My First Time with My Best Friend’s Mother

I was nineteen in 1986 and obsessed with two things: soccer and girls. At the all-boys school I attended, the days were measured in matches at recess and in the glances we caught on the way out, when we skirted the girls’ school as if we were tourists. There were six of us, and we had known one another since the first day of secondary school. We spent our afternoons recounting exploits that had almost never happened.

When Esteban arrived halfway through the year, none of us wanted to approach him. He came from the interior, from a small town in the province, and when he spoke he dragged out his vowels in a way my friends found funny. I watched him walk alone down the hall and recognized something in him: he lived on my block. I had passed him several times without saying hello.

One Sunday morning my mother sent me out to buy bread. In front of me, in line at the corner store, stood Esteban with a girl. She looked about nineteen. She was an unsettling beauty, the kind that forces you to pretend indifference: long, dark hair, a sleeveless white blouse, a tight denim skirt outlining broad, firm hips. I raised my hand to greet him.

“Hi, Esteban.”

He took a moment to answer, as if I had caught him doing something wrong. The girl touched his shoulder.

“Who’s he?”

“A classmate from school.”

She held out her hand and smiled with a calmness that disarmed me.

“I’m Camila, his sister. It’s good to know my brother finally has some friends.”

That very afternoon I decided I was going to be Esteban’s best friend at any cost.

***

Two months later I was going to his house after school almost every day. My friends didn’t understand why I had suddenly started hanging around with the “weirdo,” but I took care not to mention Camila. I wanted her all to myself. At school I pretended Esteban was a study partner. At his house I pretended I was there for Esteban.

His mother, Eugenia, had welcomed me from the first day as if I were a distant nephew. She was a broad woman, with rounded shoulders and a way of moving that seemed calculated not to make a sound. She was forty-four and dressed in those loose dresses women wore in summer. She knew how to smile with half her face while the other half studied you.

“Come whenever you like,” she told me that first afternoon as she served me lemonade. “It’s good for Esteban to have a friend. It wasn’t easy for him to adjust after what happened to his father.”

That same evening, Camila told me the story in the courtyard. Their father had died in an industrial accident at an oil company, a collapse on a platform. The company had paid out a large insurance settlement and a monthly pension. They had moved to the south of the country to start over. Eugenia had spent years holding everything together on her own.

Camila was the inspiration for my nightly jerk-offs. I would lock myself in my room, wedge the door shut, and grab my cock while thinking about her. I imagined her sitting astride me, that denim skirt hiked up to her waist and no panties on, letting me see her wet cunt before dropping herself in one motion onto my cock all the way to the base. I imagined her kneeling between my legs, her full-lipped mouth open, sucking me slowly, pulling me from her mouth only to lick my balls before taking me all the way back in. I imagined her on all fours in my bed, her ass sticking up toward me, begging me in a little-girl voice to split her cunt open at last. I came within minutes, every time, with a force that spattered my stomach all the way up to my chest with semen. Whenever I saw her at home, in shorts and a tight T-shirt, her nipples showing through the fabric, I would leave the living room praying no one would notice the erection straining against my jeans.

Eugenia noticed before I did. She began looking at me differently. She would pass very close when serving me an afternoon snack, so close that I felt the fabric of her dress brush my arm, and sometimes one heavy breast pressed against my shoulder for a second longer than necessary. She rested her hand on my shoulder for a second longer than necessary. I registered everything and nothing at the same time, too busy watching her daughter.

Then Tomás appeared.

He was a twenty-year-old guy, tall, with slicked-back hair and a borrowed car. He showed up on Fridays to pick up Camila and took her away for two hours. I stayed in the living room with Esteban, pretending to listen to whatever was on the radio, while inside I was eaten up by rage, imagining that son of a bitch fucking Camila in the back seat, her skirt pushed up and her legs spread against the window.

***

One afternoon in October I arrived to pick up Esteban a little earlier than usual. Eugenia opened the door.

“Your friend went to buy yerba at the Chinese market on the corner. Come in; he’ll be back soon.”

I sat down on the sofa. A few minutes later the doorbell rang. It was Tomás, groomed and smelling of cheap cologne.

“Good afternoon. I came to pick up Camila.”

Eugenia let him in. Camila appeared freshly showered, wet hair clinging to her neck and a sweet perfume filling every corner of the living room. She wore a short skirt that outlined the legs I knew only from memory. She barely acknowledged me with a nod, grabbed her purse, and left arm in arm with Tomás. The door closed, and I remained sitting there, chewing on a fury I couldn’t show.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” I told Eugenia.

“Go ahead. Esteban shouldn’t be long.”

I closed the bathroom door and turned on the faucet to cover any noise. I sat on the toilet, breathing deeply and staring at the tiles, trying to ease the pressure that had built up in my chest. Then I saw it. On top of the laundry basket, hastily folded, lay a white lace panty. Camila had showered and forgotten to take it down to the laundry room.

I picked it up like a thief. It was soft, still warm in places. I turned it over and found the evidence: in the crotch there was a dry yellowish stain and, beside it, the edge of a newer discharge, still damp, with that smell—a mixture of clean sweat and a young woman’s cunt. I brought it to my face and inhaled deeply. My cock grew brutally hard right there, against my jeans. I undid them with my free hand, pulled down the zipper, and yanked it out. The head was purple and tense, a clear drop gathering at the tip. I pressed the panty against my nose, buried my tongue in the stained part, and sucked at the lace, searching for the taste of Camila’s cunt. I started jerking off with my right hand while rubbing the panty all over my face with my left, breathing in every fold.

I closed my eyes. I was in the back seat of a car with her, her skirt pushed up, no panties on, her legs spread against the window, begging me to fuck her all the way. I imagined her in her bed, on all fours, her pink, glistening cunt waiting for me. I squeezed my foreskin with a faster and faster rhythm, my fingers sticky with pre-cum, my breathing ragged. I took the fantasy so far that I didn’t hear the footsteps in the hall.

The door flew open.

It was Esteban, with a face that still didn’t understand what he was seeing. In one motion I tried to tuck my cock back into my pants, grab the zipper, and drop the panty. The zipper went up crooked and caught a piece of the skin on my foreskin.

“Aaah!”

“What’s wrong?” Esteban asked, and then he saw me. He saw the panty on the floor. He saw my hand at my crotch. He saw my face. “I’m going to get my mother.”

“No, Esteban, don’t tell her anything, please!”

He didn’t listen. He ran out. I stood in the middle of the bathroom with my jeans open, my cock caught between the teeth of the zipper, and a hot pain rising to my stomach. The skin was caught in the worst possible way. Any movement made me grimace.

***

Two minutes later Eugenia came in without knocking. I covered myself with both hands. My face burned with embarrassment.

“Let me see. Don’t be shy; it’s not the first time I’ve seen a man’s cock. The same thing happened to Esteban a while back, and I fixed it for him. Take your hands away.”

I lowered my hands. My best friend’s mother was kneeling in front of me, thirty centimeters away, examining my crotch with a nurse’s concentration. The pain and nerves had made me lose my erection completely. My cock hung limp, my foreskin caught in the zipper and a drop of blood showing on the skin. I felt like a six-year-old boy trapped inside a young man’s body.

“This is bad. Esteban, come here.”

Esteban peered in from the hall.

“Go to the pharmacy on the corner and bring alcohol and cotton.”

“Mom, there’s some in the medicine cabinet…”

“If I tell you to go to the pharmacy, you go to the pharmacy. Take money from my purse and come straight back.”

Esteban left. The pharmacy was four blocks away. We heard him close the front door.

Eugenia waited five seconds. Then she looked me up and down.

“Let’s see what we can do with you.”

She began working the zipper patiently. She pulled it a millimeter, stopped, freed the skin, then pulled another millimeter. Her hands were warm and firm. Her long fingers, with nails trimmed close, brushed the base of my cock every time she moved. Camila’s smell still spun through my head, but now it mingled with Eugenia’s perfume, something thicker, more mature, and with the warm womanly scent escaping from her cleavage whenever she leaned forward. I felt a different kind of pulse in my crotch. I began to swell. I tried to think of anything else—the Sunday match, my history exam—but my cock kept rising on its own beneath Eugenia’s gaze until it was hard against my belly. I was horrified to realize I was getting hard again with her there on her knees, her mouth inches from my glans.

“Eugenia, I’m sorry, I…”

“Shhh. Don’t say anything. It’s the most normal thing in the world.”

She freed the zipper with a sharp movement. The skin of my foreskin was marked but intact. I could have thanked her; I could have asked her to leave. I did neither. She didn’t get up.

“What a size you have,” she murmured. “I didn’t imagine this when I came in.”

She placed her open hand beneath me, weighing my balls. Then she slowly closed it around the shaft. She began massaging me without looking me in the eyes, her wrist moving up and down in a slow rhythm, making the glans appear and disappear beneath the foreskin. Her tongue slipped between her lips now and then, as if she were getting ready.

“Eugenia, please…”

“What I’m about to do has its reasons. But you don’t tell anyone. Anyone. Do you promise?”

I nodded. I couldn’t speak.

***

“I know you come to this house for my daughter. I knew it from the first day. And I know you were left with that look on your face today when Tomás took her away. I don’t like seeing you like that.”

She leaned forward and put me in her mouth. For the first time in my life I felt a woman’s tongue running along my cock from the base to the glans. She wrapped her lips around me and lowered herself slowly, until the tip touched the roof of her mouth. Then she kept going down. I felt it hit the back of her throat, and I didn’t hear her gag; I heard her breathe through her nose and take a little more, until her nose brushed my pubic hair. I closed my eyes. I leaned my back against the sink. The tiles gave me a blurred reflection of her pinned-up hair moving slowly between my legs.

“Eugenia… my God…”

“Shut up. And pay attention to me.”

She pulled my cock from her mouth with a wet sound, leaving a strand of saliva hanging from her lower lip. She licked my balls one at a time, put them in her mouth, and sucked them calmly as if they were candies. She dragged her tongue from down there to the tip, following the thick vein running beneath my shaft. On the glans she circled her tongue as if she were licking an ice cream cone, and for the first time she fixed her eyes on mine.

“Look at me, boy. I want you to see who’s sucking you.”

She opened the first button of her dress. Then the second. Then the third. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Her tits fell free: two large, white, heavy breasts, with dark nipples standing up like fingers. She arranged them with both hands and placed my cock between them, clasped it with her breasts, and began moving them up and down while continuing to suck the glans whenever it appeared above her cleavage. I had read about it in some magazine at a cousin’s house, but I had never felt it. The sensation of the hot skin of her tits enveloping my cock, with her tongue emerging between them to lick the tip, took my breath away.

“This is what you wanted Camila to do to you, isn’t it?” she said between licks, saliva dripping from her chin into the valley between her breasts. “I’ll do it better for you. I know how to suck a cock, unlike that little girl. Do you like the way I suck you?”

“Yes… yes…”

“Say it. Tell women things properly.”

“I like the way you suck me, Eugenia. I love the way you suck my cock.”

“That’s better.”

She took me all the way into her mouth again. Now without holding back. Her head moved up and down in a tight rhythm, her throat squeezing my tip each time, her right hand massaging my balls, her left on my hip guiding the motion. I grabbed her head with both hands, afraid of hurting her, afraid she would stop. She grabbed my wrists and made me grip her hair harder.

“Fuck my mouth,” she said with my cock inside her, her voice muffled. “Fuck my mouth as if it were a cunt.”

I began moving her head myself, both hands on the back of her neck, driving my cock to the back of her throat again and again. She didn’t resist: she opened her mouth wider, stuck out her tongue so the tip would strike it too, and let saliva run down her chin to her breasts. Each thrust drew a guttural sound from her that traveled up my shaft like an electric shock. The kitchen, the living room, the entire bathroom disappeared from the map. There was only her mouth, her throat, her tits squeezing me every time she came close, the smell of Camila’s panty still in the air mixing with the heavy scent of her mother.

“I’m coming, Eugenia, I’m coming…”

I tried to pull away instinctively. She grabbed my hips and pushed me forward until my cock was buried against the back of her throat.

“Inside. All your milk inside. Not a drop gets wasted.”

I came in her mouth with my head against the wall, biting my lip so I wouldn’t make a sound. I felt every spurt leave me like a lash—one, two, three, four—and she took them all without pulling away, swallowing between spurts, her tongue working beneath the glans to draw out every last drop of semen. The final spasm caught her sucking the tip with her eyes closed. She stayed still for a long while, my cock inside her, letting it empty itself.

When she took me from her mouth, her lips were shining and a thread of semen hung from the corner of her mouth. She stuck out her tongue, gathered it up with her finger, put it in her mouth, and swallowed it while looking at me. Then she straightened up, tucked her tits back into her dress, buttoned it without hurrying, and rinsed her mouth at the sink. She looked at me in the mirror as she wiped her lips with a piece of paper.

“Zip up your pants. Let’s go to the living room.”

***

I fastened them as best I could, still trembling, my soft, sticky cock shifting around inside my underwear. When Esteban returned from the pharmacy, he found me sitting on the sofa, going over the newspaper without understanding a single word. Eugenia cleaned the wound on my foreskin with a cotton ball soaked in alcohol, her voice calm and her hand steady. The sting of the alcohol made me grit my teeth, and she smiled faintly, as if the little pain were the signature of what had just happened.

“There. Be more careful with the zipper next time.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I said goodbye at the door. Esteban patted me on the back as if nothing had happened, still a little embarrassed about having given me away. Camila hadn’t returned. Eugenia walked me to the threshold and grabbed my arm for a moment before letting go. She leaned close to my ear. I felt her warm breath on my neck and one breast brush against my arm.

“Remember your promise. And remember that I also realized why you got your zipper caught. Next time you come, you won’t need Camila’s panty. I’ll be waiting when you come to see my son, and I’ll be wearing nothing under my dress. You’ll see that a grown woman’s cunt squeezes differently.”

She closed the door. I stood on the sidewalk for a full minute, not knowing what to do with everything that had just happened to me. The sun was sinking behind the neighborhood rooftops, and the street was full of kids returning from the match. I was someone else. I had entered that house for the daughter and left marked by the mother.

When I started walking home, I already knew I was going back the next day. And the day after that. And the day after that. Camila would keep going out with Tomás, and I wouldn’t care nearly as much anymore. I had a promise to keep with a woman who knew exactly what she was doing with her hands, her mouth, and her silence.