I Went Out Partying with My Mother and Everything Changed

The plan was simple: go out with Bruno and Adrián, two brothers I’d been going out partying with for years. They brought the bad jokes, I paid for the first round, and we all came back home at dawn. But that Saturday, late in the morning, they messaged me almost at the same time: trouble at their place, their mother had taken ill, they weren’t going out. End of story.

I stared at my phone longer than I should have. The room smelled of cold coffee and laziness. I’d spent the whole week looking forward to that night, and suddenly there was nothing to look forward to.

I shuffled downstairs to eat. My mother watched me from the kitchen with that look of hers that can spot any change in mood from ten feet away.

—You look down, sweetheart. Is something wrong?

—Nothing, Mom. Bruno and Adrián canceled on me.

—What a pain —she said, resting the spoon on the pot—. Were you really looking forward to going out?

—Yeah, honestly.

She was quiet for a moment, serving me the stew without looking at me. Then she let the question out as if it were nothing, as if she hadn’t been turning it over for months.

—What if we go, just the two of us?

I looked up from my plate.

—You and me?

—Me and you. Why not? It’s been ages since I’ve gone out. Ever since your father left, I feel twenty years younger and, at the same time, like I have zero desire to move. Tonight I feel like moving around, don’t you think?

I said yes before I even thought about it. I said it fast, almost in one breath, and my mother smiled as if she’d been waiting hours for that answer.

***

Before I go on, there’s something I need to say so the rest makes sense. My mother’s name is Marta. She’s forty-six, slim, naturally blonde, with honey-colored eyes and a way of walking that doesn’t seem her age. Ever since my father left, almost two years ago, she’d drawn the blinds on her life. She went to the supermarket, to yoga, to dinner with her two usual friends. And not much else.

As for me, I’d spent far too long looking at her body when she didn’t notice. The curve of her hip when she bent over to put something in the oven. Her neck, when she pinned her hair up with a clip. Her small, firm tits under her home T-shirt, her nipples showing in winter. Her round, tight ass in her yoga leggings. Things I hated myself for looking at. Things I’d jerked off to more times than I’m willing to admit, locked in my room, biting the pillow so she wouldn’t hear me coming while I thought about her.

***

—Can you help me choose? —she said after lunch, now standing at her bedroom door.

I thought it was a rhetorical question. It wasn’t. I went in behind her and the door closed softly. Her room smelled of her usual perfume, that woody, citrus scent my aunt gave her two birthdays ago.

—You know what’s in, right? —she said, opening the wardrobe.

—Mom, I wear jeans and a T-shirt everywhere.

—Exactly. If you like it, people will like it.

She tried on three outfits in front of me. The first, dark jeans with a blouse that was too serious. The second, a black strappy dress that came just above the knee and shaped her body in a way that made me look away because my cock was already starting to show in my pants. The third, tighter jeans with a white tank top with thin straps, and she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her nipples showed through, dark, the size of a coin, pointing forward.

—That one —I said, too quickly—. The white one.

She nodded at herself in the mirror. Then, without turning around, she threw out the line that cut my breath short.

—Black thong or nothing?

It took me three seconds to answer. Three seconds during which she watched me in the mirror reflection with a smile that had something in it.

—Black —I said, my throat dry.

—Good choice.

She lowered the jeans in front of me, with no shame at all. Her ass moved as she leaned forward, a skin-white ass, with not a single mark on it. She put on the black thong slowly, pulling it up with both hands, and the thin strip sank between her cheeks as if she were wearing it for me. When she pulled the jeans back up, she held my gaze a second too long. She knew perfectly well what she was doing.

***

The nightclub we went to was one of the newer ones on the avenue, with purple lights in the ceiling and a dance floor big enough to get lost on. We ordered two drinks at the bar. Marta toasted with me and laughed at something I said without really hearing it, because my head was busy with the exact curve of her collarbone under the neon light.

We danced. At first with that polite distance you keep between relatives. Then not so much. The music got louder, the crowd pressed in, and at some point my mother turned her back to me and leaned against me. It wasn’t intentional. Or maybe it was. I don’t know what was intentional and what wasn’t anymore that night. Her ass pressed into my crotch and she started moving her hips to the beat, rubbing against my cock, which went hard instantly. She felt it. Damn right she felt it. And she didn’t move away. On the contrary: she put both hands on my thighs and kept dancing, pressing her ass against me again and again.

I felt her hair against my neck. I felt her perfume mixed with the sweat from the club. I felt like I had to pull away or I’d do something I couldn’t come back from. So I pulled away. Marta didn’t turn around. She kept dancing like nothing had happened, just slower.

—I’m going to the bathroom —she whispered in my ear after the next song—. Hold my drink for me.

I held her glass. I watched her disappear among the bodies. I counted to ten. Then to twenty. At thirty, I put both drinks down on the bar and followed her.

***

The bathroom corridor was darker than the rest of the club. I pushed open the ladies’ room door without thinking. Marta was washing her hands. She saw me in the mirror and froze, water running over her fingers.

—Sweetheart, what are you doing here?

—I don’t know. I can’t stand it anymore.

She turned off the tap slowly. She dried her hands with the same calm as someone who knows the next move decides everything.

—Sweetheart…

I didn’t let her finish. I kissed her. I kissed her the way you kiss when you’ve spent months thinking about doing it and finally do it, without restraint, without elegance, all teeth and breath and the taste of gin and tonic.

She slapped me on the cheek. Not hard. Just enough. I closed my eyes thinking everything was over in that second. But then I felt her hand on the back of my neck, pulling me back, and her mouth seeking mine with an urgency that left me breathless. Her tongue shoved deep into my mouth, searching for mine, sucking on it like it was something else. I grabbed her ass with both hands over her jeans and she let out a moan into my mouth.

—Forgive me —she whispered between kisses—. Forgive me, my love.

—You don’t need to ask forgiveness.

—Yes, I do. Just not now.

I lifted the hem of her T-shirt. I brushed her waist. I lifted it a little more and caught one breast in my hand, squeezing it, pinching her nipple, hard as a button. She looked me in the eyes with a mix of fear and hunger I’d never seen before. I undid the button of her jeans, lowered the zipper, and slid my hand underneath, ran my fingers over the thong and then beneath it. She was soaked. Her pussy was dripping, my fingers stuck to her cunt like I’d dipped them in honey. I rubbed her clit slowly, in circles, and Marta pressed her forehead against my shoulder and breathed hard.

—Not here —she said—. Not here, sweetheart.

—Then where?

—Get me out of this place.

I pulled my fingers out of her cunt and put them in my mouth in front of her. I sucked them slowly, tasting how she tasted. Marta looked at me with parted lips, her face flushed, and for a second I thought I was going to fuck her right there, against the sink, not caring about anything.

***

Someone knocked on the bathroom door just as we were coming out. A girl with glitter-painted eyes looked at us like she couldn’t make sense of what she was seeing. Marta smiled at her with the effortless poise of a seasoned actress and held the door for her. We walked to the exit arm in arm, as if we were the soberest people in the place.

Outside, the night was warm. She lit a cigarette, something I hadn’t seen her do in years. I didn’t say anything. I was afraid of breaking the moment.

—Nobody’s kissed me like that in years —she said, looking at the pavement.

—I’ve never kissed anyone like that.

—Don’t say that. That’s nonsense.

—It’s the truth.

She turned to me in the middle of the sidewalk. She looked into my eyes for a long while. Then she dropped the cigarette half-smoked to the ground.

—Let’s go home. Let’s go home because I want you to fuck me.

She said it like that, with those words, in a low, hoarse voice, and my cock hardened all over again inside my jeans.

***

On the way to the building, in a narrow alley with no one around, I shoved her against the wall, lifted her shirt, and kissed her neck. Marta laughed softly, her eyes closed. I undid her jeans again and pulled them down to mid-thigh. I moved her thong aside with one finger and pushed two in to the knuckles. She was so wet it made a sound. I felt her dripping down to her thighs. She bit her lip and whispered something that sounded like “hurry up,” moving her hips against my hand to fuck my fingers all by herself.

—Do you want to take the thong off? —I said.

She nodded. She turned to face the wall, slid the garment down to her ankles, and tucked it into her bag without looking at me. Before she could pull her jeans back up, I put my hand on the back of her neck and pushed her head down. No more was needed. She knelt on the dark pavement, unbuttoned my pants, and took out my cock. She stared at it for a second, as if sizing up the terrain. Then she took it all into her mouth, gagging on it, and pulled it out slick with saliva.

—Fuck, Mom.

—Shut up —she said, and went back to sucking it.

She sucked me off right there, in the alley, with a technique I hadn’t expected from her. She took the whole thing, all the way to the back of her throat, then paused at the tip and licked me like I was ice cream. She looked up at me with glassy eyes and smudged mascara, and I had to grit my teeth not to come in her mouth then and there. I grabbed the back of her neck with both hands and fucked her mouth slowly, watching my cock sink between her painted lips. She clutched my ass and pulled forward, asking for more.

—Stop —I told her—, stop or I’m going to come.

She pulled my cock out of her mouth with a wet sound and smiled at me with glossy lips. She stood up, pulled her jeans back on with no underwear underneath, and took my hand.

—Home.

We went up in the elevator without touching. My mother had her nipples outlined under the white T-shirt, and she still wasn’t wearing a bra. I also couldn’t remember when I’d decided to go out without one. We stared at each other in the elevator mirror without saying a word, breathing like two animals.

***

In her room, there were no more words for a long while. I took off her shirt slowly, almost respectfully. She undid my belt with fingers that no longer trembled. When she was naked in front of me, with the yellow light from the bedside lamp falling across her from the side, I had to stop for a second and look at her. I’d spent years imagining that body and reality fell very short of it. The small, firm breasts, with the dark, hard nipples pointing upward. The flat stomach, with an old cesarean scar. The shaved pussy, the lips swollen and glossy from how wet she was.

—What are you looking at?

—You.

—Don’t look at me like that, sweetheart. It embarrasses me.

—I don’t care if it embarrasses you.

She laughed. That low, nervous laugh she did when she was a little drunk and a little happy. I pushed her slowly onto the bed. I kissed her neck, her collarbone, her chest. I sucked her tits, first one and then the other, took each nipple fully into my mouth and bit them softly. She arched her back and let out a long moan. I went down her stomach with my tongue to her navel and farther still, until I spread her legs wide and saw her pussy up close for the first time. Pink, shiny, with the swollen clit peeking out between the lips.

I ran my tongue all the way from top to bottom, from her ass to her clit, and Marta clutched the headboard with both hands and made a sound that was neither a moan nor a sob. It was something new, something only I had ever pulled out of her. I parted her lips with two fingers and started sucking her clit slowly, in circles, while I slid first one and then two fingers into her cunt. I ate her out hungrily, with all my spit, with twenty-something years of looking at her and not being able to touch her. She pressed my head against her cunt, lifted her hips, begged for more without words.

—Oh God, sweetheart, like that, like that, don’t stop.

I pushed a third finger in. I curled my fingers upward, searching for that spot, while I sucked her clit harder and harder. Marta started trembling. She closed around my face, squeezed my fingers with her cunt, and came screaming something I didn’t catch. I felt her orgasm on my tongue, a hot, salty gush that ran down my chin. I kept sucking her until she pushed my head away because she couldn’t take it anymore.

When I was done with her, she grabbed my hair and pulled me up to her mouth.

—Come here —she said—. I can’t take it anymore. Put it in me already.

I entered her slowly, never taking my eyes off hers. I slid into her centimeter by centimeter, watching her cunt open up to swallow my cock whole. She was so tight and so wet that I nearly came on the first thrust. Marta bit her lip, then her hand, then let out a moan I’d never heard before and will probably keep hearing in my head until the day I die. We found a rhythm, clumsy at first, then sure. I kissed her face, bit her shoulder. She scratched my back and whispered things in my ear I’d rather not write down, things like to put it in all the way, not to stop, that I was the best cock anyone had ever put inside her life.

I got her on all fours and drove into her from behind, gripping her hips, watching her white ass bounce against my crotch with every thrust. I slapped one cheek and my handprint stayed red. She moaned louder. I grabbed her hair and pulled back, and kept fucking her while I saw her face in profile, mouth open and eyes shut, fucked the way she hadn’t been fucked in years.

—Tell me what I call you —I whispered in her ear.

—Whatever you want, sweetheart, whatever you want, fuck.

—Tell me you’re my mother.

—I’m your mother. I’m your mother and you’re fucking me. You’re fucking your mother’s cunt.

I nearly came right there. I laid her on her back again, put her legs over my shoulders, and shoved it in to the hilt. I could see her cunt filling with my cock, her face warped with pleasure, her tits bouncing with every stroke. Marta came again, squeezing me so hard from inside that I couldn’t hold on any longer.

I pulled out in time. I came over her stomach in a long stream that reached her chest. She ran her fingers through my cum and brought them to her mouth without taking her eyes off me. Then she held my face with both hands until I stopped shaking. Then I lay down beside her and brushed a blond lock off her forehead.

—And now what? —she asked.

—Now I don’t want to think.

—Then let’s not think.

***

I fell asleep pressed against her back. When I woke up it was already daytime, there was the smell of toast coming from the kitchen, and the bedroom door was half open. Marta wasn’t in the bed. I could hear her humming softly on the other side of the hall, as if it were just any other Saturday.

I lay there staring at the ceiling. I thought there was no going back. And I also thought I didn’t want to go back. That for months we’d been walking slowly toward that door, and now we’d closed it with both of us inside.

It was, that Saturday. And at the same time, it was never going to be just that again.