My Cousin Looked for Me in the Bathroom During the Wedding

The call came on a Tuesday night while I was having dinner with my parents. My mother looked at me over her plate with that expression I already knew: the one that meant she was about to spring some family obligation on me dressed up as good news.

“Mateo, your cousin Carolina is getting married in fifteen days. We all have to be there.”

“The whole family?”

“The whole family. And for once, on time.”

I nodded because there was no point arguing. Family weddings were always the same: endless mass, a mediocre restaurant, and repeated conversations about who had put on weight, who had lost weight, and who was still single. I fell into the last category, so I mentally braced myself for the usual questions.

On the Saturday of the wedding, we drove in a convoy to a coastal town two hours from the city. One of those places with white streets, fishermen on the quay, and a tiny church wedged between two low houses. We arrived late, as always. So late that we had to stay outside, listening to the sermon through the open door and enduring the midday sun on the back of our necks.

When the newlyweds came out and the rice throwing began, my father nudged me.

“There’s your cousin Lucía. Go say hello; it’s been ages since you’ve seen her.”

I looked for her. The last time we’d crossed paths, we were both twelve and she was a skinny kid with pigtails and braces. It took me a while to identify her among the guests. When I did, I froze.

Lucía was twenty-four now, the same age as me, and none of that little-girl memory remained. She was wearing a black silk blouse, with no neckline but with fabric thin enough to hint at everything it concealed. The red pencil skirt reached just above her knees, and low heels drew a clean line along her calves. None of it was overly tight. It didn’t need to be. The imagination did the rest.

I walked over trying to hide my smile. When she recognized me, she gave a little squeal and hugged me as if she’d been waiting for me all morning. She smelled citrusy, fresh. I felt her tits against my chest longer than necessary, and I noticed the nipples showing through the silk.

“Mateo, you’re unrecognizable. What a freak you were as a kid!” she laughed.

“You haven’t done too badly yourself,” I said, and I realized the line had come out with more intent than I meant.

Since she didn’t have a car and her parents had left with other relatives, I offered to drive her to the restaurant. It was barely fifteen minutes along a coastal road, but I managed to stretch the trip to half an hour by taking a ridiculous detour along the seafront promenade. Lucía sat in the passenger seat with her legs crossed toward me, her right thigh brushing the gearshift. Every time I changed gears, my hand passed a handspan from her knee. She didn’t look at me directly, but she smiled looking ahead, like someone who knows they’re being watched.

***

In the car we caught up on the last ten years in condensed form. Studies, moves, jobs. She’d been living in Seville for two years, taught English at a subsidized private school, and had been with a guy she’d met there for a year and a half. Diego, his name was. He couldn’t come to the wedding because of a training course he couldn’t miss.

“I’m going to miss him tonight,” she said, not sounding very convinced.

“I’ll keep you company, don’t worry.”

She glanced at me out of the corner of her eye. Smiled with one side of her mouth.

At the restaurant, an old roadside inn renovated with sea views, we sat together. Neither of us wanted to be at the table with the older married couples, so we improvised our own corner at the young cousins’ table. We ate slowly, talking the whole time, ignoring the best man’s speeches. When the champagne came and the waiter started pouring glasses for the toast, I was already looking at her lips more than was prudent and imagining them around my dick.

The band started playing after midnight. Boleros first, then salsa, then merengue. I teach bachata at a dance school on Wednesdays and Fridays, so as soon as the first Latin chords sounded, I offered her my hand without asking.

“I’ll teach you something. So you can surprise Diego when you get back.”

“Cheater,” she said, but she followed me.

We danced the first two songs at a reasonable distance, marking the basic steps. By the third, my hand was firmly on the small of her back and hers was on my shoulder. By the fifth, the red skirt had started riding up her thighs every time I turned her. By the seventh, I stopped looking at her face and started looking at her legs.

Lucía danced with her eyes closed, letting herself be carried along. I used the figures to lean her back and hold her by the waist a second longer than the choreography called for. On one of those turns, the skirt rode up so high I saw a piece of black lace brief stuck to her cunt. She opened her eyes, straightened, and pulled it down with a quick gesture, never stopping smiling.

“Keep still,” she murmured.

“It’s the salsa, not me.”

“It is you. You know damn well it is.”

We kept going.

***

After a while, I noticed the looks. Two distant cousins and a couple of the groom’s friends were watching us from the bar with crooked smiles. Lucía noticed too. She squeezed my arm.

“Let’s stop. We’re putting on a show.”

We went back to the table. We drank water. We talked about anything for ten forced minutes, avoiding each other’s eyes. But the music kept going, and my body was telling me to go back. I took her out again. This time I turned her toward the band, giving the rest of the room our backs. Once we were covered by my body and the dim half-light, I slid her hand down to the beginning of the curve of her ass and squeezed hard, sinking my fingers into the firm flesh beneath the skirt.

She pulled away sharply.

“Mateo, stop. Seriously. Diego doesn’t even touch me like that in public.”

“You’re just too tempting,” I blurted, without thinking.

She stared at me. For the first time all night there was no irony in her eyes. There was something else.

“We’re cousins. The whole family is here. Do you realize what you’re saying?”

I looked down. Nodded. I apologized. We sat back down.

Ten minutes later, she herself pulled me up to dance again.

We really tried to keep our distance. But by the second song her thigh was between my legs and both of us were breathing through our mouths. She could feel perfectly well how my dick was hardening against her hip, and instead of moving away she pressed closer, rubbing herself against me slowly like something itched and only my bone could soothe it. On a slow turn, I drew her against me and let her pelvis settle against my leg. I felt the heat through the fabric and how she started moving her hips in small circles, riding my thigh almost without realizing it. When she pulled away to turn, I saw the wet stain she’d left on my light linen trousers. A dark, shiny patch, exactly the shape of her cunt. It was obvious it wasn’t sweat.

She saw it too. She covered her mouth, turned a deep red, and left the room without saying anything, heading for the bathrooms.

***

I waited a couple of minutes out of pure decorum. Then I went after her.

I found her in the restroom corridor, leaning against the wall, head thrown back and eyes closed. As if she were praying. I approached slowly.

“Relax. We’re adults. And look at me, I’m the same. It must be the heat.”

She looked at the bulge between my legs. It was impossible to hide, my dick pulling the linen to one side, outlining even the tip. She didn’t answer. She opened her eyes and nailed me with a look I’d never seen in a woman. It wasn’t polite desire or dance-floor provocation. It was clean hunger, undisguised.

I took her by the waist and kissed her. I barely brushed her lips when she pushed me.

“This isn’t a good idea.”

“I know.”

“Seriously, Mateo. No.”

“I know.”

But I didn’t move. And neither did she leave. I came close again. This time I kissed her properly, slowly, giving her room to pull away. She didn’t. I slipped my tongue in and she answered with hers, sucking on it hungrily, biting my lip. I grabbed one of her tits over the silk and pinched her nipple. She let out a short moan against my mouth. After a few seconds she pulled back again, panting.

“I’ve never cheated on Diego.”

“There’s always a first time. And he won’t find out.”

We looked at each other. And then we melted into another kiss, now with no restraint at all. I pushed open the women’s restroom door, looked inside, nobody was there, and pulled her in by the hand. I locked the bolt.

***

Inside, I pressed her against the sink. I hiked her skirt up to her waist in one swift tug. Her thighs, white and firm, trembled slightly. I hooked her black panties aside with two fingers and found a shaved cunt, leaving only a narrow strip of dark hair, the lips swollen and glossy, literally dripping down the inner sides of her own thighs. She was soaked, much wetter than the stain on my trousers had suggested. I ran my middle finger through the whole slit, from bottom to top, and brought it out coated in thick juice. I showed it to her. She opened her mouth and sucked my finger while looking at me, tasting herself all over.

“God, how I like this, fuck, how I like this,” she kept repeating against my neck, gripping my hair.

I lowered my hand again. I slid in one finger first, all the way to the hilt. Her cunt closed around it like a fist. I slid in a second. I started fingering her, going in and out with rhythm, while my thumb pressed her swollen clit and circled it. She clung to the edge of the sink with both hands, head thrown back.

“More, deeper, fuck, don’t stop.”

With my other hand I unbuttoned three buttons of her blouse. The bra matched the panties: black lace, sheer, with dark nipples showing beneath. I pulled one whole breast out over the cup, took her nipple in my mouth and started sucking it, biting it softly, while I kept pumping my fingers in and out below, faster and faster. You could hear the wet slap of her cunt around my hand, an obscene sound echoing off the tiles. She had no control over herself. She threw her head back against the mirror, let out hoarse sounds she tried to muffle by biting her lip, and closed her thighs, trapping my wrist between them.

It didn’t take long. She was so on the edge that four minutes of my fingers were enough to make her come against my hand, gripping my shoulder so hard she left nail marks. I felt her shaking all over, her thighs convulsing, and a wave of hot liquid soaked my palm and ran down my wrist to the cuff of my shirt. When she caught her breath, she pulled my hand away, sucked my fingers clean one by one, and looked at me.

“Not here. Let’s go outside. I want your dick in my mouth in the open air.”

We came out looking suitably guilty, her straightening her blouse with her nipples still hard against the silk, me with my trousers even more stained than before. Luckily, the party was already at the point of unhinged dancing and nobody was watching us. We went around the restaurant outside and headed down the wooden walkway that led to the beach.

***

We walked barefoot over the cold sand. We hardly spoke. She was somewhere halfway between guilt and euphoria. I was simply waiting, my dick pulling inside my trousers, hard for so long it hurt.

At the end of the cove there were flat rocks the sea had polished for years. We sat down. She lit a cigarette I hadn’t known she smoked. She looked at me from behind the smoke.

“I wanted you from the moment you got out of the car this morning,” she said.

“Me since before then. When I saw you at the church door.”

She crushed the cigarette against the rock. She stood up. She stood in front of me, opening my legs with hers, placing her pelvis at the level of my face. She took my head in both hands and kissed me leaning forward. Then she went down, slowly. She unbuttoned my shirt one button at a time, opened it, kissed my chest, my stomach, the top of my trousers.

She made me stand up. She pulled my belt and trousers down to my ankles. She knelt on the sand, knees sunk in, the red skirt hiked up to her hips. She pulled me out over my briefs and started over the fabric, with her tongue, with her lips, tracing the shape of my dick with her mouth, leaving my boxer briefs dripping with saliva. When I couldn’t take any more, she yanked down my briefs and my dick sprang free in front of her face. It slapped her cheek. She laughed, grabbed it by the base, and took it all in one go, to the back of her throat.

It was the best blowjob of my life. No question. She wasn’t in a hurry, wasn’t putting on a show, wasn’t faking anything. She sucked me as if I were the only thing on that beach. She went up and down with her whole mouth open, letting saliva run down her chin, pressing her lips against the shaft every time she pulled me out to the tip just to swallow me whole again. She licked over everything, stopped to suck my balls one by one, took both into her mouth at once, then came back up with her tongue flat along the vein and swallowed me again to the base. She paused to look up at me, my dick resting on her tongue and the tip pressed against her palate, and winked before going on. At one point she took my hand, put it on the back of her neck, and looked at me as if telling me to fuck her face. I did as she asked. I started moving myself, gripping her hair with both hands, thrusting in and out of her mouth in short lunges. She took it, eyes watery, swallowing every time the tip hit her throat, never pulling away.

“I’m going to come,” I warned her, panting. “I’m going to come in your fucking mouth.”

She moaned with my dick inside her. I sped up. When I came, she didn’t pull away. I felt her throat contracting as it swallowed the first burst. I left the second on her tongue so she could taste it. The third splashed her lips and chin. She kept sucking me until the last spasm, never taking her eyes off me, pressing her tongue against the tip to wring me out completely. She swallowed every last drop. Then she stuck out her tongue and licked the remains from my tip, cleaning me slowly.

Then she wiped her lips with the back of her hand, stood up, gave me a short kiss in which she passed some of her own semen from her tongue to mine, and said:

“Let’s go. They’re looking for us.”

We walked back to the restaurant slowly, separating for the last hundred meters. Nobody had noticed our absence, or at least nobody said anything. We danced a couple more songs, keeping our distance this time. At five in the morning, the newlyweds cut the cake and we said our goodbyes with two formal kisses in front of the whole family.

That was three years ago. Diego is still Lucía’s official boyfriend. I’m still single. We’ve seen each other three more times, always with an alibi, and each time I’ve fucked her until she lost her voice. And every Christmas, when the family gets together, we greet each other with the proper politeness of two cousins who barely ever see each other. Only we know what happens when a door closes.