My Older Sisters Came Back and Nothing Was the Same

They arrived after midnight. I heard the key turning in the lock and knew it was them before I got up off the sofa. It had been five months since I’d seen them, and I felt, without really knowing why, that night my body was reacting differently.

I opened the door and the first one in was Lucía. Twenty-five years old, short copper-colored dress, fishnet stockings climbing up to where the fabric disappeared, tall boots clicking on the parquet floor. Behind her came Camila, two years younger, in an even tighter black dress and a different perfume, sweeter, more insistent. The two of them looked like they’d just stepped off an ad. Not home from a trip.

—Adrián, my love… —Lucía dropped the suitcases, opened her arms, and pulled me against her for a second longer than necessary.

Camila joined in from the other side. I felt the two perfumes mingling and the heat of two bodies against mine. One of them ran a hand slowly down my back. I don’t know which one. I didn’t ask.

—Look how big you’ve gotten —Camila said, pulling back to look at me—. Eighteen suits you, little brother.

Don’t look at them like that. They’re your sisters.

I carried the suitcases up behind them. The stairs were narrow, and I was one step below, my eyes fixed exactly where they shouldn’t have been. The mesh on Lucía stood out with every movement, and Camila’s dress was so short that every step felt like an involuntary provocation. I shook my head on the landing, set the suitcases down, and went down to the kitchen before I did something even stupider than stare.

We ate something improvised at the kitchen island. They had both changed, but home clothes didn’t help much either: a white tank top, black bra showing underneath, tiny shorts on one; a tight top and even tinier shorts on the other. They talked about Madrid, about the master’s program, about the months away. I nodded and tried not to look at the line the fishnet drew on their thighs when they crossed their legs on the stools.

—I’m going to bed —I lied as soon as I could—. Early start tomorrow.

I locked myself in my room and stared at the ceiling. Downstairs I could hear their soft laughter. What the hell is wrong with me?

***

The next morning I came down late, thinking it would be easier in daylight. It wasn’t.

Camila was on the big sofa, legs stretched out, feet still wrapped in the stockings from the night before. She pouted as soon as she saw me.

—Adri… —she said in that voice she used as a kid to get what she wanted—. Can you do me a huge favor? My calves are killing me. The flight was endless and I only slept two hours. A quick massage, please.

—Uh… yeah, sure.

I sat down in front of her, and she put her feet in my lap without asking. I started with the instep, thumbs moving in slow circles. Camila let out a low groan of relief and closed her eyes.

—Ah, yes… right there. Harder.

I slowly worked my way up toward her calves. The mesh was so fine it felt like I was touching bare skin directly, and the skin underneath was warm. Every time I pressed a hard knot, she sighed. I tried to look at my hands and nothing else, but her shorts had ridden up and the upper part of her thigh appeared and disappeared with each of her breaths.

It’s a massage. She asked because she’s in pain. It’s Camila.

—You have magic hands, little brother —she murmured without opening her eyes.

When I finished, she sat up and hugged me from the sofa. Her breasts pressed against my chest a second longer than was proper. I pulled away as best I could, went up the stairs almost running, and locked myself in my room with my palms still hot.

In the afternoon it was Lucía’s turn. She appeared in the kitchen while I was washing two plates, wrapped her arms around my waist from behind, and rested her chin on my shoulder.

—I saw how you left your sister. My legs hurt too, you know.

This time it was worse. Lucía wasn’t as transparent as Camila: when I massaged her calves, the moans were deeper, longer. She asked me to go a little higher. I went higher. She asked for more. I went higher still. My palms stopped a handspan from where they shouldn’t go and my fingers were trembling. She thanked me with another hug that lasted too long. I went back to my room with an erection that took half an hour to go down and guilt that took much longer.

***

I started avoiding them. I’d go running before they got up, eat quickly, invent exams that didn’t exist. But the house wasn’t endless, and slowly they began to notice.

—Adri, are you okay? —Lucía asked during dinner on the third day—. We hardly see you. Did we do something?

—No. Just stuff from college —I lied, looking at my plate.

That same night, Camila came down with a bottle of wine and three glasses. She’d decided it without consulting anyone.

—Truth or dare —she announced—. Like when we were kids. Nothing heavy, I promise.

I couldn’t say no. I sat in the armchair, them on the sofa, glasses poured with a finger of wine. Innocent questions, dumb dares. Lucía doing a ridiculous dance. Camila singing in falsetto. Me admitting I still hadn’t kissed anyone since I turned eighteen. The two of them going “aw” in that affectionate way. It was all familiar. All known.

Until Camila picked dare and I told her, without thinking too much, to let me give her another foot massage for five straight minutes while we kept playing. She agreed instantly. While I worked her calves with one hand and answered truths with the other, I felt Lucía’s eyes fixed on us from the far end of the sofa.

The game ended at eleven-thirty. Camila tousled my hair when she said good night, as always.

—Good night, little brother.

Lucía didn’t say anything. She just kept looking at me.

***

She knocked on my door half an hour later. I knew it before she said anything.

—Are you awake?

—Come in.

She came in wearing the same white tank top, the same shorts, the same black bra showing underneath. She closed the door slowly and sat on the edge of the bed, near my legs.

—Adri, I’ve known you since you were born. Something’s wrong. If we’re making you uncomfortable with the hugs, the massages, with the way we move around the house, tell me. We don’t want to make you feel weird.

She rested a hand on my knee over the sheet. It was a sisterly gesture. Nothing more. And even so I felt the heat rising.

—It’s just that you changed —I muttered without looking at her—. Both of you. And I still feel like the twelve-year-old kid. I’m embarrassed.

She leaned in to hear me better and the tank top shifted. She didn’t do it on purpose. That was the worst part.

—You’re a man —she said softly—. To us you’ll always be our baby, but now all three of us are adults. If you want to tell me anything, anything at all, I won’t judge you.

I shook my head. I couldn’t tell her anything.

She gave me a slow hug before leaving. Her breasts pressed against mine through the fabric, and she stayed that way two seconds longer than a sister’s hug needs. When she closed the door, I buried my face in the pillow and let out a growl into the cotton.

***

Two weeks passed. Two weeks of half-avoiding them, of crossing paths in the hallway, of shared series with them pressed against me on the sofa, of meals in silence. Every time Camila crossed her legs and the mesh glinted, every time Lucía bent down for something and the tank top gave way, my head went back to the massages, the sofa, the hug in the room.

The fourth night, Lucía came down with the bottle of wine again. This time the glass was filled halfway.

—We have to finish the game —she said—. No escapes, Adri.

Camila was already on the big sofa in a black top, fishnet stockings, and no shorts. Just a plain black panty underneath. I sat between them. The sofa had never felt smaller.

First dare: Lucía had to sit on my lap for three questions. She settled sideways across my thighs, all her weight pressing into my crotch, her breasts at my face level, her perfume erasing my brain again. When she got up, she held my gaze a second too long.

—You’re getting nervous, little brother —she murmured, not unkindly. Like an observation.

Camila picked dare and Lucía told her to stay in just her bra. She took off her top without hesitation. Black bra, stockings up to mid-thigh, goosebumps from the cool air.

Then it was my turn to ask a dare, and I chose badly: I asked Lucía to sit on me again, but this time facing me, while I massaged her calves. She straddled me, feet planted on the sofa, thighs open on either side of my hips. My hands moved up the inner part of her thighs to where the mesh ended. The bare skin burned. When my thumbs brushed the last strip of fabric, she let out a low, long moan.

—Mmm… there, Adri. A little higher.

My erection was already impossible to hide. Lucía felt it. I knew because she bit her lip and went still for a second without getting up.

—Adri… —she whispered, in a voice I’d never heard from her before—. You’re so hard. Is it because of us?

Camila moved closer from the other side. Her hand slid down my chest with a slowness that had nothing innocent about it.

—Do we turn you on, little brother? —she asked quietly—. We’d never seen you like this.

I wanted to disappear. I wanted the floor to open up. But my hips were pushing up against Lucía on their own, and my hands were still on her inner thighs, and guilt and desire had merged into one tight ball so I couldn’t tell which was which anymore.

—I… sorry. You’re my sisters.

Lucía didn’t get up. On the contrary: she settled in better, made my erection press firmer against her through the thin fabric, and let out a sigh that ended in a moan.

—Shh… it’s the wine. It’s the game. But it feels wrong in a good way.

Camila kissed my neck, slowly, until she reached my earlobe.

—Do you want us to stop? —she murmured—. If you like it, don’t hide it anymore.

I shook my head, eyes closed. I didn’t want them to stop. For the first time in three weeks, I didn’t want them to stop.

***

Lucía kissed me. It was a slow, deep kiss, tasting of wine and of years of looking at each other without permission. Her tongue was shy at first. Then hungry. Her hips traced slow circles over me while Camila’s mouth moved down my neck.

—Let’s go to my room —Lucía gasped against my mouth—. Not here.

We went up the stairs in silence, the only sounds our breathing. Lucía locked the door and turned on only the bedside lamp. The big bed, the white sheets, the golden light.

The two of them took off my T-shirt, their hands sliding over my chest with a reverence that scared me. Camila knelt and pulled down my pants and boxer briefs with unbearable slowness, freeing my erection, hard, throbbing. They both looked at it at the same time, dark eyes filled with something that wasn’t sisterly affection.

—You’re beautiful —Camila whispered, her breath brushing the tip.

The three of us got under the sheets. Lucía took off her bra and panties without showing her head above the fabric, left only in black fishnet stockings up to mid-thigh. Camila did the same. I felt the mesh brush my legs and knew I’d remember that friction for the rest of my life.

Lucía on the left, Camila on the right. Their soft breasts pressed against my sides, hard nipples marking my skin. We kissed in a circle: first me with Lucía while Camila kissed my neck and moved down my chest; then me with Camila while Lucía licked one of my nipples. My hands got lost beneath the sheets and found, at the same time, two different heats.

—Touch me —Lucía asked, guiding my hand between her legs.

She was soaked. My fingers brushed her swollen, slick lips and she arched her back with a long, broken moan. Camila, meanwhile, wrapped her hand around me, sliding her thumb over the wet head with a caress that made me close my eyes.

—So hot… —she murmured—. So hard for us.

Lucía climbed on top first. She lowered herself slowly, guiding me with her hand until the head found the heat. And then, centimeter by centimeter, I sank into her. Tight, burning, exact. She let out a trembling moan against my neck.

—I can feel you so deep inside… —she sighed.

She started moving with slow, deep undulations, her fishnet stockings brushing my sides with each sway. Camila pressed herself against us, kissing my jaw while I found her clit with my fingers and set the rhythm. It wasn’t wild sex. It was something more intimate, slower, more forbidden. The wet sound of bodies joining, muffled moans against the pillow, perfume mingled with sweat and wine.

Then we switched. Camila settled on top of me with the same agonizing slowness, while Lucía pressed against her back and kissed her neck, their hands crossing between their breasts. The two of them moaned in unison, their soft, low voices filling the room.

When I felt I couldn’t take any more, I pulled them both against me. Camila came first, holding back her cry against my neck. Lucía a moment later, squeezing the fingers I had buried inside her. And I at the end, spilling inside Camila with a tremor that left me breathless.

The three of us stayed tangled under the sheets. The fishnet still brushing my legs. Their soft breathing against my skin.

—This was inevitable, wasn’t it? —Lucía whispered against my chest.

Camila smiled against my neck, not answering.

I lay there looking at the ceiling, guilt and pleasure mixed in equal parts, my two older sisters’ bodies still trembling against mine. And somewhere, before closing my eyes, I knew I was going to want that night to happen again.