My Uncle Stayed Over the Afternoon Mom Wasn't Home

The last Friday before vacation, I came out of the school building with my pleated skirt stuck to my legs and my blouse clinging to my back with sweat. The March sun slanted across the cobblestone courtyard, and all I wanted was to get home, strip off my uniform, and get under a long shower.

I didn’t see the shove coming.

—I told you to stay away from Tomás —a voice hissed behind me.

I turned just in time to recognize Daniela, my cousin’s girlfriend. She was two or three years older than me, her mascara smeared, her eyes fixed on me like she was about to tear me in half.

—He’s my cousin —I replied, and my voice came out steadier than I expected—. I can’t stay away. We’re family.

—Family, my ass.

Her slap left my cheek burning. Then came the rest: her nails in my back, the scratches under the collar of my polo shirt, the clumsy struggle between two girls who had never really fought before. We slammed into the parking lot wall. My skirt rode up to my thighs and I felt the heat of the wall and the cold of fear at the same time. The blouse came undone at the first two buttons, and the pink edge of my bra was left showing.

—Daniela, stop!

The shout came from the other side of the parking lot. My cousin Marina, who was waiting for her father, had seen me. And behind her, already getting down from the pickup, my uncle Andrés.

Andrés was my mother’s older brother. He was ten years older than her. He had always been the more imposing of the two: tall, with that broad back still visible beneath his open shirt. When he reached us, his hand closed around Daniela’s arm like a lock.

—If you touch her again —he told her, without raising his voice— you won’t have to worry about Tomás anymore. I forbid it. Understood?

Daniela spat out an insult through clenched teeth and walked off fast, without looking at us. My uncle helped me pull myself together. His eyes passed over the scratches on my neck and the pink lace peeking out from under my torn blouse. He looked away immediately, but I noticed.

—Get in the truck —he said—. I’ll take you home.

***

Marina rode in the middle seat. She talked nonstop, furious at Daniela, at Tomás for allowing her those outbursts, at the whole world. I barely listened. I felt every scratch like a throbbing mark, and the fabric of my uniform rubbed my back with a burning that was almost pleasurable. I didn’t know what to call it.

—Are you okay, Lucía? —my uncle asked at a stoplight, looking at me in the rearview mirror.

—Yes, Uncle. I’m fine.

I wasn’t fine. The image of Tomás, my cousin, had been lodged for months in some corner I wasn’t allowed into. I had seen him at Grandma’s birthday and felt it all over again, multiplied by two. That sensation that my body had decided something for me that my mind would never approve of.

We dropped Marina off at her house. My aunt Patricia came out to the gate to greet her and my uncle explained the fight over the top of it, without going into details. Then he started up again and turned onto my street.

—Your mom is home, right? —he asked.

—Yes. Well. I think so.

***

The house was dark when we arrived. I switched on the hall lights and called my mother twice without getting an answer. I pulled out my phone and rang her. She was in another city, handling a trial that had run long. She wouldn’t be back until Monday.

—Uncle Andrés stayed with me after the fight —I told her—. Don’t worry.

—Put him on for a second, honey.

I handed him the phone. My uncle went out to the patio to speak with her, and I took the chance to sit for a moment on the sofa and breathe. My legs felt weak and my body full of built-up electricity, as if the fight still hadn’t finished leaving me.

When he came back, my uncle set the phone on the table and looked at me from the other end of the sofa.

—Your mother asked me to stay until tomorrow. Until one of your aunts gets here or she comes back. She doesn’t want you alone with those scratches.

I nodded. I didn’t know what to say. I got up, went to the kitchen, and came back with two glasses of water. When I handed him one, his fingers brushed mine and I felt that familiar stab in my chest, but it had never come from somewhere as close as my own family. I sat down beside him, not at the far end, and that was a decision I made without thinking.

—I wanted to apologize for what happened with Daniela —he said after a silence—. You shouldn’t have had to go through that.

—It wasn’t your fault, Uncle.

—Still, I’m sorry.

I lowered my eyes. I started fiddling with the hem of my skirt, which had wrinkled in the car and now sat higher than it should have. My uncle moved a little closer. His arm brushed mine, and for the first time in my life I realized the word “uncle” had a physical weight, a heat.

—Are you really okay? —he asked, almost in a whisper.

I swallowed. I was going to tell him yes. Instead I said, without knowing why:

—I’ve been in love with Tomás for months.

The silence stretched out. My uncle didn’t move.

—I know it can’t happen —I went on, because I had already opened the door and couldn’t close it—. He’s my cousin, he has a girlfriend, and I still think about him every day. It’s awful. I don’t tell anyone.

—I was asking if you were in pain —he said, with a smile that wasn’t entirely fatherly—. From the scratches.

The blush rose from my chest to my ears. I felt like crawling under the sofa.

—Uncle, please... this can’t get out of here.

—It won’t. —He looked at me with eyes so serious I had to look away—. The truth is, the family has already noticed. No one’s going to say anything.

I brought my fingers to my collarbone, where a long scratch burned under my skin.

—It burns here —I murmured without thinking.

—Let me see.

He came closer. He carefully moved the collar of my polo shirt aside and looked down. I held my breath. His fingers were rough, warm. He smelled like cologne and something else I couldn’t identify, something that made my skin prickle.

And then he leaned in. His lips brushed the scratch, first just barely, then with a deliberate slowness that had nothing to do with healing. I closed my eyes. I felt my whole body tighten into one single point between my legs.

I jerked away.

—Uncle, no.

I had hit the back of the sofa. I tugged my blouse straight with hands that wouldn’t obey me. He looked at me without moving, his gray eyes fixed on mine.

—Forgive me, Lucía. I don’t know what came over me.

—It’s not because of that —I answered too quickly—. It’s because of Aunt Patricia. And Marina. I love them very much.

Something changed in his face. Something loosened.

—So it didn’t bother you?

I bit my lip. I shook my head, looking up at him from under my lashes.

—I liked it —I admitted in a whisper—. I liked it a lot. But...

I couldn’t finish. His hand closed around my waist and pulled me toward him, setting me on his lap as if I weighed nothing. My skirt rode up. I felt the heat of his thighs beneath me, and below that, something hard and alive pressing against the fabric of his pants.

He took my hand and put it there. He guided it slowly, without forcing it. I let myself go. My fingers traced the shape of him beneath the jeans, a long hard line I had never touched on anyone before. A liquid heat gathered between my legs, soaking something I didn’t even want to name.

—Do you like it? —he asked. His voice had dropped lower.

—Yes —I said. Then I pulled my hand away as if I’d been burned—. I can’t, Uncle. I can’t.

—Why not?

I looked him in the eye. My cheeks were burning.

—Because I’m a virgin.

The silence that followed had a strange density. I thought he was going to pull away, apologize again, take me to my room and wait outside until my mother got back Monday. He did none of that. He held my gaze.

—And what better —he said slowly— than losing it with someone who has known you since you were born? Someone who knows who you are. Who’ll be careful.

I felt something give way inside me. It was the last cable. The one holding up the idea that things were done the way they were supposed to be.

—But Aunt Patricia. And Marina.

—Don’t worry about them. —He took my face in both hands. His fingers smelled like the leather of the steering wheel—. This is ours, Lucía. Or are you going to tell them? What happens between us stays between us. It stays in the family.

That was what finally let me go. The phrase, said like that, with his calm. “It stays in the family.” As if it were an old agreement, older than me.

I was the one who kissed him.

***

I kissed him like I had never kissed anyone, because I had never kissed anyone like that. My tongue moved before my shyness did. I felt his big hand at the nape of my neck, closing in my hair, and the other one running over my back above the torn blouse, where the scratches were still throbbing. Every time his fingers passed there, a shiver ran all the way down to my feet.

He started unbuttoning my blouse with a skill that made me realize many things at once. The buttons gave way one after another. The pink bra came into view, ridiculous, childish against the situation. My uncle lowered his face and kissed the curve of one breast over the lace, slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. I arched my back without meaning to.

—Jesus, niece —he murmured against my skin.

The word “niece” hit me like a second confession. It was dirty and exact at the same time. It made me moan, I swear, just that, before anything else.

His fingers found the clasp of my bra at the back. He unclipped it without hesitation. The garment fell onto my wrinkled skirt and for the first time in my life a man saw me like that, sitting on his lap, with another woman’s scratches marking my skin.

—Look at your tits, niece —he said, his voice rough—. Look at them for me.

I looked down. My nipples had gone hard from pure fear, from pure wanting. He caught them in both hands, his rough palms covering me entirely, and squeezed them slowly, weighing them as if he had never had anyone else’s tits between his fingers. Then he lowered his head and took one into his mouth. His tongue was rough, warm. He sucked hard, hungrily, and I let out a moan I didn’t recognize as mine. His other hand pinched my free nipple between thumb and forefinger, rolling it, tugging just enough to make me arch against him.

—Uncle... —I gasped.

—Tell me how, Lucía. Tell me how you like it.

—Like that. Like that, please.

He ran his teeth over my bitten nipple. Not hard. Just enough for me to realize he could. His other hand left my breast and slid down my stomach, under the hem of my wrinkled skirt, until it found the elastic of my panties. He slipped his fingers under the edge. I felt them glide through a wetness that embarrassed me.

—You’re soaked —he murmured against my nipple—. Really soaked, niece.

—I don’t know why.

—Yes, you do.

His fingers moved over my pussy from top to bottom, without going in. Just parting the lips, measuring me, smearing themselves with me. His thumb found my clit and stayed there, tracing small circles. I dug my nails into his shoulders over his shirt. No one had ever touched me there except myself under the sheets, and even then I had always felt guilty. Now the guilt had dissolved into something much bigger.

—Open your legs for me.

I opened them. My skirt rode up to my waist. The pink panties, from the same set as the bra, had been pushed aside by his fingers and now sat there like decoration. He looked at them for a long second, as if storing the image away for later.

—Come on. On the floor.

He lowered me from his lap. He laid me down on the living room rug, the one my mother had bought one summer at the coast. He unbuttoned my skirt and slid it off my hips. The pink panties followed, tangled, down to my ankles. He pulled them off my feet with two fingers, like someone taking off a wrapping.

He knelt between my knees. Still dressed, shirt half open, jeans tented at the front. He looked down at me from there. My arms were crossed over my tits, more by reflex than anything else.

—Lower your arms. I want to see you.

I lowered them.

—That’s it, niece. All mine.

He leaned down. He kissed my navel. Then lower, mouth open, barely biting my hip, my groin, until his beard scraped my thighs. I closed my eyes. I felt his tongue open my pussy with a long, slow lick that tore a cry out of me. No one had ever done that to me before. Nothing had prepared me for it. His hands held my thighs apart and he kept licking, sucking my clit, pushing his tongue inside me as far as it could reach, pulling out, going back in. It sounded obscene. I heard it and got even hotter.

—Uncle, uncle, I’m going to...

—Come in my mouth. Come with everything you’ve got.

My back arched off the rug. I grabbed his hair with both hands and pressed his face against me without meaning to, and he took it, sucked harder, until something inside me broke. I came shaking, my thighs closing around his ears, biting the back of my hand so I wouldn’t scream through the open window. He kept licking me slowly while I came down, until my clit was so sensitive I had to push him away by the shoulders.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his arm. He smiled. I had never seen him smile like that, not even in old photos.

—Are you sure, Lucía? —he asked, while he unbuckled his belt—. Last time I ask.

I nodded. I couldn’t speak. I watched him take off his jeans, pull down his underwear, let his cock out, and it was the first one I’d ever seen up close. Long, thick, with a vein marked underneath and the tip glossy with a bead. It scared me for a second. Then I wanted it.

—Touch it. Gently.

I ran my hand over it. The skin was softer than I had imagined, and underneath it was rock hard. I wrapped my fingers around the whole thing and still had room left. He let out a low groan when I squeezed without meaning to.

—That’s it, niece. Like that.

—I want to taste it —I said, surprising myself.

—Come here.

I sat up. I knelt in front of him, tits out, skirt shoved aside, hair a mess. I brought my mouth to him. I ran my tongue over the tip first, tasting it, a salty flavor sticking to my palate. Then I opened wider. I took him into my mouth slowly, as much as I could, and he sucked in a sharp breath. I held the base with my hand. I sucked, with more enthusiasm than technique, following what he asked with his hand at my nape.

—With your tongue. Good. That’s it, my niece, that’s how it’s done.

Every time I took more of him in, my mouth filled with saliva. A thread of it ran down my chin to my tits. When I looked up at him from below, his eyes were half-lidded and his jaw tight. He tugged my hair slowly to make me let him go.

—Enough. I’m going to come and I don’t want to. Not yet.

He pulled his cock out of my mouth with a sound that made my thighs close together. He shoved me back onto the rug. He climbed on top of me. I felt the full weight of a man for the first time, that strange feeling of not being able to move and not wanting to. He opened my legs with his knee and settled between them. The tip touched the entrance to my pussy, and I was so wet it slid in on its own without finding resistance.

—It’s going to hurt a little —he murmured in my ear—. Hang on to me.

—Yes. I can handle anything.

He pushed in. Slowly. I felt him opening me, millimeter by millimeter, and it was so much more than I had imagined. I held my breath. He stopped when he met resistance.

—Look at me, Lucía.

I looked at him. His gray eyes locked on mine.

—Now —he said.

And he pushed hard. I felt a sharp sting, a burn, and then a strange fullness, as if suddenly there were something in my body that had always been missing. My eyes filled with tears without meaning to. He stayed still inside me, holding my face, giving me small kisses on the mouth until I could breathe again.

—Okay?

—Okay —I whispered—. Keep going.

He started to move. Short pull out, long push in. With each thrust he took me deeper. The burn turned into something else, a hot friction rising up through my stomach. I clung to his back over his shirt. I bit his shoulder when he drove in deeper.

—That’s it, niece. You had this saved up.

—Yes. Yes, Uncle.

—Say it. Say who it was for.

—For you —I gasped, not knowing whether it was true, knowing it would be from now on.

He grabbed one of my legs by the thigh and lifted it onto his shoulder. From that angle he drove in deeper. I cried out against his neck. I could feel his cock hitting me in a place I hadn’t known existed, and every удар? every thrust? tore a new sound out of me. He watched my face while he fucked me. He studied me. Learned what made my fingers clamp tighter, what made my mouth open wider.

—Come for me again. Come with my cock inside you. Come on.

His hand moved between us and found my clit. He started rubbing it to the rhythm of his thrusts. I felt everything tightening, felt my pussy clamp around him on its own, and I came again with my mouth open and no sound coming out. A long shudder. He let out a groan of pleasure when he felt me squeeze him.

—Good girl. Good niece.

He sped up. The thrusts turned rougher, dirtier, the skin of his hips slapping against mine with a sound that made me ashamed. He pulled out suddenly.

—In the mouth. Open your mouth.

I crawled forward, knelt in front of him again, and he jacked himself two, three times over my face. He came with a low, long groan. I felt the hot spurts on my tongue, on my lips, on my chin, on my tits. Some of it landed in my hair. He held his cock in his hand and pressed it against my lips when he finished, and I, without thinking, stuck out my tongue and licked him to the last drop. Like a promise.

I stayed there for a moment, kneeling, with my uncle’s cum running down my chest and my pussy throbbing empty. He looked at me as if he had just discovered something. He swept his thumb over my cheek, collecting what had stayed there, and put it in my mouth. I sucked.

—It stays in the family, Lucía —he said slowly.

—It stays in the family —I repeated.

And I let my uncle lay me back down against that sofa where, as a little girl, I had so many times fallen asleep during Sunday naps.