The Visit That Almost Destroyed What I Had with My Stepmother

Helena had given herself to you in a moment of weakness and then asked for patience while she sorted out what she felt. Her parents' visit had put everything on edge to the point of seeming unbearable, and yet, after every blow, the two of you ended up more united than before.

You kiss her again and hold her tight. You breathe in her perfume, the one you love so much, and bury your face between her neck and shoulder while her hair brushes your cheek.

—I love you, Helena. But I can’t stand seeing you suffer because of me —you tell her, breaking apart inside.

—I’m not going to allow it, Mateo. We’re going to fight together. I have no doubt now that what I feel for you is real, and no one is going to separate us from now on. Are you willing to fight by my side?

—Of course. For you, I’d go to the ends of the earth.

The sound of an engine approaching puts you on alert. The battle isn’t over yet. With a knot in your stomach, you check and see it’s them, her parents, coming back by car. Helena sighs, exhausted. She has endured too much tension in too little time.

—Go up to your room and leave them to me —you tell her—. I’m not going to let your mother hurt you any more. She can say whatever she wants to me; I’m not going to lose my temper.

—You’re right —she murmurs—. I suppose they won’t be long. Put up with whatever you have to, but don’t confront them, okay? —she asks, fear in her eyes.

—Don’t worry. I’m not going to let them get under my skin like at the restaurant.

***

From the window of her room, Helena watches them park and go into the house. They look furious, still arguing with each other, probably about the two of you. She feels like a little girl hiding and waiting for the storm to pass, even though she knows she can’t hide forever. What are we going to do?, a voice in her head repeats over and over.

Meanwhile, you deal with Ofelia’s contempt, the woman who one day could be your mother-in-law. What irony. How did everything go so wrong, how did we start off on such the wrong foot?, you think as you try to steady your nerves.

—What a disgrace, abandoning us like that right in the middle of the restaurant! Where is my daughter? —she asks as soon as she steps through the door.

—She’s very upset. She asked me to help you in whatever way I can, but to let her calm down in her room —you answer in a measured voice.

—So she doesn’t even think to say goodbye to her parents? —Ofelia says, out of breath—. What a huge disappointment! And it’s your fault —she adds, pointing at you.

—Come on, Ofelia, leave the boy alone for today. There’ll be time enough to fix this mistake —Augusto cuts in, in a tone that sounds more like a threat than a truce, not wanting to get into the argument.

—Fine by me, Augusto. If I can help you with anything, count on me —you say, not feeding the confrontation, just as you promised Helena.

She looks at you over her shoulder, as if you were never speaking as equals.

—At least you could bring our suitcases down from upstairs. I can’t carry them, and Augusto had knee surgery —Ofelia says.

—Of course. I’d be happy to help with the luggage —you reply, and you accompany them upstairs, because you don’t want to leave them alone near Helena’s room, in case they go in and the argument flares up again.

While they pack the clothes, Ofelia feels you watching her and uses it as an excuse to keep hammering away at you.

—Tell me something. When are you planning to get a job and support “your family,” engineer?

—That’s enough, Ofelia. You’re getting on my nerves —Augusto snaps, stopping her in her tracks—. At least let us say goodbye to the girls in peace, since I imagine your daughter won’t want to see you for quite a while.

Ofelia shoots her husband a scorching look, but restrains herself. Her rage turns into lament, as if she were the victim and not the executioner.

—After so many years caring for her, raising her, look at how she repays me now! —she exclaims, unable to see the damage her attitude is causing everyone around her.

You think of Helena and feel moved. How has she managed to survive so many years with a mother like that, so manipulative? It must have been hell for her.

And those thoughts lead you to your own mother, who passed away barely a couple of years ago. How much I miss her right now. A tear slips from your eye and you turn away to wipe it discreetly. You’re not going to give the woman in front of you that satisfaction. You pray they’ll finish packing the damn clothes into the suitcases so you can take them downstairs once and for all.

But Ofelia has no intention of leaving you alone until she disappears through the door.

—At least my late son-in-law had ambition. You, on the other hand…

Far from crushing you, what catches your attention is this piece of information you hadn’t known until now about Helena’s first husband.

—Wait. Wasn’t your daughter divorced? —you ask, more out of curiosity than anger.

—Of course she got divorced. And that was what killed him. After that he gave himself over to drink and a bad life. With her he had a house, a home and a family, but after that, one night he got drunk and drove off the highway. That was how it all ended.

The fact hits you hard. You had no idea Helena had buried her ex-husband. The girls don’t have a father who loves them: they only have her. Now you understand the weight your arrival has had in this broken family, how the little girls have always looked at you like an older brother, that figure that became even more necessary because of the father’s absence.

—I didn’t know, ma’am. But I very much doubt the divorce caused everything else —you dare to say—. The divorce was the consequence of his life, not the cause. The other thing was a tragedy.

—Think whatever you want; after all, he isn’t here to contradict you. But tell me, what kind of life are you going to give my daughter?

You can’t stand her sarcasm, but in very little time you’ve learned that she can only hurt you if you let her. Whatever she says, it’s only her opinion. You are not what she claims you are in order to belittle you.

—I don’t know, ma’am. You speak of the past, and we all carry sad things back there. Now I understand what your daughter and granddaughters have been through, and there’s nothing worse than losing a father. I know that very well. I also know you’re worried about her future, and that’s what mothers do, I don’t blame you for it. But the future is an enigma, always in motion. I prefer the present, which is called that for a reason. And the only thing that really matters to me now is your daughter and your granddaughters. Believe me or don’t.

You say it with a calm that does not go unnoticed by Helena, who is secretly listening with her ear pressed to her bedroom door.

—See, Augusto? I told you —Ofelia says with astonishing calm—. He’s a dreamer, an innocent who isn’t going to amount to anything in life.

That woman tests every nerve in your body. You struggle to hold yourself back, but you decide not to be aggressive. Cutting, yes.

—I have nothing more to say to you, ma’am. No answer is going to change the contempt you feel for me, and even so I don’t hold a grudge. I know she’s your daughter, that deep down you love her and want the best for her. But sometimes love becomes toxic, possessive, and ends up poisoning the person. I just hope your daughter can forgive you one day, because there’s nothing sadder than growing old without a daughter’s warmth. Think about it.

—What nerve! Fancy saying that to me, you, who haven’t even been a father yet —she snaps back, breathless.

—Come on, son, leave her be —Augusto intervenes—. The suitcases are ready. If you put them in the trunk, we can take the chance to say goodbye to the girls.

—Of course, sir. If there’s one thing I have plenty of, it’s youth and strength —you answer with an irony that can’t hide the bitterness of the whole scene.

***

Helena has heard everything. Now she cries in her room, partly because of your words and partly because she knows you’re right. Your age doesn’t match your maturity. You lost your mother, and she knows it. Maybe that was what changed you from head to toe.

You wait outside, breathing a little air away from Ofelia. When they finally come out, you open the car door for her politely so she can get in. Augusto lights a cigarette and, before getting behind the wheel, gives you a few last words. Not exactly words of encouragement.

—Son, look at the mess you’ve made just because you couldn’t keep your fly closed, huh? —his words, apparently kind, hurt you more than any shout from his wife—. Couldn’t you have simply masturbated thinking about her? Now you’ve got two broken families, mine and yours —he says it with disconcerting calm, almost without bitterness, and even so it hits you harder than Ofelia’s threats—. Anyway. Let’s see how you explain this to your father. Have you thought yet about what you’re going to tell him?

He lets the half-smoked cigarette fall, crushes it under his foot, and gets into the car. He fastens his seat belt unhurriedly, releases the handbrake, and the vehicle pulls away purring like a cat, even if it’s a jaguar gleaming on the hood.

You go into the house with the echo of those words pounding in your ears. Each one has been a direct blow. They’ve knocked you out. Your hands tremble, desolation shows on your face, and you feel your legs barely hold you up when you see Helena running down the stairs and throwing herself into your arms.

—That’s it, darling. It’s all over now. Don’t worry —she tells you, holding you up with almost her whole body.

Tears burst from you as if someone had turned on a tap. You can’t stop them. She keeps comforting you while the two of you sway slowly, like in a sad waltz.

—I need to sit down —you tell her in a thin voice, afraid your body will give out.

—Come to the living room, Mateo —she answers, fearing the same.

With her help you make it to the sofa in the large living room and sink down carefully. You feel shattered.

—What your father said to me… —you begin, and discover that you can’t repeat his words. They hurt too much.

Helena sits beside you and hugs you again. She wraps you in her arms, shielding you from that poison still echoing inside you. Her lips kiss your forehead, then your cheek, then your mouth. Your dulled lips don’t return the kiss the way she deserves, but she insists, determined to erase the sadness from your eyes.

—Shhh, Mateo, listen to me. Nothing they said is going to change what I feel for you, do you hear me? Nothing —her eyes are swollen from crying so much, but her voice comes out firm. She hugs you tighter, her fingers tangling in your hair—. You’re good. You’re strong. And I love you, I love you so much…

Her embrace comforts you, her words are a balm. Her body presses against yours and lets you breathe again that perfume you love so much, the same one you found so sensual the one night you first became intimate. That night now seems so far away, even if it was recent. That memory is the one that matters to you, because the caresses and kisses from then will never die.

—I’m scared, Helena. Your father has really shaken me and I don’t know if I’m going to be able to… —you confess, and you feel your voice break, feel yourself collapsing inside like a house of cards.

She strokes your hair, trying to calm you. Her fingers stop right on your temple, where a crease of worry has formed.

—Mateo… —her voice is barely a whisper—. You’re more capable than you think. You’re more than enough for the three of us. But if you need to hear it again: yes, I trust you.

She looks at you with those honey-colored eyes that hypnotize you, that soothe you, in which you could lose yourself like in the dunes of the desert at sunset. They give you infinite peace, and you understand that you can’t imagine a tomorrow without the chance to look into them.

—The thing, Mateo, is whether you trust yourself. Because that’s what this is really about —she continues, without stopping the caresses—. Everything is born inside you. Just like you were attracted to me and crossed that line, just like you leapt into the void knowing you could crash and you didn’t. The courage is in you, and you’ve already proven more than enough that you’re brave just by having made it this far.

—I trust you, I trust us —you tell her—. The rest doesn’t matter to me right now. Only you matter… and the girls, of course. For you, I’d give my life.

***

Helena stands up, takes your hand, and forces you to your feet. She invites you to follow her upstairs, quietly, while the little girls play in their room. She takes you into her bedroom, locks the door, and pushes you onto the bed so you fall back. There’s a new shine in her eyes, a fire you had sensed until now but never seen so openly.

Despite the mascara smudged by tears, there is no woman more beautiful than her at this moment.

—You’re gorgeous, Helena —you whisper as she starts undressing, revealing to you her fully grown woman’s body.

—I can’t take it anymore, Mateo. I need you —she answers in a husky voice, and brings her hands to the buttons of her blouse one by one, unhurried, letting you savor each new inch of skin—. I need you to fuck me until I forget everything else. Until it’s just this, you and me.

You had never heard her speak like that before. The word goes through you like a jolt and you feel the blood rush down between your legs. She takes off her blouse and lets it fall to the floor. The black lace bra embraces her full, heavy breasts, which move every time she breathes. She reaches behind her back, unfastens the clasp, and the tits spill free, with the dark nipples already hard, pointing straight at you.

—Come here —you ask in a rough voice, and she shakes her head.

—Not yet. I want you to look at me.

She unbuttons her skirt, lets it slide down over her wide hips, and nudges it away with her foot. She stands before you in nothing but black panties, sheer, and you see the wet stain already marking her crotch. She runs a hand over her belly, caresses herself slowly, lowers her fingers and slips them inside her panties. She touches herself without taking her eyes off you.

—Look how wet I am just thinking about you —she pants—. All afternoon putting up with my mother’s poison, and all I could think about was getting you up here and eating you whole.

She takes her shining wet fingers out and brings them to her mouth, sucking them one by one. You’re so hard it hurts against your pants. You sit up to yank your shirt off, and she finally comes closer, kneels between your legs, and unfastens your belt with feverish hands. She pulls your pants and underwear down together, and your cock springs free, so tight it almost touches your navel.

Helena stares at it for a moment, as if recognizing it after a long time. And she smiles.

—Look at you, all hard for me —she murmurs. She wraps the base with her hand and squeezes slowly, measuring you, feeling how you pulse against her palm. She lowers her head and licks you from top to bottom, from the balls to the tip, with her tongue broad and flat, and you throw your head back groaning, your hands gripping the bedspread.

—Fuck, Helena…

—Shh, quiet. The girls —she reminds you, with her mouth already brushing your glans—. Bear it as best you can, darling, because I’m not letting go.

She opens her mouth and swallows you whole, to the hilt. You feel the wet heat of her throat wrap around you and think you’re going to come right there. She starts sucking you with a slow, deep rhythm, pressing her lips tight every time she rises, sucking hard every time she goes down. With her other hand she strokes your balls, rolling them between her fingers, squeezing them carefully. She looks up and meets your gaze while she has you all the way in, and that image —her lips stretched around your cock, the smeared mascara, those honey eyes locked into yours— almost finishes you off too soon.

—Stop, stop —you ask—. I’m going to come and I don’t want to. Not yet.

She pops you free with a wet click and a naughty smile. A thread of saliva connects her lip to the tip of your cock, and she wipes it away with the back of her hand.

—Seeing you this hard for me drives me crazy —she whispers.

You grab her by the arms, pull her toward you, and turn her on the bed. Now you’re the one on top. You rip her panties off in one tug that makes the seam snap, and she lets out a surprised gasp. You spread her legs wide and find her cunt soaked, swollen, with the lips parted and the clit already peeking out, shiny. You lower your head without thinking and sink your tongue into her to the root.

—Oh my God! —she moans, biting the back of her hand to keep from screaming.

You lick her from bottom to top, long and slowly, savoring her whole. You drink her wetness, breathe in the scent of an aroused woman between her legs, and feel it go straight to your head. You suck her clit with your lips, tugging at it gently, and she arches her back off the bed, pushing her hips against your mouth. You push two fingers into her cunt while you keep sucking that little bud, and you feel her clamp down around you like a hot fist.

—Yes, yes, yes… like that, Mateo, like that… don’t stop, please…

You move your fingers inside her, searching for that soft spongy spot that swells when she’s close, and when you find it you go after it hard, pressing it while your tongue gives the clit no reprieve. Helena writhes beneath you, grabs the pillow, pulls it to her face and bites down to stifle her cry when she starts coming. Her cunt contracts rhythmically around your fingers, and you feel a gush of hot wetness soak your hand and chin.

—Fuck, how you came —you pant, climbing up her body, kissing her belly, her breasts, her neck, until you reach her mouth. She tastes herself on your lips and devours you, searching for your tongue with hers.

—You now —she asks, almost breathless—. Put it in already, I can’t take it anymore. Fuck me, Mateo, fuck me like that night.

You grab her knees and spread them wide. The tip of your cock slides against the soaked entrance of her cunt, and when you push, it slips inside without resistance, all the way in, in one motion. Both of you gasp at the same time. She digs her nails into your back and you stay still for a moment, feeling how tight she is, how she throbs around you.

—This is our moment —she pants—. I’m never going to pull away from you again.

You start moving. You pull almost all the way out and slide back in slowly, very slowly, so she feels every inch. She closes her eyes and parts her lips in a silent O. You repeat the thrust, again, and again, setting a slow rhythm that lets you hear the wet slapping of her soaked cunt, the creak of the bed frame under each drive. You suck on one nipple while you fuck her and she grabs your head against her chest.

—Faster —she begs—. Harder, Mateo. Don’t treat me like I’m made of porcelain. Break me.

You do as she asks. You grab her hips and start pounding into her with real hunger, pulling out all the way and driving back in until you’re buried to the hilt. The sound of your bodies slamming together fills the room and forces both of you to bite your lips so you don’t wake the girls. She looks at you with her mouth open, breathing as if she can’t get enough air, and her tits bounce with every thrust.

—Make me yours, Mateo. Like that first night —she asks you, riding up and down to meet your thrusts with such visceral surrender that your arousal keeps climbing without restraint.

You pull out and turn her over, setting her on all fours. The sight takes your breath away: her ass lifted, that arched back, her tousled hair falling over one shoulder, and between her legs the pink, shining cunt waiting for you. You give her a soft smack on the ass, almost affectionate, and she moans, pushing her hips back, looking for you.

—Put it in like this —she begs, voice broken—. Fuck me from behind.

You grip her ass with both hands, spread her cheeks, and drive in with one shove. Helena buries her face in the pillow and gives a muffled scream. You start pounding her hard, each blow sinking your belly against her ass, and from this angle you can feel how even tighter she is, hungrier. You run a hand down her spine, bring it up to her hair, and grab a fistful, tugging gently. She arches even more, offering you the last inch.

—Like that, like that, like that… don’t stop… put it all in…

Every time you drive down against her, you feel her clench around you, and the muffled moans she lets out tell you more than any of the words that have tried to destroy you both this afternoon. Fear, Ofelia’s resentment, Augusto’s coldness, Augusto’s humiliation in the car: everything dissolves in the brush of her skin against yours, in the smell of sex now flooding the room, in the wet sound of your cock sliding in and out of her soaked cunt.

You bring one hand around to the front, lower it to her belly, and find her clit with two fingers. You rub it in circles to the rhythm of your thrusts, and she melts. She grips the sheets in her fists, starts trembling from the knees up, and her cunt clamps down on you so hard you almost have to stop.

—I’m coming again, Mateo, I’m coming again… —she whispers desperately, and she bites your forearm when the second orgasm shakes her whole body. You feel her cunt contracting around your cock in waves, milking you, and you have to bite your lips not to finish with her.

When she finally catches her breath, she turns beneath you, lies back, and pulls you on top of her. She loops her legs around your waist and looks up at you from below, cheeks flushed, eyes shining with tears and pleasure mixed together.

—Look at me —you ask, and she does, eyes bright—. We’re not going to let anyone take this away from us.

—No one —she swears—. Now come inside me. I want to feel it. I want to carry you inside me all night.

You slide into her again and you can’t go slowly anymore. You hammer into her with everything you have left, every thrust taking you closer to the edge, and she digs her heels into your back so you don’t pull out. Her tits bounce against your chest, her hands clutch your neck, her tongue seeks out your mouth.

—Come on, baby, come now, come inside me —she pants in your ear—. Fill me up completely.

Three more thrusts and you explode. You feel the cum surge up from your balls and discharge in hot, endless spurts inside her. You growl against her neck while you empty everything you have into her cunt, and she holds you against her, rocking her hips to squeeze every last drop from you. The final spasm leaves you lying on her chest, helpless, with your cock still inside and throbbing.

Helena kisses your temple, strokes your sweat-soaked back. You feel the semen slowly leaking out between her legs when you finally slip free, and she crosses her legs to keep it in. She looks at you and smiles, exhausted and happy.

Helena kisses you again, buries her fingers in your hair, and gives herself to you completely. And while you hold her, while you feel her still trembling against you, you understand something you’re not going to forget: in this life, what matters isn’t so much what happens to you as what you tell yourself about it. That, precisely that, is what separates those who give up from those who keep standing.

Because after the storm, the sun always comes out, and when its rays cut through the clouds as they finally disperse, there is nothing more beautiful on earth. You feel her warmth again. And, for the first time all day, you are comforted.