My Aunt Didn’t Take Off Her Robe When He Left

Bonifacio’s slamming door echoed through the whole block like a dull thunderclap. It was five-thirty in the morning and the neighborhood was still dark, with some dog barking in the distance and the first bus on the night line dragging itself along the avenue. Inside the apartment, silence fell all at once, broken only by the hum of the fridge and the stubborn tick-tock of the wall clock.

I’d woken up at the first bang. The coughing of a chain smoker, the hallway lights snapping on, the usual shouting. I stayed still under the sheet, covered to my chin, listening to my uncle’s routine like someone who recognizes a song they hate but know by heart.

Amparo was trying to calm him in a low voice, almost a whisper.

—Don’t shout, Bonifacio, Iván’s asleep.

—To hell with the brat! He can get up if he wants. If it weren’t for my brother, he’d be sleeping on the fucking street.

She didn’t answer. I heard her bare feet in the hallway, the hiss of the espresso machine, the clink of the cup against the saucer, bread dropping into the toaster. My uncle kept grumbling while he got dressed, and then came the part that made me open my eyes fully.

—Take that robe off before the kid gets up, yeah? The bastard’s eyeballing you like crazy.

—He’s your nephew… —she replied, soft but firm.

I couldn’t see her, but I knew she was smiling to herself. Because on that score my uncle was right: I’d been eating her up with my eyes for years.

—Take it off while I’m not here, fuck’s sake, you’re parading your ass around the whole house.

He knocked back his breakfast in one go, shoved on his work jacket, and left with the usual slamming of the door. The elevator took forever. At last came the noise of the car door downstairs, the old Seat’s engine starting on the first try by pure miracle, the screech of the tires as it pulled out of the garage.

Silence again. Amparo let out a long breath, as if a weight had been lifted off her.

***

I heard her steps heading for the terrace. She slid open the glass door and went out onto the small balcony overlooking the street. She leaned over the railing, stretching her neck to make sure the car disappeared around the corner, that it didn’t come back for anything forgotten, that he was really gone.

I was already up. Barefoot, in my briefs and T-shirt, I crossed the hallway without making a sound. The terrace was cool at that hour, and the air smelled of asphalt washed by the nighttime cleaning and the jasmine from the neighbor downstairs.

She was wearing the same old terry robe as always: faded blue, cut halfway down the thigh, with the belt loose and the neckline open because with the heat she couldn’t be bothered to tie it properly. From behind, everything showed. Her waist, her broad hips, the strong legs of a woman who had worked on her feet all her life.

I stopped right behind her, so close I could feel the heat of her body. She didn’t turn around.

—Morning, Auntie —I whispered, my voice rough from just waking up.

She gave a little start, but didn’t move away.

—Iván… You’re awake already? I thought you’d sleep in.

—With your husband’s serenade, impossible.

She laughed softly, still looking out at the empty street.

—What a concert, yeah.

Then I stepped closer and put my hands on the railing, one on each side of her, trapping her without quite touching her. My chest brushed her back. My crotch, already half-hard just from seeing her like that, pressed against her ass over the fabric.

—Why didn’t you listen to Uncle? —I asked in her ear, almost purring—. You’re still wearing that robe… and everything shows.

She turned her head just enough to glance at me out of the corner of her eye. Her hair was mussed and her eyes were still sleepy, but bright.

—Because I like seeing you look —she said bluntly—. And I know it turns you on to see me like this.

There was no going back from that sentence, and we both knew it. We’d been circling each other for months, brushing against each other in the kitchen, holding each other’s gaze for a second too long. That morning, with the apartment finally empty, the words stopped being a game.

I slowly slid one hand down her hip and caught the hem of her robe. I lifted it a little from behind, exposing the lower curve of her ass. She had nothing on underneath. Just warm, soft skin under my fingers.

She didn’t try to stop me. On the contrary: she arched her back and pushed back against me.

—What if someone sees us from the street? —I asked, even though I was already slipping my hand between her thighs.

—It’s a quarter to six. People are asleep. And if they look, let them look —she murmured, and a moan slipped out of her when I stroked her slowly, right where she was already wet.

***

With my other hand I opened her robe in front. Her breasts fell free, her nipples already hard from the morning chill and from everything else. I covered them with my palms, squeezing gently, pinching them while I kissed her neck, the line of her jaw, the lobe of her ear.

She braced herself on the railing and leaned forward, offering herself, spreading her feet a little on the cold tiles.

—Fuck, Iván… slow, my legs are shaking.

I yanked the robe off her and let it hang from my arm. For an instant I looked at her whole, outlined against the gray sky that was starting to brighten over the rooftops. How many times had I imagined her like this, and reality outdid the imagination every time.

I pulled down my briefs and pressed against her from behind, rubbing without going in yet, letting her feel what she was provoking. She moved her hips in small circles, sliding against me, soaking me.

—Not here… —she said suddenly, though her voice trembled with want—. Someone could look out from the building across the way.

I turned her slowly and kissed her deeply, tasting the coffee she’d just had. Without breaking my mouth from hers, I led her by the hand back inside. I slid the terrace door shut, pulled the blind halfway down so the light could get in but no one’s eyes could, and we sank onto the living room sofa.

She took the robe off completely and was left naked, already shining with sweat despite the cool air. I took off my T-shirt. She climbed on top of me, straddling me, and lowered herself down slowly, swallowing me whole with a long moan that she muffled against my shoulder.

We started slowly, feeling every inch, every brush of skin. Then faster, harder. The old sofa creaked with every thrust, her breasts bumped against my face, her nails dug into my shoulders. I gripped her hips with both hands, helping her rise and fall, burying myself to the hilt each time.

She came first. She shuddered all over, clenched around me like a fist, and let out a cry that she covered by biting her forearm so she wouldn’t wake the building. I held on as long as I could, but when she moved again, faster, more desperate, I couldn’t take it anymore. I let go with a long grunt, pulling her against me while she kept rocking, milking me until the end.

We stayed wrapped around each other, panting, sticky, with the first stripes of sun slipping in through the cracks in the blind.

—We’ve got the whole day ahead of us —she whispered, kissing me slowly on the lips—. Until nine at night, minimum.

I smiled, still inside her, not wanting to move.

***

From the terrace and the sofa we went straight to the master bedroom, my uncle and aunt’s, without bothering to pick anything up. Amparo’s robe was left lying in the middle of the hallway, my briefs forgotten on the living room floor.

We went in naked, still sweaty, and dropped onto the double bed that creaked under both our weight. It was narrow, the kind that barely fits in a cramped apartment bedroom, with cheap cotton sheets that already smelled like us.

We lay on our sides, me behind her at first, one arm around her waist, my chest pressed to her back. Soon she turned and we ended up face to face, legs tangled together, noses almost touching. The nine o’clock sun came in through the half-raised blind and drew golden stripes across her skin, over the breasts rising and falling with each slow breath.

We stayed like that until almost ten. We didn’t talk much. We just breathed together, skin to skin, our body heat mingling with the heavy morning warmth creeping in through the window. Sometimes I dozed off—the exhaustion from the night, the adrenaline, everything before—and woke to her soft kisses on my face, my arms, my chest, as if she were savoring every minute we had left.

At some point she found me again with her hand, slowly, and when I was ready she took me in all by herself, unhurried, barely moving. She clung to me with her head on my chest and took a deep breath.

—I wish this would never end —she said, so quietly I could barely hear her.

Don’t let it end, I thought, looking at the stripes of sunlight stretching across the wall. May Uncle never come back, may the clock stop, may the morning last forever.

But we both knew the Seat would be parked downstairs again at nine at night, that the robe would go back in its place, and that tomorrow we’d go back to pretending in front of him. And we both knew too, without saying it, that as soon as he slammed the door shut and the car disappeared around the corner, she still wouldn’t take off her robe.