The Summer at My Uncle’s House Changed Me Forever

My name is Mariana, and that summer I turned twenty in a city that wasn’t mine, with a surname that wasn’t really mine either: my aunt Beatriz’s, my mother’s older sister, married to a man I barely knew and who ended up changing me from the inside out.

My parents were the kind who controlled everything. Clothes, schedules, friends, the tone of my voice when I answered them. That summer they decided I would spend the holidays away from home, with my aunt Beatriz, who was a surgeon and lived in a spacious apartment near the river. The idea, according to my mother, was that her example would “set me on the right path” toward something serious. The truth is I didn’t care about medicine at all. I just wanted to breathe without anyone measuring my air.

Beatriz was almost never home. She pulled endless shifts at the hospital and came back at dawn, dragging exhaustion behind her like a coat. So most of the time I was left alone with her husband, my uncle Esteban.

Esteban was a little over forty and had that kind of attractiveness you don’t notice at first glance and then can’t stop seeing. Tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair flecked with gray at the temples and a deep, calm voice that seemed to lower the temperature of any argument. He spoke little, but when he did, he looked me in the eyes in a way that made me have to look away.

At first it was innocent. Or that’s what I told myself.

In the afternoons I became friends with a group from the building and we’d gather at the rooftop pool. But I kept coming back earlier and earlier, with any excuse, just to find him on the sofa reading or cooking something with his sleeves rolled up. I’d sit close. Ask him silly questions. He’d answer patiently, and sometimes, when he handed me a plate or brushed a strand of hair from my face, his fingers would linger on my skin a second too long.

I noticed. He knew I noticed. And neither of us said anything.

This shouldn’t be happening to me. He’s my aunt’s husband. He’s family.

I repeated it to myself in the shower, with water running down my back, while I slid my hand between my legs thinking about his voice, his mouth, what it would be like to have him on top of me. I’d come without meaning to, imagining his cock, how big it would be, how heavy, how it would feel entering me for the first time. I repeated it at night, tossing and turning in the guest room bed, with two fingers sunk into my soaked pussy, hearing his footsteps in the hallway and biting the pillow so I wouldn’t moan. The more I forbade it, the more it grew.

***

The night everything changed, my friends from the building talked me into going down to a bar on the corner. I hardly drank. I ordered a sweet cocktail that tasted like fruit and then had another one without thinking. I didn’t lose my head, but I did lose that layer of caution that kept me safe from my own thoughts. We laughed, danced, someone tried to kiss me and I pulled away, because the mouth I wanted wasn’t in that bar.

I got back to the apartment a little after two. I rode up in the elevator looking at myself in the mirror, flushed, determined, and terrified all at once. The living room light was on.

Esteban was on the sofa, the television muted and a nearly empty glass of wine in his hand. He raised an eyebrow when he saw me.

—Look who’s coming back at this hour —he said, with a half smile—. Did you have fun?

—Sort of —I answered.

I took off my shoes and, instead of going to my room, I sat down on the sofa. Close. Closer than a niece sits next to her uncle. He noticed. He didn’t move away.

—You’re playing with fire, Mariana —he murmured, and his voice sounded different, lower.

—Maybe —I said—. I’ve been playing with fire all summer. And so have you.

The silence that followed was the longest of my life. I looked him in the eyes so he’d understand it wasn’t the alcohol, that it was me, that I’d been deciding it for weeks. Then I was the one who leaned in.

The first kiss was soft, more a question than an answer. When I didn’t pull away, he took my face in his hands and the second kiss was real: deep, slow, with his tongue pushing forward and a low moan I couldn’t tell was his or mine. I felt his hand slide down my neck, slip inside my blouse, squeeze one breast over my bra. My nipple hardened against the fabric and he noticed, because he smiled against my mouth.

—Are you sure? —he asked, barely pulling back, his forehead against mine—. Tell me to stop and I’ll stop right now.

—I don’t want you to stop —I whispered—. I’ve been wanting this for weeks. I want you to fuck me.

I saw his jaw tighten. He lowered his gaze to my mouth, then to my crotch, and with his free hand he pressed over my jeans, right there where I was already soaked.

—It shows —he murmured—. You’re wet just from sitting close to me.

—For weeks now —I said, and bit his lower lip.

***

He lifted me off the sofa effortlessly, as if I weighed nothing, and carried me down the hallway to the guest room. My room. Far from the bed he shared with Beatriz, as if the two of us still respected that last line even while crossing every other one.

He set me down beside the bed and undressed me slowly, looking at my face between every button, giving me time to change my mind with each step. I didn’t. My blouse fell to the floor. Then my bra. His big hands traced my back, my waist, my hips, and I was trembling, but not from cold. He crouched and took one nipple into his mouth, licked it all over, nipped it lightly, and I grabbed his hair without thinking, begging for more. He moved to the other one and worked it the same way, until both were hard and shining with saliva.

—You’re beautiful —he said, and it didn’t sound like a stock line. It sounded like something he’d been keeping to himself for a long time—. You’ve got perfect tits.

He yanked my jeans and panties down in one pull. He dropped to his knees in front of me, his face level with my pussy, looking at it like it was the first thing he was going to eat in days.

—Look at you —he murmured—. You’re dripping. I can see everything.

He spread my thighs with his hands and put his mouth on me. The first lick made my knees buckle. He ran his tongue over my lips from bottom to top, broad and flat, sucking up everything he found, and when he reached my clit he trapped it between his lips and sucked slowly, not letting go. A moan escaped me too loud and I clapped a hand over my mouth. He kept going, pushing his tongue inside me, pulling it out slick with me, returning to my clit, sliding a finger deep while he sucked me. My legs went weak and I had to grab his head to keep from falling.

—You taste incredible —he said, his mouth glossy—. I could eat you for hours.

He laid me on the bed and I took off his T-shirt. I ran my hands over his chest, over the line of hair that disappeared down into his pants. When I unfastened them and pulled down his underwear and saw it, all of it, hard, thick, the head swollen with a clear drop beading at the tip, my mouth went dry. It was the first time I’d had a man this close, really, without screens or imagination in between.

I wrapped my hand around it. I could barely get a grip. I moved slowly, up and down, feeling its weight, the vein throbbing beneath my palm. I leaned in and dragged my tongue across the tip, tasting him. Salty, dense, male. I heard him suck in a sharp breath.

—God, Mariana…

I took him into my mouth. Not all the way, nowhere near; I choked on half of it and had to pull back, strings of spit hanging from me. I tried again, slower, sucking what I could and working the rest with my hand. He took my hair in one hand, not pushing, letting me do it my way, and he was looking at me with a face I’d never seen on him before: mouth open, eyes half-lidded, like he was barely holding on.

—It’s my first time —I confessed, pulling back for a second, my face burning—. I’ve never been with anyone. Not like this.

Esteban froze. He lifted my chin with one finger.

—Never? —he asked, barely a voice.

—Never. Not a cock, not a finger that wasn’t mine.

—Then we’ll go slowly —he said—. You set the pace. If you don’t like something, you tell me.

And that sentence, more than anything else, was what undid me.

He laid me properly on the bed and climbed on top of me. He kissed my neck, moved down over my collarbone, caught a nipple between his lips and licked it until a sigh escaped me. His hand traveled over my stomach, finding its way between my legs, and when his fingers brushed me for the first time, my whole body arched.

—You’re soaked —he murmured against my ear—. Is this for me?

—Yes —I gasped—. Only for you.

He touched me with a patience that drove me crazy, tracing slow circles over my clit, sliding one finger inside me, then two, opening me slowly, moving them in a curve that touched something I didn’t even know I had. He kissed my mouth to swallow my moans, while with his other hand he squeezed one breast, pinched my nipple, made me arch against him. The tension built like a rope until it snapped: I came for the first time with another person, clutching his arm, biting my lip so I wouldn’t scream and wake half the building. I felt my pussy throbbing around his fingers, felt a hot gush spill over his hand.

—That’s my girl —he said, smiling against my cheek, and he brought his fingers to his mouth to suck them in front of me—. You’re going to come many more times tonight.

***

When he positioned himself between my legs, he did it looking me in the eyes. He ran the head of his cock over my soaked pussy, up and down, rubbing it against my clit until my whole body trembled. The tip found my entrance and stayed there, pressing.

—Ready? —he asked.

I nodded. I felt the thick head pressing against my entrance and my whole body tensed.

—Breathe —he murmured—. Slowly. We’re in no rush.

He pushed just a little, millimeter by millimeter, stopping each time he saw me hold my breath. There was a sharp sting at first, acute, that made me dig my nails into his back when the head went in all the way. I felt him opening me, felt my flesh give way to make room for him. He kept sliding in, pausing, pulling back a little, going in a little deeper each time, until I felt his hips against mine and knew he was all the way inside. He stayed still, buried inside me, kissing my forehead, waiting for my body to accept him.

—Okay? —he asked, teeth clenched—. You’re so tight. You’re squeezing me all the way.

—Okay —I said, and it was true. The pain was fading into something else, a new fullness, strange and hot, unlike anything I’d ever known. I could feel him throbbing inside me.

He started moving. Slow, deep, attentive to every expression on my face. He pulled almost all the way out and sank back in to the hilt, calmly, letting me feel every inch. Little by little the pain turned into something else, and my hips started to seek him out, to meet him. The bed complained under us. My hands ran over his back, dug into his ass, begging for more. His thrusts grew firmer as I opened around him, moaning his name without realizing it.

—Esteban… —I gasped.

—I’m here —he answered, voice breaking—. I’m not going anywhere. Look at you swallowing my cock, fuck. Look at how I’m fucking you.

I looked down between our bodies and saw him going in and out of me, shining, wet with me. The sight made me clench around him and tore a moan out of me.

He held one leg against his hip to get in deeper and the angle ripped a long moan from me. He tossed it over his shoulder and pushed even farther in. I couldn’t close my mouth anymore; gasps were spilling out of me, broken words, his name, pleas I didn’t know I had.

—More, please, more…

—Like this? —he growled, thrusting harder, making the bed shake—. Is this how you want it?

—Yes, like that, don’t stop…

He flipped me over without pulling out, so I was face down, and lifted my hips. I felt his cock enter from another angle, even deeper, and I screamed into the pillow. He grabbed my hair, my hips, drove his hands into my ass to spread me while he fucked me, and I pushed back as if my body had learned on its own what to do. Every one of his blows tore a broken moan out of me.

—What a ass you’ve got, fuck —he gasped—. I’ve wanted to fuck you like this all summer.

I felt the rope tightening again, different this time, deeper, rising from inside me. I slipped a hand between my legs and rubbed my clit while he was wrecking me from behind. That was enough.

—I think… again… I’m coming, I’m coming…

—Let go —he murmured, thrusting faster—. I want to feel it. I want to feel you choking my cock.

I came with him inside me, shaking from head to toe, my pussy clenching around him in wave after wave that wouldn’t stop. I screamed into the pillow, bit the fabric, felt my legs go weak. Esteban held on a few seconds longer, driving in hard while I wrung myself over him, and then he groaned, pulled out at the last second, and finished over my ass and back in thick, hot spurts, his forehead pressed to my shoulder, breathing like he’d run miles. I felt every pulse of his cock emptying onto my skin.

We stayed like that for a long while, tangled together, silent, listening to the air conditioner hum and to each other’s heartbeats. He wiped me with his T-shirt, no ceremony, and ran a hand up and down my back. He pushed my sweaty hair away from my face and kissed my temple with a tenderness I hadn’t expected.

—Don’t regret it —he said softly—. Whatever happens tomorrow, tonight was yours.

—I don’t regret it —I answered—. Not a thing.

***

Beatriz came back when dawn was already breaking, dragging the endless shift through her body. I heard the door from my bed, alone among the rumpled sheets, with a sweet ache between my legs, his smell still clinging to my skin and my heart still pounding hard. I heard her set down her keys, heard her sigh, heard her close her bedroom door.

I didn’t feel guilty. I should have, I suppose. But all I felt was that for the first time in twenty years, something had been mine, chosen by me, without anyone measuring my air.

The rest of the summer I learned to live in two worlds at once. By day I was the dutiful niece, helping set the table and listening with a serious face to my aunt’s advice about the future. At night, when the house fell silent and Beatriz sank into exhaustion or vanished into a shift, my bedroom door opened without a sound and Esteban came into the darkness. He woke me with his mouth between my legs, or with his cock already hard pushing into me from behind; sometimes I knelt on the floor and sucked him until he filled my mouth; sometimes I rode him, bouncing on his cock while I looked at his face.

I learned what I liked. I learned to ask for it. To say “harder,” “not like that,” “fuck me to the hilt,” “come in my mouth.” I learned that desire, when it’s chosen, is nothing like the shame my parents had taught me to feel.

On the last night, before I went back to my parents’ house and their schedules and their measured air, Esteban held my face between his hands in the dark foyer.

—This summer wasn’t a mistake —he said—. I want you to remember it that way.

I kissed him one last time, slowly, etching him into me.

I went home changed. Quieter, maybe. More myself, for sure. My parents didn’t notice anything: to them I was still the obedient girl they’d sent away for the summer. They never knew that those holidays didn’t steer me toward medicine, but toward something much harder to admit.

That I finally learned how to want without asking permission.