I Found Out My Missing Cousin Was an Escort

What I’m going to tell you happened some time ago. I changed the names for obvious reasons, but everything else happened exactly as it did.

I’m going to call her Renata. She is the daughter of one of my father’s brothers, with whom we stopped having any contact when we were kids. The kind of argument nobody talks about, the kind that splits a family in two. I hadn’t seen her in person since I was seven or eight, but every so often a photo of hers would pop up on social media—birthday, vacations, a trip down south—and her face had stuck in my head enough for me to recognize her anywhere.

Back then I was around twenty-six, living alone and working at an agency. Long relationships had turned out expensive and complicated for me, so every so often I hired escorts. It was more practical, cheaper, and, above all, a lot less drama. I wasn’t proud of it, but I wasn’t ashamed either: it was a choice between adults.

One of my quirks was searching for Renata every couple of months. I’d type in her full name and check the results to see if I could find her. Similar names always came up, never the exact one. Until that early morning.

It was on the platform that used to be called Twitter and that we all still call Twitter even though officially it’s something else now. I typed her full name, hit enter, and among the first results a profile with her exact first and last name popped up. I felt something strange in my stomach. I clicked.

It wasn’t the personal account I’d expected. It was an escort profile: the bio listed services and prices; in the photos, a tiny girl in a thong, from behind, from the side, reclining, always with her face out of frame. Impossible, name coincidence, I thought. But I was already in there and, what the hell, it was the field I spent money on. I kept looking.

The girl was tiny. Petite, as they say. Narrow back, tiny waist, a surprisingly round ass for such a small body. There was something in her posture that felt familiar and my brain had already started playing tricks on me.

I kept scrolling through photos. And one stopped me cold.

It was a three-quarter shot where the light from a bedside lamp caught half her face. In any other angle she would have been anonymous, but in that one… in that one it was her. Renata. Not overly made up, with the smile she had as a girl still intact in a slightly more adult mouth. I’d put her at barely twenty.

I stayed like that for a long while without moving, my phone resting on my chest. I thought about a thousand things at once: calling my uncle to tell him, writing to her, closing the profile and forgetting about it. Calling my uncle seemed noble, but what excuse would I use to explain how I’d found the profile? “Hi, I haven’t spoken to you since we were kids, funny thing, I was looking for escorts and…” Impossible.

Writing to her directly as a cousin was cleaner, but it didn’t guarantee anything. If she was there, it was because she wanted to be, not because I could rescue her from anything. And if I scared her, she’d block me and the trail would be lost forever. I closed the app. I went to sleep convinced I wasn’t going to do anything.

***

The next morning the first thing I did was open the profile again. I needed to confirm I hadn’t dreamed it. It was still there. The face photo too.

And then I scrolled through the photos again.

I’m not going to pretend to be a saint. By the fifth or sixth one, I wasn’t comparing features with the little cousin I remembered from childhood anymore: I was imagining things with the woman in front of me. That lifted ass, the small firm tits, the exact curve of her back. I got hard before I could stop it. I had to masturbate right there, sitting on the edge of the bed, with a mixture of lust and guilt that shook me like never before.

When I finished, instead of remorse, the idea came. The stupid idea, the dangerous idea, the only idea that actually mattered to me: I’m going to hire her.

I thought about the risks. Most likely she’d remember me the moment she saw me. Maybe not right away, but yes once I gave her my name or she noticed the family resemblance. I decided that was exactly the test. I’d use a profile photo where my face was clearly visible and message her with my real name. If she recognized me, she wouldn’t reply. If she replied, then to her I was just another client.

I wrote the bare minimum: hi, I’d like to hire your services. I sent it. I stared at the two gray check marks waiting for them to turn blue.

It took over two hours to be read. The blue check marks appeared. And nothing. Minutes passed, then more minutes. She recognized me, I thought, she’s figuring out how to block me without making it obvious.

Just as I was about to close the chat, the reply came. Sorry, I was busy, of course, honey. And then the list of services with prices and an invitation to coordinate day and time.

She hadn’t recognized me. I felt something between relief and abyss.

We arranged for the next day at 2:30 p.m. in a downtown hotel. She told me to let her know when I’d checked in and she’d be there in forty minutes. I closed the chat and sat staring at the ceiling for a long time.

***

The next day I showered like I was going on a first date. Subtle cologne, clean clothes, everything measured. I got to the hotel half an hour early, checked in, went up to the room. I messaged her: I’m in 412.

The forty minutes it took her to arrive felt endless. Five times I was about to cancel. My head was making noise: no, yes, she was my cousin, I hadn’t seen her in years and she was practically a stranger, when she saw me up close she’d recognize me and it would be a humiliating disaster.

Three sharp knocks sounded on the door. My heart jumped into my throat. I took a deep breath and opened it.

It was her. Up close she was even more striking than in the photos. She was wearing a fitted red blouse that outlined two small, perfectly placed nipples, tight jeans that made her ass look like it had been carved on purpose, and straight brown hair loose over her shoulders. Her mouth was carefully painted and she wore mid-heel shoes that made her seem a little less tiny. She smelled sweet and clean.

—Sorry I’m late, there was a traffic mess —she said as she came in with the confidence of someone who does this every day.

—No worries, come in, make yourself comfortable.

I watched her leave her bag on a chair and pour herself a glass of the water hotels put out. She searched my face in the window light and found nothing. Not a blink. Not a trace of doubt. To her I was just another man, one of the countless ones she saw that week.

—How long do you want to book me for? You confirmed the place but not the duration.

—One hour.

I paid her. She tucked the bills into her bag without counting them in front of me. Good professional.

—Do you want me to undress? —she asked with a smile she hadn’t learned at home.

—No, like that is fine. First some kisses. Let’s take it slow.

She came closer, put her hands on my neck, and kissed me. She kissed with technique and, at the same time, with that slight surrender women have when they enjoy their work. I took her waist, pulled her against me, and slid my hands down to her ass. She had a round, hard ass, completely out of proportion to the rest of her body. I squeezed it. She sighed against my mouth.

When I lifted her blouse I confirmed what I suspected: she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. Her tits nearly popped out at me, small, the nipples a very pale pink and hard as buttons. I bent down to suck them while I unbuttoned her jeans. Underneath she had a tiny black thong.

I pulled down her jeans, she took off her shoes, and she stood there in her thong in front of me. I took off my shirt and pants. I kissed her again. She slid her hand over my boxer briefs, measuring my cock with her fingers as if evaluating merchandise.

—You’ve got a good hard-on. Want me to suck it?

—Get on your knees.

She knelt without a word. She pulled my boxers down slowly, let them fall to my calves, and took me into her mouth with a casual ease that unraveled me. I put a hand on the back of her neck, not to push her, but to set the pace. She sucked me all the way down, breathed out through her nose against my belly, then went back down again. Every now and then she licked my balls. Tears ran down her cheeks from gagging, but she didn’t stop.

When I started to feel like I was going to lose it, I grabbed her arm and pulled her up. I kissed her and took advantage of the moment to strip off her thong. I threw her onto the bed on her back.

***

I spread her legs and went down. Renata’s cunt was shaved smooth and smelled like some neutral soap. I ran my tongue over her slowly, deliberately, without going straight for the clit. She squirmed. I held her thighs to keep her still and picked up the pace. Her legs tightened, then relaxed, then tightened again. She pulled my hair, guiding me up, down, until she stopped guiding and just held on. One long moan, a shiver, and a warm liquid left on my chin.

I gave her no break. I turned her over, put her on all fours with her face against the mattress and her ass up, that absurd ass on such a small body. I fitted on a condom, lined up the head, and shoved it in all at once. She let out a groan of the good kind. I started fucking her mercilessly. I held her by the hips and pulled her toward me, keeping the rhythm. I slapped her ass once, then again, then in a series.

In the wardrobe mirror it all reflected back. I saw her face: eyes closed, mouth open, an expression that stopped being professional and turned genuine. I yanked her hair and made her arch. That set me on fire.

Then I turned her over again and brought her toward me by the waist. She weighed so little I could maneuver her like she was made of plastic. I put her legs over my shoulders and drove into her again, even deeper. I kissed her while I fucked her, bit her neck, squeezed her tits. She dug her nails into my back.

—You can take a lot —she said through clenched teeth—. I’m going to make you cum.

—That’s what I want to see.

She climbed on top. She started moving with a control that wasn’t amateur. She circled her ass, then moved back and forth, then lifted herself and dropped down. I held out as long as I could, but seeing her like that, her face focused on making me finish and her hair falling over her shoulders, finished me off completely.

—Come on, baby, give me everything —she whispered.

That was it. I came in one long spasm that left me stupid. She stayed up there a little longer, slowly, letting me come down. Then she lay beside me.

—You’re generous. It’s rare for someone to care about the woman feeling it too.

—It’s the least I can do, you’re…

I almost said “my cousin.” I stopped myself just in time.

—I’m what?

—You’re an amazing woman. I wasn’t going to be rude.

She smiled. A twenty-year-old girl’s smile. She gave me a quick kiss.

—Will you shower with me? We’ll save water —she said, and laughed at her own joke.

We showered. I massaged her under the excuse of the soap, gave her a few more kisses, ran my hands over her whole body as if it were the first and last time. We got out, got dressed. At the door she gave me one last kiss on the mouth.

—I hope you repeat.

—Sure.

I gave her a goodbye pat and she left.

I went down to the parking garage dizzy. I had just fucked my cousin and she had no idea. She didn’t recognize me a single time that afternoon. To this day she still doesn’t know. And yes, in case anyone’s wondering, I hired her a few more times after that.

Thanks for reading my confession.