Three Weeks Alone with My Father and My Cousin

The trip to the cabin took six hours, and to me it always felt endless. Not because of the road—the route that climbed through the hills was beautiful—but because of what came after: three weeks by the dam with the whole family, like every summer since I could remember. The old tradition.

But that January was different.

“Your mother is missing out,” my father said from the front seat, without taking his eyes off the asphalt.

I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. My mom had landed an important consulting job right then, something she couldn’t put off. “It’s no big deal, we’ll take a vacation together in February,” she had said in that voice she used to shut down arguments before they even started.

My father had shrugged. “I’m going anyway. The cabin needs to be maintained, and besides…” He didn’t finish the sentence.

Besides, Lucas was coming.

Lucas was my cousin, the son of my father’s sister. I hadn’t seen him since I was fifteen, when we stopped going to the family gatherings after my aunt and uncle got divorced. I remembered a skinny, quiet boy who spent his afternoons throwing stones into the water while the others chatted. Six years later, with twenty-two under my belt, I could barely imagine what he had become.

“And Lucas is arriving today too?” I asked, stretching my legs in the back seat.

“Tomorrow. He said he had some university things to wrap up,” he replied, and I noticed something odd in his voice, as if he were choosing his words carefully.

The silence filled the car again. I watched the trees streak past the window, the washed-out January sky, and felt something I couldn’t name. Expectation, maybe. Or just travel fatigue.

***

The cabin appeared as always: large, weathered wood, with a porch that looked straight out over the dam water. The surface was still, shining under the afternoon sun. I got out of the car and breathed in the smell of pine, dampness, summer.

“Help me with the bags,” my father said, opening the trunk.

I did. As I walked to the door with two bags over my shoulder, I felt his gaze on my back. When I turned around, he was already taking out the rest of the luggage.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing. You grew up,” he said, and went into the house.

The first two nights were strange, but not uncomfortable. He cooked as always and I took care of the table and the dishes. We talked about trivial things: my job at the downtown veterinary clinic, the dam neighbors who were still the same as ever, my grandfather, who couldn’t come this year because of his knee.

But there were pauses that hadn’t been there before. Silences that stretched a second too long. Glances I caught by accident and that he quickly turned away from, toward the water or the kitchen fire.

***

On the third day, Lucas arrived.

I saw him get out of a battered remís and for a moment I didn’t recognize him. The skinny fifteen-year-old had turned into a man: broad shoulders, a defined jaw, longer hair, almost brushing his shoulders. He was carrying a huge backpack, and when he saw me, he smiled in a way that stirred something in my stomach.

“Cousin,” he said, and hugged me hard. He smelled like cigarettes and the road.

“Cousin,” I answered, and felt his hands on my back, right where my shirt ended, grazing my skin.

My father came out onto the porch and greeted him with a nod. The three of us went into the cabin. The air had changed, and I knew it.

Routines settled in quickly. Mornings, breakfast on the porch overlooking the dam. After that, each of us did our own thing: my father fished or fixed things, Lucas went walking in the hills, and I read or sunbathed on the dock. At night, long dinners with wine and conversations that went late.

***

On the fifth day I noticed something.

I was on the dock, in a bikini: a black set I’d bought for this vacation that flattered my hips and my breasts. My skin was tanned, evenly golden, and my hair, loose and almost black, fell over my shoulders.

I heard footsteps on the wood. It was Lucas, in swim shorts and bare-chested. I couldn’t help looking at him: the firm chest, the hair that ran down from his navel, the defined arms. He jumped into the water without saying anything, and when he came back up shaking the water from his hair, I was still looking at him.

“What?” he asked, laughing.

“Nothing. I didn’t know you’d gotten like that,” I answered, and only belatedly realized what I’d said.

He sat down beside me, very close. The sun dried the drops on his skin.

“You weren’t like that at fifteen either,” he said, and looked at me in a way that felt good and bad at the same time.

***

That afternoon the sky went gray all at once. The wind came down from the hills, shook the trees, and before we could put anything away it started to rain: first heavy, then torrential. The power went out, as always when there was a storm, and we had to look for candles and flashlights.

I changed my wet T-shirt for a dry tank top, thin, gray. When I went back to the living room, the two men had changed too. The wind beat against the windows and the dam, out there, was a dark, furious mass.

“Well,” my father said, arranging the candles in the center of the table, “it’s time for an old-fashioned evening.”

He brought out a bottle of whiskey he kept for emergencies, and Lucas found a deck of cards in a drawer. They taught me to play poker, or at least enough to lose, laugh, and drink too much. Between laughter and cards, hands brushed, bodies leaned in without meaning to, and the heat from the candles and the alcohol did the rest.

“I give up,” I said after a while, stretching out in the chair. The tank top rode up a little, revealing the skin of my stomach, my navel, the beginning of the lace underwear I’d put on that morning without thinking.

My father looked at me. One second. Two. Then he turned his eyes toward the window.

“Looks like it’ll be a long one,” he said, watching the storm.

“Even better,” Lucas replied, and I felt him looking at me, not at the rain.

That night, lying on my back in bed, I couldn’t stop thinking about Lucas’s hands on the cards, about my father’s gaze on my stomach. I touched my belly, where I had seen him looking. The skin was hot. I fell asleep late, with the sound of the rain and something else I couldn’t name.

***

The storm passed. After lunch, my father suggested a hike to the waterfall. We packed water, fruit, a blanket just in case. I put on light shorts and a red T-shirt, low-cut, that outlined my breasts without squeezing them. Lucas, when he saw me, paused for a second before saying, “Let’s go.”

We walked single file along the trail: my father in front, then me, then Lucas. I could feel his gaze on my back, my legs, the movement of my hips. We reached the waterfall, which fell into a natural pool of deep green, and I didn’t hesitate: I took off my shirt and shorts and was left in my bikini.

I heard a whistle behind me.

“I like you better like that,” Lucas said, and I felt my face burn, but I smiled.

My father had stayed at the edge, sitting on a rock. He said nothing, but I felt his gaze too, different from Lucas’s, heavier, older.

On the way back I fell asleep in the back seat, worn out by the hike and the sun. I felt a hand on my leg. Warm, soft, sliding slowly up my thigh. I didn’t open my eyes. I didn’t know whose it was, I didn’t want to know. I only felt the fingers, the heat, and then nothing. When I woke up, we were arriving and the hand was gone. Or nothing I could prove.

***

That night, after dinner, my father said it had been years since they’d had a fire on the dam beach. The idea seemed beautiful to me. I changed: a short white dress, very low in the back. My hair loose, with waves from the day’s heat.

When I stepped out onto the porch, the two of them went silent.

“You look really pretty,” my father said, and there was something in his tone that went very deep inside me.

We went down to the shore. The fire crackled, the flames reflected in the black water. We spread the blanket on the sand and my father opened a Malbec he had been saving “for a special occasion.” The wine was smooth, deep. I felt it slide down my throat and settle in my belly. Lucas sat to my right, my father opposite, and I was left between the two of them.

At some point, without knowing how, Lucas had put an arm behind me on the blanket. My father had moved closer. I felt a hand on my waist, right where the dress ended. I didn’t know whose. I didn’t move. I didn’t want to.

“Are you cold?” Lucas asked, and it was a silly question because it was hot, but I understood.

“A little,” I lied.

His arm wrapped around me and pulled me against his body. I rested my head on his shoulder and felt the other hand, my father’s, slowly moving up my leg from the knee, a slow, endless journey. I closed my eyes. The fire crackled, the dam was silent, and I was in the middle, suspended, waiting. The silence stretched. I felt I had to say something, break the spell or confirm it. I chose the second.

“Dad… will you massage my foot?”

He knelt down right away, without stopping his hands from traveling over my legs. He stroked my foot while Lucas poured me another glass and leaned in to bring it to my mouth. I smiled and kissed him on the cheek; he kissed me back, and the cheek kisses became mouth kisses, tongues exploring slowly. My father kept climbing, kissing my leg, my thigh.

Without any agreement, the two of them started undressing me. I stood up and shifted so they could make it easier, without stopping kissing them, without stopping feeling their hands.

“Please… no… this is wrong…” I said, and I didn’t even believe myself.

“You want it. You need it. And we’re here for you,” my father murmured.

“The two men who love you,” Lucas added.

Without letting me go, they undressed too. On instinct I caressed their erect cocks, one in each hand.

“Just… slowly… make love to me,” I begged.

They kissed my mouth, my neck, my breasts. They ran their hands over my whole body. Little by little I lay back on the blanket, without letting go of Lucas’s cock, and opened my legs in front of my father. He bent down and filled my crotch with kisses, eating me out with his tongue while I moaned and jerked off my cousin.

“Daddy… put it in…”

He positioned himself over me and aimed for my wet opening. He pushed in, soft but firm. I moaned steadily, not letting go of Lucas’s cock. My father kissed me and sucked my breasts while he fucked me hard, as if I were his.

“Am I doing it right, Daddy?”

“You’re incredible.”

The first orgasm hit me like a shout. Voice broken, gasping, I said:

“Your turn.”

They switched places. Lucas lifted my legs and fucked me while my father dragged his still-hard cock across my face, through my hair, and kneaded my breasts. After another long cry, I asked for another glass, and the two of them took care of me as if I were the only thing that mattered.

“I love how you both make love to me…” I said, catching my breath.

I got down on my knees in front of both of them, took their cocks and brought them to my mouth to kiss them, lick them, squeeze them between my breasts. Then I sped up, alternating between one and the other, taking them all the way into my mouth.

My father lifted me by the waist and made me ride him. I positioned myself and slowly lowered until I had him all the way in. I sighed when he entered completely, but he didn’t let me rest: he grabbed my hips and forced me to ride him, to feel him all the way at the bottom. My moans drove Lucas crazy, and he grabbed my hair so I’d take his cock in my mouth.

During a break I wriggled free and got on all fours over the blanket. Lucas grabbed my waist, ran his cock along my ass, over the entrance, until I nearly screamed:

“Put it in already!”

He gave me a couple of swats on the ass, yanked me hard, and slammed in. My father, who had been watching the scene, couldn’t take it anymore: he came over to push his cock into my mouth, and I sucked him off as compliantly as I could between Lucas’s thrusts. They fucked me, squeezed my breasts, my ass. It was too much, and neither of them could last much longer.

“Lucas… I want your cum in my mouth…” I begged, almost breathless.

They readjusted me. The thrusts became wilder. When I felt my father reaching the edge, I told him:

“Dad… fill me up…”

He kneaded my ass, shoved in deep, and came inside me. Almost immediately, Lucas shot his load down my throat, and some of it spilled from the corners of my mouth. They both wiped the remnants over my skin, still breathing hard.

“I really can’t anymore tonight,” I said, smiling, “but we still had to do me from behind… finish on my face… have me put on something pretty for you…”

“There’ll be more chances,” my father replied. “I’ll take care of it.”

They took me to bed between them, never stopping touching me, kissing me, letting me still feel the cocks that had just pleased me. Outside, the dam had gone still again, as if nothing about us had surprised it.