The Confession I Never Made to Anyone Until Today

I never told anyone. Not my best friend from school, the one I share all my secrets with, not my boyfriend from back then, and much less anyone in my family. I’ve been carrying this around for years, and the only way I could think of to get it out of me was to write it somewhere nobody knows who I am. So here it is, no filters and no makeup.

I was twenty that summer. My cousin Carolina was two years older than me, and I had always admired her for that mix of boldness and sweetness that I lacked. She moved through the world with a confidence that made me a little envious and a little fascinated. I, on the other hand, still blushed when a guy looked at me for too long on the bus.

That January, my aunt and uncle went away on a trip and invited me to spend two weeks with Carolina at the country house they had on the outskirts of town. I accepted without thinking. I wanted sun, the pool, to read a couple of books and, above all, to get away from college for a while. What I didn’t know was that my cousin already had other plans for me.

The first day was normal. Pool, mate on the porch, a long nap after lunch. But the second day was brutally hot. The kind of heat where clothes stick to your skin and you end up walking around the house in as little as possible. I had put on an old T-shirt and panties, nothing else, and flopped onto the big bed in the main bedroom to read.

Carolina walked in without knocking. She had just come out of the shower, wrapped in a towel, with her hair still wet and smelling like coconut. She lay down beside me as if nothing were happening and started reading over my shoulder.

“What’s it about?” she asked.

“A girl who falls in love with her sister’s husband.”

“Oh, really.” She smiled in a way I didn’t understand at the time.

She started stroking my arm, slowly, with the tips of her fingers. I didn’t say anything. I thought it was one of those things cousins do and nothing more. Then her hand went to my neck, then down my back, then stopped at my waist. I still had the book open, but I wasn’t reading anymore. I was focused on every one of her fingers.

“Does that bother you?” she whispered in my ear.

“No,” I said, and my own voice surprised me by how low it sounded.

What happened next was something I had never once imagined in my life. Carolina turned me over on the bed, kissed me on the mouth, and I kissed her back. It wasn’t a cousin’s kiss, it was a woman’s kiss. Long, with tongue, with a hunger I didn’t know I had and that she clearly already knew well. She held my face with one hand and with the other squeezed my hip, as if she wanted to mark the exact place where I was going to come apart.

She pulled off my T-shirt with such ease that now, looking back, it makes me think she had rehearsed it a thousand times in her head. She kissed my breasts, first over the fabric already bunched up, then directly on the skin, licking my nipples until they were hard and sensitive. She moved down over my stomach, slipped her tongue into my belly button, bit my waist softly, and kept going down as if she were exploring me from memory. When she reached between my legs, I was already wet in a way I was embarrassed to admit. She laughed softly, almost in celebration, and spread my thighs with wicked patience.

She pulled my panties aside and buried her mouth in my cunt without another warning, her tongue working slowly at first, then firmer, pushing into the place where I was trembling and then pulling back to start again. She held my hips so I wouldn’t move, but every time I squirmed she gripped me harder, and that made me feel even more exposed. There was nothing sisterly or gentle about it: she was devouring me alive. She sucked my clit, licked my whole opening, fucked me with her mouth with a precision no guy had ever given me until then.

“Like that, like that...” she murmured against my skin, and the brush of her voice made me jerk back in pure shock.

I came fast, too fast, with my legs tense and a violent heat rising through my belly and leaving me trembling from head to toe. I begged her to stop between gasps, but she didn’t. She held my orgasm in her mouth a little longer until my body felt turned inside out and I didn’t even know how to breathe anymore. Then she lifted her face, her mouth wet and shining, and looked at me as if she were proud to have ripped that out of me.

“We’re not done yet,” she told me, and I looked at her without understanding.

What came after was a succession of hands, tongue, and chaos that left me defenseless. She turned me over on the bed, spread my legs with both hands, and kissed my cunt again, slower this time, as if savoring me. She slid in two fingers, then three, moving them inside with a firmness that made me arch my back. Every time she found that exact spot, I let out a choked moan and she smiled against my skin. She had me wet, open, and ready to break again.

Then I realized she wasn’t improvising anything. Everything about her was calculation and hunger.

When she finally pulled away, she sat up, opened the drawer of her bedside table, and took out a harness. I had never seen one up close before. It was black, with straps, and had a piece that looked like it had come out of a movie. She held it without embarrassment, like it was a hairbrush.

“Want to try?” she said.

“I don’t know...” I hesitated.

“Trust me.”

And I trusted her. That became the key phrase of the whole summer: trust. Every time I hesitated, Carolina said that same sentence, and I gave in.

She put on the harness and lay back. She made me climb on top. The first time I felt something like that inside me, with her looking up at me from below, it felt like one of those scenes you accidentally see online and think you’ll never live. But there it was. I moved slowly, then harder, then to the rhythm she set with her hands on my hips. The friction of the harness filled me with a thick, deep, brutal sensation, and each thrust tore a louder moan from me than the last. I came again, this time with a choked scream that bounced off the concrete walls of the house.

Carolina sat up just enough to lick my mouth, as if she wanted me to swallow my own arousal. Then she made me turn over. She put me on all fours on the bed, spread my ass cheeks, and started touching a place where no one had ever been before. I told her no. She told me to trust her. She found a tube of lubricant in the drawer, and with patience, with so much patience, she got me used to it. First one finger, then two, then the insistent pressure of her hand while she spoke in my ear with that calm of hers that undid me completely. At first it hurt. I complained. I asked her to stop twice. But something, at some point, changed. The pain stopped being pain and turned into something else, a strange sensation, intense, unlike anything I knew. When I realized it, I was already pushing back to take her in better.

“Good girl,” she whispered in my ear, and that phrase made me come again.

Then she left me sprawled face-down, breathing in broken gasps, while she stroked my back as if nothing had happened. She kissed me between the shoulder blades, bit my shoulder, and came back down my body with the same devotion as before. It was an unbearable mix of tenderness and filth, of pampering and cruelty, and I was too far gone to tell which part I liked more. I only knew I wanted more. So much more. I wanted her to keep opening me, dirtying me, pushing me beyond any modesty I had had until that day.

That night we had dinner together, in silence, on a salad neither of us finished. I couldn’t look her in the eye without blushing. Every now and then she laughed, as if she knew something I still didn’t quite understand.

The next day, after breakfast, she did the same thing to me. The bed again, the harness again, the patience again. She woke me with her hand between my legs, rubbing slowly until I was moaning into the pillow. Then she made me suck her fingers so I could taste myself on her skin, and she made fun of the face I pulled when she ordered me to open my mouth a little wider. After that she had me ride her until my legs were shaking, and when she was sure I couldn’t think anymore, she turned me over again and plunged me into anal pleasure with an almost clinical routine, as if she were truly training me for something.

“Tomorrow some friends are coming,” she told me while brushing my hair late that afternoon on the porch. “Diego and Tomás. Do you remember Diego?”

“Yeah, I saw him once at your mom’s place.”

“Tomás is new, you’re going to like him. He’s skinny, tall, quiet. He has these killer green eyes.”

“And what are we doing?”

“Whatever we feel like. I’m staying with Diego. You do whatever you want with Tomás.”

She said it like someone planning a grocery run. I laughed, nervous, and told her no way. That I had just met him, that I wasn’t that kind of girl. Carolina squeezed my hand and answered:

“You are whatever you want to be. One night, that’s all. And if you don’t like it, you go back to your room and that’s that.”

I trusted her again. And now that I’m writing it, I realize how easy it was for her to convince me.

***

Diego and Tomás arrived a little after eleven. They brought two bottles of red wine and a tray of empanadas left over from some birthday party. We sat in the living room, which had a long couch and a sofa across from it. The light was yellow, warm, and the music Carolina put on gradually shifted from an upbeat band to something slower and stickier.

We were both wearing short skirts and T-shirts. I also had on panties I had chosen with more care than I’m willing to admit. Carolina, sometime between the second and third glass, sat on Diego’s lap and started kissing his neck. I stayed on the sofa with Tomás, not knowing what to do with my hands.

“Are you uncomfortable?” he asked me quietly.

“A little,” I admitted.

“If you want, I’ll go.”

That sentence undid me. I wasn’t expecting a guy, at that point in the night, to offer to leave. I looked at him, and then I finally dared. I kissed him first. Tomás was startled for a second and then kissed me back with a calm I had never felt in a first encounter.

While we kissed, I listened to my cousin’s moans on the other side of the room. I couldn’t see her, but I could hear her, and that sparked something in my head I didn’t even know existed. Tomás stroked my thigh slowly, without rushing, and I spread my legs a little more without wanting to admit I was doing it on purpose.

He kissed my neck. Went down. Took off my T-shirt. Took off my skirt. When he knelt on the floor and kissed me over my panties, I grabbed the back of the sofa and looked at the ceiling. I thought: tonight I’m someone else. And the idea, instead of scaring me, set me free.

Tomás took off his clothes. I looked at him without hiding it. I took his hand, pulled him up onto the sofa, and sat on top of him. I found him, guided him, and lowered myself slowly. When I had him inside me, I looked over at the couch. Carolina was on top of Diego, moving, her head thrown back and a grin from ear to ear. She caught my eye and winked at me.

Then Tomás grabbed my hips and started moving me on top of him with a firmness that threw me off rhythm instantly. I tried to keep up, but every time he pushed a little harder I let out a new moan, louder, dirtier, and I felt myself getting wetter and wetter, more open, more needy. His hands squeezed my thighs, lifted me and dropped me back down onto his cock in a cadence that drove me crazy. I dug my nails into his shoulders. He kissed my mouth, then my neck, then my breasts, and kept thrusting without losing his calm.

Carolina, from the couch, was laughing softly. Diego was sucking her nipples and she was tugging his hair. The whole living room smelled like wine, sweat, and hot skin. I felt Tomás’s body beneath me, the exact hardness inside me, the slap of his pelvis against mine, and I couldn’t stop looking at my cousin because seeing her so unleashed excited me almost as much as what was happening to me. Somehow everything was connected: the bed, the harness, Carolina’s mouth between my legs, Tomás’s hands gripping my waist, the silent command to keep going.

“Like that, don’t stop,” I told Tomás, surprised by my own voice.

“You like it this hard?” he answered, breathing in short bursts.

“Yes. Harder.”

And he gave me more. He lifted me just a little off the sofa and slammed me back down onto him with a dry thrust that tore a long, almost obscene moan from me. I felt myself about to come again, this time slower, deeper, my body tightening from the inside out. When Carolina came over to us, I was already completely lost.

She was naked, her skin shining with heat and sweat, and she knelt beside the sofa. She started kissing my back, my shoulders, my nape. She touched my breasts from behind while I stayed on top of Tomás. It was an incredibly strange situation and, at the same time, the most natural thing in the world. My cousin, a stranger, and me. And I didn’t want it to stop.

Then I felt other hands. Diego’s. And that’s when I understood everything.

I reflexively tried to get down, but Carolina grabbed my face and kissed me. She kissed me hard, deep, with an intensity that cut off my instinct to run. While she kissed me, I heard Diego open a wrapper. I felt his hands at my waist. I felt the cold lubricant in a place my cousin had been preparing for two days. Tomás didn’t move away; on the contrary, he held me steady, opened me a little wider, and kept moving, holding my body so I wouldn’t fall off that wave.

“Trust me,” Carolina whispered in my ear.

And I trusted her again.

I’m not going to go into details of every move, because there are things I’d rather keep to myself. But I can say this: I have never in my life felt anything like it. Being between two bodies at once, with my cousin kissing my mouth, with Tomás below, with Diego behind, was an experience that split me in two. I felt Tomás’s cock going in and out with delicious firmness while Diego opened me from behind with a slowness that drove me insane, and between both rhythms I had no choice but to let myself go. My hands clung to the sofa, then to Carolina’s shoulders, then to Diego’s hair, and everything was heat, friction, broken breathing, and moans I didn’t even recognize as mine.

I don’t know how long we stayed like that. I don’t know how many times I came. I know that at some point I stopped thinking and just existed. That my screams were probably heard all the way to the other end of town. That I felt the two of them, almost at the same time, finish. That when everything stopped, I ended up sprawled across Tomás’s chest, unable to speak, with Carolina stroking my hair like I was a little girl just fallen asleep. My legs were spread, my body still jolted by spasms, and my skin was so sensitive that even the air brushed against me in a way that almost hurt.

***

The guys left around five in the morning, without any fuss. Tomás kissed me on the forehead before he went, as if we’d been together for years. Diego left Carolina his address written on a folded piece of paper. Neither of them ever came back to the house.

Carolina and I lay down together in the big bed, holding each other, without talking, until the sun started coming in through the shutter. The next morning, while we were drinking coffee in the kitchen, she confessed everything. That she had planned it from the first day of my vacation. That she had been training me on purpose so my body wouldn’t work against me that night. That she had told Diego and Tomás what each of their roles would be. That it had been an old fantasy of hers and that with me, for some reason, she had felt she could seriously propose it.

I got angry. I shouted at her. I told her she was out of line, how could she even think of that, I wasn’t some experiment. Carolina let me talk without interrupting. When I was done, she asked me only one thing.

“Do you regret it?”

And after thinking about it for several seconds, I had to tell her the truth. I didn’t regret it. I was angry about the manipulation, yes. But that night had been one of the most intense of my life, and lying to myself wasn’t going to change the fact that, in a certain way, I had enjoyed every minute of it.

Several years have passed since then. Carolina and I have stayed close, although we never spoke about it seriously again. Sometimes, at some family dinner, she catches my eye and smiles in that way only I understand. And I smile back, too, knowing that we carry a secret no other relative, no partner, no friend will ever know.

Until today, of course. When I decided to write it here.