My Mother Stopped Looking for Men Outside the House

My name is Adrián, I’m almost six feet tall, and since I was fifteen I’ve spent more time in the gym than anywhere else. I’m an only child and I grew up alone with my mother, so between us there were never too many secrets. Until the ones you can’t tell appeared.

My mother’s name is Lorena. She’s short, barely reaches her shoulders, and has a body she takes care of with a discipline I never had. She always liked showing herself off: tight clothes, necklines that drew attention in the street, that way of walking that made it obvious she knew she was being watched. When she was young she got pregnant with me and raised me on her own. Over the years, several men passed through her bedroom.

As a child I didn’t care. They were names that came and went, faces I forgot within a week. But as I grew older, it started to unsettle me. I couldn’t say exactly why. Maybe because I wasn’t a child anymore, maybe because I was beginning to see her differently and that embarrassed me.

One afternoon I got home before university. I opened the door and called for her, but she didn’t answer. I thought she’d gone out, so I went up to my room. Then I heard them.

They were coming from her bedroom. Moans, two voices, the unmistakable sound of a bed that isn’t resting. I froze in the hallway, my backpack still hanging from one shoulder.

—Like that —I heard her say—, harder, you know how I like to feel you.

The man could barely grunt. Then there was a brief, tense silence, and then my mother let out a long cry that went straight through me. I went down to the kitchen without making a sound and sat there waiting. I shouldn’t have heard any of this.

A while later the front door closed and the shower turned on. The latest conquest had already left. When she came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel and found me sitting at the table, she went pale.

—I didn’t know you were home —she said, adjusting the towel.

—I just got in —I lied, though we both knew I hadn’t.

We talked. Or rather, we argued. I told her I didn’t want any more men in the house, that we both deserved some respect. She answered sharply that she had needs and that I wasn’t in a position to tell her how to live them out.

—Well, if that bothers you so much —I shot back without thinking—, tell me what those needs are. Maybe I can take care of them.

I said it out of anger, almost as a provocation. She looked at me for a second too long, stood up, and locked herself in her room, slamming the door. The phrase hung in the air, and neither of us ever mentioned it again.

***

The following week was icy. She didn’t speak to me, avoided me in the halls, ate before or after I did. I wasn’t backing down either. The house had become a succession of silences and closed doors.

One Saturday she told me she was having lunch with her friends and would be out all day. I saw my chance and brought my girlfriend, Daniela, over. We had the house to ourselves and went straight up to my room, hungry for each other after so long trying to find a place.

I didn’t hear the door. I didn’t hear the footsteps. Daniela was riding me and I had my mouth buried in her chest when, all of a sudden, a dry slam echoed in the bedroom doorway. I lifted my head just in time to see my mother’s back disappearing down the hall.

Daniela dressed hurriedly, uncomfortable, and left. I stayed sitting on the bed for a while, trying to gather the courage to face her. When I went into her room, she was standing by the window, arms crossed.

—Respect the house —she snapped without turning around.

—You’re seriously telling me that? —I answered—. Why can you fuck here and I can’t?

She had no answer. Or didn’t want to give me one. I left, slamming the door again, and locked myself in, sick of that absurd war neither of us knew how to end.

***

Another week of tense coexistence went by. One Friday I went out with Daniela and came back late, a little dizzy and exhausted. I went upstairs, took off my clothes, and stayed in my underwear, ready to sleep. I was turning off the lamp when the door opened.

It was my mother. She was wearing a dark silk robe and her hair was loose. She stood in the doorway, hesitating, before speaking.

—We need to talk, Adrián. We can’t go on like this.

—Then talk —I said, sitting up in bed—. I’m listening.

She sat on the edge of the mattress. It took her a while to start, and when she did, her voice sounded more tired than angry. She told me she felt lonely. That was why she kept chaining one failed relationship after another, that the men she met only wanted her for one night and none of them stayed. That she felt like she wasn’t good for anything serious.

I hugged her without thinking, the way I used to when I was a child. She broke down. She cried against my shoulder for a good while, and through the sobs she confessed that she’d been turning over that sentence of mine, the one I’d blurted out in anger in the kitchen.

—I thought about what you said —she murmured, pulling back just enough to look me in the eyes—. That you could cover what I need. I’m going to stop looking for men outside, since I have you here at home.

I ran out of breath. I thought I must have misunderstood her, but her gaze left no room for doubt. It was a look she had never given me before.

—If you want —she went on—, we can try. But only if you leave your girlfriend. I don’t share.

—I don’t know if it’s worth throwing away what I have for this —I said, my mouth dry.

A slow smile crossed her face.

—Then let me give you a test. So you can decide properly.

She stood up and let her robe fall. Underneath she was wearing a black baby doll, so thin the lamp light went through it as if it didn’t exist. I swallowed. All the logic telling me this was wrong stayed far away, drowned by the blood pounding somewhere else in my body.

—Come closer —she said.

***

I knelt in front of her on the bed and slowly slid down the straps. Her skin smelled like cream and something warm I had known all my life and that suddenly meant something else. I closed my mouth over one of her breasts and she threw her head back with a stifled moan.

—Like that —she whispered, burying her fingers in my hair—. Harder. You do it so well.

I lowered a hand between her legs and found her already wet, ready, waiting for me longer than either of us would admit. I started moving and she clutched my shoulder, panting against my neck.

—Deeper —she asked in a broken voice—. There, just like that. Don’t stop.

When I could take no more, she gently pulled my hand away and pushed me down to lie back. She took off my underwear and, without taking her eyes off mine, bent over me. What came next left me speechless. She had an experience Daniela had never had, a way of taking her time that pushed me to the edge far too soon.

—Slowly —I begged her—. If you keep going like this I won’t hold out.

—Let go —she answered, lifting her head for a moment—. I want to make up for all the time I lost.

She kissed me long and deep, a kiss that had nothing maternal about it and that erased the last boundary still standing in one stroke. Then she settled herself over me.

—Put it in me, Adrián —she said against my lips—. I want to really feel you.

I positioned myself between her legs and rubbed against her slowly, up and down, enjoying the way her breathing kept breaking.

—Ask me —I murmured—. I want to hear you say it.

—Please —she begged, arching toward me—. I can’t take it anymore. I need you now.

I thrust in all at once. She stifled a scream and dug her nails into my back.

—Hold still for a second —she panted—. Let me feel you. God, let me feel you like this.

I stayed motionless, buried inside her, until her breathing steadied and she pushed her hips at me, asking for more. Then I started moving, and the room filled with a sound we’d never be able to erase.

***

I don’t know how long it lasted. I lost all sense of time between her legs around my waist and her voice repeating in my ear what she needed. When I felt I was reaching my limit, I tried to pull away.

—I’m going to come —I warned.

She pulled me against her with both hands on my back, not letting me escape.

—Inside —she said, looking me in the eyes—. I want to feel it inside.

—I didn’t bring anything —I protested halfheartedly.

—I don’t care.

That was enough. I let go inside her and, almost at the same time, her whole body tensed and surrendered with me. We collapsed on top of each other, breathless, hearts racing. She kissed my forehead and smiled.

—So now do you think I’m worth it? —she asked.

—Tomorrow I’m leaving Daniela —I answered, and I meant it.

***

I slept in her bed that night and many others. The next morning she woke me with her mouth, and we had breakfast together without rushing, as if we’d been doing it for years. At the kitchen table we set the rules: outside the house we would be mother and son and nothing more; inside, something else that had no name. I kept my part and broke up with my girlfriend that same day.

Lorena works as a teacher in the mornings and comes back at midday to make lunch. I returned from university in the afternoon, we ate, and for dessert we spent hours tangled up in bed or wherever desire caught us. I bent her over that same kitchen table more times than I can count.

Over time she confessed to me that that first night an idea had crept into her head, one that frightened her and turned her on in equal measure. That she was still on time. She didn’t have to insist too much to convince me. Against all reason, we decided to let whatever had to happen happen, and to keep forever the only secret that truly matters in this house.