My Boyfriend’s Mother Took Me to Her Hideout

In my last year of high school, I started dating the most womanizing guy in town. His name was Bruno, he was a year older than me, and he carried a reputation that anyone with half a brain would have taken as a warning. I, on the other hand, took it as a challenge. He lied with a naturalness that was frightening, disappeared for whole afternoons, and came back with apologies so worn-out he no longer even bothered to make up new ones. And yet, every time he came after me, I always ended up giving in.

Everyone in town wondered what someone like him was doing with someone like me. That doubt, far from bothering me, made me feel chosen. As if I had won something the others couldn’t.

Bruno lived with his parents and two little brothers who were still in primary school. His father had exactly the same reputation as he did: there were dozens of stories in town about women, and I sometimes found myself wondering whether his mother put up with all that to keep up appearances or because, deep down, the man was still as desirable as his son.

The first time I understood that nothing in that house was what it seemed was one hot afternoon by the pool.

Bruno and I had just had sex in the water, hidden against the edge, when we heard the sliding door. His mother came out onto the patio in a robe, took it off without hurry, and got into the warm water with a soft splash. We burst out laughing, nervous, while she swam toward us. Inside, I was dying of embarrassment: what if she had been waiting for us to finish before getting in?

Marcela was a beautiful woman for nearly fifty. Blonde, green-eyed, with a body honed in the gym with a discipline that showed in every line. That day, in a bikini, she stretched her arms and held onto the pool edges, leaving her breasts on display, and spoke to us as if nothing were happening.

—So, what’s going on with you two? Were you having fun? —she asked with a half-smile.

—Mom, why don’t you go away? —Bruno complained.

—Leave her alone, Bruno —I said, uncomfortable.

—See how she treats her mother, Camila? If you stay, we’ll go. Come on, Cami.

—Why don’t you leave her a little longer? —Marcela cut in—. You go have a shower; tonight we have to go to your uncle’s place.

Bruno looked at me, uncertain.

—Are you staying a bit or are you coming upstairs with me?

—I’ll stay and go in a little while —I answered.

He left, huffing. Marcela and I were alone in the water. She swam closer, unhurried, until she was barely an arm’s length away.

—Don’t ever cry over him —she told me softly—. He’s not going to change for anyone. The best thing you can do is learn that now.

Let me clarify one thing: I got along very well with Bruno’s mother, but we had never talked about her son’s cheating, and much less with that kind of frankness.

—His father is the same —she went on—. At first it mattered to me, I made scenes, everything was hell. Over the years I understood he wasn’t going to change and I started looking after my own interests.

—Marcela, I don’t know what to say —I murmured.

—Of all the girlfriends he’s had, you’re the only one I like. I’m telling you straight because I don’t want you to go through what I went through.

Then I felt her hand under the water, slowly tracing my hip.

—There’s no need to suffer when you can have just as much fun, or more, than he does.

I moved away from her side, got out of the pool with my heart racing, and thanked her for her words as best I could. I didn’t want to come off badly with her, not after she’d told me all that. But I left that house with my head spinning.

***

Her words stuck to me for days. Was she cheating on her husband too and suggesting I do the same with Bruno? Or was she telling me something even more twisted? The memory of her hand on my hip, the way she had looked at me while speaking, wouldn’t leave me in peace. I tried to erase it and couldn’t. I was left full of doubts about her life and about that near-confession of looking for her own pleasures outside the marriage.

A few weeks passed and my fights with Bruno became more frequent. One afternoon he practically dragged me to his house. I was determined not to forgive him this time, but he insisted his mother wanted to talk to me, and that if after that I still didn’t forgive him, he’d give up for real.

I agreed, in the worst mood. When we arrived, Marcela took the car keys and told her son that we were going out for a drive.

I sat in the passenger seat. We drove for a good while along roads I didn’t know until we stopped in front of a house on the outskirts of town, surrounded by trees.

—Where are we? —I asked.

—This is my house too —she said, and smiled.

It was a warm, welcoming house, decorated with obvious taste. Every detail screamed that it had been put together by a woman who knew exactly what she wanted.

—This is my hideout, Camila. My son the jerk is out of control, isn’t he?

As she said it, she took off her coat. Underneath she was wearing a tiny dress, the kind a woman puts on to go dancing and come back accompanied. She sat down in front of me, crossed her legs, and in doing so made it very clear she wasn’t wearing any underwear.

—Marcela, I don’t know what you’re going to be able to say to convince me —I said, swallowing hard—. I feel like I deserve something better than Bruno.

—And I have no doubt about that, baby. But you can’t just leave us like this, from one day to the next.

She stood up, poured two glasses of whisky, and handed me one.

—I don’t want it —I protested.

—Drink it. And get comfortable. That son I have has a strange way of loving you, but what’s going to happen today is going to be much more important than him.

—I don’t understand anything —I said, shyly, taking a sip of the glass.

Her hand ran slowly along my neck, and the sensation was intoxicating. The whisky slid warm down my throat and, all of a sudden, the discomfort began turning into something else.

—You like the little massage, don’t you? My hand on your neck. I knew it from the very first day you came into my house.

I couldn’t answer. I liked what she was telling me and, above all, I liked what I was feeling. I stayed still on the couch, my heart pounding, taking short sips from the glass as if I could pull the courage I was missing out of it.

—I told you you were the first girlfriend I liked. It’s because you and I have things in common.

Then I felt her mouth settle against my neck. Her lips kissed me slowly, with a dedication that made my whole skin prickle, and her hands began sliding down toward my stomach. Without thinking, I lifted my arms and let her take off my top.

—Camila, what beautiful tits you have.

Her hand slipped inside my bra. She played with my breasts, massaged them, licked my ear and nibbled my earlobe, then sucked her fingers before going back to stroking my nipples until they were rock hard. I was writhing with pleasure on the couch, not recognizing myself. She turned my face and gave me a huge, deep kiss, and I felt her tongue carry me to a place no one had ever taken me before. I followed her with an urgency I hadn’t known was inside me.

She settled on top of me and held me by the back so she could hug me better. I could feel her breasts against mine, firm, uncovered. All of it, which should have felt strange, seemed like the most natural thing in the world. I didn’t feel uncomfortable. I didn’t feel guilty. I just wanted more.

I wanted to touch her too, even if it was only over the dress. She loved it. She took my hand and guided it, making circular motions over her breasts while telling me in my ear how much she liked it. Then she sat up, adjusted the fabric over her body, and for a second I thought that was the end of it.

—Come with me. Let’s go to bed.

I followed her without thinking about anything. I just wanted that feeling not to stop.

***

She laid me back on the mattress and pulled down my gym pants. I was left wearing only my thong. I settled to look at her, hypnotized by every gesture. She slowly took off her dress with calculated slowness until she was completely naked, and then she let herself fall on top of me.

She took my face in her hands and kissed me again, much more lasciviously than before, with her whole mouth. I felt her hand slide straight between my legs, searching, until it found the exact spot. She started touching me like someone tuning an instrument: some fingers stroked me from the outside, soft, while others entered me, firm, alternating a rhythm that made me moan into her mouth uncontrollably.

When she felt my whole body beginning to tense, she stopped dead. She left me hanging at the edge, trembling, and then started rubbing her breasts against mine. My nipples, already hard, hardened even more as they brushed against hers. I wrapped my arms around her waist, then her hips, and started moving, seeking her out, opening my legs to feel her better.

She shifted a little to the side, with the experience of someone who knows exactly where and how, and began moving faster, adjusting every brush so the two of us would come together. The friction became a constant, wet back-and-forth, impossible to stop.

—You’re a very dirty girl —she told me in my ear, never stopping—. You’ve been turning me on since the first day you set foot in my house.

I loved hearing her. Every word gave me more drive to lift my hips and push against her, to make our bodies crash into each other again and again. Between each thrust we kissed like crazy, out of breath, biting each other’s lips.

We stayed like that for a long while, until our bodies had nothing left. We were both trembling when we finally stopped. I flopped onto my back, exhausted, making it clear with every breath how much I had enjoyed it.

When I glanced sideways, Marcela was already getting dressed. Without saying anything, I started doing the same, silently, still not fully understanding what had just happened. She caught me looking at her and laughed.

—No need to play the mute act —she said, taking my face in her hands to give me one last kiss.

—It’s just that I don’t know what all this was —I confessed.

—Camila —she said, adjusting her dress in front of the mirror, never losing her smile—, this is the kind of fun we can always have as long as you keep seeing Bruno.

And for the first time in a long while, the idea of staying with him didn’t seem so bad.