I Bathed My Blind Sister and Everything Changed That Night

We got back from the hospital after four in the afternoon. The doctor who had treated Lucía had been kinder than was reasonable: she congratulated me three times for taking care of her, called me “the best brother in the world” with a smile that lingered on my mouth too long, and before we left, wrote her number on the back of a prescription and handed it to me. “In case any questions come up about the rehab,” she said. I put it in my wallet without thinking much about it.

Lucía thought about it.

Even though the casts were off now, my sister was still moving with the careful slowness of someone learning to trust her own body again. She hadn’t seen any of that exchange, of course. But she had heard it all. And during the taxi ride, sitting beside me and holding onto my arm, she kept tightening the silence until it was almost something you could touch.

When I closed the apartment door, she still didn’t let go. I walked her to the sofa. I thought she was going to chew me out about the hospital. She didn’t. She took a breath, lowered her head, and said in that tiny voice she used whenever she wanted to ask me for something difficult:

—Mateo… can you bathe me? Like always.

I stopped halfway there. I knew this moment was coming. I hadn’t expected it so soon.

—Lucía… they already took the casts off —I answered as gently as I could—. You can do it yourself now. You just have to walk slowly so you don’t slip.

She lowered her head even more. Her left ear burned red, like always when she was embarrassed.

—I know. But I’m still scared. If I fall, I won’t be able to get up and I can’t see where anything is. Just stay in the bathroom at least. Keep watch. You don’t have to get in. If you want, you can stay dressed by the door.

I sighed. I didn’t know how to say no.

—All right. I’ll take you and keep watch. But you’re the one bathing.

I led her into the bathroom and turned on the shower. I adjusted the temperature the way I always did: warm, almost hot, the way it had been when she was little and would burn herself if I got distracted. Lucía took off her clothes with those still slightly clumsy movements she had, and stepped under the water. I leaned against the sink, fully dressed, arms crossed, looking at the ceiling tiles and not at her. That’s what I told myself.

For the first few minutes, everything was normal. She soaped her neck, her arms, her legs, with that new concentration she had for everything now. I was thinking about work, about the doctor’s prescription, about whether dinner would be enough. I was trying.

Then she turned around.

She braced her back against the shower screen and rubbed herself very slowly, as if she needed to soap up better in a spot she couldn’t see. Her ass ended up flattened against the glass, two white crescents separated by a deep line that opened and closed with every movement, leaving a fogged mark that dissolved in the steam. She didn’t say anything. She just moved. She slid her soapy hand between her thighs, very slowly, and from where I was I could clearly see how she stroked her cunt with the pads of her fingers, parting the lips, lingering longer than necessary on the spot where she knew I was looking at her.

—Lucía. Are you okay?

—Yes —she answered, her voice coming out a little low—. I just… can’t reach my back.

I swallowed. She knew perfectly well that in any previous bath I’d pass her the soap with a long sponge. Today I hadn’t taken the sponge. I’d left it hanging on the hook, far from her hand. On purpose.

—I’ll pass it to you.

—No. You pass it. Please.

I rolled my shirt sleeves up to my elbows, opened the screen just enough, and stepped in with the sponge. The water soaked through my pants as soon as I crossed into the steam. I soaped her back, her shoulders, the nape of her neck. I tried to be quick, almost clinical, like I was washing a patient. Without warning, she turned and pressed herself against me. Wet skin against my now transparent shirt. Her tits, much bigger than I ever allowed myself to notice out of the corner of my eye, flattened against my chest, and her hard nipples pierced the fabric like two hot pebbles. Her ass settled against my crotch with a precision that could not have been accidental, and she started rubbing herself there, slowly, feeling my cock begin to swell under my wet pants.

—I heard you with that woman at the hospital —she murmured—. You smiled at her too much.

—Lucía, it was just a conversation.

—I’ve never heard you laugh like that with anyone else.

I was going to answer. I didn’t get the chance. She started grinding against me, soft at first, then with more intent. I felt the exact pressure of her hips, the heat of the water, the clumsy but firm way her left hand found mine and guided it to her stomach, and from there, without letting go, farther down, until my fingers brushed the wet hair on her pubes. I heard her let out a deep gasp when my palm accidentally covered her whole cunt.

—Lucía… stop —I said, not moving.

—Just tell me you’re going to call me if you need anything. Not her.

—This isn’t that. This is something else.

—I just want to be sure.

Her right hand slipped back, found my belt, moved downward. It felt over my wet pants until it found the hard bulge, and squeezed it with her open palm, measuring it, learning it. I pressed myself back against the tiles and the water kept falling over both of us. I wanted to pull away. I wanted to and I didn’t. When her fingers closed around my cock over the soaked fabric, my body responded before my head could object. She smiled against my shirt when she felt me go completely hard under her palm, throbbing, pushing upward.

—It’s huge —she whispered, almost to herself, with a childlike surprise that went straight through me—. I didn’t know it was like that.

—Lucía, no —I repeated, this time in a whisper I didn’t even believe—. This is a line we can’t cross.

She knelt down inside the shower, water falling over her head. She couldn’t see me. She didn’t need to. She pulled my soaked pants down just enough, tugged my underwear down, and my cock sprang hard in front of her face, bumping her cheek. She flinched for a second at the blow, let out a tiny laugh, and found it again by touch until her fist closed around the base. She gripped me with the same stubborn firmness she’d always used to get whatever she set her mind on since she was a little girl. She began to move slowly, exploring, measuring the effect of each change in rhythm on my breathing, sliding her fist up and down my full length, pausing at the glans to knead it with her open palm, feeling how it slipped under water, soap, and the clear fluid already leaking from the tip.

—Like this? —she asked softly—. Harder? Slower?

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

Stop. Move her hand away. Get out of here.

I didn’t do any of that. I put my hand on her wet shoulder and stayed still, teeth clenched, while she learned how to jerk me off. She sped up her fist. Then loosened it. Then squeezed again. I heard the wet slapping sound of her hand going up and down my cock, the obscene noise blending with the water. She brought her face closer, curious, and all at once I felt her warm breath and then the tip of her tongue brushing the head, timidly, testing. I let out a guttural groan I couldn’t suppress. She took it as permission. She parted her lips and took the glans into her mouth, only the tip, sucking very softly, not knowing what to do, while her fist kept working the base. When I came, I did it against my will and at the same time with unbearable relief. I filled her mouth with the first spurt, making her cough, and when I pulled out, the following ones landed on her: some on her cheek, some in the hollow of her neck, some hanging from her lower lip. She stayed very still, startled, eyes shut as always, bringing a hand to her face to touch what she couldn’t see, feeling the thick semen between her fingers.

—This… is this what happens to men?

I turned off the shower. My voice wouldn’t come.

—Lucía —I said after a long few seconds—. With any man, if you touch him like that, this happens. It’s a bodily reaction. Even if he’s your brother. The body doesn’t understand family. It reacts. And it happens to you too.

—Nothing happens to me.

I took her hand. I guided it carefully over her own stomach, through the wet hair, until I parted the lips of her cunt and brought her middle finger to her clit. I heard her let out a sharp gasp, almost in surprise, as soon as I brushed the exact spot. It was swollen, slick, and not just because of the water.

—See?

—Mateo…

—You touched me. I didn’t want to. But I’m going to explain it so you understand what we’re doing, and so you understand too that this can’t be repeated.

I moved her fingers, slowly, mine over hers, teaching her to rub in circles over the clit. I spread her cunt lips a little wider with my other hand, and with my middle finger I slipped inside her slowly, up to the second knuckle, feeling how tightly, hotly, she closed around it. She pressed herself against my chest and stopped protesting. I spoke into her ear while I taught her to masturbate, telling her the exact pressure, the rhythm, how to breathe. I added a second finger, then started moving them in and out, curling them, searching for that spongey spot up top that made her jerk the first time I brushed it. She began panting with her mouth open, letting water flow in and out. When she came, her cunt clenched around my fingers in a series of short, sharp contractions that left her trembling against me, face buried in my wet shirt and breath broken, and I felt a warm, thick rush slide over my wrist.

I dried her off. I wrapped her in the biggest towel I could find. I took her to the bedroom. I talked to her the way you talk to a little girl who has fallen off her bike and needs to be told it’s all right now. I kept repeating, while I buttoned up her nightgown, that it had been an accident. That the bathroom door would stay closed from that moment on. That we were never going to talk about it again.

She nodded. I believed it that night.

***

We held out until Saturday.

That afternoon the hospital doctor called my cell to confirm a follow-up appointment. I answered from the sofa. I kept the conversation short and hung up fast. When I did, Lucía was sitting on the other end, attentive to every word, with the hearing of someone who has spent months reading the world only through sound.

—Let’s go to bed —she said, not lifting her head—. I want to rest.

I thought she was just tired from the afternoon. I walked her there. I lay down beside her on top of the bedspread, pants still on, ready to stay five minutes and then go back to the couch. She turned her back to me and curled against me, the way she used to when she was little and needed to fall asleep. And then, without warning, she pushed her hips back. Her ass, barely covered by the thin fabric of the nightgown, settled right against my fly and started rubbing in slow circles.

—Lucía. We already bathed today.

—It’s not that big a deal.

She kept going. Slowly at first, then faster. I grabbed her hips to stop her and she used the opening to grind her ass harder against me, searching for my cock over my pants. My body, traitorous, was already reacting again, swelling against the fabric until it stood out completely. She noticed. Of course she noticed. She laughed very softly and pressed herself harder.

—Mateo —she whispered—. Don’t get mad at me.

—I’m not mad. I’m trying not to hurt you.

—You won’t if I ask you to.

She sat up. With her back to me, she sat directly on top of me, not penetrating me, settling her bare ass against my cock separated only by the pants—she had pulled the nightgown up to her waist without my seeing her do it. She reached back, found me over the fabric, and did the same thing she had in the shower. But this time with the confidence of someone who already knew which button to press. She lowered the zipper on her own, at an unbearable pace, and pulled my cock out of my briefs by tugging it forward. When her hand closed around me again, it was no longer the clumsiness of the first day. It was a determined stroke, a firm fist moving up and down at a rhythm she had already memorized. She spat into her palm to lubricate better and kept going, and the wet smack of her hand sliding over my cock filled the whole room.

—Lucía… please… this is too much —I groaned, sinking my fingers into her hips.

She didn’t stop. She sped up. She started moving her naked ass over my thighs at the same time, rubbing the damp line against the base of my cock every time she brought her hand up to the tip, trapping me between her cheeks and her palm. Her breathing rose with mine. I felt her other hand slip between her own legs, heard perfectly the wet splashing of her fingers rubbing her cunt while she jerked me off, and that sound finished breaking me. When I came for the second time in a few days, I did it in hot spurts over her back, over her ass, over her own hand, hanging in long threads that slid down her waist. She stayed very still on top of me, feeling it fall between her shoulders, silent, and it seemed to me that she was smiling.

—This can’t happen again —I said when I got my voice back.

—You said that the other day too.

—This time I mean it.

—So do I.

But nobody in that room believed themselves.

***

On Sunday I understood that the phrase “it can’t happen again” meant nothing if the person saying it was me. After dinner, I sat her on the bed, pulled the sheet away, and told her this time it was her turn to listen.

—You made a mess of everything Saturday —I said, and my voice sounded rougher than I would have liked—. This time you’re going to clean it up yourself.

She bit her lip. She nodded without speaking. She sat up, came toward me blindly until her fingers found my belt, and started unfastening me without saying a word. She pulled my pants down to my knees, my underwear right after, and my cock ended up at face level, already hard, pointed at her. She tested it with her palm, measuring the length again, squeezing me from base to tip as if she wanted to see how much she’d be able to take. She stuck out her tongue and licked me slowly all along my length, bottom to top, following it with the pad of her thumb. Then she took the glans into her mouth, and this time she wasn’t shy. She closed her lips around the head, sucked hard, and swallowed me little by little, millimeter by millimeter, eyes closed and brow furrowed with concentration. At first awkwardly, then with an almost childlike devotion, as someone trying to do something right without anyone explaining it. I held her carefully, without forcing her, letting her find her own rhythm, brushing the hair from her face so it wouldn’t stick to her. My hand rested on the back of her neck, no pressure, just so she’d know where I was. I listened to the wet sounds of her mouth, the sticky noise every time she pulled my cock all the way out to breathe and then took me back in to the hilt. Her eyes filled with tears and she kept going anyway. When she started gagging, I pulled her away gently. A string of saliva hung from her chin to the tip of my shiny cock.

I turned her over on the bed. I left her on all fours on the sheets. Lucía didn’t protest. I lifted her nightgown over her waist, parted her ass cheeks with both hands, and spent a long second just looking at her wet cunt and offered-up ass. She rested her cheek on the pillow, spread her legs a little farther, and waited.

What happened after that can no longer be called an accident.

I dragged the glans over the entire slit of her cunt to lubricate it with her own slick, up and down, pausing on the clit every time I came back up. She started trembling in anticipation, pushing her hips back to find me. I entered her slowly the first time. I felt how the tightly clenched flesh opened around my cock, how she swallowed me little by little, how Lucía let out the air through her teeth as I went in, until my balls were pressed against her cunt. There was one instant, one, when I could have stopped. I remember it as clearly as I remember anything from that week. She was still, waiting, not pressuring me. The choice was mine. When I started moving, she moaned my name in a voice I had never heard from her before. I grabbed her hips and started fucking her with long thrusts, pulling almost all the way out before driving back in to the hilt, and I could feel her tightening around my cock with every strike, slowly discovering how we fit, how much she liked it, where to touch so her breathing would break. I leaned over her back, grabbed one breast with my left hand, pinched her nipple between two fingers, and used my other hand to find her clit. I started rubbing it in time with my thrusts. She collapsed with her chest against the pillow, ass up, and started screaming into the fabric, muffling the moans with her open mouth against the cotton. When she came, her cunt clenched so hard around my cock it almost dragged me with it. I bit my lip, held on, and emptied myself inside her with long spasms, feeling my cum fill her womb, overflow at the edges, and slide down her thighs.

The second round was longer. Quieter. More ours. I turned her onto her back, spread her legs, and settled on top of her. I kissed her neck, her collarbones, her nipples—sucking them until they turned red and hard—and moved down to her navel. Then I buried myself between her thighs and ate her cunt slowly, tasting my own semen mixed with her slick, sucking on her clit with the tip of my tongue, pushing it inside until she arched. She grabbed my head with both hands and held me tight against her, moving her hips against my face. When she came a second time, in my mouth, I climbed back up and penetrated her again, now face to face, looking at the face that couldn’t see me. I fucked her slowly, deeply, propped on my elbows so I wouldn’t crush her, feeling her nails dig into my back with every shove. I bit her neck. I licked her ear. When I was about to finish, I sped up, and she wrapped her legs around my hips to keep me from pulling out. I came inside her again, biting my lip so I wouldn’t say her name out loud, feeling how the second spurt filled what was already overflowing. When I withdrew, a white thread fell from her open cunt onto the sheet. We both stayed on our backs in bed, sweating, not speaking, listening to each other breathe. Many minutes passed before either of us dared move.

—Mateo —she murmured at last, still pressed against me, still breathing hard—. Now it’s true. I’m completely yours.

I held her. I didn’t know what to answer. I stayed there with my heart racing and a tenderness that was no longer brotherly.

***

Years have passed since that week.

Lucía regained part of her sight several months later, just enough to read supermarket labels again and recognize faces from a meter away. She got married. So did I. We have small children who look too much alike in birthday photos. We live lives that, from the outside, are perfectly normal: family dinners, short vacations, Christmas photos in front of a tree that comes back every year. My wife knows nothing. Her husband doesn’t either. What happened in the bathroom and in the bed of that apartment stayed buried between the two of us, intact, as if we had signed it in blood.

But every now and then, we still slip away.

Sometimes it’s a message at midnight. Sometimes it’s an excuse to “help each other with something” for the family. We book a cheap hotel on the outskirts, or we meet in the car, or in one of our empty apartments when everyone else is out. And there, between silence and guilt, we find each other the way we found each other that first time: with the same intensity, with the same certainty that this shouldn’t be happening, and with the same inability to stop it. I tear her clothes off before I close the door, kneel down to eat her cunt until she’s shaking against the wall, bend her over the nearest table and fuck her again like that Sunday, and she always ends up with my semen sliding down her thighs and a guilty smile that lasts until the hotel door closes.

What began as a promise to care for her while she couldn’t see became the only thing neither of us has ever been able to leave behind.

And even though we have normal lives now, families that love us and responsibilities we can’t dodge, every now and then, in the middle of an ordinary day, we remember that week when everything was decided.