The Dawn When Everything Changed with My Mother

There are images you don’t think about, you feel them in your blood. They stay etched in you like a scar that burns every time I close my eyes or hear the shower water running on the other side of the wall. I had just turned eighteen and I had the clumsy urgency of a boy who only wanted to go down to the street and kick a ball around with the guys from the building.

I burst into her room, shouting, looking for the sneakers she always kept in the closet so the apartment wouldn’t be a mess. Adriana, my mother, had just come out of the bathroom. She was turned away from me, completely naked, drying her brown hair with a small towel. The sight stopped my heart: the whiteness of her back freckled all over, the broad curve of her hips, the weight of firm tits peeking out from the side and, between those broad white ass cheeks, the dark shadow of her hairy cunt showing beneath when she bent for a second to pick the towel up off the floor.

She turned when she heard the door slam. She didn’t scream or scold me. She pulled the towel up to her chest, covering herself halfway, with that disarming naturalness that has always defined her. But before the cloth came up, my eyes had already locked onto her big dark nipples, hard from the cold of the bathroom, and on the thick triangle of brown hair between her thighs. Her green eyes looked at me with a calm that made me feel more like an intruder than a son.

—Come on, Mateo, get your sneakers and let me get dressed —she said softly, not a trace of anger in her voice—. And next time knock before you come in, okay? You’re not little anymore.

I nodded like an idiot, grabbed the sneakers and stumbled out. But in that second before she covered herself, my eyes had already done their work. That afternoon I didn’t look for my friends. I locked myself in my room, turned the latch, and with my pulse racing, pulled my pants down. My dick was so hard it hurt. I grabbed it with my right hand and started jerking off thinking about my mother’s tits, her dark nipples, the hairy cunt I had seen out of the corner of my eye. I imagined sticking my tongue between her ass cheeks, burying my face in that white ass. I came in less than two minutes, with a thick rope that smeared my stomach and fist, biting my lip so I wouldn’t shout her name. And that’s how I began a ritual of desire and secrecy I would repeat in the darkness a thousand more times, always with the same image: Adriana naked, drying herself, with her hairy cunt peeking out between her thighs.

***

From then on, my life turned into a silent hunt. Every time Adriana crossed the hallway with that freedom of hers, every time the smell of her gardenia soap filled the house, my body reacted with a dark loyalty that made me sick and hungry at the same time. But the worst part wasn’t seeing her. The worst part was hearing her.

The walls of our apartment in Escandón were paper-thin, an architectural joke that forced me to witness her entire life. During those years I watched a procession of mediocre men go by: the gym guy who smelled like stale sweat, the so-called “licenciado” with cheap flowers, the architect who thought he owned the world. I hated them all with a hot bile that rose up my throat.

My hatred, however, was a trap. The moment her bedroom door closed and the dull rhythm of the headboard hitting the wall began, my rage turned into uncontrollable excitement. I would lie still in my bed, in the dark, with my ear pressed to the wall, listening to them fuck her. I listened to the creak of the bed frame, the obscene slap of a cock going in and out of her wet cunt, her “like that, like that, deeper, harder,” the wet sound of a mouth sucking her tits. And my hand moved with desperate violence beneath the sheets, jerking my cock with cruelty, replacing in my head the man who was fucking her. I didn’t want it to stop; I wanted her to scream louder. I wanted to hear her beg to have her cunt filled with cum.

I became an expert in her sound geography. I recognized the exact moment she came, that breaking point where her mother’s voice disappeared and the whore I’d been marked by years earlier came out. I knew when she came by that sharp, broken moan, as if something were being ripped from her chest; I knew when the guy emptied himself by the rough grunt that followed, and I imagined semen dripping down her white thighs while I emptied myself into my own hand, biting the pillow so I wouldn’t give myself away.

***

By the time I turned twenty-two, football and genetics had given me a slim but solid body, skin browned by afternoons playing pick-up games, and a height that already let me look straight into those green eyes that seemed to swallow the light.

She, at forty-one, was in the full bloom of her lushness, more certain of her power, with curves that seemed to grow on purpose to fill every corner of the apartment. Adriana had always been excessively affectionate. For her, physical boundaries didn’t exist: she’d hug me from behind while I washed the dishes, plant noisy kisses on my cheek, sit so close beside me on the couch that I could feel the heat of her thighs through her clothes.

—My Mateo —she’d say, wrapping me in a long hug, pressing her tits against my back—. What am I going to do the day you run off with some woman? I’ll die of sadness.

I would go rigid, fists clenched, breathing in the scent of her hair and that trail of gardenias, my dick swelling inside my pants. She did it out of love, or that’s what I wanted to believe. For me, every hug was a jolt that reminded me how fragile my self-control was. I had tried to cure myself with girls my own age, smooth bodies with no history, tight cunts that opened easily, but while I was inside them and hearing them moan I’d close my eyes and only see freckles, only see my mother’s white ass cheeks. I’d come inside them imagining it was Adriana’s cunt swallowing my load. When I finished I felt empty, nailed to the woman waiting for me at home for dinner.

***

It was World Cup season and the city was boiling. That Friday Adriana came home from the office in a green linen dress that drove me out of my mind; it clung to her hips in an almost obscene way and outlined her tits without a bra. We bought beer to stay awake, because the national team match was at dawn and we wanted to watch it with our tongues loosened by alcohol.

At midnight she went to change to be “comfortable” and came back out in a gray cotton pajama set, loose pants riding low on her hips. The fabric hung slack on her, but on her body any garment took on a different weight. When she stretched over the breakfast bar to reach for another beer, the shirt rode up her back and, where the pants gave under gravity, I saw the deep line of her ass, a border of white freckled skin I devoured from the couch. You could see the whole curve of her ass, no panties, and for an instant I thought I saw the wet sheen between her thighs, as if she wasn’t wearing anything under that pajama set either.

We watched the match shouting. When the goal came, she jumped on me and I felt the weight of her tits flattening against my chest, the hard nipples outlined through the cotton shirt, rubbing me. By the final whistle we had finished the beers and tiredness mixed with the heat of the alcohol.

—Mateo, my legs hurt down to my soul —she said, letting out a long yawn, and without waiting for an answer she put her legs up over my lap—. Come on, give me a little massage, don’t be mean.

I started with her feet and moved up her calves. My hands got lost in the softness of her flesh and she let out a “mmm” that reminded me of the moans through the wall. Lying on her side, with her legs heavy over me, her calves were right above my crotch. With every press of my fingers, my dick, already a painful stone, pushed against them.

There was no way she couldn’t feel it. And she didn’t move away. She wasn’t scandalized or adjusting the pajama that kept sliding. On the contrary, she let more of her leg weight fall onto me, sinking into my bulge with a slowness that was driving me insane. She started moving them just a little, as if settling her position, rubbing her calves up and down over my hard cock, and I felt her tremble when her pajama opened enough to let me see, for a second, the dark shadow of her hairy cunt. A rough moan slipped out of me and she heard it. She heard it and said nothing. She just closed her eyes and kept moving her legs, very slowly, until I was about to come inside my pants. That night I lay staring at the ceiling, wondering whether she, on the other side of the wall, was also touching her cunt thinking the same thing.

***

The next day we went to Susana’s birthday, her best friend’s. The terrace smelled of grilled meat and tequila shots kept circulating. Adriana was the queen of the gathering, in a floral dress that clung to her bust and framed her cleavage right down to the beginnings of her white tits. Her friends had watched me grow up; they remembered me as the kid with braces. That afternoon tequila changed their perspective.

—Damn, Adriana! When did Mateo get so fucking handsome? —Susana blurted out, running her gaze over me and leaving me naked under my T-shirt.

My mother let out a little laugh, but it wasn’t the laugh of a proud mother. It was sharper, more territorial. She immediately hooked her arm through mine, pressing her tits against my shoulder.

—It’s football, Susi. The boy spends his life on the pitches —she said, winking at me—. But don’t go stealing him from me, he still lives with his mommy.

Every time one of her friends clung to me too much on the dance floor, Adriana would interrupt with any excuse and pull me back to the table. She loved watching them melt over the boy she had at home, but her hands grew more possessive on my skin every time. I wasn’t just her son: I was the trophy every woman wanted to touch and the one only she would take home at the end of the night.

***

We got back after eleven, with alcohol clouding our judgment. In the taxi she fell asleep on my shoulder, her hot breath burning my neck and one hand of hers, seemingly lost, resting very close to my crotch, brushing me with every bump in the road.

—I don’t want to sleep alone, Mateo —she whispered in the hallway, swaying—. Everything’s spinning. Stay with me, okay?

We ended up in her bed. The excuse was to look after her. She took off the dress with dizzy awkwardness, left in a tank top through which her dark nipples showed clearly and in a small white panty that disappeared between her ass cheeks. I stayed in my boxers, with my dick still half-hard, and we fell asleep wrapped around each other, a knot of limbs and tequila breath.

I woke up with light filtering through the curtains. My body, young and traitorous, knew nothing of kinship: I had an iron-hard cock pressed against her ass. She was asleep on her side, her back to me, and my member, escaped through the opening of my boxers, was seeking its place in that hot curve. The tip had slipped right between my mother’s ass cheeks, barely separated by the thin fabric of her panties, and I could feel the damp heat of her ass pressed against my glans. I stayed motionless, enjoying the forbidden contact, my heart pounding against my ribs. Suddenly Adriana did a catlike stretch and, instead of moving away, threw her hips back, sinking more firmly against me. My cock settled completely in the groove between her cheeks, and she let out a small sigh and started moving her ass just a little, in slow circles, rubbing against me with a slowness that could not have been innocent. I felt the fabric of her panties growing wet in front, felt her cunt beginning to moisten against my thigh. I bit my tongue so I wouldn’t moan. I didn’t know if she was still asleep or if this was the next move in the game we had started on the couch. It lasted barely a minute, but it felt like an eternity, and when she finally went still I had my dick so charged my balls hurt.

Minutes later she got up, her voice hoarse from the hangover, and shuffled toward the kitchen to make coffee. I stayed there with my skin burning and my mind fixed on the sensation of her ass against my cock. I needed to get rid of all that electricity, so I locked myself in the bathroom. I didn’t turn the lock: in our house, with her relaxed attitude, locks had always been optional. That morning was my damnation.

I pulled down my boxers, grabbed my swollen cock with my right hand and started jerking it furiously in front of the mirror. I closed my eyes and summoned her image: the neckline of the floral dress, the weight of her tits in last night’s hug, her white ass rubbing against me just minutes earlier. I imagined ripping off her panties, spreading her ass cheeks with my hands and burying my tongue between them, licking her ass until she screamed. My hand moved with fury, up and down my cock slick with saliva and pre-cum, and I was just about to come when the door opened with a soft creak.

—Hey, Mateo, have you seen the pills for the cra…?

I froze, cock in hand and fingers clamped around the swollen glans. Adriana was in the doorway, a steaming mug in her hand, her green eyes dropping straight to my fist at the exact moment I lost control. I couldn’t hold it in. The first shot came out without permission, a lash of thick semen that hit the mirror. She didn’t move. She stayed there, watching my cock spit shot after shot over the sink. The silence was absolute. The shame was a blunt blow to the stomach.

But she didn’t scream or shut the door. She stayed leaning in the frame, taking a slow sip of coffee, watching me with a cynical calm that scared me more than any scolding. I saw her nipples harden under her shirt.

—Well, Mateo —she said, her voice rougher than usual—. Looks like Susana’s friends left you with a lot of homework. Clean that up, come on, I don’t want to go stepping in your filth.

And she turned around as if nothing had happened. But before she closed the door, I caught her running a hand over her neck and down, very slowly, to her cleavage.

***

The following days were a war of loaded silences. I avoided looking into her eyes, though my pupils always ended up betraying me. Then came the dawn of the big match, the clash against the group powerhouse. The alarm went off in the night and we got up with swollen eyes but adrenaline running high.

Adriana appeared in the living room wearing an oversized national team T-shirt in thick cotton. Without a bra, the fabric surrendered to the weight of her tits, marking her nipples in a way that forced me to look away every three seconds. Below she wore only a white cotton panty, one of those high-waisted ones that on her forty-one-year-old body turned into something divine, tight, outlining her cunt with a soft line between her thighs.

—Don’t you want some kick in your coffee, Mateo? —she asked, pouring a shot of rum into both mugs—. It’s vacation and it’s the World Cup. Besides, you’ve been really tense since Monday. Don’t think I didn’t notice.

I felt the blood rush to my face. She walked over to the couch and, with a naturalness that left me speechless, sat on the floor between my legs, leaning her back against my knees.

—Give me a little shoulder massage, okay? —she asked—. We’re winning today.

My hands rested on her hot shoulders while the rum began to erase morality and shame. The match was a mess of nerves and, every time the national team got close to the opposing box, Adriana would tense beneath my hands and sink back more against my knees, the nape of her neck brushing my crotch.

Then came the goal. An impossible cross, a header into the corner, and the whole house roared with us.

—Goal! —we shouted together.

Adriana jumped up from the floor and threw herself on me, wrapping her arms around my neck, half-straddling my legs. The shirt rode up to her ribs and her white stomach pressed against my chest. She didn’t move away after the shout. She stayed there astride me, her thighs around my hips, her weight both blessing and torture. I felt the heat of her cunt, covered only by the white cotton, flatten against my bulge.

—That striker is a genius —she whispered, but her hands slid from my shoulders to my chest—. Though you’re doing really well too, son. You almost make me forget we’re watching the World Cup.

The rival tied it near the end and she turned violently, burying her face in my neck, pressing her crotch, protected only by the white cotton, against my desperate bulge. She started rocking very slowly, rubbing her cunt over my cock through our clothes, and I felt the fabric of her panties soaking through, the line of her wet sex marking itself on me. When the whistle blew and the national team qualified, the television kept on, ignored. Adriana lifted her face. Her cheeks were flushed and her green eyes were clouded by something that had nothing to do with football anymore. She looked at my mouth.

—Good thing we made it through, Mateo —she whispered, and closed the distance.

She kissed me. It wasn’t a good-morning kiss or a brush on the cheek. Her lips, hot and tasting of rum, settled on mine with a soft but decisive pressure. It was slow, wet, with nothing maternal about it: the kiss of a woman who knew exactly the fire she was starting and had no intention of putting it out. Her tongue slipped between my lips and found mine, playing, sucking it slowly, and I grabbed her by the nape with a trembling hand and kissed her back as if my life depended on it.

—Shhh —she silenced me when I tried to speak, moving her hips in slow circles over me—. Now you’re going to take care of me, the way I took care of you when you were a kid.

That sentence finished off what little sanity I had left. For the first time in years I stopped being a spectator. My hands, suspended in the air by fear and reverence, finally came down and closed over her hips. Her skin was burning. My fingers sank into the firmness of her flesh, and the contrast struck me: my sun-browned hands wrapping around that pale whiteness I had only seen in dreams.

—That’s it —she gasped, arching her back, letting her hair brush my forehead—. Put your hands lower, don’t be afraid of them.

I obeyed. My palms filled with the roundness of her ass and I squeezed with an urgency that made her moan. Through the taut fabric I felt her wetness, a warm, constant trail burning my skin.

—Don’t think I didn’t see the way Susana’s friends were eating you up with their eyes —she murmured against my ear, her voice charged with a lust that vibrated in my bones—. Don’t think I didn’t feel your cock between my ass cheeks this morning. And the bathroom? Do you think I didn’t get hot seeing you? I went into my room and touched my cunt until I came twice thinking about your cock, Mateo. I know you’ve wanted me for years, and I’m not some fool. I love knowing you want me even though I’m your mother.

Her words were gasoline. The secret that had been burning me since that afternoon when I was eighteen was right there, exposed under the gray dawn light. I pulled her against me with a new fury and yanked the national team shirt over her head. Her tits fell heavy in front of my face, white, round, with dark nipples hard as stones. I lunged at them without thinking. I sucked one nipple while squeezing the other tit with my hand, and she moaned loudly, grabbing my head and pressing me harder against her chest.

—That’s it, my love, suck them hard —she panted—. Bite them. I’ve spent years imagining your mouth on my tits.

I ran my tongue around the nipple, bit it, tugged on it with my teeth, and she arched her back and rubbed her wet cunt against my hardened cock. I switched to the other breast and did the same, sucking it until it turned red, while she started sliding her hands down to my waist and yanked open the pajama pants. My cock sprang out, hard, thick, the tip shining with pre-cum. She looked at it and let out an obscene gasp.

—Look at what you’ve got there, my Mateo —she whispered, grabbing it with her warm hand—. Much bigger than your dad’s. No wonder you’re always tearing your pants.

She started jerking me slowly, with her whole hand, sliding up and down my cock with a technique that made me close my eyes. Then she slid to the floor, knelt between my legs and, without giving me time for anything, took my whole cock into her mouth. I felt the heat of her tongue wrapping around my glans, the soft pressure of her palate, and she began sucking me with a devotion that tore a rough shout out of me. She bobbed her head up and down, sucking, licking, pulling me out to spit a little saliva on the tip and take me back to her throat. She looked up at me from below with those green eyes locked on mine, and seeing her there, my mother, kneeling and sucking my cock, almost made me come right then and there.

—Wait, wait —I panted, grabbing her hair—. You’re going to make me come like this.

She pulled my cock out of her mouth with a wet pop and smiled, her lips shining with saliva.

—Not yet, my love. First you eat me out. I’ve spent years waiting for a man to eat my cunt properly.

She stood up, pulled the white panties down her legs and tossed them aside. She climbed onto the couch, spread her legs with her knees on the cushions, and I went silent. Her cunt was right there, at face level: hairy, white, with swollen glossy lips, the clit standing out hard among the brown hair, everything drenched in her juices. The smell hit my face, dense, sharp, feminine, and I felt myself go insane. I grabbed her by the ass, pulled her toward my mouth and buried my whole tongue in her.

Adriana screamed. She grabbed the back of the couch, threw her head back and started rocking her hips over my face. I ate her cunt with years of pent-up hunger. I licked her lips from top to bottom, sucked her clit with my lips closed, pushed my tongue inside and out again and again as if it were a cock. Her juices ran down my chin and I kept sucking her, breathless, nonstop, while she pulled my hair and begged for more.

—Yes, my love, there, there, suck my clit. Eat me good, Mateo, eat your mother’s cunt —she panted, faster and faster—. Oh, son, you eat it so fucking good. Don’t stop, don’t stop.

I slid two fingers inside her and kept working her clit with my tongue. Her walls began squeezing my fingers, she started trembling, and suddenly she came with a long scream that filled the entire apartment. Her cunt contracted around my fingers and a fresh gush of juices spilled over my chin. She stayed there panting over my face, her legs shaking, and I kept licking her slowly until she pushed me away.

—Now come here —she whispered, letting herself fall back on the couch, legs open and her red cunt shining—. Come put it in me. Come fuck your mother, Mateo. I’ve been waiting my whole life for you.

I didn’t need anything else. I settled between her thighs, grabbed my cock and ran it through her soaked lips. I brushed her clit with my glans, heard her moan, and very slowly pushed in. My cock sank centimeter by centimeter into my mother’s hot cunt. She let out a guttural moan I had never heard through the wall, not even with her best lovers.

—Oh, Mateo, it’s so big, son. Put it all in, don’t hold back.

I pushed all the way in until my balls rested against her ass. Her cunt squeezed me, swallowed me whole, and I felt the soft flesh of her belly against mine. I started moving, first slowly, pulling my cock almost all the way out and driving it back in to the hilt, and she grabbed my ass with both hands and pulled me closer against her body.

—Harder, my love, harder. Fuck me like you fucked those other women. Break my cunt, Mateo.

I rammed her with all my strength. The couch headboard hit the wall, that same wall that for years had tortured me with other people’s moans, and now I was the one making her scream. Her tits bounced with every thrust, her dark nipples danced in front of my face, and I looked her in the eyes while I drove into her to the hilt. She looked back at me, mouth open, gasping obscenities.

—Yes, son, like that. That’s how you fuck your mom. Oh, fuck, you’re filling me so good.

I grabbed her by the hips, turned her over and put her face down, with her knees on the couch and her ass pushed up. I saw her white cheeks parted, her swollen cunt dripping, and higher up, the tight little hole of her ass. I drove my cock into her from behind in one single thrust. She screamed and buried her face in the cushions. I started fucking her doggy-style, grabbing her hair with one hand and her hip with the other, pounding her with all the rage I had accumulated over years.

—Jesus fucking Christ, what a good cunt you’ve got —I growled into her ear, leaning over her back to suck her neck—. I’ve spent my whole life imagining this.

—And me, son, me too —she gasped, arching her ass back—. Every time I brought a man home I thought about you on the other side of the wall. I knew you were listening. I knew you were jerking off thinking about me. I screamed louder so you’d hear me better.

The confession made me lose what little control I had left. I fucked her furiously, my balls slapping her clit with every thrust, the obscene splashing of her wet cunt filling the room. She started trembling again, her sex walls milking my cock, and came a second time, gushing over my thighs, moaning my name into the cushion.

—Come inside me, Mateo —she panted when the trembling passed—. Fill my cunt with cum. I want to feel my son’s load inside me.

I couldn’t take any more. I drove my cock all the way in, grabbed her hips with both hands and came inside her with an animal grunt. Shot after shot of thick semen, that load I had been building up since I was eighteen, emptied into my mother’s hot cunt. I felt the contractions of her pussy milking me, drawing out the last drop, while she moaned with her eyes closed, enjoying feeling me explode inside her.

When I finally pulled my cock out, still hard, I watched my cum start to run down her white thighs. Adriana turned, sat up on the couch, looked at me and smiled with her face slick with sweat and her nipples still red from being sucked so much. Without saying a word, she bent down and took my cock into her mouth again, cleaning me, sucking the remains of our sex slowly, swallowing the semen mixed with her juices.

From that dawn on, the Escandón apartment was never again the innocent place I remembered. And neither of us ever wanted it to be.