My First Time with My Aunt’s Lover

My name is Mateo, I’m nineteen years old, and for the past eight months I’ve been living with my aunt Lorena in a quiet neighborhood in the south of the city. I’m skinny, I’m five foot six, and I’ve always been pretty shy about anything to do with sex. Until that Saturday afternoon, I hadn’t touched anyone and no one had touched me.

My aunt is fifty-two and runs a small business in the front of the house: a notions shop with fabrics, buttons, and zippers. I come home from college in the afternoon and take care of the counter so she can rest. The two of us live alone. Her last partner left almost a year ago, after twelve years together, and although at first I saw her sad, for months now she hasn’t spent the weekends alone.

Damián shows up on Friday afternoons, always without warning and always with a bag of beers. He’s a construction worker, must be around fifty-something, and has enormous hands, rough and marked by work. He hardly talks. He says hello with a nod, leaves the bag on the table, and goes into my aunt’s room. They don’t come out until Monday morning, except to heat up food or get ice from the fridge.

I take care of everything on those days. My aunt leaves me the counter, gives me a list of things to do, and locks herself away. I hear her laugh through the walls, I hear the bed banging against the baseboard, I hear things I shouldn’t hear and can’t stop hearing either. I hear her moan like a bitch, I hear her beg him harder, I hear her call him a son of a bitch with a broken voice. I try not to think about it. But it’s hard. It’s hard when afterward, in my bed, I get hard all by myself and end up jerking off with my hand, imagining what he’s doing to her to make her scream like that.

Damián was always kind to me. The first time, he asked me what I studied, nodded when I said “engineering,” and ever since then, whenever we cross paths in the hallway, he pats my shoulder as if we’d known each other for years. He’s not a handsome man in the conventional sense. He’s broad, with graying hair and an unkempt beard. But there’s something about him. A calmness. The way he looks without curiosity or judgment.

That Saturday, around noon, my aunt came down the stairs dressed and made up, with the car keys in her hand.

“Mateo, I’m going to my sister’s place, I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Damián is asleep, he drank too much last night. If he wakes up, heat up the sauce I left in the fridge and tell him to wait for me. That’s an order.”

“Don’t worry, Auntie, I’ve got it.”

I heard her leave, heard the car engine fade away at the end of the street, and I stayed to look after the shop. I sold two meters of elastic and a pair of needles. I took care of a neighbor who paid in installments. I closed the shop at twelve-thirty because no one else was coming in and went upstairs.

Before going into the kitchen, something pushed me toward my aunt’s bedroom door. It was ajar. I pushed it open slowly, almost without breathing.

The room was dim. The blinds were down, a yellow light slipping through a crack. It smelled strong, of sweat and beer, and there was something else underneath, something more intimate, dense, that I couldn’t name but that made the back of my neck prickle. It smelled like dried semen, like pussy, like two bodies that had been rubbing together for hours. Damián was lying on his back on the unmade bed. The sheet barely covered him up to the chest. He was snoring softly.

I looked at him. I looked at him for a long time, longer than a nephew should look at his aunt’s lover. The light outlined his shoulders, his heavy arms on the mattress, his half-open mouth. And then I looked down.

He was wearing gray boxers, stretched and worn out. And beneath the boxers, resting against his waist, there was a bulge that didn’t seem fully asleep. Thick. Pointing toward his navel. Bigger than anything I had ever seen in my life, mine included.

My mouth filled with saliva. I got hard instantly, pressing against the fly of my pants.

Get out now, Mateo. Close the door and leave.

I didn’t leave. I knelt beside the bed, very slowly, afraid the mattress would creak. I stretched both hands toward the elastic of his boxers and pulled them down centimeter by centimeter, as if I were defusing a bomb. Damián drew in a deep breath once, muttered something, and kept sleeping.

It was revealed.

It was a thick cock, shiny, marked by circumcision, still damp from whatever he’d been doing with my aunt hours earlier. The head was purple, swollen, with dried traces of her at the base. His balls hung heavy, large, covered in gray hair. The smell reached me up close, a macho smell, heavy, of sweat and another woman’s pussy. It wasn’t unpleasant. Quite the opposite: it made me clamp my legs together under my pants and swallow three times in a row.

I wrapped my hand around the base, slowly. The skin was hot, much hotter than mine. I gave it a gentle squeeze and felt how, asleep and everything, the cock pulsed against my fingers and started to swell. It got even bigger in my hand. I couldn’t close my hand all the way around it. I ran my thumb along the underside of the head, over that thick vein, and a clear drop appeared at the tip.

I brought my face closer. I closed my eyes. I opened my mouth as wide as I could.

***

I wasn’t going to suck it. I knew any sudden movement would wake him. I just wanted to feel it inside, to feel the weight, the taste, the heat. I held it barely between my lips, no tongue, no suction, letting my own saliva soak it. It had a bitter, metallic, strange taste, mixed with something even more acidic that had to be my aunt. I wasn’t disgusted. It made me hungry.

Little by little I lowered my mouth. A centimeter. Two. The cock filled me up completely, pressing my tongue against the roof of my mouth, stretching my lips. When the tip touched the back of my throat, tears sprang to my eyes and I had to pull back up. A string of spit hung from my chin. I licked it back in and went down again, slower, learning the shape, the curve, the weight.

Every so often, a thick, transparent, almost salty drop oozed from the tip. I swallowed it without thinking. Then another. And another. Each one went down my throat like a tiny jolt straight to my cock, hard as stone inside my pants. Without stopping sucking him, I lowered one hand and squeezed myself over my clothes. I almost came right there, on my knees, with his dick in my mouth.

I licked all around the base, ran my tongue over his balls, one and then the other, until I carefully took them into my mouth. They were salty, heavy, full. I climbed back up the shaft, following the vein with the tip of my tongue, and closed my lips around the head again. Damián breathed deeper. His cock throbbed hard once, got even harder, almost like stone. A thicker stream of precum filled my mouth. I swallowed it all, feeling it go down hot.

I stayed like that for I don’t know how long. Three minutes, five, ten. Damián kept breathing heavily, kept snoring, but every now and then his hip would move a little, searching for me. At some point I felt my jaw starting to tense and my back beginning to ache from the position. I forced myself to stop.

I took his cock out of my mouth with the same care with which I’d pulled down the boxers. It was shiny, soaked in my saliva, thicker than when I’d started. I fixed his clothes with two fingers, as if nothing had ever happened, but it barely fit. I stood up. I walked to the door without making a sound. I closed it behind me.

When I got to the kitchen my hands were shaking and the fly of my pants was stained in front by my own juice.

***

I was heating up the sauce when I heard my aunt’s car park outside. She was back earlier than expected. I rinsed my mouth three times with tap water, gargled, dried myself with a dishcloth, and tried to look bored.

“I’m back,” she sang out from the hallway. “How’s my Damián?”

“Hi, Auntie. I just passed by the door. I heard him snoring.”

“Good. Let the poor guy rest.”

I didn’t look at her. I couldn’t. I felt like any normal person would read on my face what I had just done. My aunt, though, didn’t even pause. She walked past me, opened the fridge, took out a bottle of water, and before going to the bedroom she said, absentmindedly, as if she were commenting on the weather:

“Mateo, one thing: Damián doesn’t snore.”

I felt my body go cold. I wanted to answer something, anything, but nothing came out. She kept walking toward the room without waiting for an answer.

Ten minutes later she came back. She brought two plates: one with sauce and noodles for Damián, another for herself. She motioned for me to sit with her at the kitchen table. We ate in silence. I chewed without tasting anything.

When we finished, she stood up, collected the plates, and before going back to the bedroom she leaned against the doorframe and looked at me. For the first time all day, she really looked at me.

“Do you know what Damián just told me?” she asked, with half a smile.

“What?”

“That he had a really weird dream. That he was sleeping and dreamed I was sucking his cock. And that it felt so real he woke up with a wet dick and a dry mouth.”

I froze. Looking at her feet, her slippers, the yellow tile floor. I felt the heat rising from my neck to my ears.

“Nice that he dreams about you,” I said at last, almost without a voice.

“Yeah. It makes me feel good that he thinks about me even when I’m not there.” She paused briefly, though it felt endless in my head. “Although, you know, it’s funny. I don’t suck his cock. Ever. I don’t like having it in my mouth.”

She picked up the plates and went into the room. The door closed with a soft click.

I stayed seated in front of the empty table, my heart pounding against my ribs and my mouth still tasting of him.

***

That night I didn’t sleep. I went over every gesture, every word, every pause. Had my aunt done it on purpose? Was she warning me? Was she giving me permission? Or had she simply made a comment without knowing what she was saying? Every time I closed my eyes I could feel the weight of him in my mouth again, the sour taste in my throat, the thick pulse against my palate. I jerked off thinking about it, came all over my stomach in three hard pulls, and fifteen minutes later I was hard again.

I got up three times to drink water. The third time, as I passed through the hallway, I stopped in front of his bedroom door. Nothing could be heard. No voices, no bed, nothing. Only the thick silence of a Sunday dawn. I pressed my ear to it for a second and felt ridiculous. I went back to my bed and stared at the ceiling until daylight came in through the window.

On Sunday afternoon Damián came out of the bedroom, in shorts and a T-shirt, barefoot, to get water. He crossed paths with me in the hallway. This time he didn’t pat my shoulder. He stopped, looked at me a second longer than necessary, and said in a low voice, so my aunt wouldn’t hear from the kitchen:

“Next time, don’t be so afraid.”

And he kept walking, barefoot, toward the kitchen, as if he had just asked me for the salt.