What I Saw Through the Ajar Door of My Mother’s Room

I’ll call my cousin Damián, and for years he was the mirror I wanted to see myself in. He was twenty-nine, had been boxing since school, and lived glued to the gym. His body was broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted, and no matter how loose his clothes were, there was always something about his presence that made heads turn on the street. I was twenty-four and still followed him around as if he were the older brother I never had.

Damián was the son of my father’s brother. The two of them had built a small construction company together, so they spent the whole day out on job sites, covered in dust and arguing budgets over the phone. My uncle had split from Damián’s mother when he was just a kid, so father and son had lived alone for a long time, leaning on each other.

I grew up admiring him openly. When we went out, women looked for him with their eyes and he answered with a half-smile that seemed to cost him nothing. I watched that ease of his the way one studies a language they’ll never speak well. It was pure charm, and I still didn’t have even half his confidence.

At home, my mother adored him. She was forty-six, slim, with pronounced hips and a small chest. She had married young to my father, her only boyfriend since high school, and had always been a wife of orderly habits. With Damián, however, she had an obvious weakness: she invited him for meals, saved him a plate, brought him along with us when we traveled.

—Look at your cousin —she’d say while setting the table—. Polite, disciplined, no bad habits. That’s how you should be.

I’d nod without taking offense. He was a role model for me too, and never, in all those years, did I notice anything odd between them. Not one look too long, not one gesture out of place. We were a family. Or so I thought, until that weekend.

***

My father and my uncle left for another city on a project that promised to pull them out of a jam. They left on Friday at dawn, the car loaded with blueprints and a promise to be back on Monday. The house was left silent, too large for two people, and my mother, who hated that kind of stillness, called Damián.

—Come sleep here these next few days —she told him on the phone—. It makes no sense for you to stay alone in that empty house.

He arrived close to seven, fresh from the gym, duffel bag over his shoulder and his T-shirt still dark with sweat at the back. He showered, came down with damp hair and a clean shirt, and sat down to have a snack with us as if it were any other day. My mother made popcorn, we turned on the TV, and put on one of those movies nobody really watches all the way through.

By eleven sleep was starting to win, but I didn’t want to go to bed. I don’t know why, that night I felt like a kid being sent to sleep before the good part.

—Go on up already —my mother said without taking her eyes off the screen—. You can watch the rest tomorrow.

—Come on, go ahead —Damián added, patting me on the shoulder—. I’ll finish this and go to bed too.

I went upstairs in a bad mood and flung myself onto the bed, still dressed. But sleep wouldn’t come. I tossed around, stared at the ceiling, listened to the distant murmur of the television, which little by little faded away. After a long while I got up to get water, more from restlessness than thirst.

The living room was dark. The television was off. I passed through the kitchen and there was no one there either. A strange feeling crawled up the back of my neck, that intuition you have before you understand what’s happening. And then, as I got near the end of the hall, I heard it.

A voice repeating, muffled and rhythmic:

Yes, yes, yes, yes.

***

The door to my mother’s room was barely shut, a crack of yellow light cutting through the dimness of the hallway. I should have turned around. I knew it while I was thinking it. But my feet didn’t obey, and my hand pushed the wood open a few centimeters, just enough to look.

The bed was directly opposite the door, so I saw everything at once, with no time to prepare myself. Damián was standing at one side, naked, disheveled, his back shining with sweat in the lamplight. His cock was hard, buried to the hilt between my mother’s ass cheeks, thick, long, gleaming with the juices she left on it with every thrust. And my mother, bent over the edge of the mattress, feet on the floor and hips high, torso sunk into the sheets, was letting herself get fucked like a bitch.

I couldn’t see her face. Only her tangled hair falling forward, moving with every thrust. He held her by the waist and drove his dick into her with a dry, hard rhythm, while one of his hands would sometimes come down in a slap on her ass that left a red mark and tore from her that yes, yes, yes that had led me to the hallway. Every crash of Damián’s hips against my mother’s ass sounded like a wet clap, and she arched her back to ask for more, offering him her pussy open all the way.

—Take it, slut, take it —he said under his breath, squeezing her hips—. You like it like that, don’t you? To have it deep inside you.

—Yes, yes, give it all to me, don’t stop —she answered with her voice broken against the mattress—. Fuck me, baby, fuck me hard.

I froze, holding my breath, my heart hammering against my ribs as if it wanted to give me away. It was my mother. It was Damián, my cousin, the man I had wanted to be. And what I felt was not just shock: it was something murkier, a mix of horror and fascination I didn’t dare name. Without realizing it, my own cock had gone rock hard inside my pajama pants, and my hand went on its own to grip it over the fabric.

At one point he held her firmly and stopped with his whole dick buried in her. He pulled it out slowly, shining and dripping, and then shoved it back in with one single thrust that made my mother let out a long, guttural moan.

—Turn around —he told her in a low voice—. I want to see your face when I cum.

My mother obeyed at once, climbing fully onto the bed and letting herself fall back with her knees bent and her legs spread wide apart. For the first time I saw her face: eyes half-closed, mouth slack and shiny, the expression of someone who had stopped pretending a long time ago. And I saw her pussy too, shaved, swollen, with red, parted lips, dripping between her thighs. A woman I had never seen, hidden inside the mother who served me breakfast.

Damián bent over her and kissed her long and slowly, holding her face with both hands as if they had all the time in the world. Then he moved lower, down her neck, down her chest, while she buried her fingers in his hair and let out a deep murmur that could barely be heard from the hallway. He caught one nipple with his lips, sucked it slowly, and with his tongue drew circles until she writhed and went for his head to push it lower.

—Down, asshole, down already —she panted.

He laughed, hoarse, and kept going down her stomach, leaving a wet trail to her navel. He spread her legs wider with both hands and buried his mouth in her pussy without ceremony. I watched him stick his whole tongue out and sweep it from bottom to top, slow and long, gathering up her juice. My mother let out a sharp gasp that lifted her ass off the mattress.

—There, like that —she whispered—. Don’t rush. Lick me slowly, like that, like that.

Damián settled onto his knees at the edge of the bed, threw her legs over his shoulders, and set about eating her pussy with hunger. He licked her lips, pushed his tongue in, searched for her clit and wrapped it in his lips until she trembled. Every time she tried to close her legs, he opened them with a swipe of his hand and buried his face again. My mother moved her hips against his mouth, pulling his hair, gripping his head as if afraid he might leave.

I was still pinned to the crack in the door, unable to move forward and, worse still, unable to back away. Every creak of the floor under my feet seemed like thunder. If either of them turned their head toward the door, I’d be discovered. And still I didn’t move. I had lowered the elastic of my pajama bottoms without thinking, and I was jerking off in silence, cock out, eyes fixed on the scene.

***

He stood up, his mouth and chin shining with my mother’s pussy, and gently dragged her by the ankles until she was once again at the edge of the bed, with her legs raised and resting against his shoulders. He grabbed his cock, thick and heavy, and ran it from top to bottom over her pussy lips, wetting the tip.

—Ask me for it —he told her.

—Put it in, please —she moaned, lifting her hips to meet him—. Put it all in, don’t make me wait.

Damián penetrated her with a slow, deep shove. I watched his whole cock disappear inside her, all the way to the balls, and my mother throw her head back and open her mouth in a long, voiceless moan. He kissed the inside of her thighs, unhurried, drawing out the moment, and started to move.

The rhythm grew deep, measured, almost cruel in its control. He pulled his cock almost all the way out and shoved it back in with a sharp thrust, and with each pounding the wet sound of my mother’s pussy sloshing around his dick stabbed into my ears. She clenched the sheets in her fists and let out a moan every time he sank in all the way. I could only see Damián’s torso in profile, taut, marked by hours of gym work, moving like a machine without haste, with his dick going in and out, shining between my mother’s legs.

—Slower —she begged, her voice broken—. Don’t let it end. You’re going to make me cum right away if you keep this up.

He chuckled under his breath, a rough laugh, and only slowed for a moment before picking back up. He grabbed her small tits with both hands, squeezed them, pinched her nipples between his fingers, and sped up again. At one point he drove into her so hard that she let out a dry cry and slid toward the center of the bed. Damián followed without pulling out, climbing with her and lowering her legs until he was lying on top of her.

He settled between her thighs, propped his elbows on either side of her head, and started fucking her like that, body to body, his cock going in deep and steady, while he bit her neck and whispered obscenities in her ear. I could make out some stray words —slut, mine, sister-in-law, sweet cunt— and my mother answering him with broken gasps that yes, that she was his, that she was his slut, that he should keep fucking her like that.

From my corner I watched them moving in unison, two shadows joined under the lamp. At times he leaned in to kiss her and she sank her nails into his back, leaving red marks that ran down his shoulder blades; at times he straightened up, sat on his heels, grabbed her hips, and hauled her onto his cock from below with a long, filthy pumping motion. She would then fondle her tits and shove two fingers into her mouth while staring at him, and he would smile as if he knew that look by heart. There was a trust between them that chilled me more than the sex itself: this wasn’t the first time. This went back a long way.

—Get on top —he told her at one point, lying back and taking her with him without pulling out.

My mother ended up straddling Damián, his cock buried inside her to the hilt, moving forward and back, riding him slowly, letting herself sink down with all her weight. I saw her back from the hallway, the curve of her ass slamming against his thighs, her tangled hair falling to her waist. Damián grabbed her hips and pushed from below, fucking her from the floor with his whole cock, while she braced her hands on his chest and moaned nonstop.

—That’s it, my love, that’s it —he told her—. Ride me, cum on top of me.

She brought one hand to her pussy and started rubbing her clit while continuing to rise and fall on his dick. I was squeezing my cock in the hallway, biting my lip to keep from moaning, watching my mother masturbate on top of my cousin with a shamelessness I would never have imagined in her.

The end came like a tide. He laid her back down again, positioned himself between her legs once more, and sped up. The rhythm became faster, shorter, the bed started hitting the wall in dry thumps, and my mother began repeating a broken litany: yes, yes, keep going, don’t stop, give me more, cum inside, while her whole body tightened like a rope. She arched her back, threw her head back against the pillow, and came with a long, sharp moan, trembling from head to toe, clamping her pussy around Damián’s cock while he kept pounding into her without mercy.

—I’m cumming, I’m cumming inside —he growled.

—Yes, inside, give it all to me —she panted.

I saw him tense his ass, drive in all the way and stay there, trembling, unloading everything inside my mother with a rough moan. I saw them breathe together, pressed against each other, with his dick still buried inside her, while a white trickle began to run down the edge of her pussy.

I finally backed away a step, my legs weak and my hand smeared with my own cum, which had burst silently against the hallway wall while I watched them finish. I knew I had to disappear before he stood up. I moved away holding my breath, not daring to breathe until I reached the kitchen, and from there, leaning on the cold countertop, I could still hear the muffled murmur of their voices and a low laugh from my mother I had never heard before.

***

I went back to my bed and didn’t sleep a wink. My nerves were raw and my head was spinning. Part of me was furious: my mother was cheating on my father in his own house, and with my cousin no less, with the very man she herself held up as an example. The betrayal had something obscene just to think about it.

But there was another part, quieter and more shameful, that kept replaying the scene. Not the what, but the how: the yellow light, the crack in the door, the sensation of looking at something forbidden without being seen, Damián’s cock going in and out of my mother’s pussy, her asking for more, cumming on top of him. That night I discovered that secrecy attracted me as much as it repelled me, that spying on what didn’t concern me lit me up in a way I didn’t know how to turn off. I jerked off again in bed, under the sheets, remembering every detail, and came once more with my face pressed into the pillow so as not to make a sound.

The next morning I went down for breakfast and my mother served me coffee like any other day, with the same smile as always. Damián was reading something on his phone at the table, freshly showered, smelling of cologne. No one suspected that I knew. And while I stirred the sugar in silence, looking at the neck of her shirt where I now knew he had bitten her, I understood that I wasn’t going to say anything. That, deep down, I didn’t want it to end.

What I didn’t imagine was how much it would become a habit of mine: learning their schedules, calculating their lapses, looking for the next crack in the door. The afternoon I spied on them again, this time in the bathroom, with the door ajar and steam fogging the mirror, with my mother on her knees sucking Damián’s cock under the shower stream, is another story. But that first night was the one that taught me who I was when no one was looking.