My Daughter-in-Law Caught Us During the Neighborhood Party

Neighborhood parties always end badly. Or well, depending on how you look at it. Last Saturday’s ended with me hurrying down the stairs, my dress badly adjusted and my pulse racing, while Mariana looked at me from the landing as if she already knew everything that had just happened upstairs.

I’m going to tell it even if it costs me. Mixing beer with lust has never gone well for me, and this time I think I really crossed the line.

It was the birthday of Tobías’s grandson, my neighbor three houses down. They had invited the whole street, so most of us were people who had known each other all our lives. They set up a huge tent outside, hired a clown, a bounce house, the usual. The food was served inside, in the kitchen, and the bathrooms were the two downstairs, by the patio.

I got dressed up more than necessary. Tight black dress, stiletto heels, garters and black stockings underneath, a red pashmina over my shoulders. When I left my house I already knew I was going to drink, and I also knew the kind of things I think about when I drink. Even so, I crossed the street as if I were going there for something else.

I greeted Tobías and his son Esteban at the entrance. Both were wearing shirts ironed by their wives, the personal mark of married men, but both allowed themselves to come up to me and whisper almost the same thing, in the same worn-out words.

—If this were another party, you and I would be up to no good —Tobías told me, holding my hand a second too long.

—You look really hot today —Esteban added a little later, staring at my cleavage without even trying to hide it.

I laughed at both of them. I thought nothing was going to happen there. That with so many wives around, so many kids, and so many people, there was no room for anything stupid. I was wrong.

By nine I was on my fifth beer. Tobías, at a nearby table, had two bottles of tequila in him and it showed in his eyes. Every time he passed by me he brushed against me as if by accident, and I pretended not to notice. I know that look. I had seen it the previous summer at a barbecue where things had nearly gotten out of hand in the backyard.

The clown arrived, they turned on colored lights, the kids crowded into the tent, and the adults breathed for a moment. I had held myself back too long and the two downstairs bathrooms were occupied. I crossed my legs, looked at the line, and thought about going home. Then I felt a hand on my shoulder.

—You look delicious today —Tobías whispered in my ear—. If we weren’t in my house, I’d already have you in a hotel giving you what you like.

I gave a nervous little laugh, more nervous than offended.

—Better take me to a bathroom, I’m about to piss myself.

—Come up to my bedroom. First door in the hallway. The bathroom’s inside. No one’s upstairs.

—Are you sure?

—You’re in your own house. But go alone. If we go up together, someone will notice.

I agreed only because I couldn’t hold it anymore. I crossed the living room dodging cousins and uncles, climbed the stairs trying not to make noise in my heels. On the landing I ran into Mariana, Tobías’s daughter-in-law and Esteban’s wife. A dyed blonde in her thirties, with eyes that always looked at more than they said.

—I’m going to use the upstairs bathroom, the ones downstairs are occupied.

—Go ahead, of course —she answered, shrugging.

She didn’t ask me anything else. She went downstairs and I kept going. The bedroom smelled like floral perfume and old wood. It was large, with a double bed covered by an embroidered bedspread. I found the bathroom, pulled down my thong, did what I had to do, adjusted my slip, the dress, the stockings. I washed my hands. I sighed in front of the mirror. I thought: go back down and that’s it.

I opened the bathroom door and nearly screamed.

Tobías was standing in the middle of the bedroom with his fly open. His cock out, still soft, his balls hanging, a crooked smile on his face.

—Have you lost your mind? —I whispered through clenched teeth—. Not here, not in your house. Do you want a scandal?

He grabbed me by the waist and took my hair in his other hand, with that fake softness drunk men have when they want to seem sweet.

—Don’t you feel like it?

He took my hand and put it on his cock, leaving it there. I felt it harden between my fingers without me doing almost anything. That was the part that beat me. Not desire, not words: the feeling of something growing because of me, as if I had the power to stop it or not.

I knelt. I knelt on my own, nobody pushed me, and that’s the part that’s hardest for me to tell. I took him into my mouth and started sucking him slowly, glancing sideways toward the door, still trying to convince myself to stop.

—Just a quick one, I won’t take long —he murmured, yanking my hair back—. Everyone’s downstairs watching the clown. No one’s coming up.

I kept saying “calm down, let go of me” while I kept sucking him. A total contradiction. My mouth said one thing and my hands another. When I stood up for him to stop, he kissed me. He tasted like red wine and cigarette smoke. He slipped his hand under my dress, pushed aside the lace of the slip, and touched me over my thong. When he noticed I was wet, he laughed against my neck.

—Look at you. And you’re still telling me no?

He pushed me onto the bed with his open hand on my chest. I fell back onto his wife’s embroidered bedspread. I’m going to remember that image for a long time: another woman’s bedspread wrinkling beneath my ass while her husband spread my legs.

He moved my thong aside, didn’t bother taking it off, and lowered his face straight to my cunt. His tongue moved quickly and expertly. I grabbed his hair with both hands so I wouldn’t scream and so he wouldn’t stop, both things at once. He was jerking off while he licked me, rubbing himself against the edge of the mattress.

When he fucked me it was missionary, both of us still dressed. He smelled like tequila and sweat. I wrapped my legs around him and tried to make as little noise as possible, aware that there were sixty people downstairs and that the bedroom was right above the kitchen, where they were serving cake.

He turned me over and put me on all fours. He pulled my thong down until it was around my knees. I rested my face on the bed and spread my ass with my hands, offering myself completely. I knew what he wanted. He slid it into my ass slowly at first, then started thrusting hard. We couldn’t make a sound. I bit the bedspread.

He pulled out suddenly and just stared. He liked seeing it left open, throbbing. He got down from the bed and started licking me right there, while jerking off at the same time. I touched myself with my other hand. The sensation of his tongue going deep, my own finger circling my clit, all of it at once, in his wife’s bed, at his grandson’s party, was too much.

I was about to come when I heard the knob. It wasn’t a knock, it wasn’t a tap. Someone turned the handle and opened it.

It was Mariana.

I remember freezing: me on all fours, my dress hiked up to my waist, my stockings down, my face burning. And Tobías on his knees behind me, his face between my ass cheeks and his hand clenched around his own cock. Mariana stood in the doorway for two seconds. She didn’t scream, didn’t laugh, didn’t say anything. She just stared.

—Can’t you knock? Close the door! —Tobías snapped at her without getting up.

She closed it carefully, without slamming it.

I sat up, trying to cover myself.

—We’ve been caught. Let’s go.

—No big deal. Let me finish, I’m almost about to come.

And here is where I have to be honest. Knowing Mariana had seen us, knowing there was no turning back, made it worse for me. Not better. Worse. I got back on all fours with my eyes closed and told him to keep going. He jerked himself off at a brutal pace, the bed creaked, I rubbed myself and we came almost at the same time. He came onto his own hand so he wouldn’t make a mess. I collapsed onto the bedspread, shaking.

We stayed still for a few seconds. He licked my ass slowly, almost tenderly. I couldn’t look him in the face.

I got up, pulled my thong back on, fixed my dress, my stockings, my slip. He was still holding his fist closed. I came close, opened his hand without thinking too much, and licked his palm.

—You’re such a whore —he told me, laughing softly.

—Wash up before you go downstairs.

I went into the bathroom again. I rinsed my mouth, splashed cold water on my face, fixed my mascara as best I could. I gave him a quick kiss on the mouth as I left and went down the stairs trying to act normal.

Halfway down I ran into Beatriz, Tobías’s wife, and Mariana. They were whispering to each other. They both looked at me as if they had measured me from the inside. Mariana had told her something, I knew it right there, in the air. They didn’t say anything to me. I didn’t say anything either. I just said “goodbye, thanks for everything” and left the party without stopping to say goodbye to anyone else.

***

To this day none of them has looked for me. Neither Mariana nor Beatriz. And my husband never found out anything, or at least he hasn’t asked me any strange questions. But sometimes, when I pass by Tobías’s street, I look up at the second-floor window and something twists in my stomach. It isn’t shame. It’s something worse. It’s the certainty that if they invite me to another party and I drink too much again, I’m going to go up the stairs once more.

That’s why I’m saying it. Beer and wanting to fuck is a treacherous mix. What would you have done? Would you have risked so much for a little while like that, in the neighbor’s wife’s bed, with his daughter-in-law watching from the doorway?

I’ll say goodbye now.