Two Women at Home: My Daughter and Me That Thursday

Valeria’s breakup with her boyfriend came on a Tuesday afternoon with a text message and three days of silence that filled everything. I watched her slowly fade away: she stopped going out, stopped answering the phone, and stayed in the living room with her gaze fixed on the ceiling as if waiting for something that wasn’t going to come.

I watched her from the doorway, not knowing what to say to her. As a mother, I wanted to fix everything. As a woman, I recognized that kind of sadness that can only be healed with time and with something that reminds you the world still exists beyond a name.

It was a Thursday. I got home from work earlier than usual and found her on the sofa, legs tucked under her body, wearing summer shorts. Her hair was down and her gaze was lost. She was the exact image of her sadness, but she was also—and I hated myself for thinking it at that instant—a very beautiful woman. She had always been pretty, like her father, like me. But that afternoon I saw her differently.

I sat down beside her without making a sound.

—Honey —I said—, that boy doesn’t deserve one more minute of your headspace. You’re extraordinary and you know it.

—I know, Mom —she replied without conviction.

She rested her head on my shoulder. It was something natural, like when she was a little girl and looked for that corner to calm down. But she was no longer a child, and I noticed that with a clarity that made me uncomfortable.

Our heads were very close. Without really thinking about it—or maybe thinking about it more than I should have—I turned mine toward her. She did the same. I don’t know who moved in first. I do know that we kissed, and I know that she responded before pulling away abruptly.

—Mom —she said, her voice tense—. What are we doing?

She stood up from the sofa and remained standing in front of me with an expression that was not only surprise. It was something else, harder to name.

—Sit down —I told her.

—I don’t know if I should.

—Valeria, sit down.

She did, but at the far end of the sofa, her arms crossed over her chest. I looked straight at her.

—You’ve been locked up here for days thinking about someone who doesn’t deserve you —I said—. What you need isn’t to cry more. What you need is for someone to fuck you properly, until you forget the name of that son of a bitch.

—Mom, don’t say that.

—I’m saying it because it’s true. Your body has been dead for days. It needs someone to make you come until you can’t even walk.

—I can’t do that with you, Mom.

—Why not?

The question left her speechless. We stayed quiet for a few seconds that weighed too heavily.

—Because you’re my mother.

—And I’m also a woman. With a cunt just like yours. One that gets wet too, that needs too.

I saw her swallow. I saw the muscles in her thighs tighten against each other without her even noticing. I don’t know whether it was logic or exhaustion or something older and harder to explain, but she loosened her arms. She didn’t say yes. But she didn’t get up either.

***

I moved closer slowly. I put a hand on her knee and opened her legs without breaking eye contact. I pulled her shorts down to her ankles and she kicked them away. Underneath she was wearing white cotton panties, and I saw the dark wet patch in the center even before I touched her.

—You’re soaked, Valeria —I said softly.

She closed her eyes and rested her head against the backrest. I made her lie back along the sofa with her legs open and knelt on the floor between her thighs. I moved the damp fabric aside with my finger and saw her cunt open, pink, shining. The clit was already swollen and peeking out.

I ran my tongue over her from bottom to top, slowly, stopping for a second on the clit at the end of the stroke. She jerked her hips and let out a muffled moan.

—Mom... —she said, her voice broken—. I never imagined this from you.

—Shut up and open your legs wider.

She did. I put my tongue inside her, as deep as I could, and moved it. Then I went back up to the clit and started sucking it with my lips, sucking gently, letting it out, catching it again. I slid a finger into her. She arched. I slid in a second finger and began to curl them upward, looking for that spot I knew was there because it was in mine too.

—Oh, fuck, Mom, fuck... —she panted, clutching the cushion—. Don’t stop, don’t stop.

I licked her faster. I felt her cunt tighten around my fingers and her legs start to tremble. When I heard her moan harder I stopped dead and sat back up. She opened her eyes, breathing wildly, and looked at me with an expression I didn’t try to decipher. Her mouth was parted, her nipples marked beneath her shirt, and her cunt was contracting in the air, searching for what I had just taken away.

—Why did you stop? —she said hoarsely.

—Because I want you to come in a bed and not on a sofa.

—I want us to keep going —she said—. Now. Please.

—Then let’s be more comfortable.

***

We moved to the bedroom without saying much else. We closed the door. There was something ceremonial about that gesture, about closing a door we knew we wouldn’t open again in the same way.

I took off her blouse. She was wearing a dark lace bra I had never seen among her clothes when I did the laundry, and I thought—not for the first time that afternoon—about how little we know of the people we think we know completely. When she took it off, her tits were exposed: firm, round, with dark nipples already erect. I brought my mouth to one and sucked it while pinching the other between two fingers. She let out a long gasp and pressed my head against her chest.

—Now you —she said after that, pushing gently so I would let go.

I undressed. She let me do it without looking away, with an attention that had nothing uncomfortable about it. Her eyes went to my tits, then down to my shaved cunt, and she bit her lower lip without realizing it.

—You’re gorgeous, Mom —she said then, with a simplicity that was nothing like falsehood—. You’ve got an amazing body.

She knelt in front of me on the rug and spread my legs with her hands. She took her mouth straight to my cunt, no detours, and started eating me with a hunger that left me breathless. It wasn’t the first time she’d done that, you could tell from the confidence of her tongue, from how she alternated broad licks over the whole cunt with quick, precise flicks over the clit. I closed my eyes and rested a hand in her hair, guiding her without pressing.

—Like that, baby, like that, don’t stop —I panted—. Put it inside me.

She pushed her tongue into my cunt and moved it as if she were fucking me with it. Then she went back to the clit and sucked it with her lips, sucking hard. She slid a finger in, then two, and started pumping while still sucking up top. My legs felt weak. I had to brace myself on her shoulder so I wouldn’t fall.

—Stop —I told her when I felt myself getting too close too fast—. Stop, stop, I’m going to come.

She stopped and lifted her head to look at me with a small smile. Her mouth and chin were shining.

—That good?

—That good. Where the fuck did you learn to do that?

—I’ll tell you later.

We lay down on the bed. I kissed her neck, her collarbones, went down to her tits and stayed there as long as it took to hear her moan. I sucked one nipple while gently twisting the other between my fingers, then switched. She had a sensitivity that surprised me, or maybe it didn’t: she had always been that way since she was a little girl, feeling everything with an intensity she could barely hide.

—Lower, Mom, please —she asked me, twisting under me—. Eat me again.

I moved down her belly with my mouth slowly, without skipping a single stretch. I bit her pubis softly. When I got to her cunt, her legs were already spread all the way and her hands were in my hair. I parted her lips with my fingers and ran my tongue over her very slowly, tasting her. She was so wet that her juices were running down to her ass. I licked her all over, from top to bottom, including that tighter area she had never let me see until that afternoon. She jerked.

—Not there, Mom, not there —she said, half laughing, half panting.

—Are you sure?

—Not there yet.

I went back to the clit. I slid two fingers into her cunt and started fucking her with my hand while I sucked her up top. I heard her talking but didn’t pay attention to the words, only to the tone, which told me everything I needed to know: high, broken, getting faster and faster.

***

We reached the edge several times before letting the other fall. It was a game neither of us had proposed, but both of us played. I stopped her when I saw her getting close, pulling out my fingers, moving my mouth away just before. She did the same to me, changing my position, leaving me half-finished with my cunt throbbing in the air. We kissed in the pause, with our own flavors mixed on our tongues, and started again.

When I finally let her come, I put three fingers deep inside her and sucked her clit without mercy. She came slowly at first, with a long shiver, and then hard, eyes closed and hips driving against my face. I felt her cunt clench in spasms around my fingers and felt her soak my chin. She had an expression it took me a moment to recognize because I had never seen her like that: completely present, with no trace of the sadness that had been sitting on her face for days.

—Thank you —she said afterward, very calmly, when she could speak.

—Don’t thank me yet —I replied, going up to her mouth to kiss her.

She smiled without opening her eyes, tasting herself on my lips.

We stayed lying there for a while without speaking. The afternoon light came through the blinds in horizontal stripes, and I thought it was an image I would never forget: her in that bed, naked, her hair spread over the pillow, her tits rising and falling, her breathing already calm.

—What are you thinking about? —she asked me.

—About how differently I see you now.

—Different how?

—As what you are. A woman. With a cunt that knows what it wants.

She let out a small laugh and came a little closer and rested her head on my shoulder, the same way she used to on the sofa. The same way she had when she was little. Only now nothing was the same anymore.

***

She was the one who got up first. She went to the closet, opened a cardboard box I had never seen, and took out a strap-on dildo. It was thick, black, a size that made me raise my eyebrows. She showed it to me without drama, as if she were showing me something perfectly normal she had found in a drawer.

—How long have you had that? —I asked.

—A while —she said—. Do you mind?

—Not at all.

—Good. Get on all fours.

I did, in the center of the bed, my ass raised toward her. I heard her fasten the harness behind me, the sound of the buckles tightening. Then I felt her hands open my ass cheeks and her tongue run over me all the way, from clit to asshole, taking all the time in the world. She licked my hole with the tip of her tongue, pressing, and I buried my face in the pillow so I wouldn’t scream.

—You’re fucking delicious, Mom —she murmured behind me.

Then I felt the tip of the dildo between the lips of my cunt. She ran it up and down, wetting it, rubbing it against the clit, until desperation made me push back with my hips.

—Put it in already, fuck.

—Easy.

She slid it in slowly, centimeter by centimeter, letting me feel every inch. When she reached the end, she stopped for a second with her hips pressed to my ass. Then she started moving. She handled it with more ease than I expected, with a rhythm that gradually built, no hurry but no pause. She grabbed my hips with both hands and started thrusting harder, until the sound of her thighs slapping against my ass filled the room.

—Good? —she asked, panting from the effort too.

—Very good. Harder. Fuck me harder, Valeria.

She obeyed. She grabbed my hair with one hand and pulled back while she fucked me. I rested my forehead on my hands and then my cheek against the sheet and let myself go. There was something strangely liberating about losing control of the situation, about letting her—my daughter—be the one fucking me from behind like I was just some whore. She slipped her free hand under me and started rubbing my clit while she kept pumping.

—Come, Mom —she said—. Come on my cock.

I came with a shudder that started in my knees and spread through my whole body. I screamed into the sheet. She didn’t stop moving until she felt I’d finished, and only then did she pull the dildo out slowly.

When I was done, she removed the harness and offered it to me without saying anything.

—Your turn —she said, lying back down.

She explained how to adjust it even though it wasn’t really necessary. When I had it on, I stayed kneeling on the bed and the dildo stood upright in front of me, obscene, black, still shining with her juices. She sat halfway up and brought her mouth to it with a naturalness that completely disconcerted me. She sucked it like it was real, looking me in the eyes, sliding her lips down and back up slowly.

—Do you know what you’re doing? —I asked her, feeling the pull of the harness every time she took it deep.

—More or less —she said, moving her mouth away for a second to smile at me.

And she knew. Oh, she knew.

Then she lay on her back and opened her legs all the way, shamelessly, showing me her soaked cunt and the tight little hole underneath. I got on top of her and guided myself with my hand until I found the entrance. I went in slowly, watching the dildo disappear inside her. She closed her eyes and let out a sharp breath.

—Move, Mom. Fuck me.

I started moving carefully, watching her face to read what worked and what didn’t. I learned fast. When I changed the angle, arching my hips a little so the dildo rubbed inside exactly where it should, she opened her mouth without making a sound, and that told me more than any words. I grabbed her legs and lifted them onto my shoulders, sinking deeper. She ran her hands over my arms, over my tits, grabbed my nipples and pulled.

—Like that, Mom, faster, faster.

I fucked her faster. My tits bounced with every thrust, and so did hers. The bed creaked. I leaned down to suck one of her nipples without stopping and she let out a long, high moan. I put a finger in her mouth and she sucked it like she had sucked the dildo before. Then I took that wet finger down lower, lower than her cunt, and brushed her ass with the tip.

—There, yes —she panted—. There, yes, put it in.

I slid my finger into her ass slowly while I kept fucking her in front. She went crazy. She started saying my name—not Mom, but my actual name—for the first time in years. She said it as if she had just learned it again, between gasps, louder and louder each time.

She came hard, with her hands clutching the sheet and her whole body taut like a bow. I felt everything clench around my finger and around the dildo. I held her until she was done, not stopping my soft rhythm, stretching out her climax until she pushed me away with a trembling hand because she couldn’t take any more.

***

We rested lying beside each other, still naked and sweaty, with the harness thrown in some corner of the bed. The room was silent and outside you could hear a car passing now and then. I stared at the ceiling. She stared at the ceiling. Neither of us felt any urgency to talk.

—Are you okay? —she asked after a while.

—Yes. You?

—Me too.

Pause.

—Does this change anything between us? —she asked.

I thought before answering.

—It changes how we know each other. The rest stays the same.

She nodded slowly, as if evaluating the answer and finding it acceptable.

—What if I want it to happen again? —she asked.

—We’ll talk about that when the time comes.

She turned toward me and looked at me with that direct expression she had always had and that I recognized as completely mine.

—Mom.

—What?

—Thank you.

This time I didn’t tell her not to thank me. I let her.

***

That night we had dinner together in the kitchen, with the TV on in the background and our usual plates. We talked about her job, about a series we were both following, about the weekend ahead. It was a completely normal dinner. More normal, perhaps, than many others we had had in recent months.

Before she went to her room, she stopped in the doorway and looked at me.

—Hey —she said.

—What?

—I don’t think about him anymore.

She said it like an observation, not a declaration. Like someone noting the weather outside or the day of the week.

—Good —I replied.

She went to her room. I cleared the plates and put them in the dishwasher and turned off the kitchen light. And I thought that it had been a long time since I had felt so calm inside my own house.