My Mother Never Made It to the Movie

Marcos had been waiting at the foot of the stairs for ten minutes, car keys in hand. The movie started in forty minutes and his mother still hadn’t come down. He looked at the clock, then at the stairs, then at the clock again.

—Mom! —he shouted up to the second floor—. We’re going to be late!

—I’m coming! —Elena called back from her room—. The movies never start on time!

When she finally appeared at the top of the stairs, Marcos took a second to react. His mother was wearing a dark blue dress that fell to mid-calf, very tight to her body, with a plunging neckline that left very little to the imagination. Every step she took downward made her hips sway in a way he knew all too well and had been trying to ignore for some time. Her breasts were outlined beneath the fabric, round, braless, with her nipples barely showing through the dark blue every time the dress brushed against them.

—You’re going to the movies dressed like that? —he asked when she reached the last step.

—What’s wrong with it? —Elena looked at him with an innocent expression, turning slightly on herself.

—It looks like you’re going to a nightclub, not to see a movie.

—It’s hot, son. And I felt like wearing something nice. Is there some law against that?

Marcos swallowed. He was eighteen and had been fighting for longer than he cared to admit against thoughts he shouldn’t be having. His mother was an attractive woman; everyone in the neighborhood knew it, and when she dressed like that it was impossible not to notice. He wasn’t the only one who noticed: his friends made that clear every time they came over.

—People are going to look at you —he said, searching for a reason that sounded reasonable.

—And? —Elena picked up her handbag from the hall table—. Let them look.

—I don’t like it. I don’t like other men undressing you with their eyes.

His mother stopped and looked him straight in the face, her head slightly tilted, as if she had just discovered something interesting in him.

—Jealous? —she asked.

—It’s not jealousy.

—Then what is it?

Marcos didn’t answer. Elena put the handbag back on the table and crossed her arms, unhurriedly, studying him with that way of looking at him that always made him nervous.

—Explain it to me —she said—. What exactly do men see when they look at you like that?

—Mom, I’m not going to...

—I’m not going to scold you. I promise. Just tell me what a man thinks when he sees you.

If I tell you, there’ll be no way back.

—That you’re hot as hell —he said at last, tersely—. That the dress shows off your body. Your hips, your tits, your ass, everything. That your nipples show through. That anyone walking down the street is going to think about fucking you and nothing else.

Elena nodded slowly, without blushing, without taking her eyes off him.

—And does that bother you?

—It bothers me when other men do it. —He paused—. It happens to me too, if you want to know. I get hard every time I see you like this. And I feel bad about it, because you’re my mother.

There was a silence charged with something neither of them wanted to name. Elena looked at him calmly, as if what she had just heard didn’t surprise her.

—You don’t have to feel bad —she said at last—. You’re a man. My body is a woman’s body. Those are the things that happen.

—Things that shouldn’t happen between us.

—Why not?

Marcos didn’t know how to answer. His mother picked up her handbag again and headed for the door at an easy pace, as if the conversation hadn’t affected her at all.

—Come on —she said—. We really are going to be late now.

***

They went in Elena’s car. She drove; Marcos rode in the passenger seat, staring out the window. The dress had ridden up a little when she sat down, leaving her legs exposed well above the knee. He noticed it as soon as they got in and decided to fix his gaze on the street.

It lasted three minutes.

—You’ve been staring for a while —Elena said without taking her eyes off the road.

—I was looking out the window.

—You were looking at my legs. It’s fine, I’m just saying.

—Mom...

—What? I’m not scolding you. I’m telling you it’s fine.

Marcos snorted and rested his elbow on the door. Outside, the nighttime streets slid by in blocks of light and shadow. There were few people out at that hour and the traffic was flowing smoothly. He could feel his pants too tight, his cock hard against the fabric, impossible to hide if she lowered her eyes even for a second.

—It’s just that with that dress it’s hard not to —he said.

—I know —she replied, and there wasn’t a shred of reproach in her voice—. You know what I think?

—What?

—That you’ve had tension building up for a while and that makes everything seem more intense than it is. That your body needs something it’s not getting and is looking for it anywhere it can.

—I don’t know what you’re talking about.

—Of course you do. —Brief pause—. When was the last time you came with someone for real? Not with your hand, in your room. With someone.

Marcos stiffened in the seat.

—That’s not a question I ask you, so don’t ask me that.

—All right —she said, without insisting.

They drove in silence for several minutes. Elena drove with one hand on the wheel, relaxed, as if the conversation they had just had hadn’t happened. Marcos tried to look at the street. He tried to think about the movie, about what they would have for dinner afterward, about anything else.

It didn’t work.

—Are you wearing panties under that dress? —he asked suddenly.

The silence that followed lasted exactly four seconds.

—Why are you asking me that? —she answered in a perfectly calm voice.

—It slipped out. Forget it.

—Those things don’t slip out on their own, Marcos.

—Mom, forget it.

—Yes —she said—. I am. Black ones, small. The dress is too tight for a bra, so the tits are free, but the panties are on. Though right now they’re a little wet, if you want to know the whole truth.

Marcos closed his eyes for a moment and rested his head against the headrest. The traffic light at the next intersection turned red and Elena braked slowly. The red light illuminated the inside of the car. He looked at his own crotch without the slightest attempt to hide it.

—You’re rock hard —she said.

—I know.

—Are you okay?

—Not especially.

—Do you need something?

—I need to get to the movie theater and have this go away already.

Elena didn’t answer right away. When the light changed and she started moving again, she glanced at him sideways for a moment.

—There’s another option —she said.

—Don’t say what you’re thinking.

—It’s only a suggestion.

—A suggestion no mother should make to her son.

—And if I tell you I don’t care? —she said, with a calm that Marcos found more disconcerting than any other possible reaction—. You’re still my son. But you’re also an adult man, with a hard cock since we left the house, and I’ve been seeing for a while that you’re having a hard time. It doesn’t have to be a big deal.

—What exactly are you proposing?

—That you take it out. That I jack you off. That you come in my hand and that’s it. Here, in the car, if you need it.

Marcos looked at her. Elena had her eyes on the road, her hands on the wheel, her profile serious and calm. She wasn’t joking. She never joked with that tone.

—In front of you?

—In front of me, with my hand, with my mouth if necessary. Whatever you need to empty those balls and breathe easy again.

***

It took him almost a full minute to answer. Elena didn’t press. She kept driving down the avenue as if she had asked what he wanted for dinner that night.

—All right —he said at last.

—All right —she repeated, unruffled—. Take it out.

Marcos slowly lowered the zipper. His cock sprang out of his boxer briefs, hard, swollen, the tip already shiny with precum. He felt the car’s air conditioning on his skin and the absolute strangeness of the situation. Though “strangeness” wasn’t quite the right word. It was more like an outpouring of everything he had been holding in for so long, suddenly concentrated in that exact moment.

Elena lowered her gaze for a second. Only a second. But he saw her lips part.

—Fuck —she said softly—. You’ve got a beautiful cock.

—Mom...

—Shut up. Grab it. Let me see it moving while I drive.

Marcos obeyed. He closed his hand around his cock and started masturbating slowly, head tipped back and eyes half-closed, never taking his eyes off her. Elena drove without saying anything for almost a minute. But Marcos noticed the small change in her breathing: shallower, quicker. He noticed it even though she kept her eyes ahead.

—You’re not looking at the road —he said.

—I am looking.

—Out of the corner of your eye doesn’t count.

—Does it bother you?

Marcos didn’t answer. He kept jerking off, now a little faster, and watched his mother move her legs beneath the dress, saw her squeeze her thighs together.

At the next red light, Elena extended her right hand and rested it on her son’s knee. He froze completely.

—What are you doing? —he whispered.

—What I should have done earlier —she said.

—Mom...

—I can stop. Tell me to stop and I will.

Marcos said nothing.

Elena’s hand slid slowly upward, moving along his thigh, over the fabric of his unbuttoned pants, until her fingers pushed his hand aside and closed directly around his cock. He let out the air all at once, as if he’d been holding his breath without knowing it.

—You’re so thick —she murmured—. I can’t even fit my whole hand around it.

—Fuck, Mom...

—Like this? —she asked, squeezing her fist and starting to stroke him slowly, skin pulled tight, dragging over the glans each time she reached the top.

He nodded, wordless.

His mother’s fingers began to move with a rhythm Marcos hadn’t expected: firm, sure, unhurried. Her palm got slicker every time, soaked with the fluid he kept leaking from the tip. The light turned green and Elena pulled away without removing her hand, maneuvering through the street with her left hand on the wheel while her right kept stroking him with a steady rhythm, twisting her fist on the way up, squeezing under the glans on the way down. Marcos had his head thrown back against the headrest and his eyes closed. Outside, streetlamps, trees, lit facades passed by. He couldn’t have cared less about any of it.

—Do you like the way your mother jerks you off? —she asked quietly, without taking her eyes off the road.

—Yes —he said, barely a whisper.

—Say it properly.

—I like the way my mother jerks me off. Fuck, Mom, don’t stop.

—More?

—Yes.

Elena picked up the pace. Her wrist moved with a precision Marcos wouldn’t have thought possible, up to the tip, twisting, down to the base, her fingers squeezing exactly where they needed to. Marcos gripped the edge of the seat and felt his leg tremble.

—You’re shaking —she observed.

—Yes.

—Are you okay?

—Better than okay. Mom, if you keep this up I’m going to come right now.

—Hold on a little. I want to taste it first.

They passed beneath a bridge and the street grew darker for a moment. Elena slowed down and turned into a quiet side street. She stopped by the curb and put the car in neutral without turning off the engine. The light from a lamppost came in at an angle through the windshield and lit her legs, the dress bunched halfway up her thigh.

—Mom —he said when he realized he couldn’t hold it much longer—. Now...

She didn’t answer with words. She turned in her seat, unbuckled her belt, leaned over his lap, and without stopping stroking him she opened her mouth and took him all the way in at once.

Marcos closed his eyes before she got there. He said nothing when he felt the heat of her mouth closing around his cock, the tongue wrapping around him, the throat opening to take him to the very back. He only let the air out slowly and sank his fingers gently into his mother’s hair, not pressing, just having something to hold on to while the world he knew rearranged itself around him.

—Fuck, Mom... —he gasped—. Fuck, fuck...

Elena started sucking him slowly, her mouth sealed tight, her head moving up and down at a rhythm that drew a growl from him every time she went down. Her tongue worked the glans every time she came up, and when she went down, she took him to the back of her throat, so deep that he could feel her throat closing around the tip. She swallowed and came back up, a thread of saliva hanging from her lip.

—Look at me —she said, taking him out of her mouth for a second and looking up at him from below—. I want you to look at me while I suck your cock.

He lowered his gaze. His mother, with her lipstick smudged, with his cock resting against her cheek, with one hand working the base while the other gently squeezed his balls. A moan slipped from him.

—That’s it —she said, and took him back in—. Look at your mother sucking your cock.

The minutes that followed were the most intense of his life up to that point. Elena wasn’t in a hurry. She changed the rhythm just as he started to get used to it, alternated pressure, knew exactly what she was doing. She took his cock out of her mouth to lick his balls, ran her tongue up the underside vein to the glans, filled her mouth with saliva and swallowed him whole again. Marcos tried not to think about how she knew. He tried with all his strength and failed, and at some point he stopped caring.

—It’s coming out of my mouth —she said with his cock in her mouth, half-choked, never stopping sucking him—. It’s too big, it won’t fit.

—Mom, if you keep talking like that I’m going to come right now.

—Come. Come in my mouth. Swallow me whole.

She took his cock all the way in again, pressing her lips tight, her hand moving fast at his base, up and down at the same pace as her mouth. Marcos felt his whole body tense, felt his balls tighten, felt the orgasm begin to rise from somewhere very deep inside.

—Mom —he said when he couldn’t take it anymore—. I can’t anymore... I’m coming, fuck, I’m coming...

She didn’t pull away. On the contrary. She took him to the back of her throat, pressed her lips against the base and waited.

Marcos gripped the seat with his free hand, squeezed his eyes shut, and let it happen. He came with a long, rough groan, feeling each beat of his cock emptying into his mother’s mouth, shot after shot, so much cum that she had to swallow twice without taking him out. When she finally pulled him free, she licked him slowly to clean off the last traces, going up the shaft to the tip, giving the glans one last kiss.

—Phew —she said, straightening up and wiping the corner of her lip with her thumb—. You had a lot saved up, son.

—Fuck, Mom...

—Shh. It’s over now.

***

They sat in silence for a while. The engine was still running. The street was still beyond the glass, only the occasional car passing far away on the main avenue. Marcos pulled up his zipper, his hands still trembling. Elena fixed her hair in the rearview mirror with a normality that struck him as almost surreal, ran a finger over her lower lip to check the lipstick, and gave him a sidelong smile.

—We’re not making it to the movie anymore —Elena said at last.

—No.

—Shall we go home?

Marcos looked out the window. The city lights flickered in the distance. He thought about everything that had happened in the last forty minutes, about how the night had begun and how it was ending, and he found no regret where he had expected to find it. All he found was the desire that, when they got there, it wouldn’t end there.

—Yeah —he said—. We’re going home. But we’re not done.

Elena looked at him for a moment and nodded slowly, resting her hand once again on his thigh.

—No —she said—. We’re not done.

She started the car and turned away from the movie theater. They didn’t speak on the way back. There was no need. Some things, once crossed, no longer needed words to exist.