Mother Son

I went into the confessional with shame and came out knowing that what my son felt for me was not so different from what I was beginning to feel for him.

She didn’t teach me out of love. She taught me because no one else was going to, and because, deep down, it was what we both needed.

His hand was where it shouldn’t have been, and my voice was whispering things no son should hear. But neither of us wanted to stop.

When he hugged me from behind and I felt his body against mine, we both knew it had a name no one dared to say aloud.

She showed him the photos with a nervous smile. It took him three seconds to understand what he was looking at, and three more to decide he wasn’t going to stop.

We had spent three months coordinating every detail. When Diego opened the door and I saw his mother behind him, I knew there was no turning back for any of us four.

It was late, we were alone at home, and Mom began talking about something she never should have told us. By the time I wanted to stop her, I no longer wanted her to stop.

We lived in the same apartment, naked, unable to touch each other. He looked at me as if he meant to devour me. A month of abstinence before he earned it.

Marcos was crying with rage in that adjustable bed, convinced he would never feel a woman again. I locked the door and took off my clothes.

When my mother called to say she’d be alone that weekend, I had no idea what she had planned for me that night.

When night falls in this house, I turn off the light in his room, close the door, and stop being only his mother to become something more.

She got on my bike in that tight leather outfit and told me to go slow. But neither of us wanted to go slow that night.

She went into Diego’s room wearing only a black thong under her robe. He was asleep. She sat on the edge of the bed and her hand went there on its own.

Camila pulled back the sheet without thinking and caught sight of exactly what she shouldn’t have. What came next changed forever the way my sister and I spoke to each other.

Rodrigo convinced her to turn around. It was only for a moment, he said. Marcos had been looking at her that way for years, and Sandra hadn’t seen it until now.

I pushed open the garage door and froze. My mother and my aunt, topless, with their hands wrapped, ready to fight.

It all began the night I discovered that my mother had been sleeping with the man I was in love with for months.

When I walked into that garage without warning, I found two women with wrapped hands, their breasts bare, and years of rage built up between them.

The door to my room didn’t close all the way on the left side. She knew it. I knew it too. For weeks we pretended not to.