The Suite We Had to Share That Dawn

The hotel was a marvel, though getting there had been a grind. My parents had insisted on taking me back to my student flat in Asturias —we’re from Almería, so you can imagine the distance— and between the traffic, a detour for roadworks, and a late dinner, things got complicated. Around midnight we searched on the phone for a decent place halfway there to stop and rest.

We ended up at a five-star hotel lost between Cuenca and the mountains, one of those places that in low season and with such an odd location was surprisingly cheap.

I’m Adrián, I’m twenty-three, and I study industrial design. I could have picked a university closer to home, but I wanted to put some distance between us and learn to stand on my own two feet. My mother, Elena, forty-eight, and my father, Rubén, fifty-one, came with me on the trip. My mother is one of those women who are almost infuriating: she works as an architect, goes to the gym three times a week, stands close to five foot nine, and has everything in all the right places. She was always the envy of my friends and, for me, a somewhat awkward burden to carry. My father isn’t far behind: tall, gray-haired, lean from so much running in the hills. I’ve heard more comments than I’d like from one girlfriend or another. And I, I suppose, am a dead-ringer mix of the two: tall, slim, still without the bulk that comes with age.

My sister Carla preferred to stay home and make the most of the weekend with her partner.

My parents had treated the trip almost like a second honeymoon. They’d drop me off in Asturias and head back at their own pace, hotel to hotel, seeing as much of the north as they could before work called them back.

We booked from the phone, on the road: a single for me and a double for them. No problem.

But Murphy’s law kicked in and, magically, when we got to reception the rooms were no longer available. It was almost three in the morning and the next hotel was fifty kilometers away, so we put pressure on the receptionist to give us a solution.

The main suite was always reserved for an executive from the chain who almost never showed up. After a couple of calls, they offered it to us, apologizing, but encouraging us to enjoy the best room in the hotel: huge, with a terrace, a whirlpool tub, and practically unused.

I could already see disaster coming. My parents in romantic mode and me desperately wanting to lose them and go back to my flat. Discomfort was going to set the tone for the night.

The suite was incredible. My parents came in with their arms around each other’s waists, marveling at the huge bed, the bathroom with the whirlpool, and the terrace. I, on the other hand, only saw one problem: in the sitting area there was a beautiful table, but not a trace of a sofa or a sofa bed. Just that giant bed, big enough not to touch, but not so big that you could sleep peacefully next to an affectionate couple who, to make things worse, were my parents. And as if that weren’t enough, half the bathroom was separated from the room by a glass panel: except for a frosted strip next to the toilet, everything else could be seen from any corner of the suite.

“What a room, what luck we’ve had,” my mother said, smiling.

“Yeah, look at the view from the terrace, and the size of that bed,” my father added.

“Right, for one person or for a little couple this would be a dream. What a shame,” I said with a snort, and they both laughed, beginning to realize the logistical mess we were in.

“Well, we’re adults, we’ll manage for a few hours. Now let’s freshen up after the trip and sleep,” my mother cut in, always so direct, as she opened the suitcases and went into the bathroom.

She went in to shower and left very little to the imagination. My father and I put an old match on TV and tried to comment on the plays naturally, but it was impossible not to keep following every movement of my mother out of the corner of my eye through the glass. First her silhouette by the toilet, then under the water, soaping her body. I couldn’t help getting an erection, which I disguised by crossing my legs just as my father had crossed his. It felt to me like she was taking longer than usual. Then, thirty minutes of creams, and she came out fresh as a daisy.

“All yours, I was super quick,” she said, to everyone’s mockery.

With my father in the shower, the discomfort grew even worse. I tried to look at the screen, but it was impossible not to be distracted by his silhouette. He was quick. The worst came when my mother started commenting on the scene.

“Look at how he’s holding up for his age. The envy of all my friends,” she said, and I noticed she crossed her legs too.

My father came out wrapped in a towel and lay down on the right side of the bed, leaving my mother in the middle. Then it was my turn in the bathroom, more embarrassed than anything else. I repeated the ritual in a hurry, though, whether it was psychological or not, I felt their eyes on me just as I had been unable to tear mine from them. Using the soap as an excuse, I glanced toward the bed and froze: my mother’s hand was moving under my father’s towel in an unmistakable back-and-forth motion, and his hand was resting between her legs. I couldn’t control my erection, and I knew they saw me.

I came out as best I could, towel slung low on my hips and my face red as a tomato, and lay down on the left side.

“Come on, it wasn’t that bad. Sleep, it’s far too late and there’s still a lot of road tomorrow,” my mother said, giving me a chaste kiss on the cheek before turning off the light.

***

It was hard to fall asleep in that situation, but I tried. The three of us settled into a steady rhythm of breathing and, little by little, began to drift off.

Unfortunately, just as I was falling asleep, something brought me back to wakefulness. My eyes had adjusted to the dark and I could already make out the shapes in the room. Among them, my parents’.

With my pupils adjusted, I saw that my father’s towel was open and that a firm hand —my mother’s— was going up and down over him in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

That image wasn’t going to let me sleep anymore.

In the absolute silence, or as quietly as they could, they started kissing. My father pushed aside my mother’s robe and found her between her legs. Now I could clearly hear the friction of his fingers and moans that were becoming less and less concealed.

I tried to hold back, but it was too late. My erection was full and the towel wasn’t enough to hide it. The three of us were pretending to sleep, but just as I could see their bodies, they couldn’t ignore mine.

If I stay still, this goes no further, I thought. I didn’t stay still.

Very slowly, my mother turned her body and brought her face down to the level of my father’s crotch. The sound that came after that could not be disguised by anything. He, in turn, buried his mouth between her legs, and the gasps filled the suite.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I pushed the towel aside and started stroking myself. During a pause, my mother turned her head toward me. I stretched my legs, unable to stand the tension, and she returned the gesture by taking hold of my ankle without stopping tending to my father. He was looking too, while his wife’s hand slowly climbed up my leg.

When that hand reached its destination, I couldn’t stop a moan and lifted my hips. Without thinking, I moved my own toward her to bring her even closer to my father.

What came next was pure instinct. My mother shifted until she was on her side, with her back to my father and my face to one side. I started kissing her neck, her shoulders, her back, while my father kept taking care of her from the front. My mother’s hips rocked without pause, and somewhere along the way, without meaning to, my mouth and my father’s met over her skin. Neither of us pulled away.

She twisted and, with no shame left, let the air escape in long gasps. After a few minutes like that, her whole body shuddered in an orgasm that left her trembling, her legs rigid.

When she caught her breath, she gripped firmly and said in a low voice, almost an order:

“I want you both.”

My father and I looked at each other for a second. Without words, with a gesture, he signaled for me to start.

Crazy with excitement, I positioned myself over her and began to enter her slowly, trying to be careful with the body that had brought me into the world. But my mother had other plans and, with a firm thrust of her hips, left me no choice. When we were pressed together, the two of us let out a sigh of pure satisfaction and melted into a kiss as forbidden as it was inevitable.

My father wasted no time. He knelt beside my mother’s head, holding her hair and caressing her neck, while I gradually increased the pace. She was gasping and searching for my father’s mouth, only inches away. I don’t know how to describe what it was to be wrapped around my mother, inside her, hearing her take care of my father a handspan from my ear.

I couldn’t hold the position still. I started kissing her neck, her cheeks, until I reached the edge of her lips. And there, without slowing down, I also brushed my father’s skin with every movement. He was snorting, holding both our heads, setting a rhythm that dragged us all along.

With a sly move, my mother guided my father toward my mouth. I understood at once and accepted him clumsily, while the sound of my thrusts flooded the room. I couldn’t believe what I was doing, much less with my own father.

Then he held my head, spat an order at me with his eyes, and said it was his turn now. He lay on his back and, with an elegant gesture, made my mother sit on top of him. With the wetness she brought, she had him inside in an instant, bouncing at a frenetic pace.

I didn’t want to be left behind. I knelt beside my father’s face, not quite daring, but he didn’t hesitate. I almost lost control the moment his mouth surrounded me. In that position, my mother and I melted into a deep kiss. The three of us were gasping. There was no guilt, barely any thought. Only instinct.

I sat up to watch them while I touched myself, wanting to finish and yet not wanting it to end. I moved behind my mother, on my knees, and pressed against her. The two of them paused their motion for a second and she settled herself so she would line up with me. I entered her carefully, slowly, until my hips struck my father’s.

From then on, it completely blinded us. I don’t know how long we were like that, the three of us synchronized, until one last colossal orgasm shook my mother and dragged us all out of the trance, her spasms squeezing us like never before.

We stopped for a moment, exhausted and sweaty, without fully separating. My mother settled between the two of us and took care of both of us at once, alternating, while she jerked us off with her hands. I couldn’t take it anymore.

“I’m going to come, I can’t hold it any longer,” I warned.

“I can’t last much longer either,” my father said. “Do it.”

I came like never before. My mother caught the first spurt and then kept going with her hand, letting the rest fall onto my father’s chest. She didn’t stop until I had to pull away from sheer sensitivity. He was still holding on, and my mother took my hand so I’d lie down beside her and we could tend to him together.

We kissed while taking turns with my father, who was snorting and repeating that he couldn’t anymore. I lost track of time, focused on my mother’s mouth, until he finished with a long spasm. My mother caught almost all of it and then came to give me a kiss that she used to share with me what was left. I went crazy.

We kept kissing, and my father, now sitting up, joined in, trading kisses among the three mouths. Little by little we calmed down. He held my mother by the shoulder and they both smiled.

I watched them, happy, until I noticed my body waking up again. I propped myself on one elbow and, half joking, half serious, asked:

“So… whose turn is it now?”