My Boyfriend’s Mother Taught Me What I Was Missing

When I had only been with Damián for a few months, he decided it was time to officially introduce me as his girlfriend at a family dinner. I was just over twenty and a bundle of nerves. I liked his father right away, as well as his brothers. His mother, Renata, was another story: she looked me up and down with a grimace I couldn’t decipher and barely spoke to me over the next three months.

I didn’t understand what I had done to her. I was polite, I helped clear the table, I asked her about her garden. Nothing. She answered in monosyllables and went right back to staring off somewhere else. I came to believe she hated me for no reason, and I started avoiding visits with whatever excuse I could come up with.

One Sunday, however, Damián insisted so much that I couldn’t refuse. We went to lunch at his parents’ house with the idea of having a barbecue. Barely had we stepped through the door when he and his father got into the car to go buy the meat and charcoal, and they left me alone with Renata in the living room.

The silence was thick. She was arranging some cushions without looking at me, and I pretended to be interested in the photos on the mantel. These are going to be the longest two hours of my life, I thought. To escape that tension, I murmured that I needed the bathroom and locked myself in there for a few minutes, sitting on the edge of the bathtub and breathing deeply.

When I came out, the living room was empty. I felt absurd relief and flopped onto the sofa to wait for her. Several minutes passed and she still hadn’t appeared. I started to get worried; I thought maybe something had happened to her, so I got up to look for her down the hallway.

The door to her bedroom was ajar, and from inside came the sound of drawers being opened and closed. I was about to knock to let her know I was there when, through the gap, I saw her. And I lost my breath.

Renata was completely naked, with her back to the mirror, looking for clothes in the wardrobe. She had a body I hadn’t expected beneath those loose dresses she always wore: full breasts, large dark nipples, wide hips, firm ass. She turned for a moment and I saw her shaved pussy, the curve of her stomach, all of it in the warm afternoon light.

I should have looked away. I didn’t. I stood frozen in the hallway, my heart pounding against my ribs and a warm sensation spreading between my legs. Without thinking, I slid my hand inside my pants and started rubbing my clit, slowly, holding my breath.

I was so turned on that I lost track of my own body. I leaned a little farther toward the crack, looked for a better angle, and my weight pushed the door, which gave way with a sudden jolt and opened all the way. I was left exposed, standing in the doorway, with my hand inside my pants and my eyes fixed on her.

Renata turned in alarm. Her eyes moved from my face to my hand, and from my hand back to my face. The only thing I could think to say was a ridiculous thread of a voice.

—Hi… —I stammered.

She said nothing. She closed the door softly, and I slid down the wall to the hallway floor, dying of embarrassment and, at the same time, completely soaked. I wiped my fingers as best I could on the fabric, went back to the sofa, and prayed she would never mention what had just happened.

***

About three minutes passed, though it felt like hours. At last the door opened and Renata came out, now dressed in a blouse and linen pants. She didn’t say a word. She sat down beside me on the sofa and stayed silent, but I could feel her gaze on me like a hand resting on the back of my neck.

I tried to say something, anything to break the ice, but she cut me off with a direct question.

—You saw me— it wasn’t entirely a question.

I fell silent. There was no point denying it.

—So you did, then —she added, and her voice didn’t sound angry.

I nodded, unable to look her in the eyes. I searched my mind for some explanation that sounded less humiliating, but she interrupted me again with an even more uncomfortable question.

—Don’t you like my son?

That annoyed me. I wanted to snap back at her, but I held myself back. I swallowed and told half the truth.

—I do like your son. It’s just that… lately nothing happens between us. There’s no… action.

Renata raised her eyebrows, surprised, and placed a hand on my thigh. The touch sent a shiver across my skin like an electric current.

—Well… he’s always been that reserved —she murmured, and her thumb drew a slow circle over the fabric of my pants.

I couldn’t say anything. Her hand made me nervous in a way I didn’t want to admit.

—If you want… as his mother, I could give you a few tips —she said softly—. Only if you want.

I nodded again, not really knowing what I was saying yes to. She stood up and planted herself in front of me.

—Then stand up.

***

I obeyed. My knees were trembling a little. Renata took my wrists and gently lifted my arms, as if she were measuring me.

—You see —she said—, for a man to get going, sometimes you have to give him a little push. Know where and how.

She began running her hands over my body, slowly, reading every reaction. I was still standing in the middle of the living room, breathing in short gasps.

—For example, if I touch here —she said, sliding her palm between my legs, over my pants—, it feels good, right?

My knees gave way for a second. I had to lean on her shoulder so I wouldn’t fall.

—And if I touch here? —her other hand went down to my ass and squeezed firmly.

A short moan escaped me against my will. Renata smiled.

—That answers my question —she whispered—. Let’s continue with these.

She brought her hands up to my breasts and squeezed them over my blouse, playing with the nipples already pressing hard beneath the fabric. I didn’t know what to do. My body was flooded with pleasure, with fear, with questions I didn’t dare ask.

—I can see you can’t take it —she said, amused.

While one hand kept kneading my breasts, the other returned to my crotch and pressed until I felt the fabric dampen against her palm. My legs stopped supporting me and I sank to the floor, gasping, sweat beading on my forehead.

—Renata… I appreciate the help —I said in a thread of a voice—, but we can’t do this…

She knelt beside me and brushed a lock of hair from my face.

—Come on. I knew a while ago that you were at the door —she confessed—. I let you watch on purpose, to see what you’d do. And you didn’t disappoint me.

That confession melted away whatever resistance I had left. She helped me to my feet, slid her hand around my waist, and, still holding me, guided me down the hallway to her bedroom.

***

Once inside, she locked the door. She slowly pulled down my pants, along with my underwear, until I was left exposed. Her gaze traveled down my stomach and stopped between my legs with a calm that made me shudder.

—Look at you —she murmured—. I haven’t even started and you’re already like this. Let me help you.

She laid me back on the bed and gently parted my knees. When I felt her tongue, everything else disappeared: the shame, the fear that they might come back, the idea that this woman was my boyfriend’s mother. Only her mouth existed, working slowly while two fingers stroked me in circles.

—Like that… more, please —I panted, clutching the sheets.

Renata knew exactly what she was doing. She alternated tongue and fingers with a patience that drove me crazy, reading every moan to know when to speed up and when to stop at the edge. My moans slipped out uncontrollably, filling the room.

—You’re very sensitive —she said, lifting her head for a moment—. That’s good. Now get ready, because I want something more.

She undressed in front of me without any hurry, letting her blouse and pants fall to the floor. Then she lifted one of my legs onto her shoulder and brought her sex to mine until they were rubbing together.

—Are you ready? —she asked.

I nodded, unable to say a word. She started moving against me, rubbing slowly at first and then with more insistence. The wet friction, the heat of her skin, her moans mixing with mine: everything became one single rhythm. My hips sought hers by instinct.

—I’m close —I moaned—. Renata, I’m so close…

—Me too —she answered, breathless—. Let’s do it together.

We moved our hips in the same rhythm, faster and faster, until the orgasm tore through me like a wave I had never felt before. She came a moment later, pressing herself against me, trembling, without taking her eyes off mine. We didn’t stop completely. Before the first wave had even faded, another swept through both of us and left us exhausted, soaked, and wrapped around each other on the tangled sheets.

—That was incredible —I whispered, still trying to catch my breath.

We stayed like that for a while, recovering our strength, her hand drawing lazy lines over my hip. When we finally pulled ourselves together, we dressed in silence and went back to the living room to wait for Damián and his father. We didn’t say a single word, but our looks said a thousand things. A little while later they arrived with the meat, lit the charcoal, and we acted as if nothing had happened.

That afternoon I ate the barbecue with a smile no one could explain. Once home, that night, I checked my phone and found several messages from her. The first simply said: “This isn’t staying here.”

And it didn’t. What began that Sunday was repeated many more times, at her house, at mine, in any gap we could find, until luck stopped being on our side. But that, as she herself would have said, is another story I’ll tell someday.