The Picnic with My Cousin Changed Everything Between Us

Itziar was slender and dark, with dark hair at shoulder length and brown eyes that narrowed when she laughed. She spent the summer holidays at her aunt and uncle’s house in Asturias, and that August afternoon she convinced her cousin Carla to head up into the pine grove for a picnic.

Carla was the physical opposite: blonde, with cheeks that always looked flushed, wide hips, and a generous chest that made her walk with her shoulders slightly thrown back. She was twenty-two, two years older than Itziar, and she treated her with that mixture of affection and authority only extra months on the calendar can grant.

They climbed up a path between ferns to a clearing among tame pines. Carla spread a blue-checkered tablecloth over the dry grass and took from the basket an omelet wrapped in aluminum foil, a loaf of bread, a bottle of soda, and another of red wine. They sat facing each other, legs crossed, and began eating unhurriedly.

—Don’t drink so much wine, it’ll make you dizzy —Carla said when she saw her cousin pour herself a third glass.

—It’s hot.

—It’s hot for all of us, and I’m only on my first glass.

Itziar shrugged and took a long sip. She liked that loose-tongued feeling, that little betrayal alcohol committed against prudence. And that afternoon she needed to betray herself a little.

—Hey, Carla. Have you ever done anything with a girl?

Carla, who was biting into a piece of bread, choked.

—What kind of question is that?

—A normal one. Cousin to cousin.

—Cousin to cousin, nothing. Cousins ask about boyfriends.

—Well, I’m asking about girls.

Carla looked at her over the rim of her glass. She had known Itziar since she was five. They had slept in the same bed every August until they were twelve, had shared swimsuits and secrets. She knew when her cousin was testing the waters and when she was just joking. This wasn’t a joke.

—What’s this about?

—Something happened to me this winter and I never told anyone.

—Fine, out with it. But if it’s really filthy, shut up.

Itziar smiled and settled herself more comfortably. She rested her back against the trunk of the nearest pine and set her wineglass on the grass.

***

—It was in February, at the bus stop on Magallanes Street. I was waiting for the eight o’clock bus and a fine drizzle started to fall. A girl showed up and came under the awning, just a hand’s breadth from me. Tall, dark-skinned, with very long curly hair, and a gray silk dress that clung to her body from the damp. She looked at me. I looked at her. She looked at me again. And then I felt that little flutter in my stomach that you know exactly what it means.

—Don’t tell me that…

—Wait. The bus came, we both got on, paid for the same ride. It was packed. She stood behind me, and when the driver pulled away, I felt her hand at my waist. Not on my hip, not on my ass, on my waist. Like she had every right to be there.

Carla had stopped chewing.

—And what did you do?

—Nothing. I didn’t do anything. And that was the strange part. I started sweating. You could feel the heat of her body through the dress. And then I noticed something else. Something hard against my ass.

—What do you mean, something hard?

—That. Something hard. And hot. And throbbing.

Carla fell silent. She brought the glass to her lips, hesitated, and lowered it without drinking.

—I don’t understand.

—She was a girl with a cock, Carla. Trans. Under that dress she had a huge dick, and it was getting hard pressed up against me.

—Jesus.

—And the craziest part was that I didn’t get off at my stop. I got off at hers. I walked three blocks behind her without saying a word, and when she opened the door to her building, I went in with her.

***

Carla was turned on. She didn’t want it to show, but Itziar could see the signs: her cheeks redder, her chest rising and falling faster, her fingers worrying at a loose thread in the tablecloth.

—And what did you do?

—What you’re imagining. And what you’re not imagining.

—Tell me.

—She undressed me in the entryway. She didn’t kiss me until I was down to my panties. And when she kissed me, she kissed me like she’d been waiting for months. She took me to bed. She sucked my tits, one and then the other, slowly. And then she went down. Carla, I swear to you nobody had ever eaten my cunt like that. She knew exactly when to press with her tongue and when to ease off. When to go back up to the clit and when to come down again. She made me come so hard the neighbor banged on the wall.

—Stop, stop.

—I’m not stopping. Then she took off the dress. And I saw her dick. Dark, thick, much longer than the two I’d seen in my life. And I decided to ask her to cum in my mouth. And she came in my mouth. And I swallowed every bit of it.

Carla grabbed the wine bottle and took a direct swig from the neck. Her hand trembled a little when she set it back down on the grass.

—You’re filthy.

—I am what I am.

***

Itziar got up. She didn’t say a word. She went around the tablecloth until she was behind her cousin, knelt on the grass, and slipped her arms over Carla’s shoulders. She kissed her neck, just below the earlobe, and felt the shiver that ran through Carla from head to toe.

—Stop —Carla said, not moving her head.

—You don’t want me to stop.

—I like men.

—I know. But right now there isn’t a man anywhere.

Itziar slid her hand down Carla’s neckline. Carla was wearing a thin cotton dress with straps, and beneath it only a bra without underwires. When Itziar’s hand brushed her nipple through the fabric, Carla let out the breath she’d been holding for minutes.

—Itziar, we’re cousins.

—I know.

—If this gets out…

—It won’t get out. We’re in a pine grove; there isn’t a soul for miles.

Carla closed her eyes. Itziar’s hand kept moving down, over her belly, brushing the hip bone, slipping under the dress. When her fingers reached the panties, they found them soaking wet.

—Look at you —Itziar murmured against her ear—. You’re shaking with pleasure.

—I can’t help it.

—I don’t want you to help it.

She pulled Carla’s panties down to her thighs and slid two fingers inside. Carla squeezed her knees together, but her body betrayed her: her hips rocked on their own, searching for her cousin’s fingers. Itziar moved her hand calmly, in and out, slowly, letting her cousin get used to the rhythm before speeding up.

—Look at me —she said, turning Carla’s face with her free hand.

Carla opened her eyes. Itziar’s mouth found hers. The kiss was unlike any Carla had ever given: slower, deeper, without the urgency of the boys she knew. When Itziar bit her lower lip, Carla came. She flooded her cousin’s hand with a hot, thick gush that ran down her wrist to her forearm.

***

Itziar withdrew her fingers slowly. She brought them to her mouth without taking her eyes off Carla, and sucked them one by one.

—You taste like red wine.

Carla laughed. A nervous laugh, almost girlish.

—I’m dizzy.

—It’s from pleasure, not the wine.

—Then I’d rather think it was from the wine.

Itziar pulled the straps of Carla’s dress down over her shoulders. The fabric fell to her waist and left her bra exposed. She unclasped the front closure with one hand and Carla’s tits spilled out, large and white, the nipples already hard. Itziar took them in her hands, weighing them, ran her tongue over the pink areolas, and gently bit each nipple.

—Let’s go somewhere else —Itziar said.

—Where?

—There’s a clearing among the bushes, thirty meters away. Not even God can see us there.

—I’m in my panties and barefoot.

—All the better.

***

They crossed a cluster of tall ferns and reached a square of grass hidden behind some brambles. The sun came in at an angle and painted yellow bands across the ground. Itziar finished taking Carla’s dress off and undressed too, unhurriedly, keeping her eyes on her the whole time.

Carla studied her. Itziar was small, with small but firm tits, a dark triangle between her legs, and narrow hips that could fit in two hands. It wasn’t the body of a woman Carla had ever looked at with desire, and yet there she was, discovering that she did.

—Lie down —Itziar said.

Carla lay down on the grass. Itziar spread her legs and knelt between them. She started with a flat tongue, from the perineum up to the clit, in a long, slow motion that made Carla arch her back. She repeated the route three, four times before stopping at the clit and tracing small circles with the tip of her tongue.

—Jesus Christ…

—Quiet.

Itziar took her time. When she felt Carla getting close, she went down to the entrance of the vagina and slipped her tongue inside as far as she could before coming back up again. She pressed her fingers into her ass to keep her still when she started moving too much, and put her whole mouth on the clit with a gentle, steady suction.

Carla came with a long, sharp cry that sent a couple of birds flying from the nearest pine. She grabbed her cousin’s hair with both hands and shoved her face against her cunt, not really knowing whether she wanted her to stop or keep going. Itziar swallowed everything that flooded into her mouth and kept licking until Carla pushed her away with a weak slap.

—Stop, stop, I can’t take any more.

Itziar sat up. Her chin was shining. She smiled.

—Now it’s my turn.

***

Carla tried to do what her cousin had done to her, but she lacked the calm. When she ran her tongue over Itziar’s sex for the first time, her cousin was already on the edge. It only took three long licks to make her come, clutching handfuls of grass with both hands and letting out a whimper that got trapped in her throat.

They lay there for a while, panting, looking up at the scraps of sky between the pines. Carla broke the silence first.

—Don’t tell anyone this.

—Who would I tell?

—That trans girlfriend of yours.

Itziar laughed, and Carla laughed too. Later they got dressed, packed up the tablecloth, and walked back down the path as if they’d only gone up for a snack.

Back in the car, Carla turned on the radio. Itziar rested her hand on her thigh. Carla didn’t move it away.