Chapter 7
The nude swap went down on a Friday night, and I already knew that weekend was gonna be pretty chill. Mom had warned me she didn't want anyone bugging her 'cause her boyfriend was coming over. I've mentioned him before, right? The "young guy," eight years younger than her. He was a decent dude, liked to cook, and that made me happy 'cause it helped Mom out around the house. At least that way she could catch a little break.
On Saturday morning, I texted Mariana to spill the tea about the latest with Matheus. She cracked up and egged me on like crazy, full of ideas. I felt kinda awkward sending the pic he'd sent me and made up that I'd deleted it. Deep down, I was worried he might show my pics around. You couldn't recognize me right away, but anyone who hung out at my place would know it was me in two seconds flat.
Mariana, wild as ever, was already pushing me to set something up ASAP. But that was impossible. No way at my house, and I wasn't down for my first time out in the woods somewhere. We still chatted about Pedro, my cousin I'd been crushing on for a while. But he was slow as fuck. Matheus was sharper, and that put me more at ease about doing something with him.
I didn't tell Mariana about the thing with Carla. Just thinking about it embarrassed the hell out of me. And honestly, I don't think she'd even believe me if I came clean.
The idea of giving it up wouldn't leave my head since last week. Weird, 'cause before that I didn't think about it like this. I mean, I fantasized, liked the idea, but never made plans for it. After the laundry room day, when I sucked off Carla and her boyfriend, it was like something in me had shifted. I don't even know how I mustered the guts to do that. Just remembering the feeling of dominating them both, how my body reacted, it drove me nuts.
Still in bed after gossiping with Mariana, I pulled up the pic of Matheus's dick. That shit got me fired up. I slid my panties aside; the shorts from my set were loose enough not to get in the way. My hand went right down, and I was soaked in seconds. I loved feeling my own touch, my texture. The smooth, soft skin. Wet, my fingers glided easy, and that ramped up the heat even more.
But I wanted more. Wanted to shove my fingers in, feel inside. Only every time I tried, it hurt. I pushed a little to see if it'd give, but nope. The pain was right at the entrance, like something tearing every time I pressed. It was frustrating as hell. My body was on fire, but in the wrong damn way. The pain messed it up, wouldn't let me go as deep as I craved.
I kept imagining what it'd be like with a real cock. Just thinking about it, I felt this clench, an anticipatory ache, like my body already knew what was coming. Back there? Not even a finger would go in. But I couldn't stop thinking about it. I fantasized that maybe I could do it back there and stay a virgin, some ridiculous fix for the fear of getting caught. If Mom asked the gyno something, I'd be screwed. She'd wanna know who I'd fucked, and I couldn't make up an excuse.
I tried slipping a finger in again. Quick try. An unbearable, gross discomfort made me stop. When I pulled it out, it was dirty, and just picturing him seeing that turned my stomach. Plus, everyone said it hurt way more back there than up front.
Tired of frustrating myself solo, I got up, splashed water on my face at the sink, trying to shake off the thoughts. Brushed my teeth, took my morning piss, washed my hands, and headed down to the kitchen in what I'd slept in. Old shorts, baggy tee, no bra. It was Saturday, and I figured the place was empty. Mom was out, but he was there, my stepdad, right where he always was in the mornings, making coffee.
When he saw me, he smiled and came over to kiss my cheek, like he did every day, natural, almost on autopilot.
"Ey, kiddo? Sleep okay?"
"Slept fine, Uncle," I replied. I'd always called him that. It was habit.
He took a sip of his coffee and tossed out casually:
"Matheus was asking about you yesterday."
The mention caught me off guard.
"Oh, yeah?" I played it cool, not sure how to react. "Dunno..."
I got nervous. Matheus was his son. Didn't know they'd talked about me.
"Grab a seat and eat," he said, opening the bag of bread. "Picked it up fresh this morning."
I tried to chill and sat down. The morning seemed normal, but I felt something off in the air, even if I couldn't pin it down.
I fixed my coffee, same old routine. He made small talk, trying to be nice. I liked him, I'll admit. My real dad was an unbearable old prick, always bitching, distant. This guy was the opposite—attentive and polite. But that morning felt different. Just the two of us in the kitchen. My siblings must've headed out early to hit the beach. Still, the space felt too tight, almost suffocating. As I stirred my coffee, I felt this weird unease. That kind of thing you don't see but you feel. His gaze was there, heavy, locked on me.
I pretended not to notice, turned my back, trying to hide the discomfort. I ran my hand lightly along the hem of my shirt, like I was fixing something out of place. Maybe I was paranoid. Or maybe not. "Fuck, goosebumps... That's it!" I hated when that happened. I'd left the room without a bra, and now my nipples were hard as rocks, poking out for no reason. Wasn't even cold to blame it on. I took a deep breath and forced myself to relax. Couldn't sip coffee with my arms crossed. Besides, he was my stepdad. No reason to sweat it.
I sat at the table, trying to ignore the whole thing. As I chewed slow, he was leaning against the sink, facing me. He held his mug in one hand and his phone in the other, like he was zoned out. But I knew he wasn't. His eyes kept drifting up and down toward my tits, and this time I caught him. Our gazes met, and he choked on his coffee, coughing like he was trying to play off his own embarrassment. I don't know what I expected to feel right then. Shame, maybe. But nope. What hit me was this nagging curiosity.
I'd always figured my body didn't do shit to any guy. Small, plain. Incapable of sparking desire. But there he was, an older dude, clearly fighting an internal war to keep staring without getting busted. I hid a smile, this weird satisfaction bubbling up in my chest. I'll confess—I got a little turned on. Seeing him so rattled, so out of control, brought back that familiar rush from the laundry room the other day: domination.
I decided to test it. I stretched with my eyes closed, more than I needed to, enough to arch my back and extend my arms in a way I knew made my tits look good. I knew my body. Knew exactly how it moved, how the fabric of my shirt would hug the curve of my breasts. Then, casual as hell, I let the strap of my shirt slip down a bit, all nonchalant. It was almost innocent, but it showed the edge where my nipple skin started to change tone. I played distracted, like my phone was way more interesting than anything around, but I knew. I felt the weight of his stare, hot, hesitant. Like he was devouring me in silence, trying to convince himself he wasn't doing anything wrong.
For a second, I thought about Mom. She'd kill me if she knew. But all I could do was laugh inside. She'd never believe I was egging on my own stepdad. And worse, that I was doing it on purpose.