My Cousin’s Boyfriend Didn’t Recognize Me at the Bar

My name is Camila, and what I’m about to tell you, I never confessed to anyone. I’m writing it now because there are nights when the memory of that weekend still rises up my back and makes my pussy wet without permission, and I need to get it out somehow. If you read it, promise me you’ll keep it the way I do: as something that happened once and shouldn’t have happened.

I started my transition very young. I’m short, I wear my hair short, I have a small chest, but hips that clothes always notice and an ass I spent years in the gym working for. I swim and run, so I keep a firm body and the little-girl face that never quite left. By twenty-four I’d long since finished my process, and from day one I liked tall, dark men, the kind who take up the whole doorway when they walk in.

I have a partner, and I want that to be clear. Bruno is calm, patient, and stayed with me through every stage, even the last surgery. He never made me feel like a whim or an experiment. That’s why what I did weighs on me, even if I don’t regret it completely, and that contradiction is exactly what keeps me from sleeping.

The man I’m talking about is named Mateo. He was my cousin Carolina’s boyfriend. I’d known him in passing for years, at birthdays, Sunday lunches, those visits when he’d show up on weekends carrying bags. Sometimes I’d stay at my aunt’s house, and I’d hear them from the next room. I’d hear Carolina, her short gasps against the wall, the creak of the bed, the wet slapping of fucking, and all the while I’d lie there staring at the ceiling with my hand between my legs, imagining it was my voice spilling out under that man, my pussy he was destroying with his thrusts.

Once I spied on him by accident. He came out of the bathroom with his towel low, and I saw what he had. I’m not exaggerating when I say I lost my breath. A thick, long cock, still half-asleep, hanging heavy between his thighs. Mateo is tall, close to six-foot-three, he plays basketball in the city league, and he cares for every muscle like it’s his job. From that day on I kept him tucked away in a corner of my head, a corner I showed no one, and that I visited with my fingers every time Bruno fell asleep beside me.

***

The weekend everything changed was one of those that seem arranged so someone can do something stupid. My aunt and Carolina went to the village, to my grandmother’s house, like they did every holiday. Before leaving, they asked me for a favor: to come by and turn the lights on around the house so it wouldn’t look empty. There had been two break-ins in the neighborhood that month and they wanted to make it seem like somebody was home.

Bruno was leaving too. He had to travel to his city to see his parents, and although he kept insisting I go with him, I said no. His family had never really liked me and I wasn’t in the mood for comments. So Friday found me alone, with my aunt’s house in my hands and the whole weekend ahead of me.

—Are you sure you’ll be okay? —Bruno asked before leaving.

—I’m just going to be bored, that’s all —I lied, and kissed him.

I had no idea how it was going to end.

That night some friends texted me about going to a new bar they’d opened a few blocks from home. I got dressed with enthusiasm. I wore a short black strapless dress, tight enough to define my waist and legs. Same-color heels, a tiny thong underneath, almost nothing, and thin-framed glasses that always gave me a serious look. Little makeup. My face never needed much.

The bar was packed and the music thudded in my chest. I ordered a drink, and when I turned around, I saw him. Mateo was at a table with two friends, laughing, wearing a shirt tight across the shoulders. My mouth dried and something else got wet. I walked toward him as if I didn’t want to and said hello.

At first he didn’t recognize me. He looked me over with the courtesy of someone trying to place a face.

—I’m Camila —I told him—. Carolina’s cousin.

He stood up so fast.

—No way. Look at you. —He ran his eyes over me from head to toe without hiding it—. I hadn’t seen you in years.

We danced. It started at a distance, little by little, but the island music and reggaeton kept shortening the space between us until there was no space left at all. I danced pressed against him, flirtier than I’d ever been with Bruno, and because I’m short I could feel him growing against my belly every time he squeezed me. I felt his cock wake up thick against my navel, pressing through the fabric of his pants, looking for me. He noticed. I noticed that he noticed. And neither of us said a thing.

One of my friends came up to my ear.

—He’s fucking gorgeous, but be careful, you have a boyfriend and I know that guy.

She was the gossip of the group. I smiled and told her he was my cousin’s boyfriend, nothing more, that we were just catching up.

During a slow salsa, Mateo spoke into my ear. He told me Carolina had asked him to stop by and sleep at the house, in case I wasn’t staying there, to keep an eye on things just like they’d asked me to. I laughed to myself: the two of us had the same mission, and neither one of us knew it.

—I was going to do the same —I told him—. But I can’t leave with you like this, hand in hand. I have a friend who tells everything.

—Then I’ll leave first —he answered—. You come after.

***

I let him go and waited a long while, chatting with my friends as if nothing was happening inside me. When I said goodbye, I stopped at a kiosk and bought a bottle of aguardiente. I’m not much of a drinker, almost never, but that night I wanted something to loosen my hands.

I got to my aunt’s house and Mateo was already there, sitting on the sofa. I poured us two drinks and we started talking. He asked me about my transition, about how I felt now, with that curiosity without sleaze that disarmed me. At one point he asked if it made men sigh more.

—Do I make you sigh? —I shot back.

He didn’t answer. He stood up, searched his phone for soft music, and held out his hand.

—Let’s dance.

This time there was no one around, no friends, no excuses. We danced slowly, his firm hand on my waist, and when he lifted my face he kissed me. It was a long, hungry kiss, the kind that wipes your mind clean. His tongue came into my mouth like it owned it, searching for mine, and I sucked on it as if I were already sucking something else. I pushed him back onto the sofa and sat astride him, rubbing my crotch against the rock-hard bulge pressing his pants. I could feel every inch of that cock outlined under the fabric, brushing where I was dying for him, while his hands lifted the hem of my dress and kneaded my ass under the thong.

—You’re wet, Camila —he whispered, slipping two fingers down the side of my thong and finding the dampness—. You’re soaked.

—I’ve been getting wet thinking about you for years —I confessed in his ear, and bit his earlobe.

I stood up and yanked my dress off. I was left in heels and that tiny thong, my breasts bare, nipples already hard and peaked at him. He stared at me like he’d never seen anyone before. He lunged for me, took a breast in his mouth and sucked it whole, licked it, pressed my nipple between his teeth until I moaned. He went down to my belly, knelt, kissed me over the wet thong, and blew against the fabric.

Then my phone rang. It was Bruno.

I thought for a second. Bruno is persistent, if I didn’t answer he’d call ten times. I lowered the music a bit but kept my hips moving slowly against Mateo’s face, who kept kissing my pussy through the fabric, so nothing would cool off. I answered.

—Yes, baby, everything’s fine —I said in the calmest voice I could fake, while Mateo pulled the thong aside with his teeth and ran his whole tongue from the bottom to the top of my slit—. I had fun at the party, but I’m tired and I drank a little. I’m going to sleep.

I hung up biting my lip so I wouldn’t scream. It was close to two in the morning. I laid the phone face down and turned to Mateo with a calm I didn’t know I had.

Forgive me later. Right now I’m his.

I pushed him back onto the sofa and fumbled at his belt with clumsy fingers. I pulled down his pants, then his boxer briefs, and when what I had imagined so many times came out, I almost laughed with nerves. It was huge. Thick, hard, the tip swollen and shining, throbbing against his stomach. I knelt between his legs, took it with both hands —they didn’t even cover it— and looked up at him from below with my glasses still on.

—God, what a cock you have —I murmured.

I ran my tongue from the base to the tip, slowly, savoring him. I licked his balls, one and then the other, and came back up. I closed my lips over the glans and went down, taking him all the way until the tip hit my throat and I forced myself to stay there, eyes watering, breathing through my nose. I pulled him out with a string of spit and took him in again. I sucked him with hunger, both hands helping, gripping the base, making noise, letting saliva run over his balls. I took my time. I wanted him to lose his mind the same way I had lost mine listening to my cousin behind the wall.

—Fuck, Camila —he panted, his hand tangled in my short hair—. You suck me off better than anyone.

—Tonight I’m yours —I told him when I stopped, lips swollen and chin shining—. I want you to make me scream. I want you to wreck me.

He lifted me like I weighed nothing, laid me on my back on the sofa, and pushed my thong aside. He spread my legs wide open and buried his face between my thighs. What he did with his tongue after that I still don’t know how to describe. He licked my whole pussy, long and slow, with a flat tongue. Then the tip, seeking my clit, circling it, sucking it like it was candy. He slipped two fingers inside and curled them while he kept sucking, and I closed my eyes and gripped the sofa upholstery with both hands until my knuckles cracked. No man had ever gone looking for me like that, with so much patience, as if he had the whole night and the night belonged to me.

—Don’t stop, don’t stop —I begged, my legs shaking on his shoulders—. I’m going to come, Mateo, I’m going to come in your mouth.

And I came. I arched all over against his face and clamped his head between my thighs, moaning so loud I was grateful the house belonged to my aunt and not to me. He didn’t let up. He kept sucking me until the second orgasm hit me on top of the first and I had to push his forehead because I couldn’t take it anymore.

When he finished stripping off the last piece of clothing and settled over me, I was still trembling. He grabbed his cock with his hand and slid it up and down my slit, wetting it in my juices, playing with the tip at my entrance.

—Put it in me —I begged him—. Put it in me now.

He entered slowly, attentive to my face, reading me. He was big, very big, and for a second I hesitated, I felt like it wouldn’t go in. But I breathed, let go, and my body adjusted to his inch by inch. When he was finally all the way inside, I felt the tip hitting me deep, in a place Bruno had never reached. He stayed still, letting me get used to him, kissing my neck.

—Move —I asked.

And he moved. He pushed slowly, all the way out, all the way in, with a rhythm that made my eyes roll back. Then faster. He held my legs open against the back of the sofa while I touched my clit with two fingers, and the sofa creaked with every thrust. His cock went in and out of me, shining, and I watched it and lost my mind.

—Harder —I said—. Fuck me harder, don’t treat me like I’m made of glass.

He obeyed. He dug his hands into my hips and started pounding me with real force, with that skin-on-skin sound, wet and dirty, filling the whole room. He watched my tits bounce with every hit and bit his lip.

He pulled me up on top of him and let me set the pace. I speared myself on his cock, felt it rise all the way to the bottom, and started moving back and forth, braced on his chest. I wanted to moan so badly, had spent so many years imagining it, that I didn’t even recognize the sounds coming out of me. I bounced with my hands on his shoulders, letting myself drop fully onto him, feeling that cock open me from the inside each time. He squeezed my ass with both hands and helped me move faster.

—Look at me —I told him, grabbing his face—. Look at me while you fuck me. I’m Carolina’s cousin and you’re fucking me better than you ever fucked her.

—Whore —he growled, and slapped my ass so hard I jumped—. Rich little whore.

I came again riding him, with my glasses fogged, trembling on top of him. At one point I bent to his ear, still not stopping my movement.

—I want you to fuck me in the ass —I whispered—. I know you’ll enjoy it. I know she doesn’t let you.

His whole body tensed just hearing it. He went to Carolina’s room and came back with oil she kept for her things. The irony wasn’t lost on me, and I don’t think it was lost on him either. He put me on all fours on the sofa, my ass lifted and my face buried in the cushion, and spread my cheeks with both hands. He slicked oil onto his fingers and put it there, massaging the entrance slowly, slipping in one finger, then two, moving them in circles until he felt me loosen. Oil dripped down my thighs.

—Relax —he told me—. I’m going slow.

He lubed up his cock, pressed it against my ass, and pushed. At first it felt enormous, impossible, almost too much, and I let out a whimper against the fabric. He stopped with the tip inside, stroked my back, and pushed a little more. Then my body gave way and everything became something else. He sank in centimeter by centimeter until I felt his hips pressed to my ass.

—Carolina never wanted to —he murmured against my nape, pulling out slowly and pushing back in—. I’m going to get mine with you.

—Get yours —I told him, clenching the cushion between my teeth—. Tear my ass up, it’s yours.

He started moving for real. He grabbed my waist and rammed me, first slowly, then with a rhythm that sent my moans climbing up my throat. I slipped a hand between my legs and touched my pussy while he destroyed me from behind, and I felt my own ass tighten around that thick cock every time a surge of pleasure ripped through me. He slapped my ass, yanked my short hair to lift my head, forced me to look back while he fucked me.

—Tell me you’re mine —he panted.

—I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m your bitch —I moaned, and came a third time, this time with his cock buried in my ass and my fingers soaked in my pussy.

He kept me like that until he said he couldn’t hold back anymore, that he was going to come. I asked him to finish where I wanted. He pulled out, I turned around, knelt in front of him on the floor with my mouth open and tongue out. He grabbed his cock and jerked himself fast, aiming at my face. When he came, a thick rope shot across my cheek and forehead, then another landed on my tongue, my lips, my chin, my tits. He emptied himself all over me, grunting. I looked up at him from below, with my glasses smeared with semen, and swallowed every bit that landed in my mouth without shame, with a surrender I’d never had with anyone. Then I cleaned the tip with my tongue, sucking the last drops off him.

—Jesus Christ —he murmured, staring at me like he couldn’t believe it—. Jesus Christ, Camila.

***

That weekend was long and it was ours. We did it on the sofa, in my aunt’s bed, in Carolina’s bed, against the bathroom sink with him behind me pounding while I looked at myself in the mirror, my face twisted with pleasure, in the kitchen at dawn with my dress hiked up to my waist and my tits pressed against the cold marble. I tried on my cousin’s dresses and every time he saw me in one he shoved me against the first piece of furniture he found, ripped off my thong, and shoved it in without preamble, whispering in my ear how much better it looked on me. He filled me with cum so many times I lost count: in my mouth, on my tits, in my ass, in my pussy. I’d never felt so wanted, or so on the edge of something I knew couldn’t last.

On Sunday afternoon, before they came back, we tidied every corner, aired the place out, washed the sheets like two accomplices erasing a scene. When Mateo left, he kissed me differently, quieter, almost like a real goodbye.

Bruno came back that night. He hugged me, asked me about the party, and I told him half a truth. There is a secret that stays with a person forever, that nobody else has to carry, and this one is mine.

Sometimes I run into Mateo at some family lunch, with Carolina on his arm, and we greet each other with the exact courtesy of people who barely know one another. But there’s a one-second look, right before we lower our eyes, that says everything.

One day I’ll tell what happened after with one of his friends. But that’s another confession, and I’m not ready to write it yet.