My Uncle Stayed the Afternoon When My Mom Wasn’t Home

The last Friday before vacation, I left school 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, take 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, with smeared mascara and eyes fixed on me like she was going to split me open.

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

—Family my ass.

Her slap left my cheek burning. Then came the rest: nails in my back, scratches under the collar of my polo, the clumsy struggle between two girls who had never really fought before. We crashed against 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. My blouse came undone at the first two buttons, and the pink edge of my bra showed.

—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 out of 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 you could still make out under 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’m forbidding it. Is that clear?

Daniela spat out an insult under her breath 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 pickup —he said—. I’m taking you home.

***

Marina was in the middle seat. She talked nonstop, furious with Daniela, with Tomás for letting her fly off the handle like that, with everybody. I barely heard her. I felt every scratch like a throbbing mark, and the uniform fabric rubbed my back with a burning that was almost pleasurable. I didn’t know how to name it.

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

—Yes, Uncle. I’m fine.

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

We dropped Marina off at her house. My aunt Patricia came out to the gate to receive 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 there, right? —he asked.

—Yes. Well. I think so.

***

The house was dark when we arrived. I turned on the entryway lights and called my mother twice without getting an answer. I took out my phone and called her. She was in another city, dealing with a trial that had dragged on. She wasn’t coming back until Monday.

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

—Put him on for a second, my love.

I handed him the phone. My uncle went out to the patio to talk to 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 hadn’t quite gotten out of me.

When he came back, my uncle left 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 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.

—I still feel bad.

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 that the word “uncle” had a physical weight, a warmth.

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

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. My uncle didn’t move.

—I know it can’t be —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 meant whether anything hurt —he said, with a smile that wasn’t entirely paternal—. The scratches.

The blush rose from my chest to my ears. I wanted to crawl under the sofa.

—Uncle, please… don’t let this get out.

—It won’t get out. —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 muttered, without thinking.

—Let me see.

He came closer. He gently moved the collar of my polo aside and lowered his gaze. I held my breath. His fingers were rough, warm. He smelled of cologne and something else I couldn’t identify, and it raised goosebumps on my skin.

And then he leaned in. His lips brushed the scratch, first 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 point between my legs.

I jerked away.

—Uncle, no.

I had slammed myself against the sofa back. I pulled my blouse straight with hands that wouldn’t obey me. He was looking at me without moving, 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 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 drew me toward him, seating me on his lap as if I weighed nothing. My skirt rode up. I felt the heat of his thighs under me, and beneath 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 him. My fingers traced the shape of him through 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 me. His voice had dropped a notch.

—Yes —I said. And then I pulled my hand away as if I’d burned myself—. I can’t, Uncle. I can’t.

—Why not?

I looked him in the eyes. My cheeks were on fire.

—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’s 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 wire. The one holding up the idea that things were done the way they were supposed to be done.

—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.

It was me who kissed him.

***

I kissed him like I had never kissed anyone, because I had never kissed anyone like that. My tongue was bolder than my shyness. I felt his big hand on the back of my neck, closing over my hair, and the other running over my back above the torn blouse, where the scratches still throbbed. Every time his fingers passed over them, a shiver ran down to my feet.

He started undoing my blouse with a skill that made me realize a lot of 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 a breast over the lace, slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. I arched my back without meaning to.

—God, niece —he murmured against my skin.

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

His fingers found the clasp of the bra at my back. They undid it without hesitation. The garment fell onto my rumpled 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 hoarse—. Look at them for me.

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

—Uncle… —I panted.

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

—Like that. Like that, please.

He ran his teeth over the bitten nipple. Not hard. Just enough to make me realize he could. His other hand left my breast and slid down my belly, under the hem of the rumpled skirt, until it found the waistband 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 little tit—. Really soaked, niece.

—I don’t know why.

—Yes, you do.

His fingers moved up and down my pussy, without going in. Just parting the lips, measuring me, smearing themselves in my wetness. His thumb found my clit and stayed there, tracing little circles. I dug my nails into his shoulders over his shirt. No one had ever touched me there except me under the sheets, and even then I had felt guilty. Now the guilt had dissolved into something much wider.

—Spread your legs for me.

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

—Come on. On the floor.

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

He knelt between my knees. Still dressed, shirt half-open, jeans marked by the bulge. He looked down at me from there. I had my arms crossed over my tits, more from reflex than anything else.

—Lower your arms. I want to see you.

I lowered them.

—There you go, niece. All for me.

He leaned in. He kissed my navel. Then he went 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 in one long, slow lick that tore a cry out of me. No one had ever felt me there. Nothing had prepared me for that. His hands held my thighs open and he kept licking, sucking the clit, slipping his tongue inside me as far as he could, coming out, going back in. It sounded obscene. I heard it and it only made me hotter.

—Uncle, Uncle, I’m going to…

—Come in my mouth. Come as much as 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 split. I came trembling, with my thighs closing over his ears, biting the back of my hand so I wouldn’t scream out 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 unbuckling his belt—. Last time I ask.

I nodded. I couldn’t speak. I watched him take off his jeans, lower 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 shining with a drop. It scared me for a second. Then I wanted it.

—Touch it. Slowly.

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 there was extra. He let out a low groan when I squeezed without meaning to.

—That’s it, niece. Just like that.

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

—Come on.

I sat up. I knelt in front of him, tits out, skirt thrown aside, hair a mess. I brought my mouth to him. I ran my tongue over the tip first, tasting it, a salty flavor that stuck to my palate. Then I opened wider. I took him in slowly, as much as I could, and he let out his breath sharply. I grabbed the base with my hand. I sucked, with more enthusiasm than technique, following what he asked with his hand on my neck.

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

Each time I took more of him into my mouth, it filled with saliva. A strand ran down my chin onto my tits. When I looked up at him, his eyes were half-lidded and his jaw tense. He tugged my hair, slowly, to make me let him out.

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

He pulled his cock from my mouth with a sound that made my thighs clench. He pushed me back down onto the rug. He got on top of me. For the first time I felt the full weight of a man, that strange thing of not being able to move and not wanting to move. 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 slipped in on its own without finding resistance.

—It’s going to hurt a little —he murmured against my ear—. Bear with me.

—Yes. I can bear anything.

He pushed. 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 found the resistance.

—Look at me, Lucía.

I looked at him. Gray eyes fixed on mine.

—Now —he said.

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

—Okay?

—Okay —I whispered—. Keep going.

He started moving. Short withdrawal, long entry. Each thrust took him deeper. The burn transformed into something else, a hot friction rising through my belly. I held onto his back over his shirt. I bit his shoulder when he drove in deeper.

—That’s it, niece. You had this hidden away.

—Yes. Yes, Uncle.

—Say it. Say who it was for.

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

He grabbed one leg behind the knee and lifted it onto his shoulder. From that angle he went deeper. I cried out against his neck. I could feel his cock pounding a place I hadn’t known existed, and every hit tore a new sound from me. He watched my face while he fucked me. He studied me. Learned what made my fingers curl tighter, what made my mouth open wider.

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

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

—Good girl. Good niece.

He sped up. The thrusts became harder, dirtier, the skin of his hips slapping against mine with a sound that embarrassed me. He pulled his cock out all at once.

—In your mouth. Open your mouth.

I crawled, knelt in front of him again, and he stroked 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. A little landed in my hair. He held his cock with his hand and rested it against my lips when he was done, and I, without thinking, stuck out my tongue and licked him clean to the last drop. Like a promise.

I stayed like that for a moment, kneeling, my uncle’s come running down my chest and my pussy pulsing empty. He looked at me as if he had just discovered something. He ran his thumb across my cheek, gathering what had stayed there, and put it in my mouth. I sucked it off.

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

—It stays in the family —I repeated.

And I let my uncle lay me down again on that sofa where, as a girl, I had so often fallen asleep on Sunday afternoons.