The Lesson I Gave My Son’s Friend

Mondays were mine.

I had been very clear about that for years. My son knew perfectly well that on Monday nights, no one came over. It was my sacred ritual: clay mask, foot cream, almond oil on my elbows, the TV on in the background at low volume. That was how the week began, by indulging my own body before work claimed everything again.

But that Monday, Bruno walked into my life.

My son’s message came in at six-thirty. He said he was on his way, and asked if he could bring two friends over to hang out. I replied that okay, though I took the time to make it clear that that wasn’t how it was done, that Mondays were sacred, that we would talk later. He answered with a heart emoji. Sometimes I think that emoji is his way of saying, “Yeah, Mom, you’re right, but I did it anyway.”

When he arrived, I had just gotten out of the shower. Hot skin, wet hair, old blue cotton robe. I called down from upstairs that there was something in the oven for them, three minutes and done. He answered with a “thanks, Mom” that reached me just as I closed my bedroom door.

I could hear them from upstairs. Laughter, shouting at the TV, the particular noise young people make when they don’t know how to lower the volume. I stayed in my room, with the mask on my face and a playlist of calm songs I never manage to listen to all the way through.

It was fine.

Well. Almost fine.

I got up and went downstairs. Not for any particular reason. Sometimes you just go down. I checked that the oven was off, glanced at the group in the living room. My son and two boys I didn’t know. One of them looked up for a second and quickly back at the screen. The other didn’t look up at all.

—I’m going to be upstairs —I announced—. If you need anything, let me know, okay?

—Yes, Mom —my son answered, without turning his head.

I went back to my room. I went upstairs with my bowl of fruit, my hand cream, and my recovered peace.

Or so I thought.

***

Almost an hour passed. The mask had already dried and I was removing it with a damp wipe when I heard footsteps in the hallway. Soft knocks on the door.

—Come in —I said, without thinking too much.

One of the boys opened it. The one who hadn’t looked up before. Now he was looking at me. His eyes wide, as if he had accidentally walked into a place he had no business being.

—Sorry —he said—. I was looking for the bathroom.

—Two doors down —I replied.

He stayed. Standing in the doorway, with his hand still on the doorframe. As if something were anchoring him there.

—Is there something else? —I asked.

—No, nothing. It’s just… —he paused—. I didn’t know you.

—Fair enough —I said, smiling—. I didn’t know you either.

—I’m Bruno —he said—. Marcos’s older brother, your son’s friend. We were both invited.

—Renata —I replied—. You can call me Renata.

—Sure. Right. Renata.

It was hard for him to say it. He said it like someone biting into something for the first time and not quite knowing whether he likes it or is scared of it.

He left. I folded the wipe. I stared at the ceiling for a moment.

The air in the room had changed, almost imperceptibly.

***

Another long hour passed. I had already finished with the mask, the foot cream, the playlist. I was trying to read when the knocking came again. This time softer. Almost timid.

—Come in.

Bruno. Again.

—Hi —I said.

—Hi —he answered. He stepped inside and stopped—. Can I use the bathroom here? The other one’s occupied.

—Yes —I said—. You know where it is.

He went in. I heard the water running from the tap. I heard it shut off. And then nothing. Silence.

He came out of the bathroom and didn’t leave.

He stayed standing by the door, arms crossed over his chest as if he were trying to make himself smaller. He was twenty, with the square jaw of boys who still don’t know they’re attractive, and the eyes of someone who had been working up the nerve to say something for a while.

—Want to sit down? —I offered, pointing to the edge of the bed.

He sat. Carefully, as if the mattress might break under his weight.

—Did your brother tell my son things about my family? —I asked, more to fill the silence than out of real curiosity.

—Something like that —he said—. He mentioned that you… that you’re alone. No partner.

—Uh-huh.

—And I wanted to ask you something.

I looked at him. Waited.

—Ask —I said.

He swallowed. Looked at the floor. Then he looked at me, straight in the eyes, for the first time for real.

—Would you go out with me?

He said it in one breath, like someone jumping into water from too high up.

I held back from laughing. Not out of cruelty, but because the scene had something endearing about it. A twenty-year-old boy, standing in a forty-year-old woman’s room, asking her to go out with him as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

—Where would you take me? —I asked.

He hesitated.

—I don’t know. To the movies, or… —he paused—. To a hotel.

—To a hotel right away?

—That’s what people do when they fuck.

I considered it. He was looking at me with that strange mix of courage and terror that boys get when they’ve just said something they’re not sure was a mistake.

—How old are you? —I asked, though I already had a guess.

—Twenty.

—I’m forty.

—I know —he said, without blinking.

—And even so?

—Even so.

There was a silence. He waited. I let him wait a little longer.

—Tell me something —I lowered my voice a little—. What is it you really want from me?

He lowered his eyes. His cheeks turned red. And then, almost in a whisper:

—For you to teach me how to fuck.

—How to fuck how?

—The right way. Like a guy who knows what he’s doing fucks. I don’t know, Ms. Renata. I’ve done it twice and both times I came in a minute and the girls left without saying anything to me. I want to learn how to last. How to do what has to be done. How to make a woman come with me.

I hadn’t expected that. Or maybe I had. I don’t know exactly what I expected at that moment. I looked at him. I looked at his mouth, his neck, his big hands resting on his knees. I also looked at the bulge outlined in his pants since he’d walked in, the one he was trying to hide by crossing his legs.

—You don’t need to be partners for that —I answered after a moment—. That can be done another way.

He looked at me.

—Really?

—Do you want me to teach you how to fuck tonight?

His eyes widened. He lost his breath for a second.

—Tonight?

—Not now —I clarified—. The boys are downstairs. But later, if you want, come back. And I’ll spread my legs and teach you, one by one, all the things you need to know so a woman asks for more.

He choked on his breath. I saw his throat move as he swallowed.

—What time?

—Nine o’clock.

—Are you sure?

—Sure —I said—. Write down my number. Text me when you’re at the door and I’ll come down and open up. And you come with your dick rested, Bruno. Because you’re not going to fuck me once, you’re going to fuck me as many times as you can handle.

He took out his phone with hands that didn’t quite tremble. He wrote down the number. He looked at me once more, as if to confirm it wasn’t a dream, and left the room with steps that wanted to seem calm and weren’t.

***

It was eight forty when I stood in front of the mirror.

I looked at myself honestly. Hair loose, dark, with a few gray strands that no longer bothered me. The brown skin of my shoulders. The black silk robe, the one I wear when I want to feel a certain way. Nothing underneath. No panties, no bra. I knew perfectly well what was going to happen when that boy walked through the door, and there was no point pretending there would be any preamble.

I thought about sending him a message telling him not to come. That it had been an impulse, that it wasn’t a good idea, that we should leave it there.

I didn’t.

I already felt wet between my legs just thinking about the face he’d made when I told him I’d teach him. The bulge that had formed in his jeans. The big-boy voice he’d gotten when he said, “teach me how to fuck.” It had been months since anyone had touched me, and my cunt knew it. It pulsed on its own, tight, waiting.

At five to nine, my phone vibrated.

“I’m outside.”

I answered: “Wait a minute. I’m coming down to open the door.”

I walked downstairs slowly. The ground floor was silent. The boys had already left. My son had closed his room. The house was mine again.

I opened the door.

Bruno. In the same clothes as before, his hair a little messy, his eyes searching for mine in the darkness of the doorway.

—Come in —I said softly.

We went upstairs in silence. I locked my bedroom door, slowly, without making a sound.

I turned around.

He was standing in the center of the room, looking at me with that expression that mixes desire with not knowing what to do with desire. And with a bulge in his jeans that he was no longer trying to hide.

—You’re nervous —I said.

—Yeah.

—Normal —I replied—. It’ll go away as soon as you have it inside you.

I walked over. I put a hand on his chest and slid it down his abdomen until I reached the belt buckle. I squeezed over the fabric. He was hard as a rock.

—Oh —I murmured—. Look at you.

—Ms. Renata…

—Renata. And don’t talk yet.

I kissed him. First softly, almost without pressure. He didn’t quite know how to respond at first, his lips moving without fully finding the rhythm, but he learned fast. I shoved my tongue into his mouth and he met it with his, and I bit his lower lip, and he let out a moan he tried to swallow. I liked that. The way he learned.

I unbuckled his belt without stopping the kiss. I lowered the zipper. I slid my hand into his underwear and grabbed his cock directly. It was hot, thick, hard against my palm. I squeezed the base and he arched his hips forward as if his body moved on its own.

—Stay still —I said in his ear—. Not yet.

I pulled his cock out of his pants. The tip was wet. I ran my open hand slowly from top to bottom, watching his face while I did it.

—Look down —I told him—. Look at what I’m doing to you.

He looked down and a gasp escaped him. I looked too. I had his cock standing between my fingers, thick, the head shining. I brushed my thumb over the tip and spread the wetness downward. His leg trembled.

—We’re going to go slowly —I said—. Very slowly. You hold on to whatever I tell you to hold on to. Okay?

He nodded without being able to speak.

I led him to the bed. Sat him on the edge. I finished pulling down his pants and underwear to his ankles. I pulled his shirt over his head. He was left sitting there, naked, his cock pointing at the ceiling and his hands resting at his sides as if he didn’t know where to put them.

I stood in front of him.

—Look —I told him.

I untied the knot of my robe. I let it fall slowly, not all at once, letting his eyes follow the movement all the way down. The silk slipped off my shoulders, my waist, and pooled in a black puddle around my feet.

I stood naked in front of him.

He didn’t speak. He just looked at me. His eyes moved over my breasts, my belly, then fixed between my legs. My nipples hardened from feeling him look at me like that.

—Touch —I told him—. No fear. It’s yours for tonight.

I took his hands and placed them on my breasts. He squeezed them slowly, with both hands, like someone who can’t believe what’s between his fingers. I took one of his hands and brought it to my mouth. I sucked his thumb while he pinched my nipple with the other.

—Like that —I said, letting go of his finger—. Now your mouth. Suck my tits.

He leaned forward and took one nipple into his mouth. He sucked, with more eagerness than technique, but with real hunger. I grabbed the back of his neck and held him there. I used my hand to show him the rhythm, how to suck it, how to run his tongue over it, how to nibble just enough without hurting. The bastard learned fast.

When both nipples were hard and shiny with saliva, I pushed him back. He fell onto the bed on his back.

I knelt between his legs.

—Now pay attention —I said—. This is important.

I took his cock in one hand at the base. Looked at it closely, thick, pulsing. I dragged my tongue from the bottom to the top in one long, slow lick. He grabbed the sheet with both fists.

—Holy fuck… —he whispered.

—Shut up.

I took it into my mouth. All of it, as far as I could. He let out a rough moan and his whole body trembled. I took him deep, breathed through my nose, held him there for a second, and then pulled back slowly, sucking hard. Took him in again. And again. And again. With my hand I worked what my mouth couldn’t cover. Saliva ran down my chin and pooled at the base, wetting his balls.

—Ms. Renata, I’m going to come…

I yanked his cock out of my mouth and squeezed hard at the base. Hard enough to make a flash of pain cross his face.

—No —I said—. You’re not coming yet. You always warn me first, and I decide when. Is that clear?

—Yes —he panted.

—When you fuck a woman, the woman comes first. Always. Understand?

—Yes.

—Good.

I let go of his cock. I climbed on top of him. I swung one leg over and sat astride him, but without letting him touch me yet. I pressed my wet pussy against his stomach and smeared his skin with moisture. He looked down and saw the wet mark I was leaving on him and another moan escaped him.

—Look how wet you’ve got me —I told him.

—Yeah…

—Say it.

—You’re… wet.

—Say it properly.

—You’ve got your cunt wet.

—Very good.

I lifted myself just a little. I took his cock and ran it over my lips from bottom to top and back down, not letting him in. I made sure it was wet with me. He tried to push up and I moved away.

—Stay still —I said—. You don’t push. I give you what you get.

I lined the head up with my entrance. Lowered an inch. Another. I felt myself opening. He was thick. I lowered a little more and looked him in the eyes. His mouth was open and he wasn’t breathing.

I sank down all at once.

A long moan escaped me. I had him so deep I could feel the tip against the back wall. I went still for a second, clenching him with my muscles, feeling him pulse inside me.

—Do you feel it? —I asked.

—Yeah… holy fuck, yeah…

—That’s what a real cunt feels like, Bruno. One that knows how to squeeze. Learn to recognize it.

I started moving. Slowly at first, setting the rhythm myself, controlling the depth and cadence. I came up until I was almost all the way off him, squeezed him with everything I had, and then sank back down to the base. I watched his face as I did it. The tension in his neck. The movement in his throat as he swallowed. His hands searching for my hips, not quite knowing what to do with them.

—Grab me here —I said, putting his hands on my waist—. Hard. Like I’m yours.

He squeezed me. His fingers dug in. I increased the pace a little. I put my hands on his chest to get leverage and started riding harder. You could hear the sound of my body slapping against his. A wet, obscene sound that mixed with our gasps.

—Ms. Renata… —he whispered.

—Shut up. Just watch how I fuck you.

I brought my tits to his mouth. I made him take them one at a time. He sucked them desperately. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His breathing got shorter, more urgent.

—I can’t… —he said very softly—. I can’t take any more.

I yanked myself off him. Pulled his cock out and squeezed hard at the base again. He let out a groan of pure frustration.

—Not yet —I said—. You can’t even imagine what’s left.

I got off the bed. Turned around. I knelt on the mattress and pushed my ass back.

—Come here —I said over my shoulder—. Your turn now.

He got behind me. I felt him position himself, feel around for the entrance with the tip. He was trembling. I took his hand and guided him.

—Put it in slowly. All at once.

He entered. One long push, all the way to the hilt. A moan slipped out of me against the sheet.

—Now move —I told him—. Like I just showed you. In and out. Slowly. Make every inch count.

He started moving. Insecure at first, then with more rhythm. He struggled to control himself, pushed too much, but he was learning. I grabbed one of his hands and brought it to my hair.

—Grab me here.

He took a fistful and pulled. Not hard, measuring it.

—Harder, Bruno. You’re not going to break me.

He pulled harder. My back arched on its own. I started moving against him too, pushing my ass back every time he thrust forward. The sound of our bodies colliding filled the room. My gasps, his, the heavy breathing, all mixed together.

—Harder now —I said—. Fuck me hard. Don’t be scared.

He started fucking me with real eagerness. Each thrust went deep. Each thrust tore a moan from me. I could feel his cock swelling more, throbbing deeper inside me.

—With your other hand, touch me —I said—. Up front. Find my clit.

He brought his hand to my mound. I took his fingers and showed him. I pointed to the exact spot.

—Here. Two fingers. In circles. Soft at first.

He started making circles. A rough moan slipped from me. I corrected his rhythm by pressing his hand harder against me, marking the speed. He was learning. Adjusting. Listening to what my body was asking for.

—That’s it —I panted—. Like that, don’t stop.

I started feeling myself clench inside. The wave rising from deep in my belly. I shoved my ass back harder. He drove into me each time he thrust forward and his fingers scraped my clit with every push.

—I’m coming —I warned him—. Keep doing exactly that, don’t change anything.

—Ms. Renata…

—Shut up and keep going.

I came. Hard. My legs shook and everything inside me clenched around his cock. A long moan escaped me into the sheet and I had to bite down on it so I wouldn’t wake the whole house. My cunt pulsed around him in waves. He kept thrusting through my orgasm, holding on, his mouth against my back.

When I came back to myself, he was still hard inside me.

—Now you —I said, still panting—. Now you can come. Inside. Don’t pull out.

—Inside?

—Inside. I’m protected. Give me all of it.

I took one of his hands and brought it to my hip. I pushed my ass back against him. The last thrusts broke loose, no rhythm now, no control. His breathing turned urgent, the gasps separated by shorter and shorter silences.

—I’m… —he said—. I’m about to…

—Come on. Come for me. Fill me up.

He grabbed my hips with both hands and drove into me three, four brutal times, all the way in, and I felt him explode inside me. A long, deep groan he tried to smother by biting his fist against my back. His body shaking in waves. I felt his cum emptying into me, hot, shot after shot, and starting to leak out around the edges.

He stayed inside. Hanging over me, trembling, his forehead resting between my shoulder blades. I could feel his semen still coming out slowly, could feel his cock losing its hardness inside me, could feel his breathing settling with each passing second.

—Stay like that for a while —I told him—. Don’t come out yet.

He stayed. A minute, two, I don’t know. When he finally pulled out, I felt the hot stream slide down the inside of my thigh. I turned around and flopped onto my back on the bed. He let himself fall beside me, his cock still shiny and semi-hard against his leg.

***

I stroked his hair. I said nothing. Sometimes you don’t need to.

I went to the bathroom. Cleaned myself between my legs with a warm cloth. When I came back, he was still lying there, staring at the ceiling with that expression of someone who has just understood something he didn’t understand before and doesn’t quite know what to do with it.

—How are you? —I asked, picking up my robe from the floor.

—Good —he said—. Very good.

I tied my robe. I sat on the edge of the bed beside him, leaving a space between us.

—Any questions? —I said.

He laughed. A soft laugh, still without full strength.

—Lots.

—Save them for the next class —I replied.

He looked at me.

—Will there be a next class?

I thought about it for a second. Looked at him. The messy hair, the jaw, the cock still shiny against his thigh, the eyes still shining with something he didn’t yet know how to name.

—That depends on you —I said—. If you study well. You still have to learn how to eat pussy, and that takes time.

His eyes widened.

—You’re going to teach me that?

—Everything. I’m going to teach you everything. But little by little.

He sat up. He started gathering his clothes with slow, still slightly clumsy movements. He dressed slowly, without rushing. Before leaving, he stood in front of me.

—Thank you —he said.

—Don’t thank me yet —I replied—. We’ve barely started.

He smiled. A wide, ear-to-ear smile that changed his whole face. He left the room in silence, just as I’d asked.

I heard his footsteps in the hallway. The front door opening and closing carefully, almost stealthily.

I stayed leaning against the headboard. The room smelled like sex. Like me, like him, the two of us mixed together. The silence was different. I was a little different too, though I wouldn’t have been able to explain exactly why.

I looked at my hands. The almond cream still softening them. The polish on my right foot that I’d put on that very afternoon, in my Monday ritual.

Mondays would still be mine.

Only now I shared some of them.