The Night My Aunt Got Drunk and Slept in My Bed

There are dawns you never forget, no matter how many years go by. Mine was the one on my parents’ wedding anniversary, in the middle of January, just after I’d turned eighteen. It was stifling hot in my house, a sticky heat that seeped through the cracks and stayed there, thick and unmoving even with the windows left open.

We lived in a two-story house. My room was the only one on the ground floor, separated from the rest by a staircase and two hallways. Upstairs my parents and my younger sister slept. That distance, which for years had been a blessing because it let me do my own thing without anyone bothering me, that night was going to become something else.

Just so you can picture it: I was freshly eighteen and had never been with a woman. Not even really come close. A clumsy kiss at a party, a couple of hands brushing mine, and that was it. My friends talked about fucking as if it were the most natural thing in the world, they’d go into graphic detail about how some girl sucked them off, how they fucked another one in the ass, and I’d nod so I wouldn’t be the only virgin in the group. My entire sex life fit in a browser tab and in my right hand. I’d jerked off so many times watching videos of mature women that my dick was already used to the rhythm of my own palm. That was all.

On Saturday, for the anniversary, a lot of people came. Uncles, cousins, neighbors, my parents’ friends who only showed up on special dates. The house smelled of empanadas, red wine, mixed perfume, and disguised sweat. I helped with the drinks and put up with the same old questions, the ones adults ask when they don’t know what else to say: how university was going, whether I had a girlfriend, whether I was still as skinny as ever.

Among the guests was Aunt Mariela. We called her aunt even though she was really my mother’s aunt, my grandmother’s younger sister. She was forty-nine, and for a while now the women in the family had taken turns inviting her to everything: Sunday lunches, birthdays, any gathering where she wouldn’t have to go back to her apartment alone. Her husband had left her three years earlier for a much younger girl, and although Mariela acted like she’d already gotten over it, we all knew that wasn’t true.

That night she’d had more than she should have. I watched her from a distance, laughing loudly with my mother and my Aunt Rosario, raising her glass every time someone proposed a toast. She was wearing a short black dress, with a modest but sufficient neckline, and at some point she’d taken off her heels and was walking barefoot around the living room. She had a wide waist, big hips, a round heavy ass that the dress outlined against her body whenever she bent down to pick something up off the floor. Her big tits strained at the neckline and bounced with every loud laugh. Until that night I’d never really allowed myself to look at her. She was my aunt, period. But at two in the morning, after three beers, I looked at her, and my dick started swelling inside my pants without asking permission.

The party began to wind down. People left in waves, long hugs at the door, promises to have lunch next Sunday. My sister went upstairs first. I stayed a while longer until my mother told me to go to sleep, that they’d take care of the rest. I went down to my room, took off my clothes, and stayed in my boxers. It was way too hot for a sheet. I put on my headphones, found a calm playlist, and tried to fall asleep.

I don’t know how much time passed. Fifteen minutes, half an hour. I’m a light sleeper, and I immediately noticed the door opening. I pretended to be asleep, with my back to the entrance. I heard clumsy footsteps, whispers.

“Careful, careful, don’t let her fall,” said my mother, in that slow voice she gets when she’s had a drink.

“Oh, she weighs more than she looks. Should we just put her down like that?” This was my Aunt Rosario.

“Yes, leave her. We’ll find her something tomorrow. Let her sleep here, in the boy’s room nobody will bother her.”

“And him?”

“He’s already asleep. Poor thing, he ended up exhausted. He won’t notice a thing.”

I felt the mattress give under a new weight. The two women awkwardly settled whoever it was in place, laughing under their breath, trying not to make noise. They turned off the light and closed the door. I didn’t move.

I stayed like that for a long while, face down, pretending. I didn’t want to believe what was happening to me. They’d put some drunk person in my bed, in my own room, on my night, without asking. My anger lasted exactly until I felt the steady breathing behind me and a scent of sweet perfume mixed with wine. Then I slowly turned over, switched on my phone’s flashlight, and pointed it.

It was Mariela.

She was lying on her side, covered to the waist by a thin sheet. She still had on the black dress, though someone had lowered the zipper down her back. Her hair was disheveled on the pillow, a strand stuck to her lips. And she was asleep so deeply, with that heavy stillness alcohol brings.

No way. It can’t be her.

I turned off the flashlight. I stayed staring at the ceiling, listening to my own heartbeat. I wasn’t going to do anything. That’s what I told myself first. It was Aunt Mariela, she was an older woman, she was drunk, she had no idea where she was. I was a good kid, not a degenerate. I was going to wait until she was fully asleep and go sleep on the couch in the living room. That’s what I told myself.

But my body didn’t obey. My dick had gotten rock hard inside my boxers, pushing the fabric upward, throbbing with every beat of my heart. I grabbed it through the cotton without thinking and squeezed it to calm it down. It didn’t help. It got worse.

I stayed because my mind was already imagining things I wouldn’t be able to forget. I stayed because for the first time in my life I had a sleeping woman in my own bed, and because something inside me — something I didn’t know yet — pushed me to turn again and look at her.

I did it. Slowly.

I lowered the sheet millimeter by millimeter. The dress had ridden up to her thighs. I saw her white legs, round, with the pink imprint of the stocking where the elastic had pressed. I pulled the sheet down farther. The zipper on the dress was open in back and I could see the red lace bra, tight, outlining a broad, soft back. I saw the beginning of her ass, two huge cheeks pressed inside a red silk panty wedged between her folds. My erection started to ache inside the boxers, the head already wet with precum sticking to the fabric.

***

What happened after that I’m going to tell exactly as it happened, without dressing it up, because to dress it up would be to lie.

I moved closer. I pressed myself against her as much as I could without touching her with my hands. I rested the front of my body against her back and felt her heat through the fabric of the dress. She smelled of floral perfume and underneath it, of skin sweaty from a hot night. I brushed her ass with my erection, just once, barely. I waited. Nothing. She didn’t react. I did it again, this time with a little more pressure. She still didn’t move. Her breathing remained the same, slow and deep.

I took a breath. I pulled my boxers down to my knees. My dick sprang out, hard, taut, the head swollen and purplish. I felt the cool air against my skin and the sensation of doing something I couldn’t undo. I pushed my cock against her ass, this time with no fabric between us. The red silk panty I’d seen beneath the dress a second earlier felt soft and warm, and on the other side I could make out the two big cheeks, hot, pressing into me. I started moving, slowly, back and forth, sliding my cock between her ass cheeks over the silk, my breath cut short, eyes closed, ear pressed against the back of her neck to hear if anything changed. The head was leaking and wetting the panty fabric.

And it changed. But not the way I expected.

Mariela thrust her ass back. Hard. As if she wanted to return the movement. It wasn’t a reflex from sleep. It was a response.

I froze. For a second I thought she was going to turn over and slap me so hard it would be heard all the way to the second floor. But no. She pushed back again. And again. And again. My cock, wedged between the two cheeks of her ass, felt all the pressure of her hips moving against me, rubbing up and down, and the silk fabric rising little by little until I felt the bare skin heat directly against me.

“Aunt?” I whispered, barely able to make a sound.

She didn’t answer. But she stretched one arm back slowly and took my hand. She guided it to one of her tits, over the fabric of the dress. I squeezed it without thinking. It was big, heavy, soft even through the cloth. I felt her nipple pressing under the bra, hard as a pebble. I slipped my hand under the neckline and grabbed her tit directly, the hot flesh filling my whole palm, the nipple standing between my fingers. She let out a faint sigh, a low purr, and pressed my hand harder into her flesh so I’d hold her more firmly.

Then she turned her head a little and opened her eyes. Just a slit. And she whispered:

“Keep going.”

One word. And that ended any argument I could have had with my conscience.

I pulled the dress zipper all the way down. She lifted her arms without making a sound and let me take it off over her head. She was left in the red bra and that silk panty I’d seen before. I undid the hooks of the bra with clumsy hands and her tits fell heavy against the mattress, two mature woman’s tits with large dark areolas, the nipples standing up hard. I was naked except for my boxers, the cock rigid, throbbing, pointing toward the ceiling. The light coming through the blinds, an orange sliver from the streetlamp, fell across the side of her body and drew the curve of her hip and the soft bulge of her belly.

“Don’t talk,” she told me, as if reading my mind. “And don’t make noise.”

She kissed me. It was my first real kiss, the first with a woman who knew how to kiss. Her mouth was warm, her breath tasted of wine, her tongue patient. She slipped her tongue into my mouth slowly, playing with mine, biting my lower lip now and then. She showed me how, without really showing me. I followed her rhythm as best I could, clumsily, feeling as if the whole world had shrunk to the size of that bed.

While she kissed me, she slid her hand down my chest, over my stomach, until she grabbed my cock. She wrapped her palm around it, felt all of it, measured it slowly from top to bottom. She pulled away from my mouth to look at me.

“You’ve got it so hard,” she whispered against my ear, with the faintest smile. “Poor thing. You’ve wanted this for a while.”

She started jerking me off, sliding her fist up and down, squeezing just below the head. With her other hand she brought my fingers to my own mouth so I’d wet them and then made me lower my hand to her cunt. She slipped my fingers under the red panty, moving the silk aside.

She was wet. Soaked. Dripping. I knew because the silk was heavy, stuck to her, and inside it was all a warm puddle. She had a hairy cunt, with a patch of black hair over her pubis, and thick, swollen, slippery lips. She guided my fingers over her clit with the patience only experience gives, made me circle it, squeezed it lightly, and then sank my two fingers inside her. She was hot inside, tight, moving on her own around my fingers as if she were sucking them.

“That’s it, baby, that’s it,” she whispered, her voice rough with wine and desire. “Move them slowly. Feel how my cunt is for you.”

I fingered her in and out. She gripped my wrist, set the rhythm. I didn’t know anything. But she wasn’t expecting me to know.

“Slowly,” she whispered. “Don’t be in a hurry. Eat my tits first.”

She pulled my head down to her breasts. I grabbed one with both hands and put the entire nipple in my mouth. I sucked as best I could, with my tongue, with my teeth just a little, and she arched her back against the mattress and bit her lip to keep from moaning. I moved to the other breast. I licked all around the areola, tugged the nipple with my teeth. She pressed my head into her flesh, guided me, silently asked me to suck harder.

She took off the panty. She did it herself, lifting her hips off the mattress and throwing it to the floor. She stayed completely naked, her tits falling to the sides, her soft belly, her hairy cunt glistening wet in the orange light of the streetlamp. She spread her legs and grabbed her knees to open them wider. She looked at me.

“Come here. Get between them.”

I settled between my aunt’s legs. My cock pulsed in the air, the head brushing the hair of her pubis. She took my face in both hands, looked me in the eyes for a second and said, almost without a voice:

“Look at me. Look at me when I take it in.”

And she put it in herself. She grabbed my cock with her hand, guided it to the entrance of her cunt, and pushed her hips upward. The head went in first, tight, sliding through all that wetness, and then the rest sank in at once, swallowing me whole.

I closed my eyes without meaning to. Feeling that for the first time was like falling backward into warm water. It was tight and soft at the same time, slippery, throbbing. My aunt’s cunt sucked me inward, closed around my cock, and squeezed me. I wasn’t going to last. I started moving and by the third thrust I already felt the end coming over me, a hot tingling climbing up from my balls.

“Hold on,” she told me, grabbing my hips with both hands to stop me. “Wait. Breathe. Don’t come yet, little one.”

I did as she said. I stayed still, buried in her to the hilt, my forehead resting on her shoulder, feeling the sweat of both of us mixing together. She kissed my temple, ran her hand down my back, told me things in my ear while stroking my hair. With her mouth pressed to my ear, she told me how full she felt, how big I was, how much she loved having me inside her. She squeezed her cunt around my cock on purpose, two, three times, so I’d feel her milking me. She waited until my breathing was normal again.

“Now slowly. Pull out and go in. Feel me.”

I started moving again. This time I focused on her. On how her mouth opened when I thrust all the way in, on how she closed her eyes, on how her tits rose and fell with every stroke. My cock went in and out of her shining wet, soaked in her juices. Without speaking, she taught me to find a rhythm, to wait at the bottom for a second before pulling out, to read her body. She made me tilt my hips to hit a deeper spot. I pressed my mouth to her breast and sucked it while I fucked her.

“That’s it, that’s it, my love, that’s how you fuck a woman,” she whispered, gripping my hair. “Hard. Harder. Break me.”

I drove my cock in as deep as it would go, with more and more eagerness each time. The mattress creaked softly and I had to bite her shoulder to keep from panting out loud. I grabbed both her legs and spread them wider, lifted them until I could put them over my shoulders, and rammed into her from above, watching her hairy cunt swallow my cock again and again. She covered her mouth with her hand to keep from crying out. Her eyes went white, blank for a second. Her thighs started shaking.

When her legs trembled, both of them, around my waist, I felt like I was going to explode and asked her in a low voice what to do.

“Outside,” she said, just as low, breathless, biting her knuckle. “Pull out. Come on my belly. Come for me, little one, come now.”

She came first. I felt her cunt clench in waves around my cock, squeeze and release and squeeze again, and her whole body tremble beneath mine. She held back her moan against the palm of her hand. I barely made it. I pulled out at the last second, grabbed my cock with my hand, and came all over her stomach, in thick spurts that landed between her tits and on her navel, almost in silence, biting her shoulder so I wouldn’t shout. It was a long orgasm, one of those you feel from the feet up. She grabbed my wrist and made me keep shaking my cock against her skin until the very last drop. She held back a laugh against my ear when I finished.

“So good,” she whispered, smiling, running a finger through the cum on her belly. “You had so much saved up, little one.”

She brought her finger to her mouth and sucked it. She looked me in the eyes while she did it.

***

We stayed like that for a while, holding each other, in silence, listening to the old sounds of the house. The clock in the living room. The faucet dripping in the kitchen. Some car passing in the street. I didn’t know what to say. She didn’t say anything at first either.

Then she helped me clean her off with the old T-shirt I had on the chair. She wiped the fabric over her belly and tits, calmly removing my cum as if it were just another thing in life. She got dressed slowly, without hurry. She combed her hair with her fingers. She looked at me from the bedroom door and smiled, a tired, almost sad smile, and said:

“This never happened. But thank you.”

And she left.

When I got up the next day at noon, Mariela was already gone. She’d gone back to her apartment early. At lunch my mother mentioned that Aunt Mariela had been in a much better mood that morning, that you could tell the party had done her good. My Aunt Rosario agreed. My father didn’t give an opinion because he had a hangover.

I kept quiet and ate.

Mariela and I never talked about what happened again. We kept seeing each other at Sunday lunches. We greeted each other with a kiss on the cheek, as always. Sometimes, when she let her guard down, she’d look at me a second longer than usual. So would I. And that was all.

But that night, the night my aunt slept drunk in my bed, is still the first of all my nights. The real one. The one that taught me, without my asking, what an adult woman’s desire was.