An adult sex story: Milena – My Wife and Her Uncle by Kuroinu
Maybe… Maybe it would have been funny if it was happening to someone else. Maybe I should’ve stopped it then. , Long ago. South America.
————–
I froze. My lips were dry, again.
My hands kept trying to open the lid of the water bottle, but they were sweating, I was always sweating here.
What is happening? I thought.
I remembered my step-father, commenting what had become my new personal mantra: ‘You can’t escape the sun there’. I didn’t remember his exact words but I knew that’s what he’d meant.
The plastic crumpled as I forced it with more violence than I’d meant to use. The water here had a faint metallic taste. Warm; it brought no relief going down.
My brain met my eyes again and realized I hadn’t stopped staring this whole time, staring at this.
“Is this real?” I muttered.
I imagine my expression was some poor conjunction between confusion and perplexed shock.
I wanted to keep some composure, I wanted to project that…false serenity. It always made me look mature beyond my years—first impressions are very important, and I wanted to impress—but my mind couldn’t wrap around this scene.
This can’t be right.
————-
In the early months, to me Colombia was always alien and bizarre. Loud, warm, vibrant. The hot winds of summer fluttered through leaves on lone trees—wherever they managed to rebel on any of the multiple rivers of mangled concrete streets—baring the sky and yourself from the much needed shelter of the clouds.
Life was desperately trying to catch up with the modern world, but the indigenous soul of the people stood, and the result was a whirlwind of wonderfully bright colours and music. Women wore this on their flesh – playful, elegant and spirited. It was amazing. A stark contrast to my quiet, dull life growing up in a classic suburban community. On any given street you’d find someone willing to sell, to speak, to smile…or to take. I lost my watch twice before I learned not to trust anyone, not even little kids. Still, over time I came to appreciate that culture and to tolerate its dark side.
So yes, I learned plenty, but as strange and passionate this country had been for me, nothing I ever lived there prepared me for the idiosyncrasies of my girlfriend’s family, especially concerning her uncle.
I was standing there, not ten steps back, with my mind racing to count all the reasons why he shouldn’t even think about touching her breast while he conversed with her, groping away over her purple blouse like this wasn’t his niece, or we weren’t present, me and Milena’s mother and aunt. He was so casual.
“No, this can’t be right,” I grinned, hoping it was some sick joke. The scorching Colombian sun and my sprouting anger were starting to make my head spin.
“How are you, mi amor? Do they hurt?” he asked, taunting her with a feigned worried tone that was supposed to add humor to his facade. His raspy voice was sandpaper to my ears, and his tone was not at all familial to me, but she seemed comfortable enough with the fondling.
Rolling her eyes with a shy smile forcing her lips, Milena nodded.
What is she doing? Wait, hurt?
The sudden ‘get together’ was beginning to make sense.
Was that why they arranged this whole thing? They think she’s pregnant? God, I knew I shouldn’t have come.
I proposed to Milena because I was completely in love with her, and while this love only matured with time, in our haste, we did pay a heavy price for each step. But apparently, in here people only married to legitimize children. I’d spent months in that country and was starting to grasp the basic concepts of its convoluting culture.
“Okay… Yes, uncle. I’m okay, really,” her hand held his arm and her eyes laid over his contracting fingers.
“You’re so hot, Milena. You’re already more beautiful than your mother ever was,” he said, planting a soft kiss on her cheek with his hands never leaving her tit.
There was something about him, about his behaviour, screaming that he might go even further.
I looked past them hoping to find some semblance of normality in her mother and aunt’s response, but I found them to be chuckling before returning to their own conversation, as if it simply was a common and acceptable joke that I was too foreign to understand.
For a split second; it made me doubt my own sense.
Am I overreacting? Overthinking?
No. When my mind unveiled the only possible answer, I took hold of it as though it were white hot nails. A slow blistering pain flashed through me, fueling my growing contempt towards these mocking strangers.
It felt natural to detach myself from all of them. We’d only just arrived but I had decided to leave. I couldn’t stand the thought of humoring my girlfriend’s family for a second longer, incensed as I was with their attitude and with Milena’s filthy uncle…who was now, kissing her neck?
Unbelievable.
While I’d been fumbling with my thoughts, my mother-in-law and her sister had walked away, greeting someone else in the farthest stand, away from the street. Looking back at my soon-to-be wife I was finally convinced that all pretense of normalcy had been thrown out the window.
His incipient beard kept tickling Milena’s neck with each playful kiss, testing her boundaries in a sick game, drawing shy giggles from my passive girlfriend. His mock purring was the only difference between them and two strangers in a nightclub.
I took a couple steps in their direction, white knuckled and stoking my own rage. I was purposefully gathering enough of it to punch the old smirking stranger, eager to break both his pudgy face and any possible diplomacy with the in-laws.
He stopped to glance at the sisters—both still immerse in their own conversation with the third woman—before increasing his assault with a crawling, passionate pace, smacking his lips onto her neck, one hand held her head in place and the other was still on her breast, now at the bare side of her blouse.
Milena had her mouth half open, her eyes active and wide at last, trying to find words amidst her molestation. She had chosen a curious moment to draw the line.
“Uncle… Uncle… This is– Hm! I’ll introduce you to my bo– Ah!” she moaned with one particularly deep kiss to her neck.
With that, he stopped, just seconds shy of getting caught by the pair of black haired, females coming back to our place in the stand.
When he stepped back, I saw her neck again.
It was gleaming.
——————
At some point in their act, I had begun to feel something. It was growing—unbeknownst to me—beyond control and invariably fast, so big and clear until it was impossible to ignore. It was so potent now it overshadowed my anger; I searched for remains of my burning hate but it was nowhere. I’d lived as a teenager long enough to understand what I felt but at the moment I was clueless as to why.
My own pride; my dignity, refused to believe it, but that simply added to my confusion and frustration. I barely had time to register it before her aunt spoke.
“Hey! Leave Mile alone. Look this is her boyfriend,” she pointed, looking me in the eye. Her hair waved with the dirty hot wind from the busy street.
I hadn’t noticed before—between the two sisters, my future mother-in-law always drew more unwanted attention—but her natural, flowing dark hair was especially beautiful. This and her subtle knowing expression persuaded me to take enough tension from my shoulders and shake hands with the shorter, beer gutted man beside her.
He looked confused; surprised even, turning around. It dawned on me – he didn’t know. He had no idea that the figure he saw behind his niece upon her arrival was actually her boyfriend, not some stranger casually walking down the street. After all, when he set his eyes upon Milena I never saw him turn my way again. I could imagine all this going through his mind; he hesitated, unsure of where we stood, before warily stepping away from Milena to shake my hand with a bright smile that stood out as what I thought was his only redeemable quality.
“Hola, ‘mo está.” He rushed his spanish, avoiding my stare. Surely my face had yet to be drained of the previous cocktail of emotions. When he removed himself from between my field of vision and Milena, I could see her in full again.
Everything looked good on Milena back then. It spoke about her taste, but it goes beyond that. Even now, bright or dark colours; it doesn’t matter, everything bends and shifts to make her green eyes glow – her clear, white skin makes an amazing contrast with the dark colour of her hair. Maybe it was just the fact that I was in love, but the little flaws on her body really made her more attractive. Also, the fact that the only woman of her family that used bras was her mother didn’t exactly add to objectivity.
She wore her Deep V blouse that day. It would take years before she wore something so sexy on the street again. The soft texture of the cotton framed by her straight locks of hair was an invitation to feel the luscious shape of her pale breasts.
I remember her face was an even mix between anger and blushing shame, a natural reaction, I’d expect, from what had been happening, but whether this was because it happened in public, or because I was there, I didn’t know. In any case, it didn’t escape me that the outline of her hard nipples was now clearly visible through her clothes.
“Hola, mi amor. How is my pretty sister? Your husband?” I heard him say, greeting my future mother-in-law. For me, the lascivious tone in his voice did not fade when talking to his sister.
Indifferent, she replied, “We are all well, thank the Lord.”
There was a strange tension in the air.
If my mother-in-law felt any love for her older brother, she hid it well. I had the impression that I was alone in my contempt towards his little number with Milena, but maybe I was wrong. Or maybe this was about something else; there’s always that one person in the family, and in this one it had to be him. Or perhaps that’s how severely religious women always behaved; I had never met one so, faithful. It always irked me how such a perfectly attractive woman in her forty-somethings would actively choose to look perpetually pissed off. Maybe it was because of men like him.