My Cousin Lorena and the Nap That Changed Everything

There are memories that stick to the mind with a strange, almost insolent clarity. Mine begins on an afternoon in March, at my grandmother’s house, with my cousin Lorena sitting on top of me on the living-room sofa and the gray pleated skirt of her school uniform hiked up to mid-waist.

I was nineteen when it happened. She was about to finish high school, and I had turned nineteen only a few weeks earlier. We weren’t kids, but we hadn’t quite stopped being them either. We had grown up together, almost like siblings: four families under the same roof during vacations, shared birthdays, ridiculous fights over the remote control. Lorena was just another face among the many that populated my childhood, until she wasn’t.

My sex education had been the typical one for boys of that generation. Magazines hidden in my father’s closet, yellowed photo-novels that passed from hand to hand, some old movie on BETA format that an older cousin brought back like a trophy. There was also a thick medical book that drew the reproductive organs with arrows and names in Latin, and that among the men in the family functioned as a kind of sacred manual. With the neighborhood girls there had been awkward groping in the dark of some hallway, quick kisses, a hand that ventured beneath a T-shirt, and a finger that managed to brush a nipple over the bra. Nothing more than that. I had never fucked. I had never had a real cunt in front of my face.

My cousins, up to that point, weren’t part of the equation. They were family. They were sacred. Or that’s what I thought.

Lorena, however, had started catching my attention little by little, almost without my noticing. She was slim, with light brown skin, an upturned nose, and a lock of hair that fell over her left eye when she turned her head. She had that kind of beauty that goes unnoticed until one day, without warning, it hits you full in the face. And it had started hitting me over the last few weeks. Every time she bent down to tie her sneakers and her shirt opened a little, every time she sat cross-legged and her skirt rode up an extra inch, I’d eat her up with my eyes and then hate myself for a while afterward.

That afternoon we were alone in Grandma’s house. I don’t remember exactly why. A get-together everyone else had gone to, a class that had been canceled, some distant birthday. The truth is she had come straight from school, still wearing her uniform: gray plaid skirt above the knee, white shirt wrinkled from the day, blue sweater tied around her waist, and white three-quarter socks. I was stretched out on the sofa watching something on TV that I wasn’t even really paying attention to.

She started teasing me about Soledad, a girl from the neighborhood I’d been flirting with for weeks.

—So? When are you going to talk to Sole seriously? —she asked, sitting on the armrest of the sofa—. Better not. That girl goes around with everybody.

—She doesn’t go around with everybody.

—She goes around with everybody —she repeated, and laughed with that slightly nasal laugh she’d had since she was little—. The whole neighborhood says so. They say she’ll suck off anyone behind the club.

—And you too, apparently.

I threw a cushion at her without much force. She dodged it and, instead of throwing it back, flung herself on top of me to tickle me. It was something we’d done since we were kids, an inherited habit that had never meant anything. She dug her fingers into my ribs, my neck, my sides. I squirmed and tried to push her away, laughing more from reflex than because it was funny.

But that afternoon something shifted.

She had me pinned beneath her, one knee on each side of my hips. Her skirt had ridden all the way up to her waist and I could see her white cotton panties stretched tight between her brown thighs. I felt, without meaning to, the heat of her crotch against the fly of my jeans, right over my cock that was already starting to swell traitorously. My hands, in trying to stop her, grabbed her hips. And they stayed there longer than they should have. My fingers drifted downward on their own, to the base of her ass, and she felt it. She also felt that down there, against her panties, my cock had finished getting hard.

Lorena stopped tickling me. She looked down at me with an expression I had never seen on her before. It wasn’t a girl’s look, it wasn’t a cousin’s look. It was something else. Her small breasts pressed under the white shirt of her uniform and rose and fell with short breaths. Without realizing it, or realizing it perfectly well, she made a movement with her pelvis, a tiny sway, and her hot cunt rubbed lightly against the hard bulge in my jeans.

—Stop —I told her, but my voice came out strangely.

—Stop what?

She moved again. This time with more intent. She pushed her hips forward and back, riding me slowly over our clothes, unhurried, looking me in the eyes as if daring me to tell her enough. I didn’t tell her enough. I gripped her hips with both hands and helped her move. I felt how, through the cotton of her panties, something grew warm, then hot, then wet.

I didn’t know what to answer. She didn’t stop either.

***

What came next was as clumsy as it was inevitable.

She slid her fingers up my chest slowly, as if testing whether I was going to push her away. I didn’t. I leaned forward and kissed her. It was a badly aimed kiss: I bumped her cheekbone with my nose and she laughed against my mouth. We tried again, better this time. We devoured each other’s mouths hungrily, trading tongues, biting each other’s lips like we’d been saving that kiss since childhood.

I tasted the mint gum she’d been chewing all day. I felt her tongue, hesitant at first, daring to touch mine, then to push against it, then to suck on my lips like a desperate little slut. My hands, still on her hips, started moving. They went to her waist, then climbed her back under the shirt, found the cheap bra of the uniform. I unclasped it with two fingers and freed her tits. Small, firm, with the nipples standing hard as pits. When I ran my thumb over the bare nipple, she shivered all over, threw her head back, and pulled away abruptly.

—I have to go to the bathroom —she said, and got up.

She didn’t go to the bathroom. She crossed the hallway and went into my Aunt Mónica’s room, the back room, the one nobody used because my aunt lived in another city and only showed up twice a year. She closed the door without locking it.

I stayed seated on the sofa for a few minutes. My heart was pounding against my ribs with a force that was almost scary. My cock was so swollen it pushed painfully against my jeans, bent off to one side. I didn’t know whether to stay still and wait for it to calm down or follow her.

I followed her.

I pushed open the bedroom door and found her lying face down on my aunt’s bed, her face buried in the pillow. Her skirt had ridden up a little and I could see the top of her thigh, where the three-quarter sock ended in a worn white elastic band. She didn’t move when I came in. I thought she was asleep. Then I thought she was angry. Then I thought she was waiting for me, with her ass lifted just a little, offering herself without daring to ask.

—Lore —I said softly.

No answer.

I sat on the edge of the bed and rested my hand on her calf. Just a touch. I waited. She didn’t move, but her breathing changed, becoming a little faster. I slid my hand upward, slowly. Over the back of her knee, her thigh, under the hem of her skirt. I was starting to touch warm skin when she, still without turning over, let out a short sigh against the pillow and spread her legs just a little.

That was all I needed.

I lifted her skirt all the way up, to the waist. She had white cotton panties on, the kind you buy three at a time in a bag at any neighborhood notions shop. Wet through the middle, with a large dark stain where the cotton clung to her cunt. The mark of her desire, there, in front of me, impossible to disguise. You could see the outline of her lips pressed against the soaked fabric. I started trembling as if I were the one in the uniform.

I pulled her panties down to her knees. She lifted her hips slightly to help me. No words. No looking at me. As if putting words to it would break everything. The panties stayed stretched between her knees, with a string of fluid hanging from the cotton, and for the first time in my life I had a real cunt in front of me. My cousin’s cunt. Pink, shining wet, with a little dark, neat hair at the pubis, the lips barely parted from having her like that, face down, with her ass a little raised.

***

I had read a lot about what was in front of me. In my father’s big medical book, in the footnotes of old magazines, in whispered conversations with my male cousins after football. I knew, in theory, where everything was, what she was supposed to feel, which points were worth touching. But reading about it wasn’t doing it, and suddenly I realized that all that encyclopedia I thought I had at my command was useless when what I had in front of me was Lorena’s actual body, Lorena’s actual cunt, dripping and waiting for me.

I ran my tongue along her thigh, slowly, moving upward. She shuddered. She lifted her hips another inch, offering herself without daring to admit it. When I got between her legs and smelled that scent of clean skin and something else, acidic and sweet, a female smell I had never smelled before, I knew there was no going back.

I kissed her there. At first like I’d kissed her mouth, clumsily, with my lips closed. Then, reading what her body gave back to me, I opened my mouth and ran my tongue the length of her slit, from bottom to top, from the entrance of her cunt to the clit. She bit the pillow so she wouldn’t make a sound and her whole body jolted. I repeated the motion once, twice, three times, slower each time, tasting her. The fluid had a strange taste, half salty, half metallic, and I swallowed it without disgust, hungrily.

I parted her cunt lips with two fingers and searched for her clit with the tip of my tongue. It was hard, swollen, just barely peeking out from under the hood. I sucked it slowly, the way I’d read it should be done, taking it in with my whole mouth, drawing it gently against my tongue. Lorena let out a muffled moan and pressed my head against her cunt with both hands. Now she was the one squeezing me. Now she was the one wordlessly asking me not to let up.

The house was empty, but we both knew that at any moment someone could walk in through the front door, and that fear, far from stopping us, only pressed us harder against each other. I slid one finger into her cunt, slowly, halfway, and she clenched around it with a strength I hadn’t expected. She was tight, small, soaked. I pushed the finger in and out while I kept sucking her clit. Then I put in two. She arched her back, buried her face deeper in the pillow, and matched the movement with her hips, rising and falling against my face, riding my mouth without shame.

—Don’t stop —she murmured into the pillow, the first clear thing she said all afternoon—. Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.

Her hands searched for my head and held me against her. She wasn’t pushing me, wasn’t pulling me. She was holding me as if afraid I might decide to stop. I wasn’t going to stop. Even if the whole house went up in flames, I wasn’t going to stop.

I stayed like that for who knows how long. Five minutes, ten, a whole hour. Time had stopped working the way it worked for the rest of the world. I sucked her clit until her whole body trembled, fingered her in and out until her cunt made that wet, obscene sound of being soaked. When Lorena tensed, lifted her hips off the mattress, squeezed her legs against my head, and let out a long, muffled sound into the pillow, I felt her cunt clench in spasms around my fingers, felt the fluid run hot over my hand, felt her clit pulse against my tongue. She came with a force that surprised me, shaking all over, crushing my head so hard between her thighs that for a second I thought I was going to suffocate there, between my cousin’s legs.

I knew something had gone right. But I also knew something had ended.

Because after that long shudder she went still. Limp. As if she had emptied herself of something. And I, still breathing hard, my mouth soaked with her and my jeans painfully pressing against my cock, didn’t know what to do.

—Lore —I murmured.

—Go away —she answered into the pillow—. Please.

She didn’t shoo me off angrily. She said it almost shyly, as if she needed to be alone to understand what had just happened between us. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. I stood up. I adjusted the bulge in my jeans with hands that weren’t responding to me. I left the room, closed the door slowly, and crossed my grandmother’s house in silence. I grabbed my backpack and the notes I’d left on the table and walked home through the empty streets of that March siesta, with the taste of my cousin’s cunt still in my mouth.

***

I got to my room, locked the door, and threw myself onto the bed on my back. I could hardly believe what had just happened. I replayed it three times, four, five, every detail: her smile over mine, the cheap bra under her shirt, the wet white panties, the taste of her cunt, the hand holding my head against her clit. I yanked down my jeans and underwear in one pull. My cock was so hard it hurt. I spit into my right hand, the one that still smelled like her, and grabbed myself in the middle.

I started jerking off with my hand full of saliva and Lorena’s fluid. I closed my eyes and imagined her again face down on my aunt’s bed, ass lifted and cunt open waiting for me, with the white panties hanging between her knees. I imagined burying it all the way in, fucking her the way I hadn’t dared fuck her that afternoon. The head of my cock went purple, swollen. It only took a few strokes. I came with a long spasm that shook my legs, shooting thick ropes of jizz over my stomach, my chest, my hand. I finished thinking about Lorena, the uniform, my Aunt Mónica’s room, the whole afternoon.

This can never happen again, I thought afterward, while wiping the cum off with an old towel. This stays here.

I was wrong.

The days that followed I expected Lorena to ignore me, to show up with a hard face at some family meal, to stop talking to me. I deserved it. I had taken advantage, I thought, even though deep down I knew that wasn’t how it had been, that she had lifted her hips on her own, spread her legs on her own, pressed my head against her cunt on her own, that she had been just as much a part of it as I had.

But the following Saturday she called me on the phone.

—Are you alone at your house? —she asked.

—Yes.

—I’m coming over.

She hung up before I could answer. Twenty minutes later she rang the bell. She had a backpack over her shoulder, as if she’d come from school, even though it was Saturday and there were no classes. Inside the backpack, she later confessed to me between laughs with my cock still inside her, she had brought two condoms she’d taken from my Uncle Daniel’s drawer.

And there, in my room, with the door locked and the radio turned up full blast to cover the sounds, I finished crossing the border that afternoon at Grandma’s house had only half crossed. That afternoon I put my cock in her for the first time, and she sucked me for the first time, and I fucked her on my knees against the edge of the bed with her uniform skirt still on and her tits out of her shirt. But that, what happened that Saturday afternoon and every afternoon after that, is a story for another tale.