My Parents’ Housekeeper and My First Time

At eighteen, I still hadn’t been with a woman, and it was eating away at me. I’d had a couple of girlfriends, clumsy attempts in their houses, half-hearted groping in late-afternoon movie showings, but for one reason or another it always ended at the attempt. The more it slipped away from me, the more urgent the idea became.

We lived in a big house in the south of the city. My father was an engineer, my mother handled the accounting for a distribution company, and my two brothers were always out, at soccer games or at friends’ houses. Since my parents barely had time, there was always a live-in maid in the house, taking care of the cleaning, the cooking, and the laundry. They came from far-off towns, slept in the staff room on the rooftop, and rested on Sundays.

When Rosenda came to work for us, I paid her the bare minimum of attention. She was a woman of about forty-two, from a town in Oaxaca, short, with thin arms and a soft little belly under her loose sweaters. She wore her hair pulled back in a tight braid, her cheekbones were sharp, and her teeth were crooked. She always dressed in a dark long skirt and a chambra that hid everything about her. The last thing I would have imagined was that that woman was going to be the one to initiate me.

Six months went by in which I barely exchanged a word with her. At night I locked myself in my room with the VCR and the porn VHS tapes I traded with schoolmates. One Saturday they lent me a Japanese porn film. The actress was an older woman, with features somewhat like Rosenda’s, though much more attractive. Something kept turning over in my head after that.

I started looking at her differently. Finding her in the kitchen under the excuse of a glass of water, lingering in the doorway when she hung the laundry on the rooftop. I wasn’t turned on yet, but something in me was connecting ideas it had never connected before.

One afternoon I came back from playing soccer with the neighborhood boys. I went in through the kitchen, sweaty, and as always headed straight for the service bathroom next to the laundry room. I didn’t knock. I threw the door open and there she was, sitting on the toilet, her skirt hiked up to her waist and her white panties around her ankles. I caught sight of her thighs spread open and a dark, thick triangle between her legs before she let out a scream.

“Sorry, Rosenda, sorry!” I said, backing up and slamming the door shut.

I went to my room with my heart in my throat. That night, when I masturbated, I didn’t think about the Japanese actress or my last girlfriend. I thought about Rosenda. Those brown thighs, the blackness of the hair, the face she made when she saw me.

If I see her like that again, I’m not running away.

I started turning over the idea of seeing her naked again. Back then there were no cell phones with cameras or anything like that. I borrowed a camcorder from a cousin, one of those big ones with a cassette inside, thinking I’d be able to hide it in the staff room. When I went up there with it in one hand and the other shaking, I realized how ridiculous the plan was: the camera wouldn’t fit anywhere and I had no idea how to set it up to record on its own.

But I was already there. And I was so horny I didn’t want to leave empty-handed. I opened the drawer of her dresser and rummaged through her things. I found her panties folded up. They were huge, white, old-fabric women’s panties. I didn’t care. I took a pair and ran back down to my room.

Three months later my mother found them in my closet while she was putting away ironed clothes. By then I didn’t even remember them. When I came home that afternoon, the two of them were there in the living room, my mother holding the panties and Rosenda with her head bowed.

“Can you explain this to me?” my mother asked, in a voice that promised blows.

I tried to say it was a joke, that I’d hidden them from a friend, that they were a costume for a party. It didn’t work. My mother grabbed my hair, slapped me twice in front of Rosenda, and sent me to my room as punishment without dinner.

I went two days without coming out. On the third, Rosenda came in to clean my room. I resented her for having opened her mouth and I was cold to her.

“Young man, forgive me,” she told me in a low voice while she dusted the desk. “I didn’t want them to hit you. I swear it wasn’t my intention.”

I softened. I got out of bed, went over, and gave her a hug neither of us was expecting. She smelled like cheap soap and sweat, an earthy, slightly sour smell. I ran my hand down her back, felt the rough fabric of her sweater and the clasp of her bra. Without thinking, I slid my hand down to her waist and squeezed a little.

I got hard right there, against her. Rosenda felt it, took a step back, and looked at me with narrowed eyes.

“So that’s why you wanted my panties, isn’t it?” she asked very seriously.

I denied everything. I acted offended, told her how could she think that, that she was an older woman and it was disrespectful of her to come at me with that. By some miracle of acting, she doubted me. And when she doubted me, I understood I held the cards.

“If you tell my mother anything, I’m going to tell my father you used to sneak into my room to watch me sleep,” I said.

Her eyes filled with tears. She begged me not to do that, said they’d fire her, that she had nowhere to go. With the heat of eighteen years clouding everything, I saw my chance.

“I’m not going to say anything,” I answered. “But in exchange I want you to watch something with me.”

***

I took advantage of a Friday when my parents stayed out late at an office dinner and my brothers were with cousins on the other side of the city. I called her to the living room, sat her on the couch, and put on one of my tapes. A blonde woman, two men. I kept the sound low so it wouldn’t carry into the street.

Rosenda clutched her skirt with both hands. She turned her head to look away, but her eyes kept drifting back to the screen. I told her to relax, that it was just a movie. I touched her thigh over the skirt, slowly, with one finger only.

She stood up as if I’d burned her. She left the living room crying. I went after her, frightened by my own stupidity, and caught up to her in the kitchen hallway.

“Sorry, Rosenda, sorry, I didn’t mean to disrespect you,” I told her.

I hugged her. This time she hugged me back too. And again, without meaning to, my hands slid down her back to her ass. And again, without meaning to, I felt how big it was and how good it felt under that long skirt. I pressed her against me so she could feel my erection. My whole body trembled when she, instead of pushing me away, let out a nervous laugh.

“Let go of me, young man, let go, because if someone comes they’ll see us,” she murmured.

That was what finally did it for me. I went to my room and masturbated three times in a row.

***

From that night on I changed tactics. Every time she went upstairs to clean, I left a movie in the VCR on pause, as if I’d forgotten it was on. I imagined she’d walk in, see the image frozen in some impossible position, and come down to my bed hot and ready. It never happened. But I kept trying.

My father had the rooftop staff room remodeled because he wanted to install a satellite dish. They renovated the bathroom and put in a new window, a narrow little one that looked out onto the inner courtyard. I saw it and saw my chance.

One morning, when Rosenda went down to the market, I went up to the rooftop with a tube of glue. I put glue on the track of the window latch, let it dry, and checked that it could no longer be fully closed. I had a toy stashed in my closet, an old sort of cardboard cube with mirrors inside that worked like a toy periscope. It was exactly what I needed.

That night, when Rosenda went up to bathe, I went up behind her in silence. I crouched by the window, slid the periscope through the gap, and turned the mirrors. The reflection was terrible, distorted and blurry, but I could see her.

She undressed slowly, like someone doing the same thing for thirty years. She had the body of a woman who had always worked and who had given birth. Small, drooping breasts, with long, large, dark nipples. A soft belly. But her ass saved her: it was big, round, two brown cheeks that moved as she bent to turn on the water.

I was so deep in the image, like someone possessed, when she lifted her head and looked straight toward the window. I froze. For a moment I expected the scream, my father’s footsteps coming up the stairs, my mother’s slap.

But Rosenda came over to the window, wrapped in a towel, and opened it.

“Young man, what are you doing there? Come inside before they see you,” she said in a low voice.

I went in. The little room had a yellow bulb that cast long shadows. Rosenda stood in the middle, with a towel wrapped around her body and another in her hair, looking at me very seriously.

“If I showed you, now you show me. Take your pants off,” she said.

I thought I was going to faint. I pulled them down with clumsy hands. I was rock hard, so hard it hurt. Rosenda came closer, sucked her fingers as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and grabbed me. She began moving her hand up and down slowly.

“Do you have a girlfriend, young man?” she asked without stopping.

“No.”

“Have you already fucked any girl?”

“Never.”

She smiled to one side. She took my hand and brought it to her chest, still wrapped in the towel. I started squeezing her breast. She let the towel fall from her body. I grabbed her long, dark nipple and pulled it between my fingers. We never stopped looking at each other.

And at that moment, from the hallway downstairs, my mother shouted my name.

Rosenda jumped, covered herself with the towel, and pushed me toward the door.

“Go, go, young man. Tomorrow, tomorrow we’ll talk,” she whispered.

I ran down with my pants half buttoned.

***

The night was endless. The next day, Saturday, my parents left early for some meeting and my brothers were with cousins. I stayed in bed, eyes closed but body awake, listening to Rosenda’s footsteps in the hallway.

Midmorning, without knocking, she opened my bedroom door and came in. She said nothing. She locked the door behind her. She came over to the bed and pulled down the blanket.

She pulled down my pajama pants and took me in her mouth in one go. I had never felt anything like it. Soft, warm, wet. She sucked my cock whole, popped it out with a sound of saliva, grabbed my balls with her other hand and sucked them one by one.

“You got me very hot last night, young man,” she murmured between licks. “I couldn’t sleep.”

I ran my hand through her hair, grabbed the back of her neck. She started going lower, licking between my legs, giving me tongue strokes in places I’d never even imagined. When I realized it, she had her hand under her skirt, masturbating while she sucked me off.

I made her get on top. I lifted her skirt, pulled down her big panties, and slipped two fingers inside her. She was soaked. She made a soft noise, almost a whimper, every time I moved her. I took off her skirt and panties completely, pushed her sweater up over her breasts.

She sat on my face without asking permission. I had to part the thick black hair with my tongue before I found her. She had a strong, sour smell that made me dizzy for a few seconds. Then I got used to it and started licking the way she had sucked me, imitating what I’d seen in the movies, working my tongue in, looking for the little button up top. From her moans I knew I was doing something right.

She turned around over me and started sucking me again while I kept my tongue between her legs. A full sixty-nine. I didn’t last long.

“I’m coming,” I said, pulling her head away.

She shook her head. She swallowed it all and kept sucking until the last drop. When she straightened up, semen was running from the corner of her mouth and dripping onto one of her breasts.

“I want you to fuck me, young man,” she said, wiping herself with the back of her hand.

I looked for a condom in the nightstand drawer. I couldn’t find one. While I rummaged, she put me back in her mouth and masturbated me at the same time.

“What are you looking for?” she asked.

“A condom.”

“Forget it. Put it in me already.”

She climbed on. In one sitting, with no hands, she shoved it all the way in. She let out a long moan. I grabbed her ass, pulled her cheeks apart, ran my fingers over her asshole while she moved on top of me like a madwoman. I felt I was going to come in two minutes and I threw her onto her back to have control myself.

I parted the hair with my fingers and slid it in again. I started slowly and built up speed until the bed was hitting the wall. She started squeezing her legs together, making strange faces, saying, “Wait, young man, wait.” I didn’t wait. And I felt her come, her whole body contracting around me. I thought that was it. Ten seconds later she came again. I didn’t know that was possible.

“Change position, lie on your side,” she panted.

We both lay on our sides. I entered her from behind, one hand on her breast and the other between her legs, rubbing her clit like I’d seen in some movie. I kissed her neck, ran my tongue over her ear. When I told her I was about to come, she suddenly pulled away.

“No, not yet,” she said.

She got on all fours, ass raised, looking at me over her shoulder. I entered her like that. I didn’t last a minute. I pulled out just in time and came on her back. It ran all the way into her hair, splattered her face when she turned, trickled down the groove between her ass cheeks.

“That’s a lot, young man,” she said, laughing.

***

When I thought it was all over, we lay spooning and started moving again. I brushed her ass with my cock, already half asleep, until suddenly I felt it hardening again against her anus. I pushed without thinking, and she didn’t move away.

“Do it slowly, young man,” she said in a low voice.

It took me about ten minutes to get it in. She sucked me first, spat on me, put her fingers in her mouth and ran them over herself from behind. When it went in, she let out a long moan and stayed still. Then she started moving on her own, giving me instructions, telling me when to go slower and when harder. I grabbed her waist and gave it to her until I came inside her.

That was my first time. The first of many with Rosenda during the year and a half she went on living in the house. My initiation didn’t come with any high school girlfriend or party girl, but with a woman who at first seemed invisible to me and who ended up teaching me everything an adolescent can possibly learn.