That Night with My Daughter’s Boyfriend Changed Everything

I was always the kind of man who takes care of himself. At forty-seven, I worked out five days a week, ate without excess, and dressed carefully. Dark-haired, with a trimmed beard and a few gray hairs I no longer bothered trying to hide. My wife Miriam used to say I was vain, that I looked at myself too much in mirrors, and she was right. I liked looking good. I also liked it when women noticed me when I walked into a place. It was a flaw I knew I had and accepted.

I had two children: Tomás, fifteen, calm and drama-free, and Claudia, who had just turned eighteen. With Tomás, everything flowed. With Claudia, it was another story. Too much like me in temperament, too certain of her own decisions for a father who preferred being consulted before someone acted. Since she was sixteen, she’d had her own ideas about everything, and most of them were ideas I would probably have had at her age too, which only made me more nervous.

I’m conservative. Not in the political sense, but in everyday life. Things have an order. That you arrive at a reasonable hour, that that outfit is too flashy, that that boy doesn’t inspire confidence. Miriam was the one who smoothed everything over. She said the problem was me, not the boys. She was probably right.

The real problem came when Claudia started seeing Marcos.

Marcos was twenty-two and had a body that was hard to ignore. Tall, dark-skinned, with very short black hair and light green eyes that didn’t quite match the rest of him but drew attention. You could tell he trained seriously. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, and that way of moving that men have when they don’t need to prove anything. I disliked him from the start. Not because of anything specific he had done, but because of what he represented: the guy who was going to take my daughter away.

Marcos’s attempts to win me over were frequent and methodical. Questions about sports, comments about the car, polite remarks about the house. I answered with minimal courtesy. Four words, that was it. Miriam nudged me under the table when I did that.

The months passed. His relationship with Claudia became more solid. Marcos started showing up more often, and I learned to tolerate him without it costing me too much visible effort.

***

The turning point came with Miriam’s birthday. Fifty years old. We celebrated it at our country house on the outskirts of the city, with family from both sides and paella for more than twenty people. It was hot for late May, and the pool was the afternoon plan.

Claudia came looking for me with that face she made when she was about to ask for something.

—Dad, Marcos didn’t bring swimming trunks. Do you have a pair he can borrow?

—I’ll look now —I said.

I went upstairs. I opened the dresser drawer and looked through what I had. I only had swim briefs, black, the tight kind I use for laps. I took one out and sat on the edge of the bed.

There was a knock at the door.

—Can I come in, Rodrigo?

—Come in.

Marcos came in barefoot and shirtless. He was wearing athletic shorts and nothing else. His torso was exactly what I had imagined: smooth, no hair, with a muscular definition that came from years of steady training. I handed him the trunks without saying anything.

—Thanks. I’ll try them on and see how they fit.

He pulled down his shorts and underwear in one motion, with no embarrassment at all. My eyes were on the open drawer, but I couldn’t help noticing. He was hanging between his legs, thick even at rest, with his heavy balls pressed against the brown skin of his thigh. It wasn’t just any cock. It was the kind you notice and remember. I looked away too late and realized he had noticed. There was something in the way Marcos moved, in the ease with which he stood completely naked in front of me, that left me speechless for a moment.

The trunks fit him well. Better than they fit me, honestly. His whole package was outlined in front, nothing hidden.

—Is this okay?

—It’s fine —I said—. Go down whenever you want.

The rest of the afternoon I watched him without meaning to. It was an involuntary recognition: that boy had something I had had at his age. I saw him come out of the pool with water sliding over his shoulders, the briefs clinging to his body and outlining every centimeter of his cock and balls, and I felt something vague I couldn’t name at that moment. Something in my crotch that didn’t match what a father should feel looking at his daughter’s boyfriend.

I drank a little more wine and pushed it out of my head.

***

The night ended late. My brother-in-law Rafael had overdone it with beer, and there was no way he should drive, so he, his wife, and their son stayed the night. The problem was the bed arrangement.

—We’ll give them our room —Miriam proposed—. We’ll sleep in the small room with Tomás on the other side.

—And Marcos? —I asked.

—Claudia says he can sleep with her.

—No.

—Rodrigo...

—No. That doesn’t happen in my house.

Miriam sighed.

—Then you sleep with him in our bed and I’ll sleep with Claudia.

I didn’t like it. But that was how it was. Marcos accepted without making any comment. Claudia rolled her eyes and left without saying anything.

I put on a pair of pajama shorts. Marcos stayed in his underwear. I turned off the light and we each got into our side of the bed, with space between us.

—Rodrigo —he said after a while—. Why don’t you like me?

The question came straight out, without hostility. I stayed quiet for a moment.

—It’s not that I don’t like you —I said finally—. It would be the same with anyone who was with Claudia. You’ll understand if you ever have kids.

—So the problem isn’t me, it’s that you’re her father.

—Something like that.

—But she loves you more than anyone —he said—. That doesn’t change because she loves me too.

I didn’t know what to answer. It was an intelligent observation for eleven at night with wine involved. I told him to call me Rodrigo, to use tú with me. He thanked me in quiet silence. Not long after, we both went quiet, and I fell asleep without realizing it.

I woke in the dark, hot. I tried to move and felt something stopping me. Marcos had thrown an arm around me sometime during the night, his warm body pressed against my back, and what I felt pressing against me, hard, thick, throbbing right between my ass cheeks through the thin pajama pants, left no room for interpretation. He had a hard-on and was jabbing it into my ass without knowing it.

I stayed still.

I should have turned over. Moved his arm away. Got up and slept on the sofa. I did none of those things. I stayed motionless, feeling that heat against my back, that thick cock pressing through the fabric, and at some point I realized I was in the same state as he was. Mine was pushing the waistband of my pants forward, just as hard, just as demanding.

I didn’t understand it. I just let it be.

Marcos woke up. He let out a sharp breath and pulled his arm back.

—My God, I’m sorry —he murmured—. When I’m asleep, I don’t control anything.

—It’s okay —I said—. Keep your voice down.

—How embarrassing.

—No need to be. Happens to anyone with dreams.

A silence.

—Does it still happen to you, Rodrigo?

—Yes.

—Now too?

—Yes.

Another silence. Then his hand moved slowly in the dark. It came to me with deliberate slowness, as if giving me time to stop him. My fingers found his wrist. I didn’t push it away.

I turned toward him. I looked at him in the dimness. He looked back. Neither of us said anything.

His hand slid under the waistband of my pants before I realized it. His fingers closed around my cock and I felt the heat of his palm against my bare skin. I was hard in a way I hadn’t been in years, throbbing against his hand. Marcos squeezed gently at first, as if testing, and started moving it up and down with a calm that made me close my eyes and bite my tongue so I wouldn’t moan. I returned the favor. I pulled down his underwear just enough to get his cock out, and when I had it in my hand I was surprised by how thick it was. Bigger than mine. Heavy, hot, with the head already wet with a thick fluid I smeared between my fingers so it would slide better over the skin.

—Fuck, Rodrigo —he whispered against my neck—. Wank me slow.

I did as he said. I gripped his cock with my whole hand and started moving up and down carefully, listening to the way his breath broke. He was doing the same to me. We both knew there were people sleeping on the other side of the wall, that any sound would give us away, and instead of making us back off, that only made both of us hotter. Marcos bit my shoulder to keep from moaning when I sped up, and I held on as best I could when he sped me up in return.

—Take your pants all the way off —I whispered in his ear.

He pulled them down to his knees, and I did the same with mine. We were both naked from the waist down under the sheet, cock to cock, our hands working each other slowly. Marcos ran a finger over the tip of his own, took his hand to his mouth to wet it with saliva, and grabbed my cock again with his slick palm. That was something else. I had to clench my teeth not to let out a moan too loud.

He moved down the bed. He didn’t need to ask permission. I felt him pull the sheet aside, felt him settle between my legs, and suddenly his tongue was at the base of my cock, slowly going up to the tip, licking the whole length. I swallowed a gasp. Marcos took it into his mouth, all the way in, with an ease that could only come from knowing what he was doing. He lowered his head, raised it, sucked the tip with tight lips, and swallowed it whole again. I grabbed his hair with one hand and held on as best I could. It was the first time in my life a man’s mouth had sucked me off, and the sensation was unlike anything I knew: firmer, surer, knowing exactly where to squeeze and where to ease because he had one too.

—Stop, stop —I whispered—. I’m going to come.

He came back up the bed. He kissed my jaw. Then I went down. I did what he had done to me, clumsily at first, not really knowing how to take a cock into my mouth, but wanting to. I sucked him off as best I could. I heard him bite the pillow to keep from moaning. I ran my tongue along the whole length, circled the tip with my lips, held the base with my hand, and took as much as I could. It was my first cock in my mouth, and I was surprised that it didn’t disgust me, but the opposite: hearing him hold back his moans because of me, feeling the salty taste of what was leaking out of him, noticing how he swelled even more between my lips turned me on even more.

I went back up. We ended up jerking each other off face to face, foreheads pressed together, breaths mixing, our hands slipping on both of us. I sped mine up and he sped his up. Marcos came first, without warning, with a low moan he muffled against my neck. I felt the hot burst spill over my hand, over his own belly, thick and abundant, one spurt after another. I held on for three more squeezes and came too, all my semen spilling against his closed hand, against his thigh, against the sheet. It was long, intense, and a low moan escaped me that he covered with his other hand to muffle it.

We stayed like that for a minute, breathing hard and quiet, hands sticky, bodies pressed together.

—Fuck —he whispered—. Fuck.

—Shut up.

When we were done, we both lay on our backs without speaking for a good while.

—Are you gay? —I asked finally.

—No —he said—. Are you?

—I don’t think so either.

—Then there’s no need to put a name on it —he said—. Or tell anyone.

I got up, found something to clean myself with, and went back to bed. We fell asleep without another word crossing between us.

***

During the months that followed, nothing happened between us again. Marcos kept coming to the house, I kept being polite to him, and our treatment of each other became more natural. Smoother. He’d make some comment only I understood and I’d let it pass, though something inside me would stir.

I started noticing that I looked at him differently. Not with the hostility of the beginning, but with something closer to curiosity. One day I caught myself watching him cross the living room and had to look away. My head went back too many times to that night, to that thick cock in my mouth, to his semen spilling between my fingers.

One Saturday in October, Miriam and Claudia went downtown shopping. Tomás was at a friend’s house. I was left alone with Marcos, who had spent the night and was still asleep when the women left.

I was fixing a faucet in the main bathroom, one that had been leaking for weeks. I had the tools on the floor and was kneeling under the sink when I heard footsteps in the hallway.

Marcos appeared in the doorway, just up, tousled, and shirtless.

—Where are they?

—Shopping. They said they’d be back for dinner.

—Ugh —he said, leaning against the doorframe.

He stayed there watching me work. In one sudden movement, the nut I was trying to tighten gave way and a jet of water shot out. It soaked both of us in seconds. We both threw ourselves to the floor, looking for the shutoff valve through the unexpected spray.

—To the right! —I shouted.

—I’ve got it!

The water cut off. We both stayed on the bathroom floor, soaked from head to toe, staring at the mess.

—Nice job —said Marcos.

—Don’t even start.

He burst out laughing. I laughed too. It was the first time we’d really laughed together, without anyone else in between. When I got up from the floor and looked at him, the wet athletic pants were clinging to his body in a way that left nothing to the imagination. His whole cock was outlined against his thigh, thick, long, already half-hard. He wasn’t wearing underwear.

He noticed. He didn’t look away when he saw me looking at him.

—What? —he said, with a crooked smile.

—Nothing —I said.

—You sure?

He pulled his pants down without ceremony. He let them fall to the bathroom floor with a wet sound and stood in front of me with complete naturalness, his cock hanging, already half hard, between his thighs. I was still kneeling on the floor. The distance between his body and my face was minimal.

—You just have to want it —he said.

And I wanted it.

I took his cock in both hands. I felt it grow between my fingers in a matter of seconds, swell, darken, with the foreskin drawing back on its own. I held the base, brought it to my face, and ran my tongue along the whole length, from the balls to the tip, slowly, feeling the pulse of the thick vein running beneath it. Marcos braced a hand against the wall, tipped his head back, and let out a long, deep sound. His fingers slowly tangled in my hair.

—Fuck, father-in-law —he whispered—. Fuck, that feels so good.

I took it into my mouth. All of it. Or as much as I could, because it was bigger than it looked when you just saw it hanging there. It felt thick against my palate, hot, throbbing between my lips. I started slowly, moving my head up and down, learning the rhythm, figuring out which movements made him grip my hair harder. When I ran my tongue over the tip, he let out a low curse between his teeth. When I shoved his cock to the back of my throat and held it there, he let out another.

—Suck it well, keep going, fuck. You know how, don’t bullshit me, you know —he panted.

I didn’t know. It was the first cock I’d had in my mouth in broad daylight, with no darkness or excuses, and now with his whole body in front of me, naked from the waist down in the bathroom of my house, it was different. I pulled back and ran it over my cheek, my lips, kissed the tip, and went down to his balls. I sucked them one by one, slowly, while still jerking his cock with my hand. Marcos bit his lip to keep from moaning too loudly, even though we were alone in the house and didn’t need to. Habit from the other night, I supposed.

I went back up. I took him all the way in again and started sucking him for real, with rhythm, with intent, listening to how his breathing broke every time the tip hit the back of my throat. I could taste the salty flavor of what kept coming out of him at the tip, that thick fluid pooling in the slit and staying on my tongue. I squeezed his balls with my other hand, felt them heavy and tense. Marcos pushed his hips forward and started fucking my mouth slowly, without forcing me, letting me set the pace but taking me with authority.

—I’m coming, Rodrigo —he panted—. I’m coming now.

I didn’t pull out. I held on until the end. I felt his cock throbbing between my lips, felt his balls tighten in my hand, and suddenly semen was filling my mouth in hot, thick, abundant spurts, one after another, that I had to swallow as best I could so I wouldn’t choke. I swallowed every drop without thinking. Marcos grabbed my hair with both hands when he came and let out a long moan that bounced off the tiled walls of the bathroom.

I pulled his cock out. I ran my tongue over the tip to clean off the last of it. He was laughing softly, panting, his back against the wall and his legs still trembling.

—Holy fuck —he murmured—. Holy fuck.

Then it was his turn. He knelt on the bathroom floor without me asking. He yanked my wet pants down. My cock shot out, already hard to the point of pain from having him suck me. Marcos looked at it for a second with a crooked smile, as if assessing it, and then took it into his mouth in one go. All of it. To the hilt.

I had to brace a hand against the wall so I wouldn’t fall.

I closed my eyes. His lips were softer than I would have expected, and he knew exactly what he was doing. He took me calmly at first, running his tongue along the length, stopping at the tip to suck it with tight lips, going back down to bury his nose in my pubic hair. Then he got into it. He started sucking me faster, deeper, holding my balls with one hand and grabbing my ass with the other to pull me closer to his face. He sucked me like he’d been doing it for years. I looked at the back of his neck, watched his head moving back and forth against my hips, my cock going in and out of that young man’s mouth, and it was an image I had never once imagined but that turned me on more than anything in the world.

—Marcos, fuck —I panted—. Don’t stop.

He didn’t stop. He sped up even more. He took my cock out, ran his tongue over my balls, sucked them one by one like I had done with his, held them in his mouth carefully while jerking me with his hand, and went back to my cock with more hunger. He swallowed it whole again. I could feel the tip touching the back of his throat and he didn’t complain, didn’t gag, kept going up and down at a pace that was going to kill me in a matter of seconds. For several minutes I thought about nothing but that feeling, that hot mouth around my cock, those two hands squeezing my ass and my balls.

—I’m going to come —I warned—. I’m coming now.

He didn’t pull out. Just like I had done with him. He pressed my ass against his face and let me come all over his mouth, in long bursts that almost made me fall to my knees. I grabbed his hair with my free hand and let out a moan that echoed in the tiled bathroom. Marcos swallowed it all, every last drop, without missing a single one. Then he carefully pulled my cock out, gave the tip one last kiss, and got up from the floor, wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb.

When we were both finished, we looked at each other in the fogged-up bathroom mirror.

—That faucet needs fixing —he said.

—I know —I said.

***

There were more times after that. Few, but there were. Always without planning, always when the opportunity appeared on its own. One Saturday morning when Miriam went to the doctor and we sucked each other off in the kitchen with the door locked. One afternoon when Claudia called to say she was running late and we came together in my office with him on his knees under the desk. Every time it was the same: one of us made a move and the other didn’t stop it, and we ended up with each other’s cock in our mouth or our hand until we swallowed the last spurt of cum.

We never talked about what it was. We didn’t name it, didn’t analyze it, and didn’t make any decision about it. Marcos wanted my daughter, that was obvious in the way he treated her, in the way he spoke about her. I wanted Miriam. What existed between the two of us didn’t fit into any category I knew, so I stopped trying to fit it anywhere.

What did change was the way I saw him. I stopped looking at him as a threat. I started to understand why Claudia had chosen him. He was intelligent, calm, knew how to listen. He had a self-confidence that didn’t depend on anyone else, and that, now I recognized it, was something I respected. And he had the best cock I had ever seen in my life, though that last part I didn’t tell anyone.

One Sunday afternoon, Claudia asked me if I liked Marcos.

—Yes —I said.

She looked at me with narrowed eyes.

—Seriously?

—Seriously. He’s a good guy.

She smiled. It was the first time in a long while that I’d given her an answer that surprised her in a good way.

Marcos, from the other side of the living room, looked up from his phone and looked at me for a second. Just one second. Then he went back to what he was doing.

I don’t know what Claudia would say if she knew the truth. I’d rather not think about it too much.