My Mother and I in That Room of White Light

Carla heard the door and her face lit up before she even had time to think. Mateo walked in with his hair stuck to his forehead with training sweat, dropped his backpack, and stood staring at her as if seeing her for the first time. She was thirty-five, had raised her son alone since she was seventeen, worked as a secretary in a sports store, and at that hour in the afternoon she smelled of disinfectant and exhaustion. And even so, he looked at her like that.

—Hi, my love —she whispered, opening herself to an embrace that had become a habit.

The boy’s body settled against hers with a new kind of natural ease. Nineteen years old just turned, a handspan taller than she was, his shoulders hardened by two straight rugby seasons. And then she felt it. Hard, exact, pressing under her navel through his pants. An erection. A real hard cock, thick, pressing against her belly because he was hugging her.

She should have pulled away. She didn’t. She stayed still, measuring her own betrayal in the electricity running down her back. He’s my son, she thought, I’m losing my mind. But her hand went up to the back of his neck, playing with his short, damp hair without permission.

—Go take a shower —she said at last, tapping his chest with two fingers right where, a second before, she had felt the proof of that desire—. You stink like a sweaty boy.

Mateo didn’t move right away. He looked at her with a new intensity, dark eyes sweeping her face as if he were mapping it.

—You’re more beautiful than ever, Mom —he said softly.

That wasn’t a child’s compliment. It was a man’s declaration to a woman. Heat rose into Carla’s cheeks and, beneath the thin spring dress she wore while cleaning, she felt her nipples harden against the fabric. She smiled as best she could and shoved him toward the bathroom with a joke that didn’t quite come out right.

***

The pounding on the door came while he was still under the water. It wasn’t a knock: it was a fist. And then the voice Carla hated more than any other.

—Open the door, bitch! I know you’re in there!

Dario, Mateo’s biological father, walked in uninvited, smelling of cheap beer and other people’s misfortune. He had come to ask for money, as always. Five times in two years. This time with the excuse of a trip and some supposed new family nobody had ever seen.

—You don’t have a damn soul in your life —Carla spat at him—. No one has been able to put up with you. Get out of my house.

Dario raised his hand. She flinched. The blow never landed: Mateo came out into the hall, towel still around his neck, body still wet and face hardened by something she had never seen on him before.

—Don’t talk to her like that again.

—And who the hell do you think you are, kid?

The father’s first punch caught Mateo on the jaw. Carla screamed. The second, the one Mateo threw back, sent Dario staggering into the table. What came after was quick and ugly: two men fighting over her, over her honor, over a house that suddenly smelled of sweat and blood. Carla dialed the police with trembling fingers and lied: “They’re already on their way.” That was enough. Dario spat on the floor, promised he’d be back, and left.

—Shit, my love, let me see —Carla sat him on the sofa and wrapped his jaw in a cloth with ice. Her hands were shaking. He looked at her without blinking.

—Thanks for defending me —she whispered—. Like a real man.

—A woman like you is worth fighting for.

He said it slowly, weighing each word. And he leaned toward her. It was just a tiny kiss, a brush of lips over lips, but Carla felt a current run down her body, straight to her pussy. Mateo pulled back as if surprised by his own boldness. They looked at each other. He saw something in her eyes that wasn’t gratitude. And he leaned in again.

This second kiss was different. It was a real kiss, with open mouths, with his timid tongue searching for hers, with all the years of held-back affection pushing to get out at once. Carla did not pull away. Carla answered, sucking his lower lip, letting her son’s tongue slip into her mouth as if he had never done anything else.

A distant siren brought them back to the world. They broke apart as if it burned. The police came, took notes, and left promising a patrol that would never arrive.

***

That night, Carla couldn’t sleep alone. She went to her son’s room in her nightgown, barefoot, and in a whisper asked him to sleep with her. He didn’t ask anything. They lay down back to chest, with a feigned abyss of air between them, until Mateo’s arm crossed over her waist and his warm hand settled on her belly.

—Don’t be afraid, Mom. I’m here.

Carla felt the hard pressure again against her ass through the nightgown. The boy’s cock, perfectly wedged between the two half-moons of her butt, throbbing. And again she didn’t move. He likes feeling desired, she thought, disgusted with herself and, at the same time, wet like she hadn’t been in years, her panties beginning to stick to her pussy.

By dawn she had already decided to run. A few days on the road, away from Dario. The old pickup, a backpack with sandwiches, the open road. Her boss, Mrs. Beatriz, signed the leave without asking questions. Mateo was still on school break. They set out the next day at noon, with the radio playing and a false sense of freedom.

The first motel on the road had only one room free, with a double bed. Carla looked at the key in her hand as if it were a sentence. That night she lay pressed to the edge of the mattress, in a T-shirt and cotton panties, feeling her son breathe thirty centimeters away. When she woke in the middle of the dark, there was a man’s hand on her ass. It wasn’t accidental. The fingers were moving, exploring, taking possession through the thin fabric, squeezing the soft flesh of her butt, sliding down to brush the hot fold between her thighs. Carla pretended to turn in her sleep and the hand withdrew like a caught thief. But the heat between her thighs was already there, traitorous, waiting, soaking the cotton.

The next day, on the road, Mateo wasn’t looking at the scenery: he was looking at her thighs every time she shifted gears and her short skirt rode up a centimeter. Carla, instead of pulling her dress down, let him. Something had changed inside her and she refused to name it.

***

The light appeared after eleven at night, when there was no gas left and no motel would take them. A single white light, too white, too focused, coming head-on down the empty road. Carla switched off the headlights and braked on the shoulder.

—Mom, that’s not a truck.

The light changed course and came straight at them. Carla turned the ignition key. Nothing. She tried to open the door. Locked. There was no noise, no explosion: only absolute white swallowing everything, like the flash of a camera the size of the universe.

***

The first thing that came back was a buzzing in her skull. Carla opened her eyes and there was no up or down: only whiteness. She was lying on something smooth and, when she tried to move, discovered she could only turn her neck. She was naked. The realization was enough to trigger panic.

Three figures materialized out of the air. Three gray silhouettes, slender, without mouths or ears, with two black pits where their eyes should have been. One approached her forehead and, without opening anything like a mouth, spoke inside her head.

“Your son is fine. You were unconscious for eight hours. Your species accumulates too much stress. You needed rest.”

Carla tried to scream. No voice came out. Only the desperate thought: Where’s Mateo?. The answer arrived like a warm wave that smothered her panic.

“Here. Waking up.”

She turned her neck and saw him: lying on a white gurney identical to hers, completely naked. The paralysis gave way in her neck, then in her shoulders, then all over. She sat up slowly on the cold surface, arms crossed over her breasts in a useless gesture. Mateo sat up at the same time, covering his sex with his hands. And he looked at her. And she, for once, couldn’t pretend she didn’t see what she saw: the bulge of her son’s cock pushing out between his fingers.

—Are you okay, Mom?

—Yes, my love. And you?

The three grays circled them in silence. Exhausted, Carla let out an irony:

—Fine, Number One, Number Two, Number Three. Can’t you give us a towel?

“Nudity is your natural state. There is no need to cover it.”

***

They spoke without mouths. The words went straight into the head, with no volume, no accent. They said they came from very far away, that they had never harmed a human and only wanted to observe. To observe, they said, the dynamic between a mother and a young adult male child. The more they cooperated, the sooner they would be returned home.

The hours dissolved. Carla and Mateo got used to the impeccable air, the bottomless silence, to being naked in front of each other. They talked about nonsense so they wouldn’t go mad. About the mint candies she always carried in her purse. About the video of a cat playing drums that he never got tired of watching. And, little by little, their arms grew tired of covering themselves.

—Mateo, this is ridiculous —she said, letting her arms fall to her sides—. I’m sick of covering myself. We look like models for a frustrated painter.

Her breasts were left exposed, firm and pale under the white light. Her nipples, dark, bristling, two points Mateo couldn’t help looking at. He took longer. He swallowed, slowly lowered his arms, and there it was: a hard cock impossible to hide, thick, young, shameless, pointing upward against his flat stomach.

—You’re beautiful, my love —she told him, and the words came out on their own, without asking anyone’s permission. Her eyes went to the swollen glans, the network of veins down the shaft, the tight balls beneath.

He lowered his gaze to the dark triangle of hair between her thighs, to the contrast with her white skin, and a sigh escaped him that was almost a moan.

—That’s normal at your age —Carla murmured, trying to return to the role of mother.

—It is. But this one’s for you.

He said it without blinking. Carla bit her lip. There was a long, heavy silence. She moved closer to him and kissed him on the forehead. Then she sat down beside him.

***

Then Number Two appeared. No transition, no door, no explanation.

“Why do you consider this attraction wrong?”

—Because that’s what we were taught —Mateo answered.

“Who?”

—School. The church. People.

“And why do you never question it?”

Neither of them had an answer. Number Three materialized beside the other and kept pressing with the same surgical calm.

“You accepted it as you accepted wars, poverty, social contracts you did not choose. It is programming, not conviction.”

—You bunch of degenerates! —Carla snapped, crossing her arms. The gesture, in her nakedness, only made her breasts stand out more—. Do you want me to reproduce with my son? Is that it?

“We want nothing. We only point out that your resistance is inherited, not reasoned. And that the desire between you has been present for some time, before boarding this ship.”

The silence that followed was different from the one before. Heavy, exact. Carla lowered her head and let her hair fall over her face. Mateo looked at her as if seeing her truly for the first time. The two gray figures dissolved into the air.

***

Hours passed. Or maybe minutes: time there obeyed no one. Thirst began to scrape their throats. Carla felt, for the first time, the real possibility of never getting out.

—I don’t want to be separated from you —Mateo said, without looking at her.

—That’s what you say now —she answered, voice strained—. But you’ll leave. Everyone leaves.

—I’m not like my father.

And he came closer. He hugged her fully, skin to skin, with nothing between them. Carla felt his hard cock again against her thigh, pressing into the flesh, leaving a wet trail of precum on her skin. And this time she didn’t tell herself any lies. She kissed his forehead. He kissed her back on the mouth.

Carla gave in. She returned the kiss with tongue, with hunger, with all the years of loneliness pressed behind her teeth. Mateo answered with a ferocity that surprised even himself. His hands slid down her back, found the curve of her waist, measured her hip, filled with her butt. She took his hands to the back of her neck and grabbed his hair, while the tip of her son’s cock dug against her belly, leaving her wetter and wetter between the legs.

—Mom… —he murmured against her neck, moving his mouth to lick the hollow of her collarbone.

—Don’t say anything. Don’t talk.

She pushed his head down to her tits. Mateo opened his mouth and took her right nipple all the way in, sucking it as if he had spent nineteen years waiting for that mouth. Carla let out a low, animal moan she hadn’t let out in years. Her son’s tongue circled her nipple, pressed it against his palate, nipped at it. His other hand, the free one, squeezed her left breast, kneaded it, pinched the nipple until she arched her back.

—Shit, my love, like that… like that…

She gently pushed him until he sat on the white gurney. She knelt on the floor in front of him, her face at exactly the right height. The boy’s cock, hard, thick, red at the tip, brushed her chin. Mateo opened his mouth to ask and she put a finger to his lips.

—It’s your first time, my love. It has to be something you’ll always remember. Mom is going to teach you how it’s done.

She took his cock in one hand, closing her fingers around the shaft, measuring the thickness, surprised by how hard it was, by the way it throbbed against her palm. With the other hand she stroked his testicles, weighing them, rolling them between her fingers with a delicacy that made the boy’s thighs tremble. She kissed the tip, a wet, long kiss, with her tongue slipping out to lick the drop of precum shining on the glans.

—Fuck, Mom… —he gasped.

—Shhh. Watch.

And she took it into her mouth slowly, very slowly, measuring every inch as if memorizing it. She lowered her head until the glans brushed the back of her throat, held it there for a second, then came up sucking, cheeks hollowed, letting it slide out with a small wet pop. Then again. And again. Each time deeper, each time louder, an obscene gurgle filling the white room with carnal sound. Saliva started running down the boy’s balls and she gathered it with her free hand to stroke him while she sucked.

Mateo put his hand on her head, not to push, but to steady himself, fingers tangled in her hair. One single syllable: “Mom.” A warning. His thighs trembled. His balls tightened in her hand.

It was too fast for him. Three more deep strokes, with Carla looking up from below, eyes locked on his, her mouth full of her son, and he came, with a spasm that shook his whole spine. Carla took it all, jet after jet hitting her palate, her tongue, the back of her throat, breathing through her nose, not moving, swallowing what she could and letting the rest run from the corner of her mouth down to her chin. It tasted of salt, of son, of forbidden years. Her own orgasm caught her off guard: without touching herself, she felt her pussy contract in a long, deep wave, more mental than physical, fueled by transgression, by the simple, raw fact of having her own son’s cum sliding down her throat.

When he relaxed, she didn’t let go. She kept him in her mouth, soft, still throbbing, feeling him harden again against her tongue within seconds. Mateo’s cock, young, wasn’t done. It was going hard again inside her.

Carla lifted her eyes. She swallowed slowly, staring into his eyes, wiped her chin with the back of her hand and then licked it. Mateo, chest rising and falling, could not believe what he had just seen.

—Mommy…

—Shhh. Don’t let anyone hear. We’re not done yet.

She rose, climbed onto the gurney, and pushed him onto his back. She straddled him, knees on either side of his hips, and felt her son’s glans, hard again, seat itself right at the soaked entrance to her pussy. No need to guide him. She sank down slowly, centimeter by centimeter, mouth open and eyes closed, until she had him all the way inside. Her son’s cock filling her for the first time. Her cunt stretched around him, throbbing.

—Oh, my love… oh, my darling… what a big one you’ve got, my son…

She started moving. Up and down, slowly at first, looking into his eyes, palms spread over the boy’s chest. Her breasts bounced with every descent. Mateo, hands on her waist, didn’t know what to do, where to look, how to breathe. He looked down, where his cock entered and left his mother’s cunt, shining, wet, covered in white slick.

—Look at me, my love —she asked, cupping his face—. Watch Mom fucking you. Watch how I take it all in.

She sped up. Her hips began to slap against his with a wet, fleshy, obscene sound. Mateo, learning, dug his fingers into her ass and started pushing up, meeting her on every descent. Her son’s balls slapped against her ass. Carla threw her head back and moaned without covering herself, a long, broken moan that bounced off the white walls.

—Like that, son, like that, don’t stop… fuck me, fuck me like a man…

He grabbed her, spun her with a strength she hadn’t suspected, and put her face down on the gurney. He spread her legs with his knees and fucked her from behind in one single thrust, all the way to the hilt. Carla bit her own forearm to keep from howling. Mateo held her by the hips and drove into her with all the years of contained rage, with the force of rugby, with the desperation of the son who at last possessed his mother. Every thrust drew a short, sharp moan from her, one she released against the cold surface.

—Yes, my love, just like that, break it, tear Mom’s pussy apart…

She slid her hand underneath, found her swollen clit and rubbed it in time with the thrusts. Half a minute was enough. Carla came with a long scream, clamping down on her son’s cock inside her, and the trembling of her cunt around him undid him. Mateo clenched his teeth, held her tighter, shoved three, four more times deeper, and came inside, filling her, marking her with a hot load she felt slowly oozing within.

They stayed like that for a long while, locked together, breathing hard, saying nothing. Him, still inside. Her, biting her lips, with tears she didn’t know where they came from.

When at last her son’s cock slid out of her, trailing a thin white thread, Mateo let himself fall beside her. He hugged her from behind. He kissed her neck, shoulder, nape. He laid his open hand over her belly, right where it had all begun, in the very same place where he had rested his erection that first afternoon.

—Thank you, Mommy —he said softly.

—Thank you —she answered, turning to kiss him, stroking his cheek—. You made me feel what I thought I was never going to feel again.

She knew, at that moment, that they were still being watched. She knew it with the same certainty with which she knew anything else. Let them watch, she thought, with her son’s cum still running down her thigh. Let them learn. If that white room was all they had left, she wasn’t going to apologize for being happy inside it.

Mateo closed his eyes and rested his head on her shoulder. Carla felt the weight of her son, her man, her taboo, and did not move. Outside the silence, the three grays were taking note of something they had not understood for centuries.