EXCLUSIVE UDO SERVICE FOR CLIENTS (6)

Mauro suggested to his wife that she go sleep at her mother’s and put up a sign saying “closed until tomorrow, Sunday.”

Mauro raised the metal shutter to let him in, then lowered it completely afterward. The bar was empty, the blinds almost down, only the lights over the counter on. Mauro pointed to a stool at the bar.

“Sit down,” he told him. He went behind the bar and dropped ice into two glasses.

“What better occasion to open this good whisky,” he shook the bottle, “than with my nephew, to talk man to man?”

Miki grimaced.

“I don’t usually drink alcohol.”

“One day is one day, nephew,” Mauro said, coming out and sitting on a stool beside him. “Let’s toast, and listen to what I’m going to tell you.”

They both toasted. Mauro seemed different, more cheerful. He smelled of cologne, his hair neatly combed, wearing a clean shirt, but just as tight as all the ones he wore, never hiding a small belly and showing his nipples.

Miki remained on the defensive; however, he found himself invaded by the same irresistible desire that the night before had made him stay kneeling and offer no resistance in front of his uncle’s bulge, and open his mouth as soon as his mother’s brother began rubbing his member over his nose, his chin, his lips, seeking a mouth in which to satisfy his need.

His uncle had excited him from the day he showed up at the hospital. Later, at the funeral home, with him and Mauro alone except for the occasional visit from some neighbors and a guy named Goyo, who made a terrible impression on Mauro, Miki had time to look at and size up his uncle. And when he saw him in underpants and a T-shirt, when he went into the bathroom to change before the cremation, he felt guilty. His mother lying there, and he glancing sideways at his uncle.

Now he had him sitting on the stool beside him, his legs open, showing a bulge and his zipper half down, his sleeves rolled up, his hairy forearms, his several-day beard.

“Let me talk and don’t interrupt me,” his uncle ordered him. Miki came out of his daze, looking at that somewhat potbellied, scruffy man in his fifties who excited him despite himself.

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A long while has passed. Miki remains hidden in the kitchen. From there he has been able to hear the conversation. His uncle has called the upstairs neighbor and also Rubén, the mechanic, and has made them coincide. How? Miki cannot manage to understand.

The nephew would still need to pinch himself to convince himself of what he has discovered about his uncle, to assimilate what Mauro shared with him in the unexpected prior conversation between the two of them alone.

He cannot get over his astonishment at the cold blood and serenity that man, his only family and whom he had not seen in ages, has shown afterward. Miki knows he is in his ...