My Cousin Had Been Waiting Years for That Visit

The December long weekend arrived loaded with family obligations and, above all, a much-needed pause. My wife Lucía and I had been slogging through a hectic few months: too many dinners with friends, too many secrets shared in hushed voices, and that kind of exhaustion you only feel when the body asks for a truce even though the mind keeps asking for war. We had decided to spend the days with my youngest son and his partner, who lived in a village on the north coast. A quiet visit, nothing fancy, to reconnect with the calm that had slipped away from us.

My son was working that week and Carla, his girlfriend, had plans with Lucía to go around the shops and fairs in the city center. I was surplus to requirements in that plan, and my wife, who knows me better than I know myself, realized it from the very first minute. She was the one who brought it up during breakfast on the second day.

—Why don’t you sneak off to see Verónica? —she said without looking away from her coffee—. It’s an hour’s drive. She’s been pestering you for months.

I looked at her suspiciously. Lucía was smiling with that half-smile that always meant something. My cousin Verónica lived in the neighboring city and had spent years saying the same thing: that when I finally came by, she’d take me out to lunch, show off her new neighborhood, show me the balcony with views of the river. I always found excuses.

—Are you sure you don’t mind? —I asked more cautiously than I meant to.

—Absolutely sure. Go on, get some rest, do yourself a favor.

There was something in her tone that smelled like explicit permission.

***

I’m an only child. My father had a brother who never married, so all my extended family came from my mother’s side. We were five cousins, and I was the oldest of the group. Verónica was the youngest; she had come along late, almost fifteen years after her brother. Among all of us, we had always protected her like the baby of the clan. She was forty-six and carried them with a mix of flirtation and discipline that was almost intimidating.

Lucía had always maintained, half joking and half serious, that Verónica had been in love with me since she was a teenager. I denied it without much conviction. The truth is that every time we coincided at weddings, communions, or funerals, she found a way to sit near me, to touch my arm when she laughed, to make her perfume reach me before her greeting did. When I called to let her know I was coming, she let out an “At last!” so bright and alive I had to move the phone away from my ear.

Her husband, Rodrigo, was working split shifts that week. We arranged the dates so we could spend at least one day together, the three of us: eat, walk through the old town, drag out the after-lunch conversation until he had to leave for the night shift.

***

I arrived midmorning. Verónica opened the door wearing a thin strappy dress that left more exposed than covered. She hugged me for a long time, too long for a cousin, too little to silence what her breasts said as they pressed against mine. Rodrigo appeared behind her, smiling, with a dishcloth in his hand. He’s a good man. He’s easy to talk to. For a moment I felt something close to guilt, but the guilt passed quickly.

We went out together to tour the city. Beer in a sunlit square, a Gothic church Rodrigo knew stone by stone, a market full of cured meats and cheeses. Verónica went on one arm or the other indiscriminately. Rodrigo barely drank. I kept myself in check. My cousin, on the other hand, toasted every twenty minutes, and by late afternoon she had that easy laugh women get when they know they won’t have to drive that night.

We went back to the apartment at dusk. It was a renovated sixth-floor place with taste: a large living room, an open-plan kitchen, two bedrooms and a big bathroom tiled in white ceramic. Rodrigo ate something light, showered, changed, and said goodbye with a kiss to each of us. When the door closed, the silence changed texture.

—I’m going to shower —she said—. I feel sticky.

I nodded from the sofa. I heard her humming in the bathroom, heard the water, heard her turn off the tap. She came out wrapped in a short satin robe, tied with a knot that was far too loose to be an accident. The fabric clung to her chest, and two points stood out with such clarity that I had to look away.

—Your turn —she said, smiling.

***

I went into the bathroom and saw, on top of the bidet, a black semi-transparent pair of panties, Brazilian cut, folded with a careless precision that was too exact. I picked them up almost against my will. They were damp. I smelled them. A rush of heat shot up the back of my neck. My cock reacted before I could decide whether that was an invitation or an accident. I put the garment back where it was, stepped under the spray, and while the water ran down my back I thought there was no turning back now.

I came out with a small towel wrapped around my waist. I hadn’t brought pajamas, hadn’t brought anything. Verónica was in the kitchen preparing a tray of cheeses and cured meats. I asked if she could lend me something comfortable.

—You’re fine like that —she answered without turning around—. If you’re comfortable, I’m delighted.

Every time she leaned over the counter, the robe opened at the back and revealed the firm curve of her ass. I kept trying to look at her face and almost always failed. The towel kept showing more and more of a bulge that was getting harder and harder to hide.

We ate on the sofa, the lights dimmed, a bottle of white wine that she poured generously. I took advantage of a moment to message Lucía. “This is getting weird”, I wrote. The reply came in thirty seconds: “Go for it, champ”. My wife, that wonderful witch, had seen all of it coming from breakfast.

***

Verónica sat sideways, her legs bent toward me. The robe, now partly open, left her breasts almost bare. We talked about summers at our grandmother’s house, about cousins we no longer saw, about the funerals that had brought us together over the last few years. At some point she stopped looking into my eyes and started looking at my mouth.

—Are you staring at my tits? —she asked with a smile that was no longer pretending anything.

—More than staring, you’re showing them to me.

She laughed. She opened the robe a little more, put her breasts on display. They were operated ones, from years ago, but the work had been well done. Big, dark nipples, with broad areolas. A surgery that respected the natural shape without going over the top.

—What do you think?

—Perfect. As if a sculptor had signed them.

—Do you think they’re hard as stone?

—Without touching them, I can’t tell you.

She took my hands slowly and put one on each breast. I squeezed carefully. They felt surprisingly natural, a little firmer than Lucía’s, but nothing plasticky. Her nipples hardened beneath my fingers almost immediately. Her breathing changed. I pulled my hands away before she expected me to.

—The surgeon earned his pay —I said, to break the moment.

—The surgeon did —she replied, with a tone that cooled a degree—. The rest is all natural. It just needs maintenance.

—And Rodrigo doesn’t give it to you?

—Very little. No enthusiasm. And I’ve got no one else to ask.

It was the first time all night that I understood this wasn’t just some bored woman’s whim. There was loneliness underneath it. There were years.

***

She stood up and let the robe fall. Her body appeared whole before me: wide but well-proportioned hips, smooth stomach, carefully shaved mons, soft lips, not a hair from the pubis to the anus. She knelt between my legs and, before I could say anything, took off the towel.

—Fuck, cousin. What a cock you’ve got.

She took it in one hand and with the other grabbed my balls. She started jerking me slowly, unhurriedly, looking into my eyes like someone who wants to remember every movement. I leaned back against the sofa and closed my eyes for a moment. When I opened them, she had her mouth a hand’s breadth from my glans.

—Are you going to let me have the whole thing?

—It’s yours.

She took as much of it as she could. It didn’t fit all the way, but she licked it from top to bottom, coated it in saliva, worked it with the patience of someone who hasn’t tasted anything like that in a long time. When she saw I was starting to tense up, she stopped.

***

She sat up, planted her knees on either side of my hips, and guided my cock to her entrance. She was soaked; I felt it at the first touch, but even so it was hard for her. She moved forward slowly, with tiny rocking motions, until she sat all the way down on me. She let out a long moan, almost a whine.

—Fuck, cousin —she repeated—. This is unreal.

She started riding me slowly. I held her hips, kissed her breasts, bit her nipples. She sped up little by little, setting the rhythm herself. The kitchen, the sofa, the lights, all of it shrank down to the sound of her ragged breathing and the dull slap of her body against mine. At some point she leaned forward and kissed me. An insistent, hungry tongue, not a cousin’s tongue. She came like that, on top of me, mouth to mouth, smothering the cry in my throat. Her whole body shook. She stayed still for an instant, wrapped around me, still impaled.

I hadn’t come. I wanted more.

***

I laid her on the sofa, spread her legs, and knelt on the floor. I started licking her sex calmly, tracing every fold, pausing on the clitoris, going down to the anus and back up again. She was overflowing. She tasted like herself and, in part, like me. I slid two fingers inside her and searched for that internal spot some women take years to let you find. When I found it, she arched her back. She kept murmuring:

—Eat it all, cousin. Eat it all.

She came again in less than five minutes, with one hand in my hair and the other squeezing a breast. She collapsed on the sofa, her gaze lost, smiling at something not in the room.

I lifted her again. I put her on all fours against the backrest, spread her legs, and shoved in at once, without warning. She let out a hoarse cry.

—Fuck me like a bitch. I’m yours.

I started fucking her hard, nonstop, not letting her get used to it. She bit the backrest, dug her nails into my thighs whenever she could reach them, begged for more between gasps. I knew I wouldn’t last much longer. The idea of coming inside my cousin, of leaving my semen where her husband’s had been for years, had had me on the edge for a while. When she started screaming that she was coming, I stopped holding back. I unloaded inside her in long bursts, without pulling out, pressing my pelvis against her ass until I was completely empty. I stayed buried there, feeling the contractions of her sex squeeze me for the last drop.

***

When I pulled out, semen began to seep from her. I put a towel underneath her. She collapsed on the sofa without saying anything, still breathing hard. I sat beside her and stroked her hair. She turned, kissed my still-wet cock, licked up what was left. We stayed like that a good while, until she got up to go to the bathroom.

She came back naked, smiling. She took my hand.

—Come sleep with me. He won’t get here until nine.

I warned her about the risk. I set two alarms on my phone. I got into bed wrapped around her, her head on my chest, and we both fell asleep right away.

At seven, before the alarm went off, I was already awake and hard against her thigh. I kissed her neck, her nipples, her navel, her thighs, and slowly went down to her sex. She woke up in the middle of a moan. She grabbed my hair and opened herself to me.

I made love to her then in a different way. Unhurriedly, more carefully, almost as if I wanted to apologize for the night before. When I entered her, she guided me herself. We started slowly, I let her settle around me, and I increased the pace as she asked for it. She finished with her legs over my shoulders, my body pressed against her breasts, both of us sweating. I came inside her for a second time in twelve hours, her nails marking my back and her muffled cry against my neck.

***

We cleaned up the battlefield calmly. We changed the sheets, gave the sofa a once-over, aired out the living room. Rodrigo arrived on time, tired, suspecting nothing. The three of us chatted for a few minutes. He went straight to bed. Verónica and I went out to do some shopping he expected us to return from with bags, and we came back with bags.

When we said goodbye in the doorway, my cousin held me in a long embrace. She kissed me very close to the corner of the lips.

—Come back whenever you want —she said—. I’m so sore I already want a repeat.

I drove back to my son’s house in silence. When Lucía opened the door that night, she looked at my face, read every line of it, and smiled the way only she knows how to smile.

—Well, champ?

I didn’t have to answer.