House Guest
"He needed a place to stay while job hunting. His aunt had a spare room. Neither of them expected what would happen when he walked in on her fresh from the shower."
"The spare room's all yours."
Aunt Sandra sets down fresh towels on the bed. She's being kind—kinder than I deserve, probably. Twenty-six years old and crawling back to family because I can't afford rent in the city where all the jobs are.
"Thanks for this," I say. "I know it's an imposition."
"Nonsense. You're family." She smiles, warm and genuine. "Besides, it gets lonely here since the divorce. Nice to have someone around."
I notice the way she says lonely. Notice the way her eyes linger on me a beat too long.
Sandra is my mother's younger sister—forty-seven, Filipino, and single for the first time in twenty years. She's a big woman, always has been, but divorce seems to have softened her further. Her hips are wider than I remember. Her breasts strain against her blouse. Her stomach rounds out beneath it, soft and substantial.
I notice. I try not to.
"Make yourself at home," she says. "What's mine is yours."
She closes the door behind her.
I stare at it for a long time.
The first week is fine.
I send out resumes. She goes to work. We eat dinner together, make small talk, watch TV on opposite ends of the couch. Normal. Safe.
The second week, things shift.
She starts wearing less around the house. Tank tops instead of blouses. Shorts that show off her thick thighs. Once, a silk robe that barely covers her ass.
"Sorry," she says when she catches me looking. "I'm not used to having company."
"It's fine."
"I can change if it makes you uncomfortable."
"It doesn't."
She smiles. Goes back to making breakfast. The robe rides up when she reaches for the top cabinet, and I see she's not wearing anything underneath.
I excuse myself to my room.
I lock the door.
I don't come out for an hour.
Week three. The accident.
I think she's at work. I need a shower. The bathroom is fogged with steam when I open the door, but I assume she left the fan off again.
I walk in.
She's there. Just stepped out of the shower. Water dripping down a body I've been trying not to imagine.
She's enormous. Beautiful. Her breasts hang heavy and full, nipples dark against brown skin. Her belly rolls in soft waves. Her hips are wide enough to fill the entire bathroom. Between her thick thighs, I see a strip of dark hair.
We freeze. Neither of us moves. Neither of us covers up.
"I thought you were at work," I say stupidly.
"Called in sick." Her voice is strange. Breathless. "I thought you were at an interview."
"Cancelled."
We stare at each other. The steam curls around us. Water drips from her body and pools on the tile.
"You should leave," she says.
"I know."
I don't leave.
"Ryan." Her voice cracks. "We can't."
"I know."
I still don't leave.
She reaches for a towel. Her breasts sway with the motion. I watch them like I'm hypnotized.
"You're hard," she says.
I look down. I am—tenting my sweatpants, obvious and undeniable.
"Sorry."
"Don't be sorry." She sets the towel down. Doesn't cover herself. "I haven't had anyone look at me like that in years."
"Like what?"
"Like you want me." She steps closer. Wet footprints on tile. "Like I'm desirable."
"You are."
"I'm fifty pounds heavier than when my husband left. I'm almost fifty years old. I'm—"
"You're beautiful." I close the distance between us. "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."
"I'm your aunt."
"I know." I reach out. Touch her hip. Her skin is warm and wet and softer than anything. "Tell me to stop."
She doesn't.
I push her against the bathroom wall.
She gasps as my mouth finds her neck. My hands find her breasts—heavy, slippery, overflowing my palms. Her nipples harden against my fingers.
"We shouldn't—God—we really shouldn't—"
"Do you want me to stop?"
"No." She pulls my shirt over my head. "No, I don't want you to stop."
I drop my sweatpants. My cock springs free, and her eyes go wide.
"Your uncle wasn't—he was never—"
"Don't talk about him." I lift her leg, open her up. She's wet—not from the shower, wetter. "Just feel this."
I push into her.
The wall shakes with every thrust.
She's tight—impossibly tight for her size—and hot and slick. I hold her thigh up, give myself room to move, and she wraps her other leg around my waist.
"Fuck—you're so deep—"
"Is this what you wanted?" I pound into her, watching her breasts bounce, her belly ripple. "Someone to make you feel beautiful?"
"Yes—yes—don't stop—"
I don't stop. I fuck her against the bathroom wall until she comes screaming my name. Then I carry her to the bedroom—her bedroom, the master—and fuck her again on the bed she used to share with her husband.
"Tell me you want this," I growl.
"I want this—I want you—"
I flip her onto her stomach. Mount her from behind. Her ass is magnificent—two brown globes, soft and bouncing with every thrust. I grab handfuls of it.
"This ass. I've been dreaming about this ass since I moved in."
"It's yours—fuck—take it—it's yours—"
I take it. I fuck her until she comes again, and again, until she's begging for mercy and begging for more in the same breath. Then I bury myself deep and let go.
Afterward, we lie in her bed. Naked. Sweating. Her head on my chest.
"This changes things," she says.
"Does it have to?"
"You're living in my house. You're my nephew." She traces circles on my stomach. "Yes, it changes things."
"How?"
She props herself up. Looks at me. There's something in her eyes—hunger, hope, fear.
"I don't want this to be a one-time thing," she says. "But I also don't want to ruin your life. Or mine."
"What if we just... don't tell anyone?"
"Can you do that? Keep a secret like this?"
I pull her on top of me. She straddles my hips, her belly resting on mine, her breasts hanging in my face.
"I've been keeping the secret of wanting you for three weeks," I say. "I can keep this one too."
She sinks down onto me. We both groan.
"Then let's see how long you can stay," she whispers.
I stay for six months. I find a job in month two.
I don't move out.
I tell everyone it's because rent is too expensive.
That's not why.