My First Time Was with My Parents’ Maid

I’m over forty now, and I still remember that early morning as if it had happened last night. Before telling what happened, it’s worth explaining where that girl came from, because without that detail nothing makes sense.

My parents had traveled to Lima invited by some friends. There they met a family that was going through hard times, with almost nothing to eat, and they offered to bring back two of the daughters to work as maids. The two were young, hadn’t finished school, and didn’t have a trade. The older one was sent to live with friends in another province. The younger one stayed with us.

Her name was Catalina. She had just turned nineteen, and from the moment I saw her get out of the taxi with her suitcase, I knew she was going to complicate my life. She wasn’t very tall, maybe five foot five, with skin browned by the tropical sun and light brown hair, wavy, tied off to one side with a cord. Wide hips. A tiny waist. Round, firm breasts under every blouse she wore.

I was twenty-one then and still exploring my body in secret, without having touched anyone seriously. Catalina came into our house as just another employee, but I stopped sleeping properly from the first week. I jerked off thinking about her almost every night, imagining her tits, imagining what it would be like to put my cock in her and come inside her. I’d come in my hand in less than a minute and lie there staring at the ceiling, ashamed and wanting more.

A few months later one of those long family gatherings my mother organized came around: uncles, cousins, nephews, everyone arrived to spend the weekend at the house. Rooms, sofas, and mattresses were offered up. The younger ones arranged a night out at a club downtown and took Catalina with them. I stayed behind. I didn’t like dancing and preferred to read.

When it came time to split up the beds, I lent mine to a cousin and went up to the second floor, which was still under construction. Among boxes and old furniture there was a storage room with a huge double bed. I made it up with clean sheets, turned off the light, and fell asleep around one in the morning.

At a little past three, the light suddenly came on. Catalina was in the doorway, wearing a short dress and with the look of someone who still hadn’t shaken off the noise of the club. She apologized softly when she saw me. She had thought the room was empty.

—The whole house is packed —she said—. There isn’t even a free sofa.

—There’s room here —I answered before I thought about it.

She had forgotten her pajamas. Before getting into bed, with not the slightest awkwardness, she took off her dress and folded it on a chair. She was left in just her underwear. A black bra squeezing her tits into a deep cleavage and a tiny pair of panties marking the slit of her cunt. I couldn’t look away. She turned off the light and lay down on the far end of the mattress, as far from me as she could. But the night was cold and the only blanket there was a single one, mine.

—I didn’t bring anything —she said, rubbing her arms.

—We can share it —I offered.

She had to press herself against me for the blanket to cover both of us. Her smell was a strange mix: cigarette smoke in her hair, sweet perfume on her neck, and something else, an animal warmth, a whiff of sweat and wet cunt that put me on edge immediately. I slept in flannel and underpants. My cock got hard before any thought could form, pushing against the fabric into a bulge.

I lay still, trying to make sure it didn’t show. Catalina shifted around looking for a place to put her arm. In one of those movements she touched me. At first she pulled her hand back as if she’d burned herself. A minute later she came back, this time more calmly, stroking over the fabric, resting her palm on the bulge and pressing slowly.

—You’re hard —she whispered, and her breath smelled faintly of a sweet drink.

I didn’t know what to say. My hand stayed glued to the mattress. Catalina slid her fingers under my underpants, grabbed my cock against bare skin, squeezed it firmly, let go, squeezed again. She ran her hand all over it, from the base to the glans, spitting into her palm to make it slide better. Every time her hand moved I felt a shiver climb up my belly and my breathing turned ragged.

—For the size you look, it’s big —she said, almost amused—. And thick too.

—I don’t know what to do —I admitted.

—I’ll show you. Just let me.

She lowered her head under the blanket. First I felt her warm breath, then the tip of her tongue brushing my glans, in circles, unhurried. She sucked me slowly, like she was savoring a candy, closing her lips around the crown and teasing with her tongue right where the pressure was strongest. Then she took all of me into her mouth, all the way to the back, and I felt it bump against her palate. She slid up and down, up and down, with a wet sound that clouded my head. I covered my eyes with my forearm, not out of shame but because I thought that if I looked at her I’d come in less than a minute. She kept going at her own pace, unhurried, alternating mouth and hand, spitting on me and jerking me off while she licked my balls one by one.

—Hold on a little longer —she murmured—. Not yet.

She came out from under the blanket with her lips shining, sat astride me, brought her fingers to her mouth, moistened them with spit, and slid them under her panties. I heard her moan softly as she rubbed her cunt with two fingers, staring straight at me. Then she pushed the fabric of her panties aside without taking them off, grabbed my cock, set it at her entrance, and sank down slowly onto me. I felt her cunt swallow me centimeter by centimeter, tight, burning, soaking wet.

—Stay still, don’t do anything —she ordered, her voice rough—. Let me handle it.

She started moving in circles, slow at first, then faster and faster. She had both hands on my chest and her tits bounced loose when she unhooked the bra and threw it aside. She grabbed them herself, squeezed them, pinched her dark, hard nipples like little stones. The dim hallway light painted half her face and made the sweat between her breasts glisten.

—Look how you’re swallowing me, look how I’m going all the way in —she panted—. Your cock is so nice, little one.

I tried to delay the inevitable by thinking about anything at all, the list of chores, my cousins’ names, but she knew exactly what to do so I couldn’t. She leaned forward, put one tit in my mouth, and started riding me harder, giving sharp little jolts that could be heard all over the room, her cunt sucking my cock with every downward stroke. I came after a few minutes, without warning, spilling the whole load inside her with tremors, with a long spasm that bent my back. Catalina kept going a little longer, moving slowly, milking me to the last drop, then collapsed on top of me with a long sigh and laughed softly. I felt the semen leaking between us, warm, sliding over my balls and down to the sheet.

—For a first time, that wasn’t bad —she said, and kissed me for the first time on the mouth, with a slow kiss that smelled of anise and my own cum.

I asked if she’d let me do it again. She laughed.

—Tomorrow. And the day after. And any time you want, as long as we don’t get caught.

She rolled over and fell asleep. I didn’t get a wink until the light came through the window, with my cock still half-soft and her hand resting on my thigh.

***

Catalina kept her word. Starting the following week, on Tuesday mornings and, every two weeks, on Thursdays, my parents would go out to work, my siblings to class, my father to the office, and we’d be left alone for two hours, sometimes three. That first Tuesday it was hard to sleep while waiting for dawn. As soon as the last person left the house and the door closed, Catalina came into my room with two coffees and took me by the hand.

—Today you’re in charge —she said—. We’re going to do it properly.

That second time was different. I saw her naked for the first time, without a blanket, without underwear. She took off her robe in front of me, removed her bra, pulled her panties down to her ankles, and kicked them away. She stood there beside the bed, hands on her hips, letting herself be looked at. Her tits were bigger than I had imagined, with dark, broad nipples, and a patch of brown hair between her legs, trimmed but abundant, not hiding the thick, already slightly shiny lips of her cunt.

—Look at it properly —she said—. Touch it. As much as you want.

She lay down on my bed and guided me through each step with patience: how to kiss her neck without biting it, how to move slowly down her cleavage, how to suck her tits one after the other until her nipples stood hard. She guided my hand between her legs, opened the lips of her cunt with my own fingers, and taught me how to find her clit.

—Here —she whispered—. Gently. With your fingertip, in circles. Like that, like that, very good.

When she saw how soaked she was, she pushed me down by the shoulders. I knelt between her legs to use my mouth. She kept talking softly, like a teacher showing you a complicated recipe.

—Slower —she said—. Flatten your tongue. A little higher now. There, don’t move. Suck, suck hard, get it between your lips. Take me inside, now yes, move it.

I obeyed every order and learned to read her gasps. I licked her cunt until my jaw got tired, feeling her get wetter and wetter in my mouth, with a salty, thick taste. She grabbed her tits, pinched them, dug her heels into my back, and held my head against her pussy with both hands.

—Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop —she repeated, her voice more and more broken.

When she came under me for the first time, her back arched and her voice trembled in a way I had never heard from a woman. I felt her cunt contracting against my tongue, squeezing and releasing, soaking my face with juice. I wrapped my arms around her until the trembling passed. Then she had me climb up her body, kissing her belly, her tits, her neck, and put me on top of her with her legs open.

—Now put it in —she said—. Slowly. I want to feel you go in.

She grabbed my cock and set it at her entrance. I pushed slowly and felt her cunt open around me, warm and tight, swallowing me in one go. I stayed still for a second, with my forehead pressed to hers, feeling her pulse against mine. I started moving as she taught me, with long, slow thrusts, sinking all the way in and pulling almost all the way out before going back in. She went along with me, lifting her hips.

—Harder —she asked—. Don’t be afraid. Tear me apart.

I changed the rhythm. I fucked her from the front, against the mattress, with her tits bouncing with every slam. Then she turned over and got on all fours, arching her back and offering me her ass. I put my cock back in from behind, gripping her hips, and drove into her with dry thrusts that made her moan into the pillow. I saw her ass lifted, her back arched, the nape of her neck sweaty, and I landed a slap on her ass that left my handprint red.

—Yes, yes, yes, give it all to me —she panted—. Don’t stop, little one, don’t stop.

Then she got on top again, unhurried, sitting astride me, rocking slowly, looking down at me with a dark smile. She rode me sweetly, taking her time, until I finished too, inside her, without thinking of consequences, gripping her waist and pinning her against my hips as I came in spurts. She collapsed onto my chest, with my cock still inside her, feeling me slowly go soft.

I learned a lot that year. I learned not to finish so fast, to pay attention to what she liked and what she didn’t, to read her breathing. I learned to eat her out too, to lick her ass when she got on all fours, to slip it in right when she was about to come and hold out until she came before I did. Catalina spoke little while she worked in the house, but when we closed my bedroom door she let her voice out, laughed, pushed me around, gave me orders, asked me to finish her in her mouth, on her tits, in her cunt, depending on the day. She was my private teacher, my secret in half the house.

***

That summer I went to the countryside with my grandfather to help him with the harvest. I was away for ten days. When I came back, I found the house without Catalina. There was no warning, no explanation. My mother told me she had woken up one Friday with the fixed idea of returning to her country and there was no way to change her mind. She packed her bag, said goodbye to everyone one by one, they paid her what they owed, and they took her to the terminal. That was it.

I couldn’t ask any more without raising suspicion. I spent weeks not understanding. Maybe she got tired of me. Maybe there’s someone else. Maybe I did something wrong. It took me months to accept that she had gone and that I probably wouldn’t see her again.

***

Twenty years. Catalina was forty-two the day I saw her again. I was going through the villages in the south buying some young steers to resell in the mountains, and I went into an agricultural supply shop to ask about mineral salts. Behind the counter was her. Fuller now, with shorter hair, a couple of fine wrinkles around her eyes, but the same face I had dreamed about for years.

She went silent for two seconds. Then she smiled as if she had been waiting for me forever.

—Come in, come in —she said, coming out from behind the counter.

Her husband was in the back room unloading packages. He greeted me cordially, with no suspicion. Catalina made the introductions with a naturalness that left me cold. We sat at a little table in the back to have coffee. He apologized and went back to the yard to keep unloading. It was just her and me.

I didn’t need to ask. Catalina said it as if she had been keeping it to herself all that time, waiting.

—I left because I was pregnant —she said—. With you. From that last Tuesday, before you went to the country.

I felt something tighten in my stomach. I didn’t know what to say.

She told me the rest without drama. She had gone straight from my parents’ house to the terminal with the idea of returning to her village. She sat on a bench waiting for the bus and started crying quietly. Beside her was an elderly couple waiting for transport to this same southern town, vendors too. They came over to ask what was wrong. Catalina, exhausted and with no strength to lie, told them the truth. The old couple took her with them. They had a grandson who helped them in the shop, three years older than she was, and they welcomed her like a daughter. The grandson, before the pregnancy showed, offered to marry her if she agreed. Catalina agreed. The boy raised the child as his own, gave him his surname, and never asked any questions. Later they had three more daughters, two of them twins.

—My husband is a good man —she said—. Better than I deserve.

—And the boy? —I asked, my throat dry.

—He’ll be here now.

He appeared a few minutes later. A tall, thin young man, with the crooked smile I saw in the mirror every morning. Catalina introduced him to me as a supplier from the mountains. We shook hands. The grip was firm, polite, full of good country manners. He didn’t look me in the eye for more than a second, and went back to the storeroom with a sack over his shoulder.

I had to sit down. Catalina poured me another coffee.

—I didn’t come to break anything for you —I said at last—. And I’m not going to.

—I know —she replied—. That’s why I’m telling you.

I got up to leave. I had to go back to my truck, to the cattle, to my life somewhere else in the country. Catalina walked me to the door and, before letting go of my hand, leaned toward my ear.

—Do you know what I miss about you? —she whispered.

—No.

—Those mornings in your room. How you used to fuck me. How you used to finish inside me.

She slipped a folded scrap of paper between my fingers. A phone number written by hand, with no name. She gave me a kiss very close to the lips, smiled the way a woman smiles when she knows she still runs the show, and went back into the shop.

I drove in silence to the next village. The scrap of paper was in my shirt pocket, against my chest. I didn’t throw it away. What happened after that is for another night.