The Night My Son Came Home Early

I want to tell you what happened a few weeks ago, on a Saturday night that has stayed branded into my memory. That night my husband and I had dinner alone; our two children, both already in their twenties, had each gone out on their own and we weren’t expecting either of them back before dawn. After dinner we sat down in the living room and put on some random movie, one of those you watch half asleep while you drift off.

At around one-thirty, Rodrigo yawned, kissed me on the forehead, and went to bed. I wasn’t even a little sleepy. I stayed there with the remote in my hand, scrolling through titles without deciding, until one of those French movies about two women who desire each other in silence for half an hour before they touch appeared.

I put it on without thinking much about it. And as those two women started heating up on screen, I heated up with them.

I started almost without realizing it. One hand over my breast, over the pajamas, squeezing slowly. The scene where the blond one slipped her hand between the other woman’s legs, seated on a stool beside a bar counter, left me breathless. My fingers found my nipples beneath the fabric and pinched them until they stood hard as pebbles.

I brought my middle finger to my mouth when the film really started to get hot, when one woman dragged the other to her house and laid her on a table to devour her without hurry. I couldn’t take it anymore. I pulled out my finger, now thoroughly wet, and slid it down under my pants, straight to my pussy, while my thumb made slow circles over my clit.

Little by little, the clothes came off. First the top, then the pants, until I was left naked in front of the television, with only the kitchen extractor fan’s light slanting in through the doorway. I could hear the wet clicks between my fingers. My body traced circles on the sofa, and I swallowed my moans so I wouldn’t wake anyone.

I closed my eyes and imagined it was me on that table, legs spread, surrendering myself. The peak came when one of them, already in the bathtub, put on a harness and fucked her under the water. My God. I didn’t have enough hands for everything my body was demanding.

One hand stayed between my legs, the other squeezed my breast, and the orgasm hit me all at once. I felt my back arch on its own and a current run through me from top to bottom for several long seconds. When it was over, I let myself fall back against the sofa. My body was still throbbing, my nipples hurt, and my skin was sticky with sweat.

***

I paused the film and went to the bathroom. I cleaned myself up a little, dried the sweat, and on the way I stopped by the kitchen for a glass of water. I went back to the living room, put my pajamas on again, and settled in to finish watching the film calmly. And then I heard the lock.

It was Marcos, my son. I thought he was coming to tell me how his night had gone, as he had so many other times. But he came up to the sofa and, without a word, without warning, he kissed me.

I should have pushed him away. Instead, the rush of adrenaline from feeling his lips on mine flooded through me. I grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him closer. The kisses turned urgent; I started biting his lip, seeking his tongue with mine. I felt the impulse to throw myself at him, I pushed him back and sat him down beside me.

I was so hot that, even knowing his father was sleeping upstairs, I didn’t care. The thrill and the desire were stronger than any sensible thought. I straddled him, and my hand, as if it had a life of its own, went straight to his crotch.

I closed my eyes. The kisses grew more intense while that possessed hand undid the button of his pants. He helped me free him, and when I had him between my fingers I looked into his eyes and started stroking him slowly, squeezing. He groaned against my mouth. I helped him take off his pants while he pulled his T-shirt over his head.

I took off the top of my pajamas. I wasn’t wearing a bra, and his hands and mouth went straight to my breasts. The contact was so direct that a louder moan than I meant escaped me.

—Careful —I whispered to him—. Your father’s asleep right upstairs.

As I said it, something inside me reacted. For a moment I thought about what I was doing, about everything that could go wrong. I got off him, tiptoed up the stairs and cracked open the bedroom door. Rodrigo was asleep deeply, on his back. I went back down.

I stood in front of Marcos and took off my pajama pants too, until I was completely naked. Without saying anything, I knelt between his legs and gathered my hair into a quick ponytail so it wouldn’t get in the way. I brought my mouth closer, and before I even got there I felt his hands grab my head and push.

I started playing with him, slowly, lingering on the tip, running my tongue over it, going down to the base and back up again. He held my head firmly and stayed still, deep in my mouth, and that made me even hotter. With my thumb I rubbed my clit in small circles.

He stood up, took my head in both hands, and set the rhythm himself, thrusting while I held his gaze. After a while he stopped, leaned down, and caressed my breasts without pulling out of my mouth. I slid one hand up to stroke him, moving my head at the same time, sucking the tip while I worked him with my fingers.

Suddenly he leaned back and pulled away from me. I looked up at him from below while he stroked himself with his hand. An instant later, a hot jet hit me in the face and reached my hair. I closed my eyes instinctively; before I could react, another fell on my forehead and slid down my nose to my chin.

—Come on —he said through clenched teeth—, you know what you have to do.

I opened my eyes. He was a hand’s breadth from my face, aiming at me. I opened my mouth and swallowed him, and I still felt a couple more spurts land on my tongue. I looked at him, gasping, and began to suck him and clean him slowly, leaving not a trace behind.

He looked down at me, still out of breath.

—This is what you like, isn’t it? —he murmured.

He slapped my cheek, not soft and not too hard, just enough to turn me on even more. Then he grabbed me by the arms, lifted me, and threw me onto the sofa. Without any preamble, he dove between my legs and started eating me out hungrily. His tongue circled my clit again and again, and I could feel the arousal climbing back through my whole body.

I felt his fingers searching lower, skillful, probing. This time there were no long games: one finger slipped in slowly where I wasn’t expecting it, and I had to stuff a cushion into my mouth to smother the cry. He began to move it while he kept devouring me, and I spread my legs as much as I could so he could do it however he liked.

I noticed that it was already more fingers insisting, forcing their way in slowly, going in and out, getting me ready. When he thought I was ready, he lifted me and positioned me on all fours on the sofa. I felt the tip press against me. I grabbed the cushion and buried my face in it. I know this is going to hurt, I thought, and in one slow but firm motion he sank in all the way, while pulling my shoulders back so nothing was left outside.

He stayed still for a few seconds, pressing me hard against him. I could barely breathe; I needed to get used to him. He took me by the hair, yanked me back, and with his other hand he covered my mouth and started moving. And just then we heard a sharp whisper from the doorway:

—What the hell…?

***

It was Lucía, my daughter. With all the heat and the thrill, we had completely forgotten that she might come back too. There she was, standing in the living-room doorway, looking at her mother on all fours, face still shining, while her brother moved behind me.

I wanted to get up and talk to her, to say anything, but Marcos held me by the hips. He was too aroused to stop. The bastard started thrusting harder, with quick, hard blows, tugging my arms back, almost as if he wanted to show his sister what she was seeing. Lucía didn’t move; she kept watching, saying nothing, with an expression I couldn’t make out.

He came inside me with a hoarse growl and made me stay still for a few more seconds, pressed against his body. When he finally pulled away, he ordered me in a low voice to clean him up again, this time with his sister watching from the doorway. I did it, my face burning with shame and with something else I’d rather not name. When he finished, he went to the bathroom without looking back and Lucía disappeared to her room.

I wiped my face with my pajamas and sat there on the sofa, trembling. My head had become a whirlpool of unanswered questions. I took a long shower, washed my hair, scrubbed my skin as if I could erase the whole night, though I knew I couldn’t.

I went up to my daughter’s bedroom door intending to talk, to explain, to ask her to keep that between us. I lifted my hand to knock and let it fall. Not that night. Better the next day, calmer, when I at least knew where to begin.

I went back to the living room and picked everything up: the cushions, the clothes, the half-finished glass of water, the film still paused on the same scene. I turned off the television and sat in the dark for a long while. I didn’t sleep a wink that night. My head felt like it was going to explode, and beneath the guilt and fear there was something else, something that terrified me to admit: the urge for it to happen again.