El amigo de mi sobrino me eligió a mí

The request came to me on an ordinary Tuesday, one of those you accept without looking too closely. The name meant nothing to me until I opened the profile picture and recognized him: he was my nephew’s friend, that tall, quiet boy I’d seen two or three times at family birthdays. They called him Bruno. He had the face of someone who had never broken a plate in his life.

I hesitated for several days before accepting him. Not for any particular reason, I just couldn’t be bothered to let a stranger into my life. But in the end I gave in, and not even an hour had passed before I got the first message. It surprised me: for how shy he seemed in person, he wrote with an ease that didn’t suit him. I didn’t answer that time.

Bruno turned out to be one of those who never give up. He wrote to me every day, at all hours, a stray “hi,” a question about nothing. Pure persistence finally got me to reply, and we started talking. At first it was all harmless: the weather, school, some show. As the days went by, though, things started leaning another way, with increasingly suggestive comments coming from him, until one day I stopped answering.

He apologized. A few days passed and he went back on the attack, and this time he dared to go further: he sent me a shirtless photo. I scolded him, told him not to do that, that it wasn’t appropriate. That was what I said with my fingers. Inside, that photo woke up something that had been asleep for months.

I don’t know if it was because of the drought, the run of nights alone, or because my hormones were through the roof that week.

The thing is, I found the photo sexier than I was willing to admit. So much so that I saved it.

We went on like that for a couple of months, in that push-and-pull of messages that promised without delivering. Until one afternoon I was home alone, bored and horny, and I texted him first. “Want to come over?” He took three minutes to answer yes.

***

He arrived nervous, hands in his pockets and eyes averted, but sexier than I remembered. I offered him something to drink to break the ice and we talked for a while on the couch, until in one of the pauses I kissed him, because it was obvious he wasn’t going to make the first move even if his life depended on it.

He kissed well, to my surprise. Nervous, yes, but attentive. I took him by the hand to the bedroom and there, when we started undressing, I got my second surprise of the afternoon. Bruno was skinny, one of those young bodies with not a single gram of muscle, and between his legs he had a thick, dark cock that seemed out of place with the rest. He’d shaved, but a few stray hairs remained, betraying the dark line running up toward his navel.

I was never a magazine-cover body, and at thirty-eight even less so. I have a big ass and small tits, and that afternoon I was carrying a few extra pounds on top of it. He didn’t care at all. He kissed my body from head to toe with clumsy, almost rude desperation, kisses everywhere with no order, as if he were afraid I might change my mind.

“Is this your first time?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah,” he said, without looking up.

So I was the one who broke him in. I guided him slowly, took his hand, set the rhythm. When he finally pushed into me, it hurt from the thickness, but after a few thrusts my body adjusted and the pleasure started. It didn’t last long that first time; after a while he came inside the condom, and that was the final proof that he hadn’t lied about his lack of experience.

I thought that was the end of it. But minutes later he was hard again, and we did it once more, now with him on top, in a classic position he didn’t even have to think about. He finished sweaty, droplets running down his face as he panted over me. He looked so sexy and so sweet at the same time that I pulled him to my chest and kissed him.

***

After that afternoon we became occasional lovers, more because of his persistence than my initiative, though I didn’t mind in the slightest. Bruno always wanted it, at any hour, and I never said no.

With every encounter he got bolder. He lost his shyness in bed long before he did outside of it. He started taking control: he no longer waited for me to tell him to change positions, he grabbed me himself and moved me where he wanted. He became obsessed with my tits, which suddenly were his favorite part; he’d spend long minutes with a nipple in his mouth before even penetrating me.

One afternoon he asked me to suck it. I didn’t make him beg. It was only the second blowjob of his life, and it showed: he came ridiculously fast, in my mouth. I swallowed everything, something I’d never done with anyone before, and he asked for it again, promising he’d last longer this time. And he did. While I ran my tongue all over his cock and played with his balls, he squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the orgasm, until I ran my hand over him and he couldn’t hold back any longer.

With time and trust, after sex he would stay to talk. He told me about his life, his tastes. And between one conversation and the next, requests would come up: that I model lingerie for him, that we sixty-nine, that I ride him while looking him in the eyes. I loosened up too. I started looking for him without being asked, taking him in my mouth as soon as he arrived, sneaking into the shower when he was bathing so he could take me standing up against the tiles.

I asked for only one thing in return: that he stop shaving. The next time he showed up with a good bush between his legs, and for some reason that turned me on like few things ever had. We had gone from rushed sex to something almost tender: we would stay naked in bed after finishing, wrapped in each other’s arms, kissing for long stretches.

***

But the afternoon he took me hardest and with the most hunger was when I dared to try an idea that had been circling in my head for days.

Bruno was an otaku. He’d confessed it to me laughing, almost embarrassed, and I suspected part of his shyness with women came from that, from having spent more of his life buried in anime than out on the street. One weekend he went to a cosplay convention, and when he came back he told me excitedly about the costumes, the characters. He casually mentioned that his longtime heroine, the one with turquoise hair, had been his first screen crush.

I tucked that away.

I got a turquoise wig and a pink dress similar to the character’s. Underneath I put on a tiny mesh bodysuit that barely covered anything at all, neither in front nor in back. We had made plans to see each other, but I didn’t give him a single hint.

When I opened the door dressed like that, he was speechless. He looked me up and down unable to say a word, and then broke into laughter with a grin from ear to ear, the kind of laugh of a boy whose wish is being granted and who never thought to ask for it. I kissed him in the doorway and whispered in his ear:

“And the best part you haven’t seen yet.”

He made me model first, standing there in the living room, turning me around as if I were on a stage. Then, eyes shining, he lifted my dress and left me wearing only the mesh, and kept asking for poses. I was as hot from the whole scene as he was. I knelt, I stood, I lifted my legs in ridiculous gestures he celebrated like they were art.

When I got on all fours with my hands on the floor, he came over, pulled down his pants, and pressed his hard cock against my face. He grabbed my head with both hands and fucked my mouth with a confidence I had never seen in him before, until he was slapping my cheeks with it. The shy Bruno from the first day had vanished completely.

Seeing him like that, standing and dominant while I was on my knees with him between my lips, set me on fire. I tried to take all of him and couldn’t. He lifted me up, put me on all fours again, and gave me a round of spanking that left my skin burning, before kneeling behind me and starting to lick me while working me with his fingers. I could feel his hot breath and his tongue on me, and I had to clench my teeth not to scream.

Then he threw me on the bed, opened my legs, and kept going with his mouth for a good while longer, until he flipped me over again and entered me from behind. He took me with a force I didn’t know he had. And the best part—or the most dangerous—was that, in the heat of it, he completely forgot about the condom. I felt him bare for the first time, opening me with every thrust, and I didn’t say a word to stop him.

He fucked me with the wig on in so many positions I don’t remember them all anymore. What stayed with me was the intensity, his hands squeezing my tits, his lips trailing down my back, his slaps on my ass. He came three times that afternoon: the first inside me, with not a shred of guilt; the second on my stomach, with jets that reached my chest; the third on my back, when I got back on all fours almost by instinct.

When it seemed like we were done, he laid me on my back and asked me to clean up what was left with my mouth. I did. And even then, when we went to shower, he found the strength to take me one more time, standing up, under the water.

***

I counted five. Five times that day, in an afternoon that slipped away from me completely. It was the best sex of my life, and I don’t say that lightly: his body, his surrender, the hardness of every thrust, the kisses in between. Far from ending our story, that afternoon lit it up even more.

We kept seeing each other for close to a year. The problem started later, when Bruno really became obsessed. He started getting jealous over everything, trying to control who I talked to, filling me with messages that were no longer funny. The make-up sex was incredible, I won’t deny it, but I reached a point where the rest of it wasn’t worth it.

So I ended it. I don’t know whether his behavior had to do with the fact that I was his first relationship, with his not knowing how to handle anything he felt. Maybe he’ll learn with time. What I can say, without any doubt, is that while it lasted it was absolutely delicious.