seemed to ask permission for everything, a smile that disarmed anyone who crossed his path. Girls wanted him and boys wanted him, and that, instead of making him happy, had trapped him in a dilemma he had been dragging around for years.

Dilan’s problem was simple to state and hard to live with. The men he liked were the kind who would never admit they liked a man. And the ones who did chase after him seemed too soft, too much like himself. He wanted a real macho, one who wouldn’t ask permission. And that man, in his twenties, still hadn’t shown up.

Maribel, two years older than he was, watched him with a mix of tenderness and anger. She had never had that problem. With her firm breasts and that walk that turned heads on the block, she was always the one in charge in her relationships, the one who decided when and how. That was why it hurt to see her brother so demanding and so alone, waiting for something the whole neighborhood seemed incapable of giving him.

***

Don Anselmo lived three houses down the street. He was an old man, with a white beard and a measured walk, the kind who crossed himself when he passed in front of the church and carried elderly ladies’ shopping bags without anyone asking him to. He had been married for decades to Olga, a woman with a shrill voice and a vinegar temper who seemed to exist only to correct him loudly in front of whoever happened to be nearby.

—Anselmo, I told you no bread, it makes you fat! Anselmo, you’re at it again with those dirty shoes on my floor!

The whole neighborhood had heard Olga reduce that big man to nothing with three sentences. And Don Anselmo would lower his head, say yes to everything, and keep walking, as if long ago he had stopped believing he was worth anything at all.

Maribel had looked at him more than once from her window. Not out of pity, or not only out of pity. There was something about that defeated man that scratched at her curiosity. No man lets himself be snuffed out like that unless he once had a huge fire inside him, she thought.

***

The afternoon everything changed, Don Anselmo went out for a walk to escape yet another of his wife’s sermons. Maribel saw him go by with his shoulders slumped and, without thinking too much about it, called out to him from the gate.

—Don Anselmo, why don’t you come in for a bit? My brother and I are alone, we’ve got something cold for you. That way you can forget about Doña Olga for a while.

The man hesitated, looked toward his house as if measuring a chain, and finally nodded. Anything to avoid going back just yet.

Inside, the house was dim and smelled of freshly brewed coffee. Maribel sat him down on the large sofa in the living room and went into the kitchen to look for something to snack on. That was when Dilan appeared.

The boy made a face the moment he saw him. Don Anselmo was, by no means, the type of man who interested him: old, tame, one of those who would apologize for breathing. But something in the boredom of the afternoon pushed him to play.

—Hey, what brings you here, Don Anselmo? —he said, arching his back just a little, letting his T-shirt cling to his torso.

He saw how the old man dropped a hand to his crotch, trying to hide something that was already beginning to show beneath the fabric of his pants. And it was showing, all right. A thick bulge, much thicker than that grandfatherly body had promised. Dilan didn’t let it slide. He moved closer, sat down beside him, brushing against him as if by accident.

—You’d better stay right there, boy —Don Anselmo said, his voice rougher than usual—. Don’t go misunderstanding things.

—Misunderstanding what, Don Anselmo? —Dilan pressed himself a little closer, until he could feel the heat of the other man’s body—. Am I bothering you?

—Seriously, boy. Move away. I don’t want trouble.

—And what trouble could there be? —he whispered, almost in his ear—. If it’s just two men alone, that’s all.

Don Anselmo made as if to stand up. And in that movement, Dilan’s hand, which had been on his thigh playing at provoking him, brushed fully against the bulge. It was only a second. But it was enough to make the old man sit back down, as if that caress had broken something that had been tied up for years.

What happened next neither of them had expected. Don Anselmo grabbed him by the nape with one hand, with a strength that didn’t fit his white beard, and slammed a kiss into him. It wasn’t the kiss of a shy old man. It was a mouth that took possession of his, a tongue that explored him from the inside with authority, that bent him. Dilan tried to pull back by pure reflex, and a second later he closed his eyes. It was exactly the kiss he had been looking for for years and that no one had known how to give him.

***

Maribel came back with the tray and froze in the doorway.

Her brother, that demanding boy who despised half the neighborhood, was sliding from the sofa to the floor without breaking away from Don Anselmo’s mouth, surrendering until he ended up on his knees in front of him. The man didn’t let him go. The scene lit something in her belly that she didn’t know how to name.

She set the tray on the table and came closer slowly, not wanting to break the moment, wanting to see it up close.

—I hope I’m not interrupting —she said, and moved up beside the old man.

She didn’t wait for an answer. She joined the kiss, and for a moment there were three tongues searching for each other, mixing together, while Don Anselmo’s big hands moved back and forth from one mouth to the other, dominating both siblings at once.

Maribel’s hands drifted on their own to the old man’s pants. She unbuttoned them with impatient fingers and, when she freed what was underneath, she let out a gasp of disbelief. The good-natured neighbor, the one who lowered his head in front of his wife, was hiding a huge cock, thick, the kind that made you want to drop to your knees and ask no questions at all.

Don Anselmo got to his feet. He lifted Dilan with one hand, and for the first time the two siblings saw the man’s full body. Beneath the conservative clothes of a family man was a broad, strong, graying torso, the body of someone who had once been a bull and only needed an excuse to be one again.

—I told you I wasn’t going to hold back if you kept provoking me —he murmured, looking Dilan in the eyes.

The boy stripped off his clothes as best he could. Maribel, still dressed, was holding the old man’s cock with both hands.

—Oh, Don Anselmo —she said, licking one nipple between phrases—, are you going to fuck my little brother? And then me? I swear we’ll be yours if you give us this thing.

***

Don Anselmo took Dilan by the hair and guided him downward. The boy took that cock into his mouth with an eagerness that surprised even his sister. He did it with the desperation of someone who finally finds what he has been chasing for years, until he started gagging, looking up in search of approval.

—That’s it, just like that —the old man growled, never letting go of his head—. Look how well you do it.

Maribel couldn’t take any more. She sat on the small sofa, spread her legs, and started rubbing herself over her clothes first, then inside, sinking her fingers in time with the guttural sounds her brother was making. She was soaked, and every heave from Dilan raised her temperature another degree.

When the old man decided he was ready, he lifted Dilan with effortless strength and bent him over the back of the sofa. He parted his ass cheeks with those weathered hands, spat, and got him ready. The boy moaned in anticipation, clutching the cushions.

—I’m going to open you up all the way —Don Anselmo told him in his ear—. You’re going to finally feel what it’s like to have a real man.

And he thrust in. Slowly at first, letting the boy get used to it, and then with a firm drive that tore a cry from Dilan, a mix of pain and a pleasure he didn’t know. The old man held him by the hips and started moving, his body slamming against the boy’s, filling him completely.

—More, Don Anselmo, more —Dilan begged, lost.

Maribel bit her lip as she fingered herself, watching how that man the whole street thought was finished subjugated her brother on the sofa in his own living room. The scene had her on the edge, and they still hadn’t touched her.

Dilan came first, trembling, spilling onto the sofa fabric with a long moan. Don Anselmo gave him a couple of slaps on the ass, pulled out in one sharp motion, and left him on his knees, exhausted, shaking.

—You’ve had your turn, boy —he said, and turned to Maribel.

***

She was ready already. She pushed the old man back against the sofa so he would sit like the king he had become, and knelt in front of him. His cock was swollen, reddened from friction, throbbing. Maribel gripped it at the base, feeling it pulse against her palm, and began to lick it from bottom to top, slowly, savoring it.

—Look how you hid it, Don Anselmo —she said between licks—. So much mass and so much bowed head, and it turns out you had this hidden away.

She took him all the way into her mouth, going down until she felt it hit the back of her throat, pulling back to breathe and going down again, faster each time. The old man held her hair, guiding her, setting the pace, and she let herself be led in a way she hadn’t let anyone lead her in years.

When he felt him at the limit, Don Anselmo lifted her and sat her on top of him, straddling him. Maribel sank down slowly, feeling that thickness force its way in, and let out a rough moan.

—Oh, Don Anselmo… you had it so well hidden…

She started moving, up and down, her breasts bouncing with each thrust. The old man took them in his hands, squeezed them, sucked her nipples, and then, with an open palm, started giving her little slaps that made her moan louder and get even wetter.

—Like this, more, leave them marked —she begged, beside herself.

Maribel turned around, riding him backwards, and Don Anselmo guided her by the waist with one hand while with the other he found her clit and rubbed it with authority. She knew she no longer ruled her own body, that every tremor was decided by that man, and for the first time in a long while that filled her instead of annoying her.

With a scream she came, her whole body tightening around him, soaking him, soaking him, spilling over his thighs. The old man received that bath with a smile.

***

But he still wasn’t done. He lifted her, positioned her facing the sofa, and spread her legs. After a while pounding into her from the front, he pulled out his wet cock, sought out something tighter, and, without mercy, thrust into her from behind in a single stroke.

—Ah, Don Anselmo!

Maribel’s body arched first from the impact and then from ecstasy. The sensation of being invaded completely, of feeling herself give way to accommodate that thickness, was overwhelming, the initial pain dissolving into a pleasure that had no name.

—Now you’re mine —he growled, starting to move with animal ferocity—. Enjoy every inch.

The thrusts were hard, each one driving her closer to the edge. Maribel clung to the sofa with white-knuckled hands, moaning, while the old man dominated her, fucked her, marked her as something that belonged to him.

—I’m going to fill you —he panted—, leave you marked so you don’t forget who I am.

She reached a second orgasm that shook her whole body, squeezing him so hard she dragged him with her. Don Anselmo drove himself in to the hilt and came with a guttural groan, spilling inside Maribel in spurts that overflowed and slid down to the living room floor.

***

Exhausted, satisfied, Maribel let herself fall onto the sofa, trembling. Dilan, recovered, came over without being asked and licked the remnants that escaped from his sister’s body, making sure not to leave a single drop, while the woman stroked his hair with a tired smile.

Don Anselmo leaned back, finally relaxed, finally himself. Maribel settled down on one side, Dilan on the other, both of them seeking his warmth, his broad chest, that strength the whole street had thought extinguished.

None of the three said anything. There was no need. The two siblings knew that afternoon would not be the last, that they had awakened the man sleeping beneath the white beard and bowed head, and that from now on the meekest neighbor on the block would have two very good reasons to go out for a walk every time Doña Olga raised her voice.