At the Wedding, His Mother Pushed Him Toward His Aunt

His cousin’s wedding was turning out to be just as tedious as Marcos had expected. He’d spent half the night in the same chair, between his parents and some uncles who barely spoke to him, checking his phone every two minutes and praying it would all end already.

The ceremony had been held in an old manor house lost in the middle of the mountains, far from anywhere familiar. Beautiful, sure, but lonely, surrounded by trees and by a darkness that began right where the garden’s last bulbs ended.

—Are you bored? —his mother asked him.

Nerea was the only one still beside him at the table. Her husband’s family had never really warmed to her, and she didn’t make much effort to win them over either. She had a sharp tongue and little patience for drunk in-laws.

—A bit —he admitted—. I picked a bad moment to say I’d come. They live in the middle of nowhere, and on top of that half of them are idiots.

—Half is generous —she replied, and they both smiled at once.

Nerea slipped off her shoes, swapped her heels for a pair of espadrilles the newlyweds had given the female guests, and pointed toward the exit with a tilt of her chin.

—Shall we sneak off for a while? I need some fresh air before I die of boredom.

Marcos didn’t need to be told twice. They dodged the guests, who smiled at them with drunken, sticky grins, and went out into the garden. The March night met them with a dry, clean cold that smelled of damp earth.

—Thank God it’s not raining —she said, pulling a cigarette from her bag—. Otherwise this would be one shitty wedding.

—I didn’t know you smoked.

—One or two when I go out and have a couple of drinks. That doesn’t count —she lit the cigarette and blew out a puff that dissolved into the darkness like a ghost.

Marcos was about to answer when a sound stopped him. Something rhythmic, muffled, was coming from the thicket in front of them.

—Did you hear that?

Nerea strained her ears more to play along than out of interest. And then she caught it: a steady thumping, unmistakable, that could only mean one thing. Mother and son looked at each other wide-eyed.

—Do you think... —he began.

—Let’s check it out —she cut in, piqued by curiosity.

***

They moved over the cobblestones like cats, stifling their laughter, until the lamps ran out and they had to let their eyes adjust to the blackness. Nerea gripped her son by the shoulders and, about ten meters away, they made out a silhouette between two trees.

It was a man in wedding attire, standing there, moving his hips against someone with her hands braced on an old stone wall. The thudding they’d heard was him, rutting away without pause. The woman was panting against the wall.

—I can’t believe it —Nerea whispered in her son’s ear—. That’s Marta and Joaquín. Your father’s cousins.

—So?

—That they’re cousins too, dummy. And they’re married. To other people, each of them.

Marcos smothered a laugh against the tree trunk. They stayed still, hidden, while the wet slap of sex and Marta’s moans filled the little grove as if they were in the front row at a cinema.

—I’m about to come —the man announced, with not the slightest shame.

—No, no, wait —she protested, but it was useless. A long, satisfied sigh gave him away—. Damn it, Joaquín, couldn’t you hold on one more minute? Next time come outside; we’re too old for scares like that.

—The pill fixes everything, woman.

Mother and son stayed frozen, blending into the tree, until the lovers’ footsteps faded toward the house. Only then did they separate, bursting with contained laughter.

—What an asshole —Nerea said, wiping away a tear—. He fucks his cousin and then kisses her in front of everyone like nothing happened. What a bombshell.

***

They went back to the table when the wind picked up. Nerea dragged her chair over until it was pressed against her son’s, from where they could see the whole dance floor.

—Look at her —she pointed to Marta, who at that moment was kissing her husband devotedly—. She kisses him with so much love. Who knows what her mouth still tastes like.

Marcos laughed. Things had stopped being boring.

—Don’t you think it’s incredible? Married, with kids, and they’re cousins.

—What’s more incredible is that they’re cousins and they fuck —she replied, amused—. Though, look, I’m hardly one to judge. Tell me something, out of pure motherly curiosity: you and any of your cousins, have you ever...?

He leaned back in his chair with a half-smile. He had never hidden anything from his mother; they were more accomplices than anything else.

—Not with my cousins. I barely have any, and none of them are my age —he said, scratching his temple, a gesture she knew all too well—. But since we’re on the subject... do you know who used to turn me on a lot when I was little?

—Spit it out.

—Lorena.

Nerea’s mouth dropped open.

—Aunt Lorena? My sister-in-law? —she lowered her voice when he shot her a panicked look—. I don’t believe it. You little pervert.

Marcos felt the heat rise in his face. He looked for his aunt. Lorena was dancing in the middle of the floor, squeezed into a black dress that suited her far too well, her curly hair falling down her back. She must be forty-four and she was still absolutely to die for.

—You still like her —his mother said, reading it in his eyes—. Don’t deny it.

—As a kid she drove me insane —he confessed—. Call it what it is.

Nerea took a sip of her drink. The night, the alcohol, and the lovers’ secret in the woods were lighting a dangerous idea in her head.

—And what would you give to be with her? Honestly.

—Are you asking me seriously?

—In high school I loved pairing people up. And if it’s my son, even better... Look, Rubén is an idiot who’s spent half the wedding staring at my cleavage. He doesn’t deserve that woman. —she leaned close to his ear—. Let’s talk to her.

—No way, Mom. I’d die of embarrassment.

—Just play along with me.

***

Nerea stood up, swayed her way onto the dance floor, and rescued her sister-in-law with a smile.

—Lorena, darling, come on, we’ve got a piece of gossip you’re going to love. A good one.

Lorena’s eyes lit up like a little girl’s. The three of them went out into the garden, where the cold air cut off their breath. Marcos stayed half a step behind while his mother, glass in hand, narrated Marta and Joaquín’s little episode in lavish detail: the noises, the tree, the pill, the scares.

—I can’t believe it —Lorena panted, delighted—. You swear it? You’re bringing me pure gold, girl.

—A little fling at our age isn’t so bad either, don’t you think? —Nerea let that hang there, and the other woman nodded, laughing, already pretty drunk.

Then the mother changed tone. She lowered her voice, pretending to be shy when she felt none.

—Look, this whole woods thing reminded me of something. And you, darling? —she turned to her son—. Have you never had a family affair? Something that kept you up at night.

—Mom... —he cleared his throat.

—I already know —she went on, looking at Lorena—. But I’m not the one who should know it.

Lorena frowned, leaned her back against the manor wall, and fixed her blue eyes on her nephew.

—Wait... Marcos?

The boy lowered his head, unable to hold her gaze.

—It’s not that big a deal, my mother exaggerates —he murmured—. But yes. I’ve always liked you. Since I was very little. You were the first woman I ever lost my head over.

There was a long silence, broken only by the echo of music and the wind in the branches. Nerea expected a slap, a rejection, a “that’s outrageous.” None of that came. Lorena looked at him, her nostrils trembling, half an incredulous smile on her lips and a blush that wasn’t only from the cold.

—You’ve left me speechless —she said at last—. You don’t hear things like that at my age. I feel... flattered. —she bit her lip—. Since when have you seen me like that?

That question says it all, Nerea thought, and knew the plan was working.

—Always —the boy answered, emboldened—. In summer, when we’d overlap in the village, you were the only thing that mattered to me. To me, you were perfect.

Lorena was breathing hard, her neckline rising and falling. Nerea moved between them with a cat’s slow grace, adjusted her sister-in-law’s dress strap, and leaned in to her ear.

—Three’s a crowd —she whispered—. I’ll go in and keep Rubén busy for a good while, so he doesn’t notice you’re gone. You two... be alone together.

—Nerea, wait... —Lorena brushed her hand.

—No need to say anything, sweetheart. You just need to do it.

Before leaving, Nerea stepped up to her son, kissed him wetly on the cheek and, without Lorena missing a thing, let her hand drop to the bulge straining the boy’s pants. She traced it with her fingertips, slowly, pausing for an instant to squeeze it affectionately.

—Have fun —she said, looking her sister-in-law in the blue eyes while she held her son’s cock.

She let go, turned on her heel, and disappeared into the party. At the doorway she touched two fingers to her lips and made the gesture of zipping an invisible zipper closed.

***

Aunt and nephew were left alone, looking at each other as if they were the only two people in the world. His mother’s touch had left him on the verge of madness. Marcos flung his glass into the grass, not caring whether it broke, and took two steps until he was standing in front of her.

—Where are we going? —he asked, in a hard voice he didn’t recognize.

Lorena examined him from head to toe. He was still the same boy she had seen born, except for one thing, and she confirmed that thing when she lowered her gaze to the bulge between his legs. Without saying a word, she took him by the hand and dragged him to the side of the manor, to a dim shed where the folding chairs were kept.

The moment she closed the door, he kissed her. She answered with a hunger she had been building for years beneath a boring marriage. Lorena bit his lip, pulled down his zipper, and grabbed him with one firm hand.

—My God, you’ve grown in every sense —she gasped.

He lifted her onto a stack of boxes, hiked her black dress up to her waist, and pushed aside the thin fabric of her underwear. Lorena was soaked, open, desperate. When he drove into her in one thrust, she dug her nails into his back and bit the boy’s neck to keep from crying out.

—Slower, nephew —she asked through clenched teeth—, because I’ve dreamed about this a thousand times and I don’t want it to end.

Marcos obeyed halfway. He held her by the hips and moved long and deep, listening to his aunt’s moans mingle with the distant music of the wedding. She spoke in his ear, told him filthy things he would never have imagined coming out of sweet Lorena’s mouth, and that only turned him on even more.

***

He had no idea how long they’d been there when the shed door opened with a creak. Marcos froze, but the silhouette backlit by the garden lights wasn’t Rubén’s.

—Well, well —said Nerea, coming in and closing the door behind her—. Rubén has gone to sleep off the booze in the car. I thought I’d give you a hand.

Lorena, far from being frightened, let out a rough laugh.

—Come here, instigator. This is your doing.

Nerea came closer. She rested one hand on her son’s back, still buried in his aunt, and with the other brushed a lock of hair from Lorena’s sweaty face.

—I just wanted to make sure my boy was doing it right —she said, and kissed her sister-in-law on the mouth, slowly, while Marcos felt the ground vanish beneath his feet.

What came next was a knot of hands, mouths, and whispers in that freezing shed. Lorena pulled the son toward her and the mother toward the two of them, and Nerea, far from staying on the sidelines, guided her boy, set his rhythm, whispered in his ear how proud she was. When Marcos finally let go, he did it with his aunt hugging his back and his mother holding his face between her hands, repeating that that night was only the beginning.

***

They returned to the party separately, with barely a few minutes between them, each fixing their clothes and their smile. Marta was kissing her husband again on the dance floor; Joaquín was toasting at the bar; Rubén was snoring in the parking lot. No one suspected a thing.

Nerea sank into her chair beside her son, brushed his leg under the table, and spoke in his ear with that red tongue of hers he knew so well.

—See? It wasn’t that hard —she smiled—. And for the record, the next time you say a wedding is boring, you’re going to remember this one.

Marcos looked at his aunt across the dance floor, who gave him back a blue-eyed look loaded with promises, and then at his mother, biting the rim of her glass to keep from laughing. We’re the same, he thought. And for the first time all night, he wished the party would never end.