What I Did to My Neighbor in Front of My Mother

Over the years, Amparo stopped moving away. At first she would press herself against the elevator wall as if she could slip through the scratched mirror and disappear. Then, she simply stopped trying.

She would stand still, breathing hard through her nose, chin lifted a little so no one would read anything on her face. She let my fingers open her up, let me make her come in silence a couple of feet from her husband, the building super, or whatever neighbor happened to share the ride with us.

I was twenty-seven then and worked as a plumber around the neighborhood. When my parents decided to move to my grandmother’s village, the apartment on the sixth floor was left to me alone, and something inside me ratcheted up. I don’t know if it was knowing no one in my family would be around to find out, or if it was that Amparo got me hard as hell just by seeing her cross the lobby, her ass swaying under her skirt, pretending not to see me.

We had been playing that silent game for years. It began with a brush in the course of a move, a hand that took too long to let go, a look held a second too long. She had a husband, a quiet man who worked nights, and she had lived in the apartment across from mine since I was almost a kid. What was at first a one-off brazen act had become a habit, and habit, over time, had become a kind of pact neither of us ever said out loud.

One afternoon I caught her going up alone. She stepped in fast, trying to make the doors close before I got there. I slipped in at the last second, almost running, like I had been doing for a long time.

The doors came together with that slow, heavy thud. She backed all the way to the rear. I stood right in front of her, looking her in the eye, not bothering to hide it.

And then Encarna got in.

***

Encarna was the building gossip, a woman of about sixty who knew everyone’s business before they did. She came in right behind us, muttered a greeting, and stood with her back to us, watching the elevator doors as if she were making sure they’d arrive soon.

The old motor started rattling. We were going up slowly. All you could hear was that hum and Amparo’s quickened breathing, her eyes nailed to mine as she shook her head very slowly. Her eyes said it all: no, please, not now, Encarna’s here.

I smiled slowly. There was no point waiting for anything anymore.

I slid my right hand under her pleated skirt, went up her smooth, warm thigh, and moved her cotton panties to the side. She was soaked, as always.

Amparo went rigid all at once. She gave the tiniest jolt and tried to close her legs. I eased my knee between them and opened her again, while Encarna kept staring at the door, oblivious, grumbling something about how slowly the damn thing was moving.

I sank two fingers in and curled them upward, searching for that spot I already knew by heart. With my thumb I traced quick circles over her clit. She bit her lip until it turned white. A moan slipped out and she disguised it as a cough.

Encarna turned her head halfway.

—You all right, Amparo? You sound weird.

—Y-yes... just a bit of a cough... nothing —she answered, her voice trembling, broken, through clenched teeth.

I sped up. I pumped deeper, and in the silence of the elevator there was a soft, wet sloshing that anyone would have recognized if they had wanted to listen. With my other hand I squeezed one of her breasts over her sweater and pinched her nipple until she let out a muffled “ow!” that she covered with a throat-clear.

—This elevator is a disgrace —Encarna muttered without turning around—. It’s always the same.

Amparo was trembling all over. Her legs were giving out, her eyelids shut for a moment. I felt her clench hard around my fingers, felt the heat run down the inside of her thigh. She came in absolute silence: her body rigid, her nails dug into the wall behind her, her eyes rolling back.

The building gossip didn’t notice a thing.

The elevator stopped on the fourth floor. The doors opened. Encarna got out first, repeating how slow everything was. Amparo followed, unsteady, tugging her skirt into place with hands that wouldn’t obey her, a shiny thread peeking from the inside of her thigh if anyone had bothered to look.

I stepped out last, with a grin on my face and my fingers still smelling like her. Amparo slipped into her apartment without looking back and closed the door slowly.

But I knew she would get wet all over again that very night just from remembering how close she had come to the old woman catching her while she was coming on my hand inside her.

And that was how we went on. More and more daring, deeper and deeper. She never said no. She only moaned softly, bit her fist, and came in silence while the whole neighborhood spun around us, suspecting nothing.

***

A week after that, I went down to get the mail and took the elevator again. I was going up alone. The doors were about to close when I heard footsteps.

It was my mother and her.

The two of them got in almost at once. My mother had come from the village to spend the weekend and was returning from the market with two bags. Amparo froze for half a second when she saw me, eyes wide, but there was no turning back now: she came in.

I took my place at the back, as always. She ended up pressed against me, almost sideways. My mother stood by the door with her back to us, talking nonstop.

—It’s freezing today, isn’t it, Amparo?

Amparo didn’t answer. She turned her head toward me, took a step closer, and put her mouth by my ear. She whispered in a hoarse, defiant, almost furious voice.

—Let’s see if you’ve got the balls now, you bastard... and put your hand on me in front of your mother.

I smiled slowly.

I didn’t wait a second. I hauled her pleated skirt up to her waist and held it there with my wrist so she couldn’t pull it down. My mother kept facing the door, oblivious, tangled up in her complaints.

—The other day at the market they charged me a euro too much for the olive oil, what a scam, girl...

I pulled her panties aside. Amparo’s cunt was soaked through, throbbing already before I even touched her. I shoved two fingers in at once, upward, straight to the spot I knew by heart.

She went white. Her eyes widened in disbelief, as if she still couldn’t quite believe I’d really dare. She tried to close her legs, just like the time in the elevator with Encarna, but I pushed my knee in and opened her again.

—And then the butcher told me the loin was expensive because... —my mother kept talking, noticing nothing.

I added a third finger. I pumped deep, my thumb tracing quick circles over her clit. Amparo bit her lip until it lost all color. A gasp escaped her and she covered it with a cough.

My mother turned around for an instant.

—You all right, Amparo? You sound weird.

—Y-yes... just a bit of a cough... nothing —she replied, her voice cracking, clinging to me however she could.

I sped up. My fingers went in and out in the silence of the elevator, and with my other hand I squeezed one of her breasts over her coat, pinching the nipple until she let out an “ow!” she disguised with a throat-clear.

—This elevator is shit, it always takes ages —my mother said, looking back at the door.

Amparo was trembling from head to toe. Her legs were failing her, and she shut her eyes for a second. Her cunt clenched hard around my fingers, the heat wetting my hand and dripping down her thigh. She came for the first time in absolute silence: her body stiff, her nails dug into my forearm, her eyes rolled back.

My mother kept talking, her back turned, with no idea what was happening a meter away from her.

I didn’t stop. I kept pumping, faster, deeper. Amparo wrapped herself around me so she wouldn’t fall, her breasts crushed against my chest, her moans muffled against my neck. The second orgasm came almost without a breath: the hot slick splattering my wrist, her legs convulsing, a broken sob she disguised as a harsh cough.

My mother turned again.

—Amparo, seriously. Are you sick? You sound awful.

—N-no... it’s just... my throat hurts —she stammered, undone.

The elevator reached the fourth floor. The doors opened. Amparo yanked her skirt down, trembling, her legs weak, that thread of wetness peeking out again along her thigh if anyone had looked.

She got out almost running, without saying goodbye, without looking back.

—Well, no goodbye or anything! —my mother cried, baffled—. See you later, love...

Amparo looked back for a second, her face red as a tomato, her eyes glassy. She opened her door and slipped inside without a word. She slammed it shut.

My mother looked at me, puzzled.

—What’s wrong with Amparo today? She’s acting really strange.

I shrugged and smiled.

—Nothing, Mom. Women’s things.

And I went up to the sixth floor with my hand still smelling like her, knowing that the next day she’d be waiting for me in the elevator again, even if she swore she wouldn’t.