The Afternoon I Went to a Hotel with My Uncle

There are things one tells and things one keeps to oneself. I told this one only a few times, and always in a low voice, as if the walls might betray me. But years have passed, my uncle lives far away, and no one is going to recognize us in these lines. So I’ll tell you the whole thing.

After I left school, I started working in bars. First as a waitress, carrying trays of beer and putting up with wandering hands. Then as a fichera, which is something else: customers paid to have me sitting beside them, drinking with them, laughing at their jokes, letting them get a little handsy while I coaxed the money out of their wallets drink by drink. Part of my family was outraged, especially my aunts. I didn’t listen to them. My mother, on the other hand, took the money I gave her without a peep, so from her side there were never any sermons.

I worked in several places. The one I remember most was a cantina called El Farolito, downtown. Today there’s a water purification shop in that spot, and every time I pass down the street and see the water jugs stacked behind the glass, all that time of smoke, blaring music, and sticky glasses comes rushing back over me.

My older brother and my Uncle Renato, my father’s brother, used to go to that cantina from time to time. I served them like any other customers, though there was almost no groping with them: there were coworkers who knew they were my relatives and I preferred not to make a scene. I’d bring them their drinks, sit with them a while, we’d talk about the family, and then I’d get back to what I was doing.

My uncle Renato came more often than anyone else. Every week, sometimes twice. And from seeing each other so much in that setting, we lost our embarrassment with one another, building a kind of familiarity that had nothing innocent about it.

***

One night beer and a few tequilas got mixed together. My uncle was looser than usual, with bright eyes and an easy tongue. At one point he leaned over the table, lowered his voice, and asked me if we were going someplace else.

I didn’t act surprised. I looked at him, took a sip from my glass, and answered calmly.

—Sounds good to me —I told him—. But you’d have to pay for me to leave the cantina. And give me something as well.

—How much? —he asked without hesitation.

I told him a figure. He took the bills out right there, without haggling, and laid them on the table like someone closing a deal he’d been thinking about for a long time. I squared things with the manager, and without making a fuss, I grabbed my bag.

And there I was, walking along the sidewalk toward a little hourly hotel two blocks away, the Hotel Lucero. I was wearing a miniskirt far too short, a thin-strapped blouse with no bra underneath, and, under the skirt, barely a tiny thong. The high heels stretched out my legs. If anyone had seen me walk by, they would have thought exactly what I wanted them to think.

My uncle paid for the room at the front desk while I waited a few steps behind. We went up a narrow staircase to the upper floor. I walked in front, and I knew perfectly well that he was looking at my ass step by step. That certainty, that mix of excitement, filth, and shame, had my stomach tight with pure anticipation.

***

The room was one of the cheap ones. A bed with a worn bedspread, a spotted mirror, a fan spinning on the ceiling with a metallic rattle. It smelled of disinfectant and stale smoke. I sat on the edge of the bed and lit a cigarette to calm my nerves, because no matter how determined I was, my heart was pounding a mile a minute.

My uncle looked at me without hiding it. I smoked slowly, giving him time, letting the situation build on its own. And to think this man used to carry me when I was little, I told myself, and now here we are both, knowing exactly why we’re here. I put out the cigarette. He sat down beside me.

I stood up and he did too. We were face to face, very close. He stroked my arms, my shoulders, ran his fingers through my hair. We looked at each other one second too long and kissed on the mouth. His breath tasted of tequila, mine of cigarette smoke, and the simple fact that I was kissing my father’s brother turned me on like few things ever had in my life.

His hands moved down. He squeezed my breasts over my blouse, grabbed my ass without delicacy, with that urgency of someone who’s been imagining it for a long time. I let him do it. Then he sat back down on the bed and I stayed standing in front of him.

I took my blouse off slowly. I’ll never forget his face when he saw my bare breasts in that yellowish light. I stepped closer and offered them to him, and he latched onto one with his lips while kneading the other with his hand.

—Like that, Uncle —I whispered—. Suck them like that.

He sucked on them hungrily, moaning softly himself. I was standing in my heels, my miniskirt almost hiked up to my waist, a little drunk, smelling of smoke, feeling his mouth travel over my nipples and his hands squeeze my ass. My head was spinning from the sheer filth of it. You have to imagine what it was like to be there, knowing who it was, and still not wanting to stop.

***

I couldn’t linger too long. After all, it was a paid “outing,” and sooner or later I’d have to go back to the cantina. So I decided to hurry things along, but my way.

I pulled away from him a little, slowly, to tease him. I lowered my miniskirt and let it fall to the floor. He helped me take off my thong, and I still remember the fascination with which he looked at me, completely naked already. I stood there for a moment, hands on my hips, letting him look at everything. I turned my back to him coquettishly so he could see my ass, then turned front again and gathered my hair up, lifting my arms.

—Do you like what you see, Uncle? —I asked him.

—Too much, niece —he answered, his voice hoarse—. I like you too much.

I lay back slowly on the bed, leaving my heels on. There I was, his niece, naked except for my shoes. He took off his shoes, pants, and underwear, but kept his T-shirt on. When I saw him standing there, I knew he’d been hard for a good while. He wasn’t huge, but he was rock hard, and he was gripping himself while looking at me as if he still couldn’t quite believe it.

I sat up again and perched on the edge of the bed. He came closer. I took his cock in my hand and started sucking him very slowly, looking him in the eye. My blowjob was slow, deep, the kind you feel in every inch. He fit completely in my mouth. I worked him up well with my spit, let him feel my tongue, and played with his balls with my other hand, gently.

Then I stopped sucking him and threw myself back on the bed, legs open. I stretched my arms out to him, inviting him to climb on.

My uncle settled himself on top of me. He kissed me again on the mouth, sucked on my breasts, and I talked to him in his ear.

—Oh, Uncle... you suck my tits so good.

He settled between my thighs, put the tip at my entrance, and pushed. I let out a moan when he went in, no condom, not asking anything. I felt like the worst woman alive, the dirtiest bitch, and I loved it. My father’s brother was fucking me, and there was nothing more forbidden or more arousing in the world.

He moved with eagerness, going in and out, faster and faster each time. I was floating between tequila and lust. After a while he lifted my legs onto his shoulders and kept going like that, my heels on either side of his face. I remember the fan turning overhead, the metallic buzz, the smell of the room, and above all the way we looked each other in the eye while he fucked me, saying nothing, because nothing needed to be said.

—Do you want me to turn over, Uncle? —I asked him.

He said yes. He pulled out, I got onto all fours, and he went back in from behind. That’s how he fucked me for a good while, pulling me by the hips, sliding in and out, and I felt a huge filthy thrill knowing he was looking at my ass. Several intense minutes went by in that cheap room, full of my moans.

***

He never asked me if I was protected or anything like that. I was on the pill, so I would have gladly let him finish inside me. But he preferred something else: he pulled out, settled beside me with his cock near my breasts, and started stroking himself. I put my hand over his and helped him finish.

I felt him convulse and then he was filling my breasts with hot jets. It was delicious to watch him, his face twisted with pleasure and his eyes fixed on what he had just stained.

—Like that, Uncle, like that... give them to me —I told him.

—Yes... take them, niece —he panted.

When he came, I didn’t let go right away. I kept holding him until he softened, slowly, and only then did I let him go. He went to the bathroom at an unhurried pace, smiling. I stayed sprawled on the bed, savoring what I had just done without a shred of remorse. I had just slept with my uncle, my father’s brother, and none of it weighed on me.

When he came out of the bathroom, I went to rinse my breasts off. Then we got dressed and went back to the cantina, because I still had to keep “working.” He ordered another tequila as if nothing had happened and I went back to my shift with the smile of someone guarding a delicious secret.

I won’t lie to you: it wasn’t the most spectacular fuck of my life. But the forbidden has a taste nothing else can match, and that taste stayed stuck to me for years.

And you know the best part? It wasn’t the only time we did it. But that one, the first one, is the one I tell myself again when no one is listening.