The Secret My Son Discovered That Afternoon

The first sign that something wasn’t right was one Tuesday afternoon. My son Mateo came home from university without greeting me, without coming into the kitchen, without giving me the cheek kiss we’d kept up as a ritual ever since he was five years old. He walked past me as if I were invisible, left his backpack on the couch, and went up the stairs with a stiffness in his shoulders I had never seen before.

I stood there with the knife resting on the cutting board, staring at the gap in the doorway. It wasn’t anger. It was something else I couldn’t name.

Mateo had always been the quiet son everyone talked about at family gatherings. Just turned nineteen, first year of Engineering, no known girlfriend, no friends who came over on weekends. The closest thing to a teenage problem was two bad grades in his last year of high school, and even for that he had cried while apologizing to me.

—Mateo? —I called from the foot of the stairs.

He didn’t answer.

I finished chopping the onion and put the pan on the heat. I told myself he must be tired, that he’d had a hard exam, that it was just another day. I made his favorite dish and at exactly two o’clock I shouted for him to come down for lunch.

He still didn’t come down.

I climbed the steps with the dish towel still in my hand. My husband was in the office until eight, so it was just the two of us in the house. I knocked on my son’s door with two short taps.

—Son? Lunch is ready.

—Come in, Mom —he answered from inside—. I need to talk to you.

His voice was calm. Too calm. I pushed the door open and found him sitting on the edge of the bed, his cellphone in his hands, his eyes fixed on the screen. He didn’t look up when I came in.

—Sit down.

—Mateo, what’s wrong? You’re scaring me.

—Sit down, please.

I sat in the desk chair. For the first time in my life, I felt that my son was in charge of a conversation I hadn’t started.

—Do you know what happens when you go to Grandad’s house on Wednesdays? —he asked.

My stomach dropped through the floor. I rested my hands on my knees and tried to keep my voice steady.

—I don’t know what you’re talking about.

He turned the cellphone around and showed it to me. On the screen, the image was frozen on a still frame: my father’s kitchen, seen from the hallway. I recognized my sandals on the floor by the fridge. He pressed play.

What was visible was me, bent over the counter, my skirt hiked up to my waist and my panties hanging off one ankle, while my father fucked me from behind with one hand buried in my hair and the other squeezing a breast under my unbuttoned blouse. The wet slapping of my soaked cunt could be heard clearly, and my voice asking him to come inside me. When I looked up, Mateo was watching me with an expression that wasn’t reproach or disgust. It was something else, something new, something that made me press my knees together.

—Last Wednesday I went to get the charger I’d forgotten —he said—. I rang the bell and nobody answered. The door wasn’t locked. I went in quietly because I thought Grandma was napping.

I closed my eyes.

—I stayed in the hallway for almost ten minutes. I saw Grandad fill your cunt with cum and then you knelt down and sucked his cock until you’d cleaned it. Then I left without anyone noticing. I went home, locked myself in my room, and jerked off thinking about you. And again. And again.

—Mateo…

—Mom, I’m not going to tell anyone. Not Dad, not Grandma, nobody. I don’t care what you do with Grandad. Really.

I opened my eyes. He was still looking at me, still with that new expression.

—But I want to ask you for something in return.

I swallowed.

—Say it.

—I’ve never fucked a woman. I swear. I’ve never put my dick in anyone, nobody’s ever sucked me off, nothing. And I don’t think I’ll manage on my own. I’m shy, I don’t know how to talk to them, I don’t know what to do when one looks at me. You could teach me. I want you to be the first. I want to fuck you, Mom. Just once.

The silence between us grew thick. The wall clock marked the seconds with a ticking that suddenly sounded enormous.

—Are you asking me what I think you’re asking me? —I asked.

—Yes. I want to put it inside you. I want to finish inside you. Once.

I stood up. I walked out of the room without saying a word and closed the door behind me. I went down to the living room, poured myself a glass of red wine even though it was two in the afternoon, and drank it standing up, staring at the window. Then I went up to my bedroom and locked myself in.

***

I spent more than two hours pacing the bed. The first thought, the obvious one, was that it was madness, an aberration, something that couldn’t even be considered. But the second thought, the uncomfortable one, was that the video existed, and a video like that could destroy many things at once: my marriage, my mother’s health, my father’s dignity, the image my son had of me.

The third thought, the one that made me most ashamed, was remembering Mateo’s face when he had proposed it to me. It wasn’t the face of a boy having a whim. It was the face of a man laying out a deal. And the fourth thought, the one I no longer dared to look at head-on, was that while I climbed the stairs my panties had gotten wet.

I thought of my father, of how it had all begun with him three years earlier, after my mother’s spinal surgery. I thought of the first time I’d put my hand over his in the kitchen, of the coffee going cold between us while neither of us spoke, of how I’d knelt down and sucked him off under the table that same afternoon, with the living room door half open and my mother asleep ten meters away. I thought of how what had seemed impossible became, over time, a silent Wednesday-afternoon routine: pants unbuttoned before I finished my coffee, my cunt set on his cock in the kitchen chair, the hot load sliding between my thighs while I wiped myself with paper towels before going home again.

If what had happened with my father had happened, then the other thing could happen too. That was the exact sentence that crossed my mind, and I didn’t like thinking it. Less did I like realizing that, while I was thinking it, my hand was inside my pants.

At five I went downstairs and knocked again on his door.

—Come in.

He was at the desk, looking at something on the computer. He turned off the screen when I came in, but I caught the reflection: a woman on her knees swallowing an entire cock. He blushed right up to his ears.

—I’ll do it —I told him without sitting down—. Just once. Tonight, when your father’s asleep. And you delete the video in front of me now.

He nodded. He took out his cellphone, opened the gallery, chose the file, and showed me as he deleted it. Then he opened the trash and deleted it from there too. He handed me the phone so I could check. I went through the folders three times, looked at the cloud, verified there was no copy. It was clean.

—You don’t tell your grandad —I asked him—. Ever.

—I’m not going to tell anyone, Mom.

—And this doesn’t happen again, Mateo. Once.

—Once.

I left the room and went down to make dinner with trembling hands and a cunt throbbing in a way that disgusted me with myself.

***

My husband came home at nine. The three of us ate at the table like any other day, and Mateo made a notable effort to keep the conversation normal. I barely spoke. I washed the dishes with obsessive care until the hot water left my hands red, and at eleven-thirty we went up to bed.

At twelve twenty, my husband was snoring with that gentle depth of men who are troubled by nothing. I got up, put a robe over my nightgown, and before stepping into the hall I took off my panties and left them folded under the pillow. I didn’t want any obstacles. I walked barefoot to my son’s bedroom door.

It was ajar.

I pushed it open slowly. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, in shorts and a T-shirt, the lamp on and his hands resting on his knees. When he saw me enter, he straightened a little, as if he didn’t know what posture was proper for receiving his mother in the middle of the night. I looked at his crotch. His cock was already hard, clearly outlined against the fabric of his shorts.

—Don’t turn on the big light —I whispered—. And keep your voice down.

I closed the door behind me and turned the key. The click echoed in my chest.

I walked to the bed and sat beside him. He was trembling a little, not from fear, but from that adrenaline that puts boys on the edge of their first fuck. I cupped his cheek and spoke softly.

—If at any moment you want to stop, we stop. Is that clear?

—Yes.

—And don’t kiss me like I’m your mother. Kiss me like I’m the woman you want to fuck. Can you do that?

He thought for a second. Then he leaned in and kissed me. Not with the clumsiness I’d expected, but with a careful slowness, pausing in each movement as if memorizing the sequence. I opened his mouth with my tongue and pushed it in deep, showing him how to kiss a woman who wanted to be fucked. He learned quickly: he found my tongue with his and sucked my lower lip with a hunger that made my thighs clench. His hand climbed along the side of my nightgown until it stopped at my waist. He left it there, not advancing, waiting for authorization I never explicitly gave him.

—Relax —I said against his lips—. Touch me wherever you want. I’m all yours tonight.

I took his hand and brought it up to my breast. He squeezed it over the nightgown, first timidly, then harder, searching for the nipple with his thumb. It hardened instantly and he let out a moan so low I almost didn’t hear it. I pulled his T-shirt off over his head and dropped the cotton in a heap at the foot of the bed. He had a skinny torso, still not fully formed, with that soft texture boys have when they’re just beginning not to be boys anymore. I slid his hand down his stomach and squeezed his cock over his shorts. It was hard as a stone, pulsing.

—Look what I’ve got you doing —I whispered.

I knelt on the floor between his legs and yanked down his shorts and underwear in one pull. His cock sprang out, rigid, pointing at the ceiling, the tip already shining with pre-cum. It wasn’t huge, but it was thick, young, with veins standing out and his balls tight against the base. The first cock I’d seen in twenty years that wasn’t my father’s or my husband’s, and it was my son’s. My mouth flooded with saliva.

—What a pretty cock you have, baby —I told him, running my tongue all along the base up to the tip—. What a waste to keep it hidden.

When I looked up, his eyes were closed.

—Open them. I want you to watch me suck you off.

He opened them. He held my gaze while I took him all the way into my mouth in one go, down to my throat, until I felt his balls against my chin. I pulled a guttural moan out of him that he quickly bit back with his hand over his lips. I started sucking him slowly, moving my head up and down, making a lot of noise with my saliva on purpose, letting a trail of drool run down his shaft to his balls. I took them in my free hand and massaged them carefully while I kept sucking the tip. I did everything I knew a nineteen-year-old who had never been in a mouth would never forget: I pulled back to lick his balls one by one, ran my tongue under the head, took him back in and squeezed the base with my hand while circling the tip with my tongue.

—Mom, Mom, wait —he panted—, I’m about to cum.

I stopped before he finished, my tongue still over the tip, and looked up at him from below. I took his cock in my hand and squeezed hard at the base to cut off his orgasm.

—Not yet. You’re not cumming yet. You’re going to fuck me first.

—Not yet —he repeated, like an obedient student, his voice breaking.

I made him stand up. I let him pull my nightgown over my head and lay back on his single bed, arms open and legs parted. I was naked for him, with nothing on, shaved cunt already soaked, shining under the lamp light. He stood there looking at me, not knowing what to do with his body in space. His cock pointed forward, hard, wet with my saliva.

—Look at me closely —I told him—. This is the cunt you were born from. And tonight you’re going to fuck it. Come here.

—Mom… —he whispered, voice shaking.

—Here —I repeated, and I spread my cunt lips with two fingers so he could see how wet I was—. Slowly. Look at me while you do it.

He positioned himself over me with a care that moved me. He kissed my neck, the hollow between my collarbones, and went down to my breasts. He sucked my nipples one by one, with sweet clumsiness, nibbling them lightly, and I arched my back to offer him more. He moved down my stomach and stopped at my navel, hesitating. I took his head in one hand and indicated the path without saying a word. He understood.

—Eat me out —I whispered—. With your whole tongue. Like you’re eating me.

He lowered his head between my legs and ran his tongue along the whole length of my cunt, from bottom to top, finishing on the clit. He ripped a moan from me that I smothered by biting my arm. He learned fast, much faster than I’d imagined. I had to guide his tongue with my hand the first few times, mark the rhythm on my clit with my fingertips, tell him when to suck and when to lick, but by the fourth minute he was eating my cunt like he’d been doing it for years. He slid two fingers inside me while he licked me and curled the tips upward, searching. When he found the spot, a cry escaped me that I muffled against the pillow.

—There, there, don’t stop, there —I begged in a whisper.

He didn’t stop. He made me come against his mouth, shaking all over, with my legs clamped around his head and my nails dug into his hair. I felt the orgasm rise from my feet to my throat and had to bite the pillow to keep from screaming. When he lifted his face with his mouth shining from my juices, he smiled at me with a pride that split me in two. His chin was soaked.

—Was that good? —he asked, with the voice of a little boy who’d already lost three times that night.

—It was perfect, baby. Come here. Now fuck me.

I guided him with my hand. I took his cock and set the tip at the opening of my cunt, wet and open, and looked him in the eyes.

—Push. Slowly.

The first thrust was slow, almost hesitant, as if he were confirming it was real. I felt him open me, fill me little by little, felt each centimeter of that young cock sink into the cunt that had given birth to him. He let out a long moan, trembling, and stayed still inside me, his eyes closed.

—Don’t move —I asked—. Feel how my cunt squeezes you.

I tightened my muscles around his cock and he let out another moan, sharper this time. The second thrust was surer. By the third he had found the rhythm, and from there he stopped being my son for a long while: he was just a young body on top of mine, fucking me, discovering what a young body discovers the first time it’s inside a woman. The bed began to creak softly with each shove. The wet slap of his cock sliding in and out of my cunt could be heard, a sound that embarrassed me and turned me on in equal measure.

I wrapped my legs around him and spoke into his ear.

—Slower. Enjoy it. You’re in no hurry. It’s your first fuck, don’t waste it by cumming right away.

He obeyed. He slowed the pace until each movement became long, deep, almost solemn. He drove all the way in, to the hilt, and held himself inside for a second before pulling almost all the way out and pushing back in again. I dug my nails into his back every time I felt him speeding up, and he remembered the deal and slowed down again. At some point I lost track of who was keeping the beat.

—Suck my tits while you fuck me —I asked him.

He bent down without stopping his movements and took a nipple into his mouth. He sucked it hungrily, eyes closed, while continuing to thrust. I grabbed his head and pressed him against my chest. I felt his cock swollen inside me, throbbing, marking my cunt walls with each thrust. I was about to come again.

—Turn me over —I asked—. I want you to fuck me from behind.

He came out of me. His cock slid out shining, dripping with my juices, and he looked at it as if he couldn’t believe what he was doing. I turned onto my stomach, lifted my hips, and pressed my face against the pillow so I wouldn’t make noise, offering my ass high and ready. I spread my cheeks with my hands so he could see the open cunt waiting for him.

—Put it in like this. All of it. In one go.

When he came back in, it was different: deeper, more urgent, with that sweet clumsiness of someone learning to control himself. I felt his hands on my waist, his fingers gripping me as if afraid of leaving marks. He buried himself to the hilt and let out a guttural moan he swallowed back immediately.

—Jesus, Mom, you’re so tight.

—It’s your cunt tonight —I answered against the pillow—. Fuck it good. Don’t be afraid. Hold me tight.

He squeezed. He pushed. Each thrust stole my breath and made me bite the pillowcase. The skin of his hips struck my ass with a sharp, wet sound that filled the room. I felt one hand climb up my back and grab my hair. He tugged, not hard, just enough to arch me a little.

—Just like that, baby —I whispered—, fuck me like I’m some random bitch.

He loved hearing it. He sped up, with one hand still in my hair and the other digging into my hip. The bed creaked louder once and the two of us froze, listening to see if anything had changed in the next room. Nothing had changed. My husband was still snoring.

He started again, slower but deeper. He slid one wet finger into my ass, testing, and I pushed back so he would understand.

—There too, next time —I promised—. Tonight in the cunt.

A long gasp escaped him. He started fucking faster, his cock going in all the way to the balls, hitting me in a place that hadn’t been touched in years. Another orgasm built in me, different from the first, more animal, rising from my belly.

—I’m going to cum again —I warned him, breathless—. Keep going like that, don’t stop, fuck me like that.

He didn’t stop. I came around his cock, shaking all over, moaning into the pillow, and he cursed softly when he felt how tightly I was gripping him.

—Mom, I can’t take it, I’m going to cum.

—Slowly —I whispered when I felt him getting close—. Look at me.

I turned just enough to offer him my face. He looked at me. I held his eyes until I felt him tense and dug my nails into his hip to remind him of the deal.

—Outside —I reminded him—. On my back.

He pulled out in time. He grabbed his cock with his hand and gave himself two or three quick strokes over me. He came on my lower back, lips pressed tight so he wouldn’t shout, with hot, thick spurts that reached my ass. There were four, five, six in a row, more cum than I’d expected, sliding down my sides onto the sheets. When it was all over, he collapsed beside me, panting as if he’d run a marathon.

We stayed silent for a long while. I stroked his hair. He had one hand open on my hip, not moving it, as if he still couldn’t believe it was there. His warm cum was still dripping down my back.

—Are you okay? —I asked at last.

—Yes. And you?

—Yes.

I turned slowly and ran a finger over his soft cock, collecting the last drop of cum left on the tip. I brought it to my mouth and sucked it while looking at him. He stared back at me with wide eyes, as if he’d just discovered something new.

—Keep this image —I told him—. It’s the only time you’re ever going to see it.

I got up, wiped my soaked back and thighs with a tissue, put on my nightgown and robe, and bent down to kiss his forehead.

—Just once, Mateo.

—Just once —he repeated, but we both knew he was lying, and we both knew I was too.

I turned off the lamp. I went out into the hallway. I came back to my bed with my legs still trembling and my cunt dripping with him. My husband was still snoring with the same old gentleness. I slid under the sheets without panties, feeling my son’s cum drying between my thighs.

***

The next morning, at breakfast, Mateo greeted me with a kiss on the cheek, just like always. My husband didn’t notice anything strange. I didn’t act strange either. I poured his coffee, asked him about Thursday’s exam, reminded him he had an appointment with the physiotherapist. My son answered me in the same tone as always, and only when our eyes met over the sugar bowl did I know we were no longer the same.

The following Wednesday I went to my father’s house and let him fuck me twice in the kitchen, once against the counter and once sitting on his lap in the chair, with my mother napping ten meters away. I left there with my cunt full of his cum and carried it home hot, without cleaning myself, thinking that that very night my son was going to pull my panties down in his room and find it inside. And so it was: the following Monday I went into my son’s room again, and again after that, and I learned that what got Mateo so hot he nearly blacked out was knowing he was second that week. Just once had become a phrase we repeated out of habit, not believing it, while he fucked me from behind with his mouth by my ear asking whether Grandad fucked me like that too.

I don’t know where all this is going to end. I only know that once you start tugging at a thread like this, there’s no way to stuff it back into the ball.