Don Hilario, the Mature Man Who Claimed Me as His Own

After that first afternoon at Don Hilario’s house, the one I spent accompanying my friend Carla, I took it for granted that he would call me back only to keep her close. Carla was the obvious reason: young, brazen, with that laugh that promised things. I, in theory, was just the escort.

I was wrong about everything.

Don Hilario started looking for me. Only me. At first I had a hard time understanding it, because between us there was nothing remotely like a romantic pretext: he was a man more than thirty years older than me, broad as a wardrobe, with huge hands and a voice that seemed to come from the bottom of a well. And yet he called my number, not Carla’s.

Little by little, without my really knowing how, a strange friendship grew between us. He invited me to eat. He introduced me to his acquaintances as “my nephew’s friend” with a naturalness that amused me. He would swing by my house in his old but gleaming car, drop me back at the door, ruffle my hair before saying goodbye.

He treated me in a paternal way I hadn’t expected from someone with his appearance. Because on the outside Don Hilario was everything one imagines in a rough country macho: the hard frown, the hands of a retired mason, the shirt always a little open. But beneath that asshole façade I was discovering a man with a soft heart, almost tender when he thought no one was watching.

—Why do you call me and not Carla? —I asked him once, half-joking.

—Because you know how to listen, kid —he replied, without taking his eyes off the road—. And because I like you. Is another reason needed?

It wasn’t needed. But we both knew there was something else.

***

One afternoon he came to pick me up without warning and took me to a distant village, one of those places that don’t even show up on the highway signs. He drove slowly, one hand on the wheel and the other resting on my knee, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

On the main street there was an old wine bar with whitewashed walls. We went in. The place was almost empty; only a couple of old men at the bar gave it any life at all, speaking softly about harvests and the dead.

The waiter greeted Don Hilario like a regular customer.

—The usual, Don Hilario?

—The usual —he answered, letting his huge hand fall onto the counter.

He brought a pitcher of dark, thick red wine and two heavy glasses. Don Hilario filled mine to the brim.

—It’s good house wine, kid. Go on, drink.

He kept insisting on that “drink” every time my glass went down a finger’s width. After a few swigs I could feel my head light, my cheeks hot, the floor a little softer than usual. He, on the other hand, stayed exactly the same, asking for another round and another, chatting away, with that deep voice that seemed to make the glasses vibrate.

The conversation gradually drifted toward somewhere I hadn’t expected.

—Look, kid —he said suddenly, turning toward me on the stool—. You know what’s happened between us. I know you’ve felt different with me. And that’s fine, for you and for me.

I swallowed. I didn’t dare interrupt him.

—But I don’t want you to lose yourself —he continued—. You’re young, you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. You can come with me as many times as you want, because I’ve taken a liking to you and I’m going to be there for you whenever I can. No one can take that away from you. I only ask you not to stop living everything else.

—And what exactly are you telling me? —I asked, my tongue a little thick.

I looked at him with a mix of admiration and desire that I didn’t fully understand myself. I considered myself bisexual; I liked women, I’d always liked them. But with Don Hilario something happened to me that didn’t happen with anyone else: his size, his strength, his way of occupying space, turned me into something else. At his side I didn’t feel like a man. And I liked it.

—I’m telling you to enjoy girls too —he said, and gave a low laugh—. To fuck, to fall in love, to one day start a family if you feel like it. I’ll teach you how to please a woman the way I do. I’ll teach you that, don’t worry. I do it for your own good, out of the affection I have for you.

I didn’t know how to answer such a speech. I just stared into the bottom of my glass, swirling the wine around, feeling ridiculously moved by that big man’s clumsy tenderness.

Don Hilario, to break the tension, slid his thick, muscular arm around my shoulders and pulled me toward him. He ruffled my hair with the other hand, as he always did.

I, without thinking, kissed his rough cheek and rested my head against his broad chest. He smelled of wine, cheap cologne, and something warm and animal I wouldn’t know how to describe.

—Easy, kid —he murmured—. Don’t be afraid. Trust me. It’s for your own good.

***

We left the wine bar with night already falling. Instead of taking the road back, Don Hilario turned onto a dirt track leading to an open lot, far from the village streetlights.

I was half drunk, but he was completely sober despite the whole pitcher he’d drunk. As he drove slowly over the bumps, my hand was already searching for his crotch over his trousers, and my fingers were unbuttoning his shirt down to the waist.

I wanted to touch his hard, huge belly, the heavy pectorals he jokingly called his “tits.” The image of that first afternoon was burned into my mind, when I saw him reclining in the armchair in his house, and I wanted to have him like that again.

He cut the engine in the middle of nowhere. All you could hear was the ticking of the car as it cooled and, far away, the rumble of trucks on the main road.

—Come here —he said, in that voice that allowed no argument.

I covered his ears, cheeks, and double chin with kisses while I kneaded the belly spilling out from his open shirt. He let me, growling with pleasure, eyes half-closed.

I took my pants off in that impossible space, freeing my erection, and then did the same with him, pulling down his trousers and underwear to his ankles. He reclined the seat until it was almost horizontal and lay back, taking up the whole thing, with his sex pointing at the car roof, thick and proud.

—Go on, climb on top of me —he said, patting his thigh.

I sat on the lower part of his immense belly. My body fit into the hollow formed between his stomach and his bulky thighs, as if that place had been made to measure for me.

—I already taught you how to kiss —he said, putting one hand behind my neck—. Show me you learned.

With the other hand he caressed my thigh, slowly. The cardigan and shirt looked like they were about to burst over his thick arms. I leaned over his chest and kissed him as best I could, slowly, deeply, until I ran out of breath.

—Mmm. So you did learn —he murmured between kisses—. Go on, sink it in, I know you’re dying to.

I straightened and grabbed him with one hand. I was so aroused, so gone for that strong, heavy giant, that he entered me with almost no resistance. I braced both hands on his hard belly and started to move.

Don Hilario matched the rhythm with his hips, driving into me to the hilt and pulling out slowly, while I kissed his pectorals and bit his pink nipples.

—Ah, kid —he panted—. You’ve got the perfect ass for me. Better than anyone. Oh, yes…

He grabbed my waist with both enormous hands and started setting the pace, lifting me and letting me drop onto him. His deep voice filled the car.

—You’re mine. When I’m done with you, you won’t want anyone else.

He enjoyed pleasing me, seeing me melt on top of his huge body. I didn’t last long: I came without touching myself, over his belly, trembling, my forehead resting against his shoulder.

He took me by the nape and gave me the best kiss I remember from any man. It was a simple kiss, almost clumsy, but his sheer virility made it irresistible. And all the while he kept moving his pelvis inside me, unhurried, for a long while, like someone carrying out a task with an artisan’s patience.

***

—Turn around —he ordered afterward, gently.

I positioned myself with my back to him, sitting again on his sex. He pulled me back against his torso and my spine arched under the volume of his belly. He grabbed my right thigh with his strong hand and started lifting and lowering me again, as if I weighed nothing, with that same steady, deliberate macho slowness, with no hurry at all.

I turned my neck in an impossible angle to kiss his white mustache.

—How big you are —I whispered in his ear—. What a beast.

—And all for you, kid —he replied, letting out a deep laugh that I felt rumble in his chest against my back.

I came a second time, kissing him, while he fucked me slow and deep, until at last he emptied himself inside me with a long grunt and a tremor that shook his whole massive body.

We stayed like that, not moving, with his sex still inside me and his huge hand caressing my back. Outside, only the sound of cars on the road could be heard, very far away. Several minutes passed in that warm silence, the two of us breathing deeply, with no desire to separate.

I had ended up falling in love with that older, burly, good-natured man. With his strength, his white mustache, his way of caring for me between orders. And he had wanted it that way from the very beginning.

***

Our encounters became more frequent and more intense, but something changed over time. Because of his size, Don Hilario found it hard to move and take the lead, and he began to enjoy something different: putting his body at my disposal and letting me do all the work, while he, reclined, surrendered to my attentions.

And, to my surprise, that aroused me even more than when he behaved like a dominant macho. Seeing him yielded, passive, offering himself, made him even more masculine in my eyes. There was a calm power in that surrender that undid me.

It always started with the mouth. Then he’d ask me to sit on his face, and he’d devour me for quite a while, without rushing, with a stamina that seemed endless.

—I could stay like this for an hour, kid —he’d say hoarsely, laughing—. Don’t get impatient.

But what he liked most was having me sit on top and ride him until I left him breathless.

—That’s it —he’d murmur, with that deep voice that drove me wild—. I’m making you mine again. No one can teach you this better than me.

He was well-endowed and experienced, and I took advantage of that to give myself pleasure and give him pleasure too, letting myself be filled again and again. I ended up exhausted from moving on top of his body, changing positions nonstop, looking for the exact angle that made us both moan.

With his hands clasped behind his head, Don Hilario’s round biceps stood out under the cardigan and open shirt. It drove me crazy seeing him in that position, with his thick thighs spread apart, letting me do what I wanted, indulging every whim.

He was at my mercy, and at the same time I remained, helplessly, completely his. That mature man had taught me something no boy my age had ever managed to give me: that surrender, sometimes, is the most honest way to be in command.