The Gift My Aunt Left Me on Christmas Eve

Mateo was twenty-four that Christmas Eve and had never been the life of the party. While the rest of the family filled the living room with laughter, toasts, and carols sung off-key, he preferred to stay in a corner, with a half-full glass and his gaze lost in the tree. His mother and uncles had been dancing for hours, and the whole house smelled of freshly served dinner and red wine spilled across the good tablecloth.

He didn't like dancing. His body embarrassed him—the steps, the ridiculousness of not knowing what to do with his hands. So he was content to watch, to let the music pass over him like a warm current that never quite managed to carry him away.

That was when he started noticing her.

His aunt Carla, his mother's younger sister, was watching him from the other side of the room. She was forty-two and moved in a way that didn't fit with the idea one usually had of an aunt. She was petite, with firm legs that she herself attributed to years of dancing Zumba on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and that night she was wearing tight dark pants that outlined her round ass every time she turned, along with a light-colored blouse clinging to her body, so thin that her hardened nipples could be made out whenever she raised her arms. Her heels made her look taller than she was.

Mateo looked away the first time. The second time, she was still there, watching him with a slow smile. The third time, she blew him a kiss, jokingly, like someone teasing a shy nephew to draw him out of his corner.

She's just playing around, he thought. But the heat still rose up his neck, and between his legs as well, where his cock began to betrayingly swell against the fabric of his pants.

Carla left her glass on the table and crossed the room toward him. Every step was a small declaration of intent that Mateo couldn't quite interpret.

“Come on, let's dance,” she said, holding out her hand.

“No, Auntie, I don't know how to dance,” he replied, shrinking back into the armchair.

“Don't be like that. I'll teach you. It's incredibly easy.”

“Really, I'm no good at it.”

“Come on, don't leave me standing here with my hand out in front of everyone,” she insisted, wiggling her fingers as though inviting him into a secret.

Mateo looked around. His mother was talking in the kitchen, his uncle was laughing with someone by the window, and no one was paying attention to them. He sighed and took her hand. Carla's fingers were warm and firm, and they guided him to the center of the room with a confidence he completely lacked.

“Relax,” she told him in his ear. “Nothing's going to happen to you. Just follow me.”

At first it was a disaster. Mateo stepped on her feet, counted the steps under his breath, and laughed at his own mistakes. But Carla was patient, and little by little she loosened him up. She put one hand on his waist, corrected his posture, and made him turn. The song changed to something slower, and she moved a little closer than necessary. Mateo felt her tits brush against his chest, two firm mounds pressing into him, and swallowed. Worse still, when she pressed herself against him, Carla's thigh slipped between his and rubbed his hard cock through his pants. She didn't comment on it, but pressed a little harder, very slowly, as if testing him.

“See? It wasn't so difficult,” Carla murmured, her breath smelling of sweet wine.

He didn't answer. He was afraid his voice would give him away, and even more afraid that she would notice what was pressing against her leg.

***

The party faded the way they all did: gradually, without warning. By four in the morning, the guests began surrendering to sleep and alcohol. Some left in taxis; others sprawled across the armchairs. Mateo, the most sober person in the house, took charge of arranging where everyone would sleep.

His uncle could barely stay on his feet, so Mateo accompanied him to the guest room and left him stretched out on the bed, already beaten. Carla came in behind him, took off her husband's shoes, and draped a blanket over him with distracted tenderness.

“Thank you, my love,” she said to Mateo, and that word, spoken so thoughtlessly, kept buzzing in his ears.

Once everyone was settled, Mateo shut himself in his room. He took off his party clothes, put on the T-shirt and pants he slept in, and climbed beneath the sheets. He was exhausted, but his heart was still beating fast, with the music and the afternoon's friction lodged in his skin.

He closed his eyes. He was beginning to fall asleep when he heard his doorknob turn.

The door opened slowly. Carla's silhouette stood out against the hallway light.

“Mateo, are you awake?” she whispered.

“Yes, Auntie. Is something wrong?” He sat up in bed, confused.

“I need a favor. I left some bags in the car and want to bring them in before dawn, but your uncle has already dropped dead asleep. Will you come with me? I don't want to go out alone at this hour.”

“Yes, of course,” he said, feeling around on the floor for his sandals.

They went silently down the hallway together, careful not to wake anyone. The house was dark and cold, smelling of the end of a party—empty glasses and extinguished candles. They crossed the kitchen, opened the door leading to the garage, and went down the two steps to the concrete floor.

The garage was dark, barely lit by the orange glow of a streetlamp filtering through the gap beneath the shutter. Mateo took two steps toward the car, and then he felt his aunt's hands on his chest.

Carla pushed him against the wall.

“Auntie?” he managed to say, before she kissed him.

It was a firm, deliberate kiss, nothing like the joking around in the living room. Mateo froze, his arms rigid at his sides, his brain trying to understand what was happening. For a moment he thought about pushing her away. He thought about his uncle sleeping on the other side of the wall, about his mother, about everything this meant.

This is wrong, he told himself. And yet he kissed her back.

At first he responded clumsily, not knowing what to do with his tongue, his teeth, or his breathing. Carla guided him in that too, as she had guided him while dancing, softening the rhythm, barely biting his lower lip, then thrusting her whole tongue into his mouth. Her hands rose to the back of Mateo's neck and pulled him closer.

He dared to touch her. He placed his hands on her waist and slid them downward with nervous awkwardness until he found the curve of the firm buttocks he had been watching all night without daring to admit it. He squeezed her ass with both hands, sinking his fingers into the hard flesh, and she let out a low moan against his mouth. Then he moved up to her tits, squeezing them through her blouse, seeking her nipples with his thumbs and feeling them hard as little pebbles even through the fabric of her bra.

“Easy,” Carla murmured. “Don't rush.”

She herself unbuttoned her blouse halfway and took one of his hands, slipping it inside against her warm skin. Mateo fumbled with the bra clasp, couldn't open it, and Carla gave a quiet laugh before yanking the cup down and offering him her bare breast. He stared at it for a second, incredulous, then lowered his head and sucked her nipple like a desperate man, hungry, barely nibbling it and drawing a moan from her that she swallowed by covering her mouth.

“That's it, my love,” Carla whispered, gripping his hair. “With your tongue, no teeth… that's it.”

While he sucked her tits, she searched for his cock through his pants. She gripped it through the fabric, squeezed it once, gauged it with her hand, and smiled against his ear.

“You've got it so hard, nephew. Look at you. All this for your aunt?”

Mateo was dizzy with desire and disbelief. He kissed her, touched her, and at the same time couldn't believe it was real—that this woman he had known all his life had him against a cold wall at four in the morning, with one tit out and her hand between his legs, squeezing his dick as if she owned it.

Carla unbuttoned his pants without stopping the kiss. She slipped her hand inside his boxers and grabbed his cock against bare skin, her fingers cool, and began moving it up and down very slowly, gauging his breath with every stroke. Mateo let his head fall against the wall and closed his eyes.

“Look at me,” she ordered quietly. “I want you to watch me while I touch you.”

He looked at her. Carla spat into her palm without taking her eyes off his, grabbed him again while he was wet, more slippery, more obscene. She placed her thumb on the tip and spread the drops beading there over his cock. Mateo clenched his teeth to keep from moaning.

***

Carla pulled away abruptly. She stared at him for a few seconds with a smile he had never seen before, then knelt in front of him on the concrete.

“What are you doing?” Mateo asked in a thread of a voice.

She didn't answer. She gathered her disheveled hair into an improvised ponytail with a practical gesture, like someone preparing for something she had very clearly in mind. Then she put her hands on the waistband of his pants and, unhurriedly, pulled the fabric and his boxers down to his knees.

The cold of the garage brushed his skin. Mateo held his breath. The streetlamp barely illuminated half his aunt's face, enough for him to see her lean toward him with her mouth open and his hard cock in front of her, almost brushing her lips.

She took it in one hand, lifted it slightly, and started from below, sticking out her tongue and licking his entire dick from the base, very slowly, as if tasting it. She licked his balls with her mouth open, took them into her lips one at a time, and released them with a kiss. Then she moved upward, inch by inch, her flat tongue pressed to the flesh, all the way to the tip, where she stopped. She closed her eyes, parted her lips, and took him all the way into her mouth at once.

Mateo clenched his fists against the wall. The sensation was so intense he had to bite his lip to keep from shouting. He felt his aunt's throat receive the tip, felt her swallow around him, felt her tongue pressing underneath as she moved up and down. Saliva trickled from the corner of her mouth and ran in a thick line down to his balls.

“Slow down,” he whispered to himself, but he was already losing his mind.

Carla pulled it out shining, looked at it, pressed it against her cheek and tongue, then took it back into her mouth. She gripped the base with one hand and moved it at the same time as she raised and lowered her mouth, with a technique that left no doubt how many cocks she had sucked in her life. Every so often she looked up at him from below with wet eyes, and that detail—the eyes of his aunt Carla fixed on him with his cock in her mouth—was stronger than anything else.

“Your cock tastes so good, nephew,” she murmured during a pause, her voice hoarse, without stopping her hand. “So good and so hard for your aunt.”

And she took him all the way in again.

With so little experience, Mateo tried to hold out, to think of anything else, to stretch out the moment. Carla noticed. She looked up for a second, met his eyes, and, as if accepting a challenge, began moving with greater force and speed, sucking him from top to bottom, taking him deep every time, without stopping, with a skill that erased any thought of resisting. With her other hand, she grabbed his balls and slowly kneaded them.

“Auntie, wait, I'm going to…” he panted.

She didn't stop. On the contrary, she sped up even more, tightening her lips around his cock and staring into his eyes as if telling him to come already, in her mouth, without holding back.

Mateo couldn't take it anymore. Pleasure surged through him all at once, his whole body trembled, and he came with a muffled groan he had to swallow halfway so he wouldn't wake the house. He felt the first burst shoot out hard and long, then another, and another—thick streams of semen going straight down his aunt's throat. Carla didn't pull away. She swallowed it all without stopping her hand at the base, squeezing out every last drop, sucking the tip as if drawing out his marrow. Without a doubt, it was the most powerful orgasm of his life, an eruption that buckled his knees and left his back pressed against the concrete.

Carla continued a little longer, unhurriedly, until the end. She cleaned his cock with her tongue, very slowly, almost tenderly, gathering the remnants left on his skin, and then slowly rose. She wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, swallowed one last time, and looked at him with a calm that disturbed him almost more than everything that had come before.

“Get dressed,” she said quietly.

Still trembling, Mateo pulled up his boxers and pants with clumsy hands. He understood nothing. His head was spinning.

“And…the bags?” he asked, because he couldn't think of anything else. “Didn't you come to get something from the car?”

Carla let out a soft, almost tender laugh.

“There was nothing to get,” she said. “I only wanted this. I only wanted your cum in my mouth, nephew.”

Mateo didn't know how to respond. He stayed there against the wall, looking at her as if he were seeing someone for the first time.

She straightened her blouse, buttoned it one button at a time, adjusted her breast back inside her bra, ran a hand through her hair, and instantly recovered the composure of the aunt he had always known—the one who hugged him at birthdays and brought desserts to family parties. Before climbing the steps toward the kitchen, she turned around.

“Merry Christmas, Mateo,” she said. “And this stays between you and me.”

She gave him a short kiss on the lips, barely a brush that still tasted of him, and disappeared into the darkness of the house.

Mateo remained alone in the garage, his heart pounding against his chest, the cold concrete already forgotten. It took him a long while to return to his room. He didn't sleep that night. And for years afterward, whenever December came and the family gathered to raise a toast, he avoided looking his aunt in the eyes, because he knew that between them there would always remain that secret, locked away like the best—and most forbidden—of gifts.