What Happened with My Boyfriend’s Uncle While He Slept

The smell of fresh paint in the new apartment had been buried under the aroma of dinner. Sergio, intent on proving he was already a man with property, had set a table far too elaborate for an ordinary Tuesday: white linen tablecloth, crystal glasses, and a huge seafood platter that had cost him half a trainee’s paycheck. Spider crabs, prawns, and a brown crab dominated the dining room as if we were expecting a minister.

I was wearing a simple black strappy dress, pretending everything was normal. But beneath the fabric, my skin still remembered what his uncle had done to me weeks earlier, on the bare box spring in that very same bedroom. Every time I looked at the bed, now dressed in clean sheets, I felt a shiver go straight down to my belly.

The doorbell rang with a shrillness that made my boyfriend jump.

—Your uncle’s here! —he announced, hurrying to the door with the napkin in his hand.

Ramón came in filling the whole entryway. He had come straight from unloading at the central market, still in the same greasy jeans and a plaid shirt opened almost to the navel, showing a jungle of gray chest hair soaked with sweat. He smelled of diesel, cheap cologne, and something acidic I recognized at once: desire and dominance.

—Well, look at Mr. Fancy Apartment! —he bellowed, slapping his nephew so hard he nearly sent him into the shoe cabinet—. What a feast. You look like a deputy minister.

In his left hand he didn’t bring wine, but a five-liter opaque plastic jug with no label, full of a yellowish, cloudy liquid.

—I told you not to bring anything, Uncle —Sergio laughed nervously—. What is that?

—Blessed water from the north, kid. Homemade orujo. A buddy on the route hooks me up. This unblocks pipes and turns boys into men.

Ramón crossed the hallway and fixed his dark eyes on me. He looked me up and down with insulting shamelessness, lingering on my neckline and the way I had crossed my legs.

—Hello, pretty girl —he growled by way of greeting, with a crooked smile—. You look well. It’s obvious you sleep well in this place… and deeply.

I swallowed and nodded, unable to hold his gaze.

***

Dinner was a grotesque spectacle. While Sergio cracked the crab legs with almost surgical delicacy, his uncle ate like a starving animal. He broke the shells with his bare hands, sucked the heads of the prawns with an obscene slurping noise, and wiped the grease on his trousers or on the linen tablecloth, ignoring his nephew’s panicked looks.

—I like to suck food properly, right down to the last drop —he said with his mouth full, staring at me—. If you don’t get your hands and face dirty, it means you’re not enjoying the meat. Isn’t that right, girl?

I picked at a spider crab and nodded in silence. The air was thick. Sergio, completely oblivious to the electric current running across the table above the plates, laughed at his uncle’s jokes.

When we finished the seafood, Ramón swept his plate aside with a wave of his hand and put the jug on the table.

—Right, less chatter and more wetting the whistle. Bring glasses. Big ones, none of those dainty little lady glasses, for fuck’s sake.

Sergio brought proper-sized tumblers. His uncle filled them to the brim. The liquid smelled of rubbing alcohol and stale herbs.

—To the new apartment. And to the ones who know how to christen it properly —Ramón toasted, lifting his glass and looking at me.

He drank half of it in one gulp. Sergio, wanting to keep up, copied him. He coughed, went red, and his eyes filled with tears. That orujo was pure dynamite.

—Fuck, Uncle, that burns! —my boyfriend gasped, thumping his chest.

—It burns the weak —Ramón mocked, refilling his glass—. Come on, let’s see if you’ve got what it takes to keep pace with me.

It was a massacre. In less than three-quarters of an hour, Ramón forced his nephew to drink four full glasses. Sergio, who could barely handle a couple of beers, plunged into a spiral of rapid, pathetic drunkenness. First he laughed uncontrollably, then he babbled something about the mortgage and, finally, his head started dropping onto his chest.

Between one glass and the next, his uncle kept slipping in insinuations about us, poisoned darts he let fall right in front of Sergio’s nose. My boyfriend, clouded by alcohol or by pure innocence, was incapable of catching the double meanings. I, on the other hand, understood every one of them, and I fidgeted in my chair while a telltale blush lit my cheeks.

—I think… I’m going to the bathroom —Sergio managed to say, getting up unsteadily.

He took three steps, tripped over the rug, and collapsed face-first onto the sofa. He tried once more, groaned, and within seconds a guttural snore announced that the owner of the house had fallen into an alcoholic coma.

The living room fell silent, broken only by the hum of the fridge and those snores. I was alone with him. And he was very drunk.

***

Ramón slumped back in his chair, spreading his legs as far as they would go. His face was flushed, streaked with sweat, his eyes glassy and bloodshot. He unbuckled his belt and pulled down the zipper a little to let air in around his swollen belly of seafood and alcohol. He took a crumpled cigarette from his shirt pocket, lit it, and blew the smoke in my direction, a thick gray column curling through the hot air.

—Look at him. My sister’s son doesn’t have a shred of backbone —he muttered, dragging out his r’s, nodding toward the inert lump on the sofa—. He’s had two thimbles and he’s already snoring. Your boyfriend’s a eunuch, blonde.

I didn’t answer. Fear was beginning to win out over everything else. A drunk Ramón wasn’t the calculating predator from the moving day; he was an irrational, clumsy, dangerous brute.

—Come here —he ordered, thick-tongued.

I shook my head, pressing myself against the back of the chair.

—I said come here, for fuck’s sake —he roared, slamming a fist on the table so hard the glasses and shells jumped.

I stood up trembling. I went around the table full of leftovers and stopped in front of him. He grabbed me by the waist of my dress with a rough, sticky hand, yanking me until I bumped against his spread knees.

—Dinner was nice —he said, looking up at me, his breath stinking of orujo and tobacco—. But I came to collect for the move. And that scrawny bastard still hasn’t paid the toll.

He yanked me closer, forcing me to sit astride his thighs. Without another word, he shoved his fingers under my neckline and forced the fabric down until my breasts were bare, pale under the yellow light.

—Look at those two beauties —he growled, with a hoarse laugh that made his chest vibrate—. So white they look like marble, but nice and warm. What a dessert you’d been saving for me.

He didn’t wait any longer. He lunged at my breasts with the urgency of someone reclaiming what was his. The scratch of his gray beard was constant, like sandpaper, while his tongue, hot and rough, traced every contour. He alternated licking with short bites that left pink marks. He caught one nipple between his teeth and tugged, with a pressure that hovered between pleasure and pain.

With his free hand he reached for the glass of orujo still on the table. Without taking his eyes off mine, wide with fear, he tilted the glass and let a stream of liquor spill over my chest. The cold made me shiver, sliding over my curves and soaking into the fabric. He didn’t waste a drop: he plunged in to lick it off with renewed hunger, mixing the taste of the spirit with the taste of my skin.

My hands settled on his massive shoulders, not to push him away, but so I wouldn’t collapse. The smell of tobacco and stale sweat was a wall around me, wiping out any other thought. You shouldn’t be enjoying this. But I was enjoying it, and that scared me more than he did.

One of his hands disappeared beneath the hem of my dress, searching between my legs with possessive fingers. The other grabbed the back of my neck and forced my head down to seal me in a rough, virile kiss, thick with the smell now flooding everything. It was a kiss that didn’t ask permission.

—Look at me —he ordered, pulling back just a few millimeters—. Look at me and tell me who’s in charge here.

I opened my eyes, blurred by a mixture of humiliation and a spark of fire beginning to ignite in my belly. I couldn’t get a word out.

***

Then he forced me to stand. Without ceremony, he jerked my dress up to my waist, leaving me in my panties in front of him.

—Get on your knees.

I obeyed, lowering myself slowly until I touched the floorboards, right between his work boots. I was two meters from the sofa where Sergio was snoring peacefully. Ramón put out the cigarette in a dirty plate, pulled his zipper down the rest of the way, and took out his cock.

I noticed something strange immediately. The beast was asleep. What I remembered as an imposing steel bar now hung flaccid, heavy, thick but lifeless. The excess alcohol and the digestion had taken their toll on the trucker’s hardened body. It was a mass of dark, veined flesh, impressive in its thickness even at rest, but soft. I swallowed, feeling both temporary relief and a deep terror, because I knew what that meant for a man like him’s ego.

—Come on, suck it —he demanded impatiently, throwing his head back—. Wake it up, it’s been a long day.

I opened my mouth and took the soft cock in. The flesh filled me by volume, but there was no tension. I tried using my tongue, massaging the base, sucking hard, all the techniques that had driven him wild other times. Two, three endless minutes passed. There was the sound of sucking and, in the background, my boyfriend’s snores. But he still didn’t react. He barely swelled a little before deflating again seconds later.

Ramón started to get impatient. He leaned forward and grabbed my hair violently.

—What the fuck are you doing? —he growled, pulling me back. My eyes were full of tears from the pain—. You’re grazing it with your teeth, useless bitch!

—Ramón… it won’t wake up —I stammered, terrified—. You’ve had too much to drink.

The sentence was a deadly mistake. His pride, soaked in alcohol, exploded like a bomb.

—What did you say? —he roared in a furious whisper, bringing his red face close to mine—. That I can’t get it up? The problem is you, you’re not even good for this!

I had no intention of hurting him, not even close. Deep down, I found it almost impressive that, after eight hours on the road and a night of excess, he still had the vigor to demand this of me. You only had to look at the sofa to confirm the difference: there lay Sergio, thirty years younger, knocked out by alcohol, turned into a useless lump unable to keep up with his uncle.

But Ramón didn’t understand it that way. Alcohol had erased any trace of control, and he projected all the frustration of his impotence onto me.

—My ex used to get hard just looking at me, and you, who are just a kid, don’t even know how to jerk a guy off properly —he spat at me—. You’re just as useless as your boyfriend. A pair of weaklings.

I cried in silence. He let go of my hair and shoved me, sending me flat onto my back on the floor.

—You’re going to find out. Take your panties off —he ordered.

***

Paralyzed by terror, I obeyed mechanically. Ramón let himself fall forward, more of a collapse than a movement, and sat heavily on my belly, trapping me against the cold floor right beside the sofa. He didn’t even bother to undress: his trousers, badly lowered, barely covered his calves.

—You don’t know how to heat up a real man —he muttered, pawing at my breasts roughly, pinching my nipples—. You’re used to the charity of that loser. I’m going to have to fix it myself.

He rubbed his limp cock with his own broad hand, growling in anger at himself and at me. I understood that my only way out was to satisfy that wounded animal before his rage made him really hurt me. I gathered my strength and gave his belly a sharp push so he’d understand that his nearly one hundred kilos were suffocating me.

He reacted with the growl of a bear forcibly awakened and began to stand with maddening slowness, stumbling. Without waiting for him to get his balance back, I threw myself at his crotch again. This time there was no technique: there was desperation. I wrapped both hands around that massive trunk, kneaded the base fiercely, and shoved it all the way down my throat, gagging on purpose, letting my tears fall onto his thighs.

My absolute, tearful submission was the lubricant the beast needed. Seeing me dragged across the floor, choking with desperation while Sergio slept half a meter away, clicked some primitive part of his brain. Absolute power over me broke through the barrier of alcohol.

I felt it in my mouth. First a dull pulse. Then the flesh began to harden, slow but inexorable, filling my hands, growing until it recovered its intimidating size. Ramón closed his eyes and let out a low, rough roar. The giant had awakened from its torpor, and now it was furious.

—There you are… —he growled, grabbing me by the neck—. Now you’re going to learn what real is.

***

He lifted me bodily with brutal strength, as if I weighed nothing, and threw me face down onto the rug, just inches from the sofa where Sergio remained sunk in his coma.

—You’re going to swallow every last drop of my bad mood —he growled. His voice was a dull thunder, thick with alcohol.

He positioned the tip of his cock between my lips, but the drunkenness had dulled his precision. As he pushed, his body swayed to one side and the tip slipped just a few centimeters, meeting a different resistance. Without stopping, he pushed.

—Aah! No, Ramón! Wait! —My scream cut through the air, sharp and full of sudden pain.

I felt a searing, dry stab when only the head forced open the wrong entrance. My body tensed like a bow, my hands searching for his shoulders to stop the advance.

—Not there! You’re hurting me, stop! —I insisted, pushing with all my strength.

Only then did the words cut through the fog in his head. He stopped dead, blinking slowly, as if trying to remember where he was. He withdrew with a clumsy movement and, babbling, repositioned himself, aiming properly this time.

There was no preparation, no caresses, no slightest attempt at tenderness. He dropped all his weight onto my back and then rammed into me. It was a brutal, dry, devastating entry. I had to bite my forearm to keep from screaming. He wasn’t looking for pleasure; he was looking to punish me, mark me, claim what he considered his by sheer force, forcing me to take every centimeter.

—There you have it! —he roared, putting his mouth to my ear, suffocating me with his tobacco-and-liquor breath—. You wanted a real man? Well, here you go!

The rhythm was frantic, relentless, the blind rage of an out-of-control animal. His hairy belly flattened my back while he slammed into me with a wet, obscene sound that echoed through the whole living room. The floorboards creaked under the weight of both of us.

There was nothing I could do but take each thrust. Tears of pain and humiliation mixed with sweat. But in the darkest corner of my mind, the poison of submission was starting to work. I was being torn apart by a drunk beast on the floor of my own newly inaugurated home, while my boyfriend lay a handspan away, useless, unable to defend his territory. And part of me wanted exactly that.

Ramón grabbed my hair and yanked my head back, forcing my neck around until my blurred eyes met his.

—Look at your idiot boyfriend —he ordered, marking each syllable with a deep thrust—. While he’s sleeping it off, I’m splitting you in two. I own this house now. Do you hear me? Say it!

—Yes… yes, Ramón! —I sobbed, unable to resist—. You own it…!

—Louder. Let the whole block know who’s in charge here.

***

At one point, Sergio shifted on the sofa. He let out a confused grunt, moved an arm, and was just about to open his eyes. My heart stopped. I stopped breathing, terrified he would wake up and see the scene: his uncle, sweaty and unbuttoned, riding me among the seafood remains.

But Ramón didn’t even flinch. On the contrary: the imminence of danger sent his sadism soaring. He smiled, showing his teeth, and instead of easing up, he drove himself all the way in and stayed there, nailed in place, in silent defiance. Sergio muttered something unintelligible, turned over with his back to us, and returned to his thick snores.

Ramón let out a dull laugh that ran through my body from the inside.

—It won’t be long now —he warned, tensing every muscle—. Get ready.

I clenched my eyelids shut. And then, despite the panic, a biological betrayal was born deep in my belly. The humiliation of being taken like this, with his nephew a few meters away and the smell of seafood and alcohol hanging in the air, mixed with the brutality of a man who seemed inexhaustible. Against all logic, the pain turned into an electric spasm that shot through my spine. I stifled a cry against my own shoulder while my body arched, surrendering to a violent, bitter orgasm that left me trembling, hating myself for feeling pleasure in the middle of that mess.

Ramón felt the spasm run through his cock and a satisfaction more powerful than the orujo flooded his chest. Seeing me defeated by my own body was the final balm for his wounded pride. He straightened up, swelling his chest with the smugness of someone who has just won.

—You’re a filthy bitch… See how, in the end, you like being handled rough? —he sneered—. All that prissiness about whether I’ve been drinking or am tired, and you came before I did.

The last thrusts were erratic, purely animal. Growling like a boar, he pounded me mercilessly until, with a roar he couldn’t hold back, he emptied himself inside me. It was a violent, endless spill that overflowed and stained my thighs and the fibers of the new rug Sergio had bought with such excitement.

He stayed collapsed on top of me for several minutes, crushing me, breathing hard. Then the drunken haze seemed to clear, giving way to the satiation of a predator that has just devoured its prey. He withdrew slowly, with a wet sound, and dropped down to sit on the floor, leaning his back against the sofa armrest where his nephew was still sleeping.

He didn’t even look at me. He rummaged in his shirt pocket, took out another cigarette, and lit it. The flame illuminated his weathered, arrogant face in the half-light of the sex-soaked living room.

—Clean yourself up, pretty girl —he said at last, blowing smoke through his nose and nudging my thigh with his boot—. And scrub the rug. Or better yet, leave it. That way your boyfriend the moron can wonder where that smell is coming from when he wakes up hungover.

He pulled up his zipper, fastened his belt without bothering with the shirt buttons, and took the nearly empty jug by the handle. There were no goodbye kisses or complicit looks. He walked to the door, dragging his boots, and left, slamming it so hard the whole entryway vibrated.

Alone, with the pungent smell of tobacco, rubbing alcohol, and raw sex, I closed my eyes and wrapped my arms around my knees. I listened to Sergio’s rhythmic, peaceful snoring above me, knowing with terrifying certainty that the beast had marked me again, and that there was no going back. Because, once again and in a way I still can’t explain, I had enjoyed it.