My Nephew’s Graduation Ended with Me on My Knees

The ceremony was held in the university auditorium, a stark hall with folding chairs and a stage hastily thrown together. There was nothing solemn about the place, but it meant a great deal to me: it was Bruno’s graduation, my sister’s son, who was finally completing his degree after several years of setbacks and failed courses.

My sister couldn’t come. She was abroad, living her life without too many regrets, so I attended in her place, accompanied by his paternal grandparents, who had raised him almost like a son. Bruno was twenty-four, and a relieved smile lit up his whole face when he crossed the stage.

When it was over, he made his way through the crowd to hug me. He squeezed me tightly and spoke into my ear, his voice catching.

“I did it, Auntie,” he told me.

I understood the weight behind that sentence, but I preferred not to dwell on it. I carried on chatting with the grandparents, the professors, whoever happened to cross my path, maintaining the composure of the proud aunt everyone expected to see.

At the auditorium doors, he caught up with me again, now surrounded by his friends. He rubbed his hands together, nervous and exhilarated, and called out loudly in front of everyone.

“And my present? I want my present,” he insisted, with a laugh that wasn’t entirely innocent.

I gestured for him to call me later and left without saying anything else. I knew perfectly well which present he was talking about.

***

All afternoon, my phone wouldn’t stop vibrating. Bruno sent me pictures: himself in front of the bathroom mirror, his friends pulling down their pants amid laughter, young bodies offering themselves to the camera like a challenge. Each image raised the temperature, leading me to imagine myself in their midst, surrounded, available.

I lay down on the bed with the phone resting on my chest. I let my hand drift downward on its own, slowly, until it found my clitoris, and I caressed myself unhurriedly as I went over each picture. The orgasm came softly, almost shyly, and forced me to squeeze my thighs together. When my breathing had settled, I picked up the phone and wrote a single line: “Where can I see you?”

The reply was taking a while, but I was calm. I knew him. He had wanted me for far too long to leave me waiting.

I opened the closet and hesitated in front of my clothes. I could go dressed like the discreet aunt I always was, or I could go as what I truly wanted to be that night. I chose the latter. I wanted to embody the pictures he kept, the same ones his friends had surely looked at a thousand times already.

I worked my hair into a wet look, as though I had just stepped out of the shower. I lined my eyes with blue shadow and dark mascara, and painted my lips a red that left no room for doubt. I put on a transparent black blouse, with no bra underneath, which allowed my breasts to show through the fabric. Below, my favorite leather pants, the ones that fit like a second skin and left my lower back exposed. I turned in front of the mirror and liked what I saw. That night, I wasn’t going to be anyone’s aunt.

***

I drove fast. When I arrived at the house, the air was already thick with smoke and alcohol. Bruno came out to greet me as soon as I got out of the car and placed a hand on my waist with a new confidence.

“Let them see me,” I whispered to him, and moved forward hanging onto his arm.

“My aunt’s here!” he shouted to the group, then made me turn around so they could all look me up and down.

There were five or six of them, all Bruno’s age, in their early twenties, with that mixture of shyness and bravado that youth and alcohol produced. I took the glass from one of them and drained it in a single gulp. I liked alcohol to enter first, as the prelude to everything else.

“I want to dance,” I announced.

The music went up, and I lost myself among them. I let their hands travel over my back and hips, letting them grow bolder little by little. Whenever one of them tried to go too far, I set the rule with a smile.

“Bruno first,” I warned them. “Then we’ll see.”

I took off my shoes. I turned my back to them and, looking over my shoulder, lowered my leather pants with calculated slowness until I was left wearing only a tiny thong and the heels I had put back on. I kept dancing like that, feeling the circle closing around me.

One of the boys unbuttoned my blouse from behind and grabbed my breasts with desperate urgency, as though he feared it might end before it had even begun. I took another long drink and, one by one, made them sit in a circle so they could watch. I flung the blouse away. I had nothing left but my skin, my heels, and that strip of fabric.

***

I took Bruno by the hand and dragged him into the center of the circle. I let myself fall onto my back on the carpet, spread my legs, and began touching myself, moaning and inviting him to take what was already his. He awkwardly freed himself from his pants and settled between my thighs.

“I’ve wanted you for a long time, Auntie,” he panted against my neck.

I lifted my legs onto his shoulders and took him all the way in. He thrust deep, with a force that knocked the air from me, and began moving quickly, without restraint. My moans mingled with his and with the murmurs of the others, who had moved closer so they wouldn’t miss anything.

“Harder,” I asked him. “Make up for keeping me waiting so long.”

His thrusts grew rougher. He squeezed my nipples, turned my face with his open palm, and I arched my body, asking for more. The group encouraged him just inches away from us, and hearing them aroused me even more. I wrapped my legs around him, pulled him toward me, sought his weight over my body until he sank into me one last time with a growl and collapsed beside me, drenched in sweat.

“This is only the beginning,” he said with a crooked smile.

I stood up, naked among them, feeling my legs still trembling.

***

I walked among them without a trace of shame, lifted by the heels that marked every step. I searched my purse for a cigarette, took a long drag from the one one of the boys offered me, and leaned against the edge of the kitchen counter. I could feel my heart galloping and my sex soaked, throbbing on its own.

I sat on the edge, spread my legs, and began playing with myself again, offering them the view while my breathing grew increasingly uncontrolled. Watching them masturbate around me, with the anxiety of young animals, brought me to the edge immediately. I wet my fingers and rubbed myself furiously until the air filled with my moans and their panting, a disorderly chorus.

“Use me,” I begged through clenched teeth. “That’s why I came.”

I came so hard it doubled me over the counter and left me offering them my back. Their hands fought over my skin, vying for my hips and breasts. In the reflection of the picture window, I saw them hard again, ready to go on.

The quietest one in the group watched me from an armchair, his eyes blazing. I approached, straddled him, and pressed my breasts against his face. I opened his pants and impaled myself on him in a single movement, beginning to ride him with an electric urgency.

“Come on,” I whispered. “Don’t fall behind.”

***

A shove knocked me off him and sent me to the floor.

“On the floor,” Bruno ordered, pulling me up by the hair.

He took me to the counter and pressed my cheek against the cold surface. The boy from the armchair positioned himself behind me and pushed slowly, working his way in, while Bruno held me by the shoulders from the other side, looking into my eyes.

“Ask for it,” he told me.

“More,” I answered, and that was all he needed.

Then a third climbed onto the counter in front of me and offered me his cock. I took it into my mouth, running my tongue along it, feeling the one behind me set an increasingly rapid pace. The one behind me came first, then the one in front, and I kept asking for more, holding them back, not wanting it to stop.

“Pass her to me,” another demanded, hard again.

Bruno dragged me to the couch. He pulled my hair and slapped my buttocks, laughing as he passed me around among his friends like the present he had demanded at the auditorium doors. And I, far from resisting, thrust my body against theirs, seeking every blow, every hand, every inch of that madness I had gone there looking for myself.

***

They used me for a long while, taking turns amid laughter, affectionate insults, and panting. I set the pace, even if it seemed otherwise: I was the one thrusting myself against them, the one asking for more, the one guiding them with my voice. When they finally finished, one after another, I lay sprawled on the couch, my skin marked and my breathing broken, empty and complete at the same time.

Afterward, we jumped into the pool. We floated in the cold water, passing a bottle of rum from hand to hand, and I approached the edge only to take a drag from the joint being smoked by those who had stayed outside. Every time I came near, some hand would travel over me again, no longer urgently, almost tenderly.

Amid the smoke and laughter, they wanted to understand. They couldn’t wrap their heads around how a woman like me—a well-mannered, professional woman with an orderly life—could also be the woman standing before them. I confessed it without beating around the bush: I adored showing myself off, that other woman was also me, and at night, far from the people who knew me, I allowed myself to be exactly what I wanted to be. Bruno told them my stories as though they were trophies.

It was only then, laughing, that I learned their names. Damián, Tomás, Iván, Lautaro. If it hadn’t been for that oversight, they would have left without me ever knowing who they had been.

***

The next day, well into the afternoon, the house slowly came back to life. I dressed in jeans and a high-necked blouse, a fabric suit of armor that concealed the marks of the night. We were eating when Don Aníbal, Bruno’s grandfather, arrived to pick them up.

I noticed immediately that he was looking at me differently. There was something new in his eyes, a silent appraisal that traveled over me from head to toe.

Everyone said goodbye and climbed into the truck except Tomás, the youngest, who preferred to stay with me a while longer. Before pulling away, Don Aníbal came over to kiss me on the cheek. He lingered a second too long, holding the moment.

“Bruno sent me some pictures,” he whispered in my ear. “I’ll call you.”

He climbed into the truck and drove away, leaving me with my heart racing once again and the certainty that that night had been only the beginning of something I had no intention of stopping.