What Happened With My Cousin That Last Summer

My name is Mariana, and what I’m about to tell you happened the summer I turned nineteen. I had a cousin my own age—his name was Esteban—who spent every summer with us since we were little, at the house my grandparents had in Punta del Arroyo, two blocks from the sea. We slept in adjoining rooms, separated by a thin wall, and many nights we stayed up talking until the sky began to lighten. He was my best friend. I suppose I was the same for him.

Until that afternoon, nothing had ever happened between us. Not a stray brush, not a look that lasted too long. That’s why I was so shocked by what I felt when we came back from the beach and he flung himself face down on his bed with a defeated expression, still in his wet swim trunks and with his skin burning from the sun.

—You’re wrecked —I said from the doorway—. Want me to give you a massage?

—Please —he answered without lifting his head—. You have no idea how much I’d appreciate it.

I sat on the edge of the bed and started with his shoulders. Esteban had been swimming all his life, and since the previous winter he’d taken up going to the gym. Under my fingers there was a tense, broad back, with a line dipping down the center until it disappeared into the waistband of his trunks. He smelled of salt and sunscreen. I pressed my thumbs in near his shoulder blades and he let out a long sigh.

—Roll over —I said without thinking—. I’ll massage your abs too.

He rolled over. And that was when it all began, though I still didn’t know it.

I ran my hands over his stomach, hard as a board. I went a little lower, toward his hips, still within the innocent territory of an ordinary massage. And then I saw it. The bulge under the wet swimsuit, unmistakable, raised, clearly outlining the shape of a long, thick cock pressed against the fabric. Esteban had his eyes closed, pretending not to notice. Or maybe asleep. I never knew which of the two.

I stood there for a moment with my hand resting on his hip, staring at that bulge, not daring to breathe. I thought about touching it. I thought about yanking down his trunks and finally seeing what my cousin was hiding down there, about how many times I’d imagined touching something like that on someone, and never him, precisely him, who was family, who was my cousin, who was almost a brother. I pulled my hand away. I told him to take a nap for a while and left the room without looking back.

That night I couldn’t sleep a wink. Nor the next. And every one after that, until August was over, was the same: me biting the pillow, two fingers sunk into my cunt imagining that hip, that bulge, that mouth of his I had laughed with so many times without really looking at. I came under the sheet thinking of him and ten minutes later I was wet again, rubbing myself again, clenching my teeth so I wouldn’t moan. Every night I promised myself I’d forget. Every morning, when I went downstairs for breakfast and saw him tousled and sleepy-eyed, I knew I wasn’t going to forget anything.

***

There was just over a week left before we went back to the city when I decided something had to happen or I was going to go crazy. I didn’t have a plan. I only knew that if I didn’t act, I was going to spend my whole life thinking about that day at the beach.

We went to bed as always, well past midnight. I stayed awake staring at the ceiling, listening to the crickets in the garden and the wind against the shutter. Around four I got up. I crossed the hallway barefoot, opened his bedroom door carefully, and went in.

Esteban was asleep on his back, the sheet tangled around his legs. He was wearing only his underwear, and beneath the white cotton his cock was half hard, lying to one side, thick even at rest. He’d never worn pajamas since he was little. I walked over to the bed and lay down beside him in the most absolute silence I had ever lived through. I could feel my own heart pounding against the mattress and my cunt already soaked before I had even touched it.

I lowered my hand. I slipped it under the elastic of the fabric, slowly, and found what I hadn’t known I was looking for: his cock, completely hard, hot, throbbing as if it had a life of its own, the tip already wet with a thick drop that soaked my fingers the moment I brushed it. He was dreaming something, for sure. I closed my fingers around it and squeezed to measure it in full: thick, hard, with the vein underneath pulsing against my palm. I began to move my hand slowly, sliding the foreskin up and down, feeling the head uncover itself, swollen and slick.

He woke suddenly. He opened his eyes, looked at me, recognized me, and for a second the world stopped. He didn’t speak. He only brought his mouth to mine and kissed me as if he’d been saving that kiss for months.

We kissed in silence, slowly at first and then with a hunger I had never felt with anyone. Our tongues searched inside each other’s mouths, tangled, sucked. My hand stayed on him, squeezing and easing, jerking him off with more rhythm, feeling how every so often his whole body jolted and his cock got even harder.

—Do you like it? —I whispered against his lips.

—You’re driving me crazy —he answered—. Don’t stop, fuck, don’t stop.

—I want you to touch me too.

He didn’t need to be told twice. Esteban slid his hand under my sleep shorts, pushed aside the fabric of my underwear, and stroked me over my cunt, slipping on how wet I already was. A low moan escaped him when he discovered the puddle there. He traced my lips with two fingers, parted them, found my clit, and began drawing slow circles that made me open my mouth without a sound. Then he slid one finger in, slowly, and I lifted my hips on their own, as if they didn’t obey me. He put in the second. He curled them inward. I was wet in a way I had never been before; you could hear it—you could really hear it—the wet little sound of his fingers going in and out of me in the dark room.

—You’re soaked —he murmured—. God, Mariana, you’re soaked.

—It’s because of you —I told him—. I’ve been like this for weeks because of you.

I lowered my face to his lap. I yanked at the waistband of his briefs and freed his cock with a pull: it sprang up hard against his stomach, shining in the dim light. I stared at it for a second before bending down and taking it into my mouth. I had never sucked a cock in my life, but I ran my tongue along the whole vein underneath, from the balls to the tip, and felt him trembling in the thighs. I sucked him slowly, learning, closing my lips around the head, helping myself with my hand at the base. Esteban buried his fingers in my hair, not pushing, just holding, while his breath escaped through his nose.

—Do you want to do it? —he asked in my ear when I let him go to breathe.

I stayed silent for a second. My breathing was ragged, my mouth full of his taste.

—I’ve never done it —I said softly—. I’m a virgin, Esteban.

He smiled. A smile of relief more than surprise.

—Me too —he replied—. And I can’t think of anyone I’d rather stop being one with.

***

He got on top of me with a care I hadn’t expected from someone his size. He finished taking off my shorts and panties, spread my legs with his knees, and stayed there for a moment looking at my open cunt, wet and shining under the little bit of reflection coming in through the shutter. He dragged his cock over me, rubbing the tip against my clit, soaking himself in what I was already leaking. I lowered my hand, took him, and guided him to where I wanted to feel him, to the entrance, nudging him a little so he’d decide.

He went in slowly, stopping every time my breathing caught. I dug my nails into his shoulder. I held on. I felt him making his way inside me, so slowly, stretching me centimeter by centimeter, the flesh giving way and burning me at the same time, until he was all the way in, until I felt his balls against my ass and his stomach against mine.

I let out a louder moan than I meant to. Esteban covered my mouth with his free hand and the two of us went still, eyes wide open, listening for whether anyone had woken up in the rest of the house. Nothing moved. Only the ceiling fan turning slowly, and his cock throbbing inside me like a second pulse.

We started moving. Finding the rhythm took a little while at first—the two of us were clumsy, the two of us were scared—but then it was as if our bodies fit together on their own. He came almost all the way out and went back in slowly, taking everything in, and with each thrust I opened wider. He pulled my knees up to my chest and from that angle he went deeper, touching something inside me that made me bite the pillow. I looked him in the eyes. He kissed my throat. I bit his earlobe to keep from screaming.

—Harder —I whispered in his ear—. Fuck me harder, you’re not going to break me.

He straightened, grabbed my hips, and started driving into me with real force, pelvis slamming against pelvis, the sound of wet flesh breaking the room’s silence. We changed positions: he made me turn over, put me on all fours, grabbed the back of my neck down against the pillow, and took me from behind like that, seeing my ass lifted, holding my waist while he pumped into me with ragged breathing.

—Mariana —he said softly—. Mariana, I’m going to cum.

I was close too. But then I remembered a silly conversation with my friends, something they’d talked about laughing, and without thinking too much I pulled away a little, slipped out from under him, and made him straddle my torso.

I put his cock between my breasts, squeezed them with my hands, making a warm sheath around his dick slick with my juices, and whispered for him to move. Esteban bit his lip to keep from making noise. He started thrusting, his hips against my skin, his cock appearing close to my mouth with every stroke. I stuck out my tongue. I licked the tip each time it showed. I sucked, tasted the salty bitterness. I looked at his face twisted with pleasure while he was fucking my tits and smiled at him with my mouth open, waiting.

—Cum on me —I whispered—. All of it, cum all over me.

And when he came—hard, with a shudder running all the way down his back—he let out a long thick jet, then another, and another. Part of it hit my lips and got into my mouth, another my cheek, another my neck, another dripped between my breasts, still squeezed together. I swallowed what had landed on my tongue. With two fingers I gathered a little of what was running down my chest and brought that to my mouth too, looking him straight in the eyes.

I laughed silently. He laughed too, still trembling on top of me. We looked like two kids discovering something that wasn’t in any manual.

I still wasn’t finished, and he realized it. He slid down my body, leaving kisses on my stomach, my navel, the bones of my hips. He parted my legs with his hands, settled himself between them, and, without asking, without warning, buried his face between my thighs and drove his tongue into my cunt.

It was the first time anyone had ever done that to me. The sensation caught me so off guard that I arched my back and covered my mouth with both hands so as not to wake the whole house. My cousin’s tongue moved with a patience that seemed impossible. He opened my lips with his thumbs, sucked me down to the core, licked me from bottom to top, passing over the wet entrance to my clit. He went up, down, drew circles, trapped it between his lips and sucked slowly, stopping when my breathing got too fast and starting again more slowly. He slid two fingers into me again while he licked me, curling them, moving them against a spot that was driving me wild inside.

—Don’t stop —I begged through clenched teeth—. There, there, don’t stop.

When I came, I came like never before. As if something inside me broke and rebuilt itself at the same time. My cunt clamped down around his fingers, my thighs shook, my hips lifted off the bed on their own, and I didn’t know whether I was screaming inside or out. I stayed trembling against the mattress for several minutes, still with small spasms, with Esteban wrapped around my waist and his wet face against my stomach.

Afterward he kissed me very softly, without urgency—I tasted myself on his lips—and I got up, gathered my clothes from the floor, and walked barefoot back down the hallway to my own room, with semen still dry on my neck and my thighs sticky. I fell asleep right away. I slept better than I had all summer.

***

We did it every night until August ended. Sometimes in his room, sometimes in mine, always with the light off and a hand ready to cover mouths. We learned together. I learned to suck him to the hilt without gagging, to ride him slowly while looking into his eyes, to ask him to fuck me in every way I could think of. We made mistakes together. We laughed together when something didn’t come out the way we wanted.

I thought the following summer would be the same. I’d go back to the sea, find him at my grandparents’ house, and we’d pick up where we’d left off. But life doesn’t arrange itself according to desire. In January, Esteban started seeing a girl from university. In July they got married, before either of them turned twenty-two. A small civil wedding, with lunch in the patio.

I went, of course. I gave him the two obligatory kisses, said “congratulations” like any cousin would, and he smiled at me in a way only the two of us understood. A smile that said thank you, and forgive me, and I remember, all at once.

What I have left from that summer is this: the memory, and sometimes, on nights when the bed feels too heavy, a hand under the sheets moving on its own, two fingers sunk into my cunt thinking about a dark hallway, a door opening without a sound, and a cousin sleeping on his back in his briefs with his cock outlined under the cotton.