My Cousin Came That Summer and Changed Everything

My name is Marcos and I’m twenty-eight years old. I live with Valentina, my cousin, in the apartment I bought when I moved to this city for work. We’ve been together for four years, and every morning when I wake up beside her I wonder how it could have been so easy to get here, when the road was full of things no one should ever want.

This is the story of how it happened.

To understand it, you have to start with Elena, my sister, a year younger than I am. From the time we were little, we were inseparable: same schools, same afternoons in an empty house, same way of telling each other everything without filters or shame. Our parents came home late from work, and the house was ours during those hours, and that meant there were almost no boundaries between us.

There were no secrets. I knew who she had been with the previous weekend and she knew the same about me. We walked around the hallways in our underwear, shared the bathroom without knocking, saw each other naked without either of us making much of it. That was simply how we operated.

The problem is that when two people share that level of intimacy for years, sooner or later the limits start to blur.

I was nineteen. Elena was eighteen. It was a July afternoon, it was hot, and she was stretched out on the sofa telling me the details of a guy she liked in her class, how he’d stuck his tongue in her mouth at the entrance to her building and how he’d put a hand on one of her tits over her T-shirt. I was listening from the kitchen, pouring a glass of water, wearing only my underwear. All at once she stopped in the middle of a sentence.

—Marcos. What’s that?

I didn’t need to look to know. My cock had gone completely hard inside my briefs and was pressing the bulge against the fabric without the slightest shame.

—Sorry —I said—. You got me horny listening to you.

There was a silence. Then Elena laughed, but it wasn’t an embarrassed laugh. It was genuine curiosity.

—Can I see it?

I set the glass down on the counter and walked over to the sofa. She propped herself up halfway, leaning on one elbow, eyes fixed on the bulge right in front of her face. I slowly pulled the waistband of my briefs down, and my cock sprang up, hard, the tip already glistening with a drop of pre-cum. Elena’s mouth fell open without her realizing it.

—Fuck, Marcos —she said softly—. It’s bigger than I thought.

She reached out and took hold of it with her cold fingers. She squeezed once, then again, looking at my face as if asking for permission I had already given her just by being there. She started stroking slowly, sliding the skin up and down, and I held my breath because I hadn’t expected this to actually be happening. She ran her thumb over the tip, brought her fingers to her mouth, and sucked them without taking her eyes off me.

—It tastes weird. But it’s not bad.

And without any more preamble she leaned forward and took the tip of my cock into her mouth. I let out a gasp I couldn’t control. Her tongue circled the glans, awkward at first, and then she lowered her head and took half of me in one go, her eyes watering from the reflex. I held her hair without gripping it, and she started moving up and down, sucking me with an abandon I hadn’t expected from my sister, her mouth full of saliva that dripped down her chin and wetted my balls.

—Wait, stop —I told her—. I’m going to cum.

She pulled my cock out of her mouth with a wet sound and smiled, her lips shining.

—So what?

—That I don’t want to cum yet.

She stood up from the sofa and pulled her T-shirt off over her head. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Her tits were small and firm, with her nipples already hard and a dark pink. She yanked down her shorts and panties and stood naked in front of me, not covering herself, not lowering her gaze. I looked at all of her and didn’t recognize her: she was my sister and at the same time she was a woman with a shaved, glistening cunt asking me to fuck her.

—Lie down —she told me.

I lay down on the sofa and she climbed on top of me, straddling me, her hand guiding my cock to her entrance. She was so wet the tip sank in by itself. She lowered herself slowly, her face already wrecked, until I was all the way inside her. I clenched my teeth to keep from cumming instantly: she was tight, hot, and she clenched around me in spasms that ran all the way up my back.

—Oh, fuck —she whispered—. You fill me all the way.

She started moving, first back and forth, then up and down, clinging to my shoulders. I grabbed her tits with both hands and pinched her nipples and she let out a long moan. I licked one and then the other, biting gently, and she started riding me faster, her mouth open and her hair stuck to her forehead with sweat. The empty house amplified every sound: the slap of her ass against my thighs, the wet sloshing between us, her gasps getting shorter and shorter.

—I’m going to cum —she said—. Marcos, I’m going to cum.

I grabbed her hips and thrust up from below, fucking her hard until she arched back with a stifled cry and I felt her pussy clamp down on my cock in waves. I held on until she finished, and then I lifted her, pulled out before I came, and emptied myself over her stomach and tits in four thick spurts that stained her skin all the way up to her neck.

We stayed still, breathing hard, with semen shining between her breasts. She ran a finger through it, looked at it, and brought it to her mouth.

—You’re not telling anyone about this —she said.

—And neither are you.

What happened next had not been planned by either of us. It happened with the same disconcerting naturalness with which things happen between people who have spent years never hiding anything from each other: without either of us really knowing who had made the first move, without either of us being able to point to the exact moment we crossed the line. It was sex. Just sex. We said so that very afternoon, and the two of us understood each other perfectly: what we had was something else, older and more solid, and that was simply the extension of a trust that had never found its own edges.

It was her first time. Mine had been only recently too. We knew each other too well for there to be any awkwardness, and that made it strangely easy.

Over the following months we repeated it a few times, always before our parents got home, always with the same calm complicity as ever. She loved being fucked from behind, bent over the back of the sofa, one of my hands on her waist and the other over her mouth so she wouldn’t scream. She loved sucking me off to the end and swallowing everything I gave her. And I loved eating her pussy until she came two, three times in a row against my face. We kept telling each other about our lives in between: the hook-ups, the disappointments, the little dramas of being twenty. And when I moved to work in another city at twenty-four, it ended with the same naturalness with which it had begun. Elena had had a boyfriend for a long time. I was seeing someone too. That phase had passed, and neither of us carried any guilt because we never thought there had been anything to regret.

I love her as a sister. I have always loved her as a sister. The other thing was only what it was, and what it was no longer exists except as memory.

***

The summer everything changed was the one after I moved. For years we had kept the same August ritual: the family rented a little house near the beach, on the Levante coast, for the whole month. The same apartment as always, the same terrace with a view of the sea, the same beach bar two hundred meters away that never improved but that we always went back to.

That year my uncle and aunt came to spend a few days with us. They arrived on a Saturday morning with three of their children. The eldest, Bruno, was twenty-three. The youngest, Irene, fourteen. And Valentina, who was about to turn twenty.

The last time I’d seen her in person she must have been fifteen or sixteen. I remembered her as a quiet girl, a little shy, the kind who showed up for Christmas dinners with a book tucked under her arm and barely said anything during the after-meal conversation. I didn’t remember her as anything more than that: the quiet cousin who read a lot.

What got out of the car that Saturday was nothing like what I remembered.

I froze in the doorway while she took a backpack out of the trunk. She was wearing a summer dress with thin straps, her dark hair loose and long over her shoulders, and a confidence in every gesture that hadn’t existed four years earlier. The dress clung to her tits, which were outlined without a bra, and her long brown legs came out from under the short hem. When she saw me, she smiled in a way I couldn’t fully interpret at that moment.

—Marcos. You’ve grown up.

—So have you —I said, and couldn’t think of anything else to add.

Elena was beside me. She knows me better than anyone.

—Close your mouth —she whispered to me under her breath, laughing.

In the afternoon we all went to the beach. Valentina played in the water’s edge with her little sister, threw herself in the sand, laughed at anything and everything. She was wearing a black bikini that showed half an ass cheek when she got out of the water, her nipples pressing against the wet fabric. She was completely unaware of what she was causing, or at least that’s how it seemed. I couldn’t stop looking at her and had to turn sideways on my towel so the bulge wouldn’t show.

—What’s wrong with you? —Elena asked me, lying on the towel beside me—. You’ve been staring at her for an hour.

—I just didn’t recognize her. She’s changed a lot.

—I can see you noticed. —She paused—. Marcos, she’s your cousin.

—I know that, Elena. What do you want me to do about it?

She burst out laughing and said nothing more. But I know how my sister works. The next day, without any preamble, she told me she’d spoken to Valentina. No details. Just to test the waters.

—And? —I asked.

—She’s yours if you want her. She says she’s been thinking about you since she was little. That she’s come more times than she can count just thinking about you.

I spent a few seconds processing that.

—We’re cousins, Elena.

—I know. —She looked at me with that expression of hers that never gives anything else away—. Your call.

***

Three days went by in which I didn’t know how to move. I looked at her during meals, on the terrace at night when we took in the cool air, and she looked back at me with a calm that unsettled me. It wasn’t an innocent look. It was the look of someone waiting, and who knows the other person is waiting too.

On the fourth day, after lunch, I announced that I was going to the village for ice cream.

—Anyone coming?

—I am —said Valentina, before anyone else could react.

We drove out in the car. We took the coastal road, and at the first straight stretch I pulled over to the shoulder, cut the engine, and looked at her.

She was already looking at me.

I kissed her. Or we kissed. I don’t remember who moved first. Her lips were soft and she kissed with a slowness I hadn’t expected, as if she had spent a long time rehearsing that exact moment in her head. I slipped my tongue into her mouth and she met it with hers, and I ran a hand up her thigh under the dress until I brushed the edge of her panties. They were soaked. I moved the fabric aside with two fingers and found her pussy swollen and wet, and she let out a gasp against my mouth when I stroked her clit with my finger.

—I’ve been like this for three days —she whispered—. Since I got here.

I slid one finger inside her and then two, and she opened her legs as far as she could in the car seat, her head thrown back against the headrest and one hand holding up her dress to her waist. I finger-fucked her while my thumb circled her clit, and she came in two minutes, biting her fist so she wouldn’t scream, clenching around my fingers in spasms that didn’t stop.

When we pulled apart, both of us were breathing hard.

—Valentina —I started.

—I know what you’re going to say —she interrupted—. That we’re cousins.

—Yes.

—I’ve told myself that many times. —She held my gaze—. I don’t care what anyone else thinks.

I asked if she was sure. She said yes, with a firmness that admitted no argument. I asked if she had really thought it through. She said she’d been thinking about it for years. I kissed her again, this time without rushing, my hand at the nape of her neck and my fingers still shining with her.

—Let’s go get the ice cream —I said at last—. This afternoon we’ll find a moment.

We got back to the house with the cones and handed them out smiling, and no one noticed a thing. While everyone slept the siesta, we slipped away to a small cove I’d known since childhood, reached by a stone path very few people bothered following all the way to the end. It was one of those spots that seem to exist only for the person who found them.

The sand was fine and damp in the shade of the pines. The sound of the sea muffled every other noise. We lay down side by side and started kissing without hurry. I slid the straps of her dress down and pulled it off over her head, and underneath she was wearing nothing but the wet panties from that morning. Her tits were round, white where the bikini had covered them, with large brown nipples already hard. I took one into my mouth and sucked hard, tugging gently with my teeth, while my hand squeezed the other. She arched her back and pressed my head against her chest.

I worked my way down her stomach with kisses, bit the bone of her hip, and ripped her panties off with my teeth. I spread her legs and found her up close: pink, swollen, with her clit already peeking out from under the hood, shining as if it had just been moistened. I ran my tongue all the way from bottom to top and she let out a moan that was lost in the sound of the waves.

—Oh, fuck, Marcos.

I ate her pussy slowly, sucking her lips one by one, pushing my tongue in as far as I could, going up to her clit to lick it in circles and then moving back down again. I slid two fingers inside and curved them, searching for the spot deep in her, and as soon as I pressed there her whole body went rigid.

—Wait, wait —she panted—. I’m going to cum and I want it to be with you inside me.

I stopped and climbed up to kiss her. She tasted herself in my mouth and didn’t care. I tore off my T-shirt and swim trunks, and she looked at my hard cock through half-lidded eyes.

—It’s my first time —she told me softly.

I stopped.

—We can leave it for another time —I said.

—No. —She opened her eyes and looked straight at me—. I want it to be you. Only you.

I went very slowly. I got on top of her, resting on my forearms, and rubbed the tip of my cock against her clit and entrance, wetting myself well in her. I started to push and felt the resistance. She dug her fingers into my back as I entered her, with a small sound lost among the waves. I went in a centimeter, then another, until I felt the stop and pressed gently. She squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath.

—It hurts a little —she said—. Keep going.

I pushed all the way in with a firm motion and she let out a short, sharp moan. I stayed still, my cock all the way inside her, feeling her tighten around me from every side. I kissed her forehead, her eyelids, her mouth. I stopped several times to ask her. Each time she told me to keep going, with more conviction than the last.

I started moving, very slowly, pulling almost all the way out and then sliding back in to the hilt, and with each thrust she let out a gasp a little longer than the one before. Her hips started moving slowly, searching for the rhythm, and in her expression I saw the exact moment the pain turned into something else. Her eyes went glassy, her mouth fell open, and she grabbed my ass with both hands, pressing me against her.

—Harder —she murmured—. Don’t stop.

I fucked her faster, braced on my hands, watching her tits bounce with every thrust. She wrapped her legs around me and dug her heels into my lower back, pushing me deeper every time I came in. Sand clung to our sweaty skin. I grabbed one of her tits and squeezed hard, and she let out a long moan.

—Put me on my knees —she asked.

I pulled out and she turned and got on all fours on the towel, her ass raised and her back arched. I saw her cunt open, shining with her and with me, and the small tight mouth of her ass above it. I grabbed her hips and drove in all the way with one thrust. She screamed, this time without trying to hold back, and the sound was lost among the pines.

I fucked her like that for minutes I couldn’t count, gripping her waist, tugging her hair with one hand, watching her ass slam against my thighs. I slid my hand underneath and rubbed her clit to the rhythm of my thrusts, and she started shaking all over.

—Marcos, I’m going to cum, I’m cumming, I’m cumming.

She came out with a rough cry, clenching her pussy around my cock in waves that squeezed me so hard I could barely move. I held on until she started to come down, and then I turned her onto her back again, got on top, and entered her once more, wanting to finish while looking at her face.

—Not inside —she gasped—. I can’t take anything.

—I know.

I fucked her a few more minutes until I felt the snap climbing. I pulled out just in time and came over her stomach, over her tits, thick spurts one after another that ran from her pubis to her collarbone. She spread it over her skin with her fingers, and then brought them to her mouth and watched me while she licked them.

What happened after that I don’t know how to describe without it sounding like something else. It wasn’t just desire, though that was there too. It was something like recognizing someone you’d never thought of that way and suddenly being unable to think of them any other way. While I held her and listened to her breathing change, and while she clung to me with her eyes half closed, I knew this wasn’t going to stay a summer thing.

When we finished, we lay there looking up at the pine branches moving in the sea breeze. Her head on my chest. My hand in her dark hair full of sand.

—I don’t regret anything —she said.

—Neither do I.

***

The next day I made up an excuse to go back to the city: a coworker with an urgent problem, the usual summer lie. I asked Valentina to come see me as soon as she could, to say whatever she needed to say at home.

Two days later the buzzer rang and she was downstairs with a small bag and the same dress from the first day.

We didn’t leave the apartment for four days.

I fucked her in the entryway before she even let go of the bag, with her against the wall and her legs around my waist, my cock driving into her to the hilt while the keys still hung from the lock. I fucked her on the sofa that same night, with her on top moving slowly, riding me for almost an hour before she came. I fucked her in bed in the middle of the night, waking her with my tongue between her legs until she came half asleep against my face, and then entering her from behind while she still had her eyes closed.

She learned to suck me off over those days. The first time was clumsy, all teeth and no idea what to do with her hands, but I taught her slowly: how to relax her throat, how to use her tongue on the frenulum, how to play with my balls with her free hand. By the second day she was sucking my cock with her eyes locked on mine and a skill that didn’t look beginner-level at all. She learned to swallow. The first time the taste surprised her and she nearly choked, but in the end she drank it all down and smiled at me, her lips shining.

We walked around the apartment naked, cooked naked, showered together with her kneeling in front of me under the hot water eating me, or with me behind her, my hands on her tits and my cock buried inside her while steam filled everything. We slept tangled up. I taught her things nobody had ever taught her, and she learned with an attention that drove me crazy. I taught her to cum on my face, straddling my mouth while I sucked her clit until she melted. I taught her to let me eat her ass, with her on all fours and me spreading her cheeks with both hands, and she discovered she liked it so much she almost came from that alone. In between we talked for hours about everything: her degree, my projects, the family, what each of us wanted for the next few years. And at some point during those four days, without either of us saying it out loud, we understood that what was happening was not an experiment or an August fling.

When she left, we both knew it.

A week later she called to say she’d found an apartment near mine. She was starting her final year at university and wanted to settle in the city.

—Is that an excuse to see me? —I asked.

—Completely —she said, and I heard her smile on the other end of the phone.

***

The family took a while to find out. Valentina moved that autumn, and for the first few months we didn’t tell anyone. It was Elena who opened the path, little by little, with small comments and careful answers to questions nobody knew were being answered. She did it her way, with the patience that has always served her so well.

On Valentina’s birthday, when she turned twenty-one, we made it official in front of the whole family.

It wasn’t easy. There were uncomfortable questions, heavy silences, a dinner where no one quite knew where to look. But in time the family found a way to understand it, or to live with it, which is sometimes exactly the same thing.

Valentina is now twenty-four and I’m twenty-eight. She works for a communications company and I’m still in the same position that brought me to this city. We’ve shared the apartment for three years. Next year we’re getting married, and the family takes it with a naturalness we didn’t expect but appreciate.

I told her about Elena a long time ago, on one of those long winter nights when the conversation goes everywhere. She listened without interrupting me, asked me a few questions, and in the end said she understood. That each person arrives where they arrive by whatever road they’re meant to take.

I don’t know whether that’s an explanation or simply an honest way of accepting that life rarely moves in a straight line.

What I do know is that Valentina is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And that Elena, my sister, the person who saw it before I did and cleared the path without anyone asking her to, is still an essential part of this story. Without her, without that conversation on the towel by the sea, none of this would have happened.