The Question My Mother Asked Me That Night

My name is Andrés, and the woman who marked me when I was young, without ever knowing it, was Carmen, my mother. She was forty-two, beautiful, widowed for three years, and raising my two sisters on her own, Sofía, twenty-one, and Lucía, eighteen. I was twenty and the only man in the house.

That Saturday, Sofía and Lucía had taken the car to spend the weekend on the coast, in the apartment a friend from school had lent them. Mom and I were left alone, and the house, without their laughter, seemed bigger than usual.

I had planned a quiet night in my room, with the door closed and my private habits. But in the middle of the afternoon Mom appeared with a cup of coffee in her hand and that tired smile she wore when something weighed on her inside.

—Stay downstairs with me, Andrés —she asked me—. I don’t want to be alone today.

I went down to the living room reluctantly. She sat on the sofa with her legs tucked up and a magazine in her hands. She was wearing a light strappy dress, and her long brown hair fell over one shoulder.

—I was reading something weird —she said after a while, without looking at me—. A report about families where things happen. Between mothers and sons, mostly.

—What kind of things? —I asked, though I knew perfectly well what she meant.

—You know. To me it seems dirty, twisted. But I wanted to know what you think.

At last she looked up. Her honey-colored eyes were slightly red, as if she’d been crying a little before. Something in my chest loosened.

—I don’t think it’s dirty —I said—. If two people love each other and decide to fuck, I don’t see why anyone else should care.

—Even if one of them is your mother?

—Even if it’s my mother.

There was a long silence. Carmen set the magazine down on the table slowly, as if she didn’t want to make a sound.

—Would you be capable of it, Andrés? I mean, with me. If I asked you to.

I’d been thinking about it for years. Every summer at the pool, every morning when she came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, every time she laughed without knowing I was watching and I’d get a hard-on under my pants.

—Yes —I answered—. I’ve thought about it more times than you can imagine. I’ve jerked off thinking about you, Mom. Many times.

She covered her mouth with her hand and let out a nervous laugh, almost a sob. Then her face grew serious.

—It’s not fair —she said—. I’ve spent three years sleeping alone and staring at the ceiling. Three years without anyone touching me, without anyone fucking me. My friends laugh because they tell me I’m too pretty to be like this, but what do they expect me to do? Take a stranger to your father’s bed?

—No.

—Well then.

I stood up from the armchair and crossed the living room. When I got to her, I knelt on the rug and took her hands. They were cold.

—If you want to stop, we stop —I said—. At any moment. But if what you want is to know, I’ll show you.

Carmen looked at me for a moment. Then she leaned forward and kissed me, first with her mouth closed, almost afraid. I didn’t move. I waited. After a few seconds she opened her lips and let my tongue in, and that kiss stopped being a mother’s kiss. I sucked her tongue, bit her lower lip, and she let out a low moan that drove straight into my crotch.

***

I sat beside her on the sofa. Her cheeks were flushed and she was breathing with her mouth half open.

—I don’t know how to do this —she murmured—. I’ve been shut down for too long.

—Relax.

I slid the straps of her dress down. The fabric gave way to her waist. She was wearing a large bra, the kind she herself hated, and she laughed again, that nervous laugh that was almost an apology.

—Don’t look too much —she told me—. I’ve got too much chest. I look like a cow.

—You’re wrong. You’ve got the best tits I’ve ever seen in my life.

I unclasped it. When the garment fell to the floor, my mother’s breasts were revealed, heavy, with dark, wide areolas and nipples already hardened like stones. I don’t know how long I stared.

—Please —she whispered—, don’t go quiet, it makes me embarrassed.

I took one breast in my whole hand, weighed it, and took the nipple into my mouth. I sucked hard, like I was really hungry. Then the other, nibbling it, tugging at it with my teeth. Carmen held her breath and then let it out slowly, releasing a sound that was not a complaint. Her fingers sank into my nape and pressed me against her, and I understood that she had spent years waiting for someone to do exactly that to her. I ran my tongue along the groove between her breasts, pressed them together with both hands, and sucked both nipples at once. She trembled, threw her head back, and spread her legs without even realizing it.

—Son… —she panted—, you’re soaking me through.

—Go upstairs —I told her, my voice rough—. I don’t want the first time I fuck you to be on the sofa.

—What if they come back? The girls.

—They’re at the beach. They don’t come back until Sunday.

***

We went up to her bedroom. The double bed was still made on both sides, like when Dad was there. She stopped in the doorway, hesitating. I pulled back the duvet, held out my hand, and guided her to the edge of the mattress.

—Lie down.

She did, slowly. I knelt in front of her and pulled her dress up to her waist. She was wearing white cotton panties, which seemed to me the most honest garment I had ever seen. The crotch had a dark wet patch, and the smell of hot pussy hit my face all at once. I tugged at the elastic and took them off.

Carmen closed her eyes. She was still ashamed of her own body. She had brown pubic hair, slightly trimmed, and firm thighs. Her pussy, swollen, glistened with how soaked she was, and the inner lips showed pink between the hair. I spread her legs carefully, kissed the inside of her knee, and worked my way upward, leaving a trail of saliva along her thigh. When I reached the top, I felt her tense.

—Andrés…

—Shut up.

I ran my tongue slowly, from bottom to top, once, from the entrance of her pussy to her clit. Carmen jerked on the bed and put her hands over her mouth so she wouldn’t scream. I stopped for a second, waiting, and did it again. This time I heard her moan between her fingers. I parted the lips of her pussy with two fingers, exposing the clit, and took it whole into my mouth. I sucked it like a candy, slowly, circling with my tongue.

I worked slowly. I knew the theory, not the practice, but she told me everything: how her thighs tightened when I got it right, how her voice dropped when I got it wrong, how her breathing sped up when I kept pressing the same spot. I slid a finger into her pussy and felt how she closed around it, tight, as if she hadn’t been opened in years. I started moving it slowly, in and out, while I kept sucking her clit. Then I added a second finger, curling them upward, searching for that spot that would make her fall apart.

—There —she panted—, there, there, don’t stop, son, there…

The first time she came, she did it almost silently, her whole body arched and one hand gripping the headboard, the other pressing my head against her pussy. I felt her contract around my fingers, in waves, soaking my chin. The second was longer, dirtier, with her voice breaking and my name repeated three times while her hips shook on their own against my mouth.

—Stop —she begged—. Please, stop or I’ll die.

I moved up her body, licking her stomach and tits along the way, and kissed her on the mouth so she could recognize herself in my taste. She kissed me back with a hunger she had never shown in front of me, not even with Dad, searching for herself in my tongue, sucking my lips as if she wanted to clean herself.

—Now me —she said, gasping—. Take your clothes off. I want to see it.

***

I sat on the edge of the bed and let my mother undress me. Carmen’s hands were clumsy, from urgency and nerves, and I liked that more than any learned trick. When she looked down and saw the hard cock, pointed at her face, she opened her lips but said nothing. She stared at it for a while, as if she were calculating its size, and swallowed.

—It’s yours —I told her—. If you want it.

She wrapped one hand around it slowly, measuring it. Her fingers barely closed all the way around. She started moving it up and down, pulling at the skin, looking me in the eyes while she did it. Then she leaned in and kissed it the way she had kissed my mouth a moment before, giving the tip a wet kiss. She stuck out her tongue and licked my whole glans, circling around it. The sensation of her tongue, still warm with herself, left me breathless.

—You don’t have to… —I started.

—Shut up.

She opened her mouth and took my cock in. At first only halfway, carefully, helping herself with her hand. Then deeper, until I felt the tip touch her throat and she pulled back coughing a little, eyes wet. She did it her own way, without technique, without haste, like someone learning a language by instinct. She sucked with her lips tight, pulling me all the way out to lick my balls and then taking me back in, leaving strings of saliva hanging from her chin. When she looked at me again, with my cock in her mouth and her eyes shining, I almost came right there. A few minutes later I had to gently pull her away, holding her chin.

—If you keep going, I’ll finish like this. And I don’t want to finish like this the first time. I want to cum inside you.

Carmen smiled. She had a new smile, one I had never seen on her, with swollen, shiny lips.

—Then come here —she said, sinking back onto the pillows and opening her legs—. Come here. Fuck me already.

***

I positioned myself between her legs, pressed my cock against her soaked pussy, and rubbed it a little along her lips, getting it nice and wet. I went in slowly, never taking my eyes off her face. I wanted to see the exact moment my son’s cock opened my mother’s pussy. I saw it: her mouth opened a little, her brows arched, her eyelids trembled, and she let out a long, surrendering sound while she clung to my shoulders. I felt her pussy taking me in centimeter by centimeter, tight, hot, closing around me like a fist.

—Jesus Christ —she whispered—. Jesus Christ, son. You’re so big. You fill me completely.

I didn’t move for a good while, with my cock buried to the balls inside her. I let her get used to it, feel the full weight of what was happening, of having her own son inside her. When I started moving, I did it calmly, almost tenderly, pulling almost all the way out and pushing back in slowly. Carmen hooked her legs around my waist and forced me deeper, and then tenderness went to hell and the rest became something else.

I started fucking her for real, braced on my hands, watching her tits bounce with every thrust. The mattress creaked, the bed hit the wall, and the sound of my balls slapping her ass filled the whole room. She moaned without holding back, getting louder and louder, grabbing onto me wherever she could.

—Like that, son, like that, harder, break me, don’t stop…

I put her on all fours. I grabbed her hips with both hands and drove into her again in one dry thrust, all the way in. Carmen screamed into the pillow. From behind I could see her round white ass, and her pussy opening around my cock every time I pulled out. I slapped her ass cheek, grabbed her hair, and tugged, forcing her to arch her back.

—Tell me you’re mine —I demanded, fucking her harder and harder.

—I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m your slut, son, I’m my son’s whore…

We went at it without restraint. She whispered things in my ear, things that can’t be repeated, things a mother doesn’t say to a son. I gave them back to her. I turned her face up again, lifted her legs and rested them on my shoulders, folding her in half, and from there I went even deeper into her. The room smelled of sweat and perfume and pussy and years of waiting. At some point, when she came for the third time, clamping down on my cock with spasms that almost ripped my orgasm out of me, she dug her nails into my back and said:

—Inside. I want it inside. Cum inside Mom.

—Are you sure?

—Inside, Andrés. Please. Fill me with cum.

And I obeyed. I sped up the thrusts, feeling everything gather at the base of my cock, and when I could take no more I let it go inside her, spurt after spurt, every last drop. I finished inside my mother and, as I came, she pulled me against her chest as if afraid I would leave, her legs crossed over my ass so I wouldn’t even think of pulling out. I felt my cum fill her and start spilling over the edges of her pussy, wetting both our thighs. When I was done, I stayed on top without pulling out, listening to her heartbeat calm beneath mine.

—Don’t move yet —she asked—. Stay like this a little longer. Stay inside.

I stayed.

***

Afterward, much later, when we found our voices again and my cock slipped out on its own, sliding with a thread of semen that ran down her thigh, Mom went to the bathroom and came back with a tray: glasses of juice, fruit, bread with ham. We ate in bed, her wrapped in a sheet, me with nothing on top. We talked about nonsense. About whether the girls would notice anything when they came back on Sunday, whether she’d be able to look at me at the table without blushing, whether this was a one-night thing or the beginning of something.

—I don’t know —she told me, stroking my hair—. I don’t want to think about it yet.

—Then don’t think about it.

I pulled the sheet away from her. Carmen laughed, a clean laugh this time, without nerves. I looked at her tits, still marked by my fingers, and her swollen pussy, shiny, with traces of semen between the hair.

—You’re tireless.

—I’m twenty years old, Mom. And I’ve spent five years dreaming about fucking you.

—Don’t call me Mom now. Not now.

—Carmen.

She liked the way it sounded. She leaned over me, took hold of my cock, which was hardening again, and kissed me once more, and both of us knew perfectly well that on Sunday, when the girls came back, we were going to have to learn how to pretend. But Sunday was still far away. And that night had only just begun.