My Brother Was the Remedy Mom Needed

Mom had gone three months without leaving her room. Since we lost Dad, her world had shrunk to those four walls, the closed curtains, and the trays of food I left at her door that she sometimes didn’t even touch. Seeing her like that broke my heart, because Mom was fifty-one, but she looked much younger, with that body that no diet had given her, only pure genetics: wide hips, a defined waist, and a generous chest that had always drawn men’s attention without her ever seeking it.

One Sunday morning I decided enough was enough. I opened her bedroom door without knocking, yanked the curtains open, and planted myself in front of her bed with my arms crossed.

—Mom, today you’re getting up —I said, with more authority than I really felt.

She narrowed her eyes against the light and pulled the sheet up over herself.

—Sofía, please, leave me be —she murmured.

—No. Mateo and I are going out to eat, and you’re coming with us. First shower, and I’ll find you some clothes.

—I don’t feel like seeing anyone, sweetheart.

I walked over to the bed and sat beside her. I brushed a strand of hair off her forehead with my fingers, the same way she used to do to me when I was little and had a fever.

—Mateo asks about you all the time. Says you’ve abandoned him, that you were his favorite mother-in-law.

—He exaggerates.

—He doesn’t. Besides, how long has it been since you wore anything that isn’t that pajama?

She didn’t answer, which was answer enough.

I got up and went to the closet. I opened it and started pulling hangers out. She had beautiful clothes in there: dresses I remembered seeing her wear to dinners and gatherings, brightly colored blouses, skirts that fitted her well over those hips more than one man had admired in silence.

—You’ve got amazing clothes, Mom. It’s a crime to keep them locked up in here.

—Take them if you want.

—I wouldn’t fit into even one of your bras —I said, laughing.

—Try it on.

She said it jokingly, but I grabbed the first one I found, a cream-colored lace bra with well-shaped cups, and turned around to try it on. It took me a moment, and when I turned back, Mom was staring at me with eyes wider than I’d seen in weeks.

—See? It fits me perfectly.

—Oh, sweetheart... —She pushed herself up a little, leaning on her elbows—. It really does fit you.

—See? Genetics —I told her—. We’re both equally blessed.

She smiled. Small, almost involuntary, but she smiled. It was the first time in months I’d seen her smile.

—Yours are firmer —she said.

—Yours are bigger.

—Equally big, sweetheart. Genes don’t lie.

I took off the bra and kept rummaging through the clothes. That was when my hand brushed against something I hadn’t expected, at the back of the drawer, behind a pair of rolled-up stockings. I pulled it out slowly and held it up: a sizable silicone dildo, textured, ivory-colored, with veins running all the way down and a thick, well-defined head.

—Mom.

—Sofía, put that down.

—You’ve got resources, ma’am —I said, unable to stop laughing—. And it’s not exactly tiny.

—I said put it down.

I went back to the bed and sat down again. I set it on the nightstand with no more importance than anything else.

—There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s the most normal thing in the world.

—I know it’s normal. What isn’t normal is you staring at it.

—Mom, we’re two adult women. I can ask you something without either of us dying.

She looked at me with that mixture of indignation and curiosity she used to wear when I was a teenager and asked her things I shouldn’t have.

—What do you want to ask me?

—How long has it been since you got fucked?

A long silence.

—Since before your father got sick.

—So, almost a year without coming.

She looked toward the window and said nothing.

—Mom, your pussy needs it. It has nothing to do with loving Dad or respecting his memory. They’re completely different things.

—I know, sweetheart. But it’s not that simple.

—Why not?

—Because once you start thinking about that, you start remembering. And remembering hurts.

I understood. And precisely because I understood, I decided to keep going anyway.

—Then you have to think about something else. Someone new. A different cock.

—What do you mean?

—Do you find Mateo attractive?

She looked at me as if I’d proposed robbing a bank.

—Sofía, he’s your boyfriend.

—I know. I’m asking if you think he’s handsome, not if you want him to fuck you.

—Well... he is a good-looking guy, yes.

—And you know he looks at you? When you bend down to pick something up, when you wear that green blouse that shows off your cleavage, his eyes go straight to your tits. He looks at you, Mom. He gets hard, and I’ve seen it with my own eyes.

She pressed her lips together but didn’t protest.

—And that doesn’t make you feel anything, really? Doesn’t your pussy get a little wet?

—It embarrasses me, Sofía. That’s what embarrassment is for.

—Embarrassment is one thing. The other question is whether it stirs something inside you. And that’s not betraying Dad. It’s just being human. Having a woman’s pussy and not a statue’s.

Mom stayed quiet for a moment. Outside, birds. Inside, the uncomfortable silence of half-truths.

—A little —she admitted at last, in a very low voice.

—Of course. You’re a gorgeous woman. With those tits and that ass, any man would pay to fuck you. And you’ve gone almost a year without anyone touching you, without anyone licking a nipple, without a cock inside you.

—Sofía...

—I’m not asking anything weird. Just that you give yourself permission to feel something. Even with that. —I nodded toward the dildo—. Under the sheets. I won’t see anything.

There was a long silence. Mom looked at the toy, then at me, then back at the toy.

—You’re crazy, sweetheart.

—A little. But you love me anyway.

***

It took her several minutes to agree. She reached out slowly, grabbed the dildo, and slipped it under the sheets with slow, restrained movements, as if expecting me to stop her or judge her. I did neither. I watched her hike up her pajama top, pull her panties down beneath the fabric, the hand under the sheet begin to work between her thighs.

The first sound that left her mouth was a broken gasp, almost a cry of surprise, when the thick tip found its way into her pussy.

—Is it okay? —I asked.

—It’s just been a long time. —She paused, clenched her teeth—. I’m dry. It’s a little hard at first.

—Take all the time you need. Get your fingers wet and rub yourself first.

I watched her obey without saying anything, her hand going up to her mouth, two fingers coming back down shiny with spit. Another longer sigh. Her hips lifting slightly off the bed.

—There —she murmured—. I’m getting wet.

—Then put it all the way in.

I could hear her breathing changing rhythm, deepening, becoming more irregular. Her hips started moving under the sheets, barely noticeable at first, then more obvious. Her arm went up and down in a steady motion, and beneath the fabric the shape of the dildo going in and out was perfectly clear, sinking into her pussy to the hilt and coming back out glossy.

—Sofía.

—What?

—It’s all the way in. To the base.

—Then fuck it. Like you’d fuck it if you had a man on top of you.

I said nothing else. I only put a hand on her shoulder, slowly, as if telling her it was okay, that there was nothing wrong with what she was doing. She closed her eyes and started moving for real. The dildo went in and out, carving a groove in the sheet, and with every thrust a dull, sticky sound escaped her, a wet splash that filled the room.

—Oh, sweetheart —she whispered—. How embarrassing. I’m so wet.

—There’s no shame in it. Relax. Let yourself go.

Her breathing turned into soft, continuous gasps, and every so often into something more like a moan she tried to muffle by biting her lip. The bed creaked slightly. Under the sheets, her other hand went up to her chest, slipped inside the pajama neckline, and I watched her squeeze one breast and pinch the nipple between two fingers. I was still sitting beside her, hand on her shoulder, but it was impossible not to be present in that room, not to smell the wet pussy scent starting to rise from the center of the bed.

—Who are you thinking about? —I asked after a while.

The movement stopped.

—No one —she said.

—Mom. You’re fucking a dildo in front of your daughter. Don’t lie to me now.

—Sofía, don’t start.

—I’m not starting anything. I’m just asking. If you’re thinking about Mateo, I don’t care. If it’s someone from work, neither do I. And if you’re thinking about Diego...

The sentence hung unfinished in the air. I should have finished it, but I didn’t. I let it float.

—What does your brother have to do with this? —she said too quickly.

—Nothing. Just saying.

—Then don’t say it.

But her hips had started moving again. Faster. The wet splashing growing louder.

—Diego asked about you last week. Not like a son asks about his mother. He told me you’re really hot, that you don’t look your age. That you’ve got a body that drives men crazy. And he didn’t say it casually, Mom. He said it looking me straight in the eye and choosing every word.

—Sofía, stop.

—He told me any man would be thrilled to fuck you until you burst. And then he stayed quiet for a good while, staring at the bulge in his pants. I saw it, Mom. He got hard talking about you.

A silence different from the first one. Heavier. Denser. Under the sheets her arm kept moving without stopping, and the splashing was now unmistakable, a wet, filthy sound filling the whole room.

—That can’t be —she murmured, her voice thick.

—And yet it is. And you? Haven’t you ever thought about him? Haven’t you ever used this thinking about your son’s cock?

—He’s my son. What you’re saying is obscene.

—I know. I’m just asking if at any point, in some dream you woke from with your nightgown wet and your panties soaked, you ever lay there staring at the ceiling...

The sheets moved harder. She didn’t answer. And that silence was the clearest answer she could have given me.

Several more minutes passed. Her moans grew longer, less controlled, until she stopped trying to stifle them altogether. The bed springs kept a steady rhythm, each thrust of the dildo drawing a rough, hoarse “ah” from deep in her chest.

—Take it deep, Mom. All of it.

—Oh, Sofía.

—Think about Diego. Think it’s your son’s cock inside you. That he’s fucking you.

—Don’t say that.

—Think it.

A long, broken moan, and her hips arched up off the mattress. Under the sheet her arm moved frantically.

—Sofía —she said at last, her voice thick—. What would he do if he knew I was like this?

—Diego?

Silence. Which was the answer.

—He’d come —I said calmly—. If I told him right now you were soaking wet, fucking a dildo and thinking about him, he’d be here in a minute and he’d eat you out completely.

—Don’t do that.

—Why not?

—Because it’s madness. Because it’s not right. Because...

Her hips did not stop. She had bitten her lip until it went white, and her tits were trembling beneath the pajama top with each thrust.

—Do you want him to come? Do you want him to put it in you instead of that silicone thing?

The kind of silence that isn’t silence but a decision someone makes while staring at the ceiling with a burning pussy.

—I don’t know —she said at last, with a voice that wasn’t her everyday voice—. I don’t know anything, sweetheart.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and sent my brother a message. Four words: “Come to Mom’s room.”

***

Diego appeared in the doorway less than a minute later. He’d been at home the whole time, which I already knew. He looked at the two of us —at me sitting on the edge of the bed, at Mom with the sheets up to her neck, her face flushed and her arm still moving openly beneath them— and understood the situation before anyone said a word. My brother was smart. He always had been. And the bulge in his pants was already starting to show.

—What’s going on here? —he asked in a low voice.

—Mom is fucking a dildo thinking about you —I said, standing up—. She hasn’t come in a year. Help her.

—Sofía —she murmured, but without moving, without taking her eyes off the ceiling, without pulling the dildo out of her pussy.

Diego came in. He closed the door slowly. He stood beside the bed, looking at his mother with an expression I’d never seen on him before, one that wasn’t a son’s but a man’s, a man who’d been silent about something for a long time. And the cock outlined under his jeans, hard all the way now.

—How are you? —he asked her, very quietly.

—I don’t know —Mom answered, with a honesty that left me speechless.

He sat on the edge of the bed, where I’d been sitting. He put a hand on the sheet, on her hip, without taking his eyes off hers. And slowly, very slowly, he started lowering the sheet. First her chest, Mom’s tits rising and falling with her ragged breathing, the stiff nipples pressing against the open pajama top. Then the waist. Then the belly. And finally her hand, still holding the dildo buried to the base between her spread legs.

—I’ve been worried about you for months —Diego said, his eyes fixed on his mother’s pussy, on the glossy dildo peeking out between her thighs.

—I know, son.

—Don’t call me that right now —he said calmly, not roughly. He moved her hand aside and pulled the dildo out himself, very slowly, and she let out a long moan at the emptiness. The toy came out soaked, dripping.

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Looked back up at the ceiling and let the air out slowly when she felt Diego’s fingers replacing the dildo, two thick fingers sinking into her pussy to the knuckles.

—You’re soaked, Mom.

—Diego...

—Soaked. More than I’ve ever seen you.

I moved toward the door almost without making a sound. Before leaving, I turned back for a moment. Diego had two fingers inside Mom’s pussy and was using his thumb to find her clit, and she hadn’t pulled away. On the contrary. She’d opened her legs wider and put a hand on her son’s neck, drawing him in, bringing him toward her chest. She looked at him with an expression that wasn’t fear but surrender, the kind of surrender that comes after months of accumulated loneliness and no longer has the strength to keep resisting. I watched Diego find a nipple with his mouth and suck it fully, and Mom arch her back and let out an “oh, son” that slipped from her chest like a confession.

I closed the door as I left.

I stood there for a moment in the hallway, my back against the wall. What I heard after that wasn’t the sound of drama, but something softer and deeper. First my brother’s voice, very low, whispering in her ear: “You’re so hot,” “What a sweet pussy you’ve got,” “I’ve wanted to do this to you for years.” And Mom’s voice, answering with a yes so small it was barely even a word, then another longer yes, and then “Eat me out, son, eat me out all the way.”

I heard the mattress creak when Diego climbed onto the bed. And Mom’s muffled moans when her son’s tongue sank between her legs, when he spread her pussy lips with his fingers and started licking her clit thoroughly, unhurriedly, like someone who’d spent years imagining what something would taste like. I heard Mom grab his hair, tug on it, tell him not to stop, to keep going, to eat it all, not to dare let her go now.

Then the sound of a zipper. Clothes rustling down to the floor. The mattress creaking a different way, heavier, when Diego’s weight settled between Mom’s open legs. And her voice, broken, when she felt her son’s cock pressing against her pussy.

—Diego, it’s big.

—You can take it.

—It’s so much bigger than the toy.

—You can take it, Mom. You can take everything.

And then the long, rough, animal moan that came out of Mom when her son started to push into her. Slowly at first, gaining ground, and she gasping beneath him, clinging to his shoulders, tightening her thighs around Diego’s waist. “Wait, wait, wait,” she said. “Keep going, keep going, keep going,” she said right after. Until I heard the sharp slap of his hips against hers and knew he was all the way inside.

And then the rhythm. The wet splashing, louder and deeper than with the dildo, Diego’s hips slamming against Mom’s ass over and over, the bed hitting the wall with a steady beat that never let up. My mother’s moans, which did not sound like shame but relief, like tension slowly unraveling, like the knot in a rope you’ve been pulling too tight for too long. My brother’s voice, steady and low, calling her by her name instead of Mom. “Carmen, Carmen, squeeze, like that, Carmen.” And her answering with obscenities I’d never heard from my mother before, begging him harder, deeper, to put it all the way in, not to stop, to come inside her.

I heard the moment Mom came. A long cry muffled against her son’s shoulder, her whole body trembling, and then a small, tearful laugh, as if she couldn’t believe it. I heard Diego keep thrusting, faster, rougher, until he let out a low grunt and shoved all the way in, and I knew he was emptying his cock inside her. And Mom moaning beneath him, grabbing his ass, pulling him against her so he wouldn’t slip out, so he’d leave her every last drop.

And the long silence that followed, the silence of someone who has truly slept for the first time in a long while. Broken only by murmurs and by the wet sound of Diego’s cum dripping out of Mom’s pussy when he finally pulled away.

That afternoon, when I got back from buying some food, Mom was sitting in the kitchen. She’d showered by herself, put on the green blouse that always showed off her cleavage, and made herself coffee. Her hands were around the cup and her gaze was fixed on the garden, on the trees, on something concrete and real that existed beyond those four walls.

—How are you? —I asked, setting the bags down on the counter.

She looked up. Looked at me for a moment. And smiled, effortlessly, with her whole face.

—Better —she said.

She didn’t add anything else. Neither did I.