Mi madre y el macarra (2)

The continuation of the story my mother and the hunk.http://www.poringa.net/posts/relatos/3408650/Mi-madre-y-el-macarra-1.htmlI woke up disoriented, as if I had a hangover. My eyes felt dry and puffy. Yes, I had drunk quite a bit, but not to the point of total intoxication. Still, I didn't usually drink and what I had consumed had a significant effect on me. I hadn't eaten or dinner and when I got home, I went straight to bed with only alcohol in my stomach. I slept very badly. What I had seen was coming back to me as soon as I closed my eyes. I spent several hours tossing and turning in bed, trying to calm down, until exhaustion finally overcame me after 3 am.

I looked at the clock again. It was already past 8 am. I could hear noises downstairs in the kitchen, indicating that my parents were already up. I pulled the covers back over myself; the sunlight streaming through the balcony door was bothering me too much. Although it wasn't the only reason. I wished it were still night, so I wouldn't have to get out of bed and face my mother. I felt like she would still be lying on the sofa, perhaps with Francisco on top of her, moving wildly.

I kept my eyes open, gazing at the blue fabric of the sheet covering me, as every time I closed them, the repulsive scene from the previous day came back to haunt me. I knew I couldn't keep going like this forever: if I didn't get up in a bit, maybe an hour or so, my mother would come upstairs and ask me why I wasn't planning on playing soccer with everyone else on Saturdays.

My thoughts continued to whirl around like a tornado stuck in one place, destroying some poor town. Suddenly, the nausea from the previous day hit me again. The atmosphere in my room became unbearable. The air felt incredibly thick, and I needed oxygen. Taking off the covers didn't improve my situation. My room has a balcony, but I was so disoriented that I forgot about it and decided to go downstairs in search of a more pleasant atmosphere. Downstairs, I could smell breakfast. I had to be careful going down the stairs, holding onto the railing. infidelity committed.

I was descending the stairs when I could see the armchair. Unlike the previous day, when it had been lying on the stairs, now it was standing upright, so it took a little longer to enter my field of vision. My daydreams turned out to be false; there wasn't a violent coupling taking place on it. The armchair and living room were neatly arranged, there was no underwear on the coffee table, and the cushions that had been scattered everywhere were back in their proper places. In the middle of them was... my father, sitting quietly, looking at his phone. I breathed agitatedly for a moment. The innocent man was looking at Facebook without suspecting the grotesque situation that had occurred there, where he sat so tranquilly.

I finished descending and walked over without greeting my father. I didn't want to make eye contact with the room. I passed through the kitchen, where I could hear the sound of moving plates. I heard my mother's voice on the right, also avoiding turning my head.

Good morning, dear - said my mother as soon as she saw me - Come and have breakfast.

I'll come. Just going to the bathroom.

I went to pee in the downstairs bathroom that Francisco had just renovated. The memories of the previous afternoon hit me while I was urinating. And I spent quite a while peeing, my bladder was full after my departure from the previous day. Oh God! Why hadn't I peed upstairs? I washed my hands as quickly as I could and left.

I entered the kitchen to have breakfast with my eyes down, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone. However, after a while, I looked up. I couldn't help but feel relieved, so much that it escaped me in a sigh that no one noticed (fortunately). My mother was wearing a white bralette with straps that she loved, tight jeans, and her hair was tied back in a ponytail. She was smiling and looked fresh, as if she had just taken a shower. Don't wash up, I want you to bring my run inside... The voice of Francisco came to my head, waking up a sea of doubts. Had he bathed last night? Or in the morning? In the second case, I had slept, having gone to bed next to my father with another man's semen inside him. Shit. The omelette was going down slowly through my throat while I pretended to be fine.

I saw her differently. Her generous breasts, which I had barely noticed the previous afternoon, were bobbing up and down as she spoke, moving the fabric of her shirt. She looked neat, decent, immaculate. Like an exemplary wife, as if yesterday hadn't happened.

I imagined Francisco licking and biting, praising her breasts at the same time. I shook my head to get rid of the thoughts. She was very lively, her eyes sparkling strangely. Had she always been like that? Whatever, I was glad her face was still the same as always, instead of the red and disheveled face from yesterday.

The conversation picked up. My parents were talking normally and it seemed like everything had been forgotten. Now my father was talking about how things were going better at work and commenting optimistically that everything was fine in his life Damn, not really, the family front is being neglected a bit, said a voice inside me.

Despite the thoughts, some of my father's optimism stuck with me and I thought that what had happened the previous day had been just a slip-up from my mother (although a tremendous one, certainly) and it wouldn't happen again. I felt so relaxed seeing my mother, listening to her husband with an angelic expression that almost made me say damn-tía-think-you-were-fucking-like-a-slut-yesterday. I bit my tongue and preferred to keep eating before saying something stupid.

-I have to admit - said my father suddenly, leaving his coffee cup halfway - Francisco left the bathroom quite clean.

-Yes. The boy knows how to do it. That thing. Did my mother say it with double intention? Or was it just an unfortunate combination of words? She was finishing breakfast as if nothing was wrong, but I'd swear a smile was dancing on her lips. Or was I imagining things?

- I think I trusted him too little – my innocent father continued – He did the repairs well. What do you think about that?
- Fine. I'm leaving quite... satisfied

I finished the bread in one bite, despite there being half left. I had to get out of the table before... damn it, I don't know what could happen, maybe scream? Maybe tell everything? Maybe vomit? The point is I had to leave. They finished breakfast a bit later and my father turned on the TV to watch the news, sitting in that damned armchair. I went to take a shower to clear my head while making an effort not to think about anything from the previous day. Cold water cleared my senses and calmed my agitated mood a bit. It would be better to be away from home for a bit, get some air and occupy my mind with something else. I usually play soccer with friends on Saturdays... like my mother told Francisco yesterday. Damn it! Can't I stop thinking about that?

When leaving the bathroom, I headed to my room to put on sports clothes. Although I was probably going to play badly between my head racing a thousand miles an hour and lack of sleep, some games would clear me out.

And a couple of beers with friends afterwards, to complete the cure. While getting dressed, I heard Dad saying goodbye and leaving for work, followed by the usual noise of the vehicle starting up, the gate opening, and the sensor installed last year to help him when he's reversing.

I came down from the room and prepared my backpack. I took good care to pack my things in the individual armchair in the living room, instead of the big three-seater where yesterday... Damn it, my mind was like a wild horse, totally out of control. I was packing a bottle with water and the little towel I used to wipe my sweat when Mom came on stage. - Are you going to play now, sweetie? - Yes, Mom. I'll be back in a bit. - How long will you be gone? - I suppose it's always the same, about three hours. - Really? I turned around. It seemed like I saw a reflection of doubt on her face. Her left hand was nervously playing with her ponytail, which she brought over to the same side of her shoulder. She avoided looking at me, staring at her free hand's nails and lightly biting her lower lip. Alarms went off in my head. Why was she asking me these questions? I suppose my expression changed, something she also noticed. It was very fleeting, but it stayed in my mind like a photographic memory. Shit, why didn't I remember things from university like that? - I mean, you know I worry if you're late – she hurried to say. I bid her farewell quickly. What I wanted was to get out of the house. She insisted on me taking something to eat during a break. She offered me a pretty big banana. Damn! It seemed like everything was against me to make me think about yesterday's events! I put it away too, with my head full of bad memories. When I took in some fresh air outside, I felt more relaxed and could see the situation from another angle, just like when you're having a bad dream but somehow discover you're dreaming. After all, I always wondered how long I'd be gone, who I'd be with, and all that stuff. Even preferred leaving when she was busy to avoid the interrogation. They weren't words of an unfaithful wife, but normal motherly concerns. I was being a thoughtless one for doubting her. But when I got to the corner, my alarms went off again. There's a house that's been vacant for just a month and is up for rent. Francisco was leaning against the front wall, with his hands in his pockets. He was wearing his usual outfit, work boots, cowboy pants and a sleeveless shirt showing off my arms. He was staring fixedly at me and my home with a thoughtful air. I prepared myself for a confrontation and tensed up like a spring. However, when I got closer to him, perhaps thinking about what I had done to my mother, made me deflate.

What's up? I said timidly, more than I wanted to, as I passed by him.

He didn't deign to respond to me. A head movement was all the answer I got to my greeting. His face changed when he saw me with an expression that was a combination of scorn and pity. I could see his bicep tattoo up close: it was a Bengal tiger quite detailed, with a chain going up Francisco's shoulder until it ended at the base of his neck. I didn't want to show too much interest in him, so I kept walking and turned around a bit later. Francisco was still standing there, staring fixedly at home and constantly checking a new watch. Where had he gotten it? Was he returning to his old habits?

It was clear that I wasn't going to back down. It was obvious that that guy thought he was going back. I couldn't leave my mother alone. Yesterday's events had been a strange combination of factors, just a coincidence. Something inside me assumed she wouldn't receive him today, what would I tell her that it had all been a madness and I didn't want to see him again. Then Francisco could leave the way he came... or get violent. After all, they hadn't put him in jail for being a good person. I thought about going back home by the same route. But the idea of passing by him again scared me. Admittedly, he intimidated me too much, much to my dismay. The subsequent results made me think it had been the best, but at that moment I wasn't thinking clearly. It's strange how in difficult moments we mainly struggle with our body, instead of against some external danger, and at that moment my ex-friend seemed like an insurmountable wall to me. I had already annoyed enough with the weeks he was staying as a guest, not counting what happened the day before. I decided to stop and reflect for a moment.

I remembered that behind us was a house under construction in black since years ago. They had started it about two decades ago, went big and the budget ran out. Occasionally they would make some small improvement, but it was evident that I would have offspring before that project was finished. As a child, I would enter there with Francisco. I shook my head to absent myself from the thought of my ex-friend. I could turn around the block and enter there, then jump the wall to my residence. I doubted a lot, but finally decided to do it.

I had to. Once back at my domicile... then I'd think what to do.

I took a big detour to get to the house without passing where Francisco was. I jumped towards the interior of the dwelling and then towards mine. I fell with enough silence in our garden. After all, I'm not clumsy, I've always liked exercising, although I'm naturally thin and never went to the gym. The garden is connected by a sliding door to the kitchen. Through there I entered my home without making a sound. Well, we should invest more in security. At least a fence on that wall.

Once I was in the kitchen, I stopped to listen. It seemed like I was alone. I looked at my watch. It was 10:17. If I didn't remember wrong, the appointment was at 10:30. Would Francisco really dare to come back?

I heard my mother upstairs. I went up to greet her. I would tell her that the game had been canceled for any excuse and bet on the entrance. Then, if by 10:45 Francisco had the audacity to knock on the door, I would open it smiling, asking him what he wanted. I was already enjoying myself, feeling victorious, as I went up the stairs.

Mother was whistling happily in her room. A news program could be heard on her TV. I entered my TV to leave my backpack. Then I opened my balcony to breathe and prepare for the company. Despite being something quite simple, I felt goosebumps in my stomach, similar to those I feel when I have to present an important exam. What would I do if Francisco got violent seeing me? I hoped it wouldn't be like that, because in case of a fight I was at a disadvantage. Obviously he surpassed me in physical strength, besides learning a thousand and one dirty tricks in prison. The bedroom of my parents and mine are connected by a balcony that gives onto the garden through which I had entered. I was enjoying the fresh air when I thought about spying on my mother through her balcony door. Just to see what she was doing, thinking she wasn't there.

I had the curtain closed, but I managed to peek through a gap. And what I saw left me with my mouth open. Only one blue bra saved my mother from nudity. She was sitting in front of her mirror, making herself up. The makeup was good taste, she had applied it little, the truth is that she didn't need too much. Her lips appeared intense red. Her hair looked rebellious, disheveled, but it was obvious she had done it herself.

Once she finished making herself up, she began to try on dresses from a pile on her bed. First one for night, without a bra. Her large nipples clearly marked through the fabric. I would swear she was wearing nothing underneath. Then some incredibly tight jeans, with a half-open jacket with nothing underneath. She posed in front of the mirror, turning around to admire herself and then bending down to see how much her cleavage showed. She wasn't satisfied with the outfit, so she took off the jacket and opted for a bralette instead. She went back to posing, even wiggling her butt a bit.

I was disgusted, indignant, and frustrated. I had thought it was just a slip-up, an error. I was ready to face Francisco to make him stop bothering my family. But there she was, trying on clothes for her ex-male assailant. While I thought this, Mom had taken off again. Now she was trying on the leggings and top she wore to the gym. I remembered he had praised that outfit the previous evening. However, it seems it didn't convince him either, as she remained alone with just the blue bra again. She turned off the TV to think more calmly.

Through the mirror, I saw her expression of doubt turn into a mischievous smile that lit up her face. She got up, wearing only the blue bra. She posed again, this time without clothes. She leaned over the mirror, allowing her breasts to hang loose. They were round, large, and well-cared-for. She had small aureolas but large nipples that seemed to be getting erect again. I remembered Francisco licking them the previous day. She touched them a bit, as women often do to detect abnormal lumps, although on this occasion it was vanity rather than interest in her health that motivated her. Then she turned around to admire herself from behind. She gave herself a small slap. She turned back around, still smiling mischievously. She stuck out her tongue and showed off her white teeth, playing. What was happening to my mother? Could a nearly 21-year-old guy with a large cock make her forget her age, marriage, and position? That seemed like it to me while I watched her pose. Now she looked satisfied and went into the bathroom in our room.

I remained stunned on the balcony until I regained control of myself. I backed away to my room, thinking about what I should do. What I had just seen had left me shaken. I saw how the supposed slip-up was transforming into something more. It seemed Mom had enjoyed the infidelity committed the previous day and now wanted to turn it into a adventure. Continuing without knowing how to proceed when they called the door. Upon hearing my mother's footsteps towards me, I hid behind the door of my room. I observed her through the gap between the door and wall. She was coming just like when I had left her, only in blue bra and sandals. Why the hell had I hidden? Was it because of shame? It was she who should feel ashamed, not me. This thought gave me renewed energy and I followed her discreetly as she went down. Despite being annoyed, I noticed that suddenly meeting her naked would be a terribly uncomfortable situation for both of us. Without knowing why, I resumed my observation post from the previous day: the stairwell gap. I took a glance at the clock in the living room. It was 10:30 pm. My mother went to open it, making small jumps that made her breasts bounce. Oh man! This was going wrong compared to what I had imagined. Now I was stuck upstairs again, just like yesterday. It's not Francisco, it's someone else, I started repeating to myself. It must be a visitor. It's not Francisco. Although the truth was that we hardly received visitors and no friend of my parents had announced themselves. I couldn't stop wishing it was someone else, even if I saw my mother naked. But she also thought about this danger. She positioned herself behind the door and asked before opening. I held my breath. - Who is it? - Francisco – responded a masculine tone that was unpleasantly familiar to me - Come on, dad