What My Aunt Did to Me in the Back Seat

That summer dawned with a thick, stifling heat that crept into the house before nine. I’d been sleeping in the guest room while mine was being fixed, and I woke with the sheet stuck to my body from sweat and the smell of coffee rising from the kitchen.

My aunt Amparo came in without knocking, as always. She was wearing a thin summer robe that the window light made almost transparent, and she didn’t seem to be in any hurry to cover up.

“Good morning, sleepyhead. Can you give me a hand today? The fridge has finally packed it in, the compressor sounds like it’s on its last legs.”

I rubbed my eyes, still half asleep.

“Aren’t they delivering it to the house?”

She let out a bitter laugh.

“You know what your Uncle Honorio is like. He found a secondhand one dirt cheap in an industrial estate on the outskirts and says why should we pay for transport if we have a car? We’re going to pick it up in the Seat.” She came over to the bed and lowered her voice. “Please, Rubén... if not for him, do it for me.”

She looked at me with that bad-girl face she put on whenever she wanted something: wide eyes, bitten lip, crooked smile. I sighed and nodded.

“Okay, Auntie. But your husband drives like shit. He’s going to get us killed one day.”

“I know,” she said softly, leaning in to kiss my forehead a second longer than she should have. “But I need you.”

***

Half an hour later the three of us were in the Seat 124, one of those cars with the brown plastic dashboard and vinyl seats that stuck to your skin in summer. My uncle at the wheel, Amparo in the passenger seat, me sprawled out in back because back then nobody wore seatbelts in town.

The car smelled of gasoline, stale tobacco, and a pine air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror that no longer smelled of anything. The trip should have taken fifteen minutes. It took us almost forty-five.

Honorio got us lost three times: at the exit from the ring road, in an industrial estate full of identical warehouses, and once more because he got into an argument with a truck driver and turned down the wrong street. Every time my aunt tried to tell him, “Not this way, turn right,” he blew up.

“Shut your mouth, I know where I’m going! Everyone’s against me, for fuck’s sake!”

I kept quiet in the back, looking out the window so I wouldn’t get in the middle of it. The sun was beating down hard, the car had no air conditioning, and sweat was running down our backs.

The fridge turned out to be an old Edesa, white, huge, heavy as a corpse but still working. To get it into the trunk we had to work miracles: we folded the back seat forward until it lay flat. The fridge went in through the rear hatch, taking up almost the entire space and leaving only the driver’s seat free and a tiny space right behind my uncle.

Amparo looked at the arrangement and asked him:

“And how are we supposed to get back, the three of us? There isn’t room for anyone else.”

Honorio shrugged, already soaked and in a foul mood.

“Then you sit on top of the kid. Stop complaining, for fuck’s sake.”

And he got behind the wheel without another word.

***

I settled into the space left over, with my legs spread so someone could fit. Amparo hoisted herself onto me carefully, her thin gauze dress riding up her thighs. She sat with her back to me, the soft weight of her body pressing into my lap. I felt the heat of her skin through the fabric, her breathing, the lily perfume she always wore.

Before my uncle started the car, she leaned back a little and whispered in my ear, so quietly only I could hear.

“Good thing you put on your tracksuit pants, huh?”

And as she said it, her right hand slipped discreetly down my thigh and gave me a firm squeeze right where I was already starting to wake up. I froze, in shock, unable to react, my heart pounding in my ears.

Honorio started off and, of course, got lost again as he left the industrial estate. He began honking, shouting insults out the window, so wrapped up in his rage that he saw nothing except the road and the “idiots” in front of him.

Shortly after the trip began, Amparo lifted her hips discreetly, as if getting comfortable, and pulled down the elastic waistband of my tracksuit bottoms. She lowered them just enough. Then she moved her underwear aside and glanced back over her shoulder with that wicked smile.

“This is for last night,” she whispered. “Relax... the fat bastard’s busy driving. He has no idea.”

She settled herself on top of me, slowly, using the car’s lurches to find the angle. Every bump, every sharp turn pushed her down on me a little more. Her hip movements were tiny, almost imperceptible to anyone looking from the outside, but I felt them in every inch of me.

I clenched my teeth so I wouldn’t make a sound, gripping the edges of the seat, my knuckles white. She controlled the rhythm with a calm that undid me, adjusting herself with every curve, pressing down just as I went all the way in. If he turns left I’m dead, I thought. He turned left.

In less than fifteen minutes I couldn’t hold back. I came hard, trying not to move, biting my lip until it hurt. Honorio kept shouting at the traffic, oblivious to everything, slapping the steering wheel with the palm of his hand.

Half an hour later, with the car swerving through yet another wrong exit, it happened again. This time she pressed her ass against me and moved in tiny circles, and I could feel her whole body tensing. She disguised her gasp as a cough and leaned forward as if looking at something out the window, but her legs were trembling. Afterward she went still, breathing deeply, pretending to look at the scenery.

The trip back took an hour. When we finally parked in front of the apartment blocks, Honorio cut the engine, got out sweaty and without looking at us.

“You two carry it up. I’m going to the bar; I’m wrecked.”

And he headed straight for the corner.

***

Amparo and I were left alone with the fridge. I took the end with the motor, which weighed a ridiculous amount, she took the front, and we got it into the building’s small elevator, one of those with the scratched mirror and the button that took forever to respond. As soon as the doors closed, I propped the fridge against the wall and went for her.

I kissed her neck while I slipped my hand under her dress, and she gasped, but stopped me with both hands on my chest.

“Stop, Rubén... better at home. We’ve got until your uncle gets back. Five hours for us.”

The doors opened on the landing. We took the fridge out, carried it into the kitchen, and plugged it in. She locked the door, turned to me, and yanked her dress off over her head in one movement. She was left in panties and bra, her body shining with sweat under the naked bulb.

“Come here,” she said, taking my hand and leading me to the living room. “Now we really can take our time.”

The living room was small, with a vinyl sofa worn at the arms, a low coffee table with scratched glass, and a standing fan that barely moved the hot air. The blind was half down and let in strips of yellow light that crossed the terrazzo floor. It smelled of new fridge plastic, of a whole day’s sweat, and of her usual lilies.

She threw the latch with a dry click that sounded like a sentence being handed down, and stood there looking at me, her chest rising and falling with every breath. I still had my tracksuit bottoms half lowered and my heart in my throat.

“Come here,” she said in that hoarse voice she used when she was turned on.

I moved closer slowly. She grabbed the back of my neck and kissed me deeply, tongue against tongue, while with her other hand she finished pulling my tracksuit bottoms down. I unclasped her bra and took her breasts in my hands, large and heavy, until she gasped and bit my lip.

We collapsed onto the sofa. She straddled me, her knees sinking into the cushions on either side of my hips. There was only underwear left, soaked in the middle. She moved it aside with two fingers and lowered herself onto me, rubbing against me without letting me in, up and down, tormenting me with the heat.

“You like it like this?” she whispered, staring into my eyes as she moved faster. “Tell me you wanted this for a long time.”

“Since forever, Auntie... fuck.”

Then she dropped down hard, and we both let out a moan in unison. She stayed still for a second, feeling me inside her, and started moving in slow circles, rising almost all the way off me and then coming back down hard. I grabbed her hips, digging my fingers into her flesh, setting the rhythm with her.

The sofa creaked with every thrust. The fan hummed uselessly. Outside, distant traffic could be heard, and some neighbor yelling out a window. Inside it was only us: gasps, skin against skin, her nails scratching my back, my hands dragging her down onto me.

She came first. She trembled all over, clenched around me like a fist, and choked back a cry by biting her forearm. I held on as long as I could, but when she started moving again, faster, more desperate, I couldn’t take it anymore. I came with a long growl while she kept moving, squeezing every last drop out of me.

We stayed like that for a while, stuck together, sweating, breathing hard. She rested her forehead on my shoulder and kissed my neck softly.

“Don’t tell anyone, okay?” she whispered. “This is ours. Just yours and mine.”

“Just ours,” I repeated, still inside her, not wanting to pull out.

We stayed on the sofa until the clock showed almost eight. Then she got up slowly, cleaned herself, put her dress back on, and looked at me with that same wicked smile she always had.

“Come on, help me put dinner away. And take a shower before the idiot gets back... you smell like me.”

And that was how we spent the next few hours: making dinner, laughing softly, brushing against each other “accidentally” every time we crossed paths in the kitchen, knowing we still had several days ahead before my room was ready and everything went back to normal.