What My Cousin Confessed to Me in the Car That Afternoon

Mariana and I grew up together. First cousins, according to my mother; brother and sister, plain and simple, according to the neighborhood. Our houses were on the same block, Christmases were spent at the grandparents’ long table, and summers were passed in the courtyard of my uncle and aunt’s country house. There was always something strange between us, that thing you don’t know how to name as a kid but that the body, long before the mind, already understands.

We grew up, we got married. She first, to a guy who lasted three years. Me after, to a good woman who puts up with me as much as she can. Mariana separated five years ago. I’m still in my marriage, with its ups and downs. We see each other almost always at birthdays, at the occasional family meal. But the contact is frequent: messages, short calls, that familiarity that never cools.

A year ago, something different happened. Mariana works as a secretary at a design and advertising agency. She asked my studio for a quote for some corporate brochures. I sent it over, they accepted it, and since then the agency’s owner —a man named Roberto Olmos— became a regular client. Good volume, payments on time. Until they stopped being that way.

The delays started. First a week, then a month, then two. I called her to mediate. We met at a café downtown, at noon, at a time when she could slip out of the office. She arrived clutching her purse against her side, eyes tired.

—I already know why you’re here —she said before sitting down—. Don’t make this harder for me.

—Mariana, they’re three invoices. I can’t keep carrying this whole thing by myself.

—The industry is complicated. We have to accept what they give us, what do you want me to tell you?

Something in the way she said it made me snap. That line wasn’t hers. It was someone else’s, someone who had repeated it to her a hundred times until she made it her own. I answered with more anger than I’d been holding for Olmos.

—Ha! And one day he’ll ask you to suck his dick so you won’t lose your job. And you’ll agree. And you’ll even let him do it.

I said it and the second after I regretted it. Mariana lowered her eyes to the coffee cup. I saw her lower lip tremble, saw her crush the napkin between her fingers. I apologized three times, with the clumsiness of a man who knows he’s already broken something and can’t put it back together. She accepted the apologies with a smile that never reached her eyes.

We kept talking about other things, pretending. I paid the bill and offered to drive her. Mariana agreed without looking at me.

***

In the car, the silence was thick. She was wearing a new perfume, something dry and expensive, nothing like what she used when we were kids. The radio was low. Ten minutes later, stopped at a red light, I heard her draw in a breath with that broken breathing women have when they’re holding back tears.

—Forgive me —she said—. I reacted badly. You hit a nerve where you shouldn’t have.

—Mariana, no…

—Yes. You were right. Not entirely, but you were right.

The tears rolled down before she could stop them. They were the tears of an adult woman, not a little girl’s: silent, orderly, ashamed. I parked beside an old square, one of those with enormous linden trees and peeling benches. I shut off the engine. I took both her hands. They were ice-cold.

—Tell me.

—Not here. Get me out of here. They might see us. The women in the neighborhood are…

She didn’t finish the sentence. No need.

While I started the car again, my mind was already two blocks ahead. Three blocks away, on a side avenue, there’s a hotel I know. A discreet place, with covered parking and an entrance through a side door. Mariana knows it too. From the look she held in the rearview mirror, I knew she’d already been there. No need to ask that either.

We didn’t talk on the last block. We didn’t talk when the garage door closed behind the car. I opened the passenger door, held out my hand, and she took it. We rode the elevator holding hands. The room smelled like pine disinfectant and ironed sheets.

***

While she was in the bathroom, I opened the minibar and poured us two short drinks: whiskey with a couple of ice cubes. I thought she had come more to talk than for anything else. But when she came out barefoot, her hair hastily gathered into a bun and her blouse already unbuttoned one button more than before, I knew the other thing was going to happen too.

She sat beside me on the edge of the bed. Took the whiskey and swallowed half of it in one gulp.

—You were right —she repeated—. He hasn’t asked me to suck him off yet. But for six months now he’s been touching my shoulder too much, brushing my back, opening the car door when we go to a meeting and leaving his hand on my waist a second too long. And I let him. Because I need the job. And I hate myself for letting him.

I took the glass from her hand and set it on the nightstand. I held her without saying anything. I felt her whole body go limp, felt her surrender against my chest. It wasn’t the crying from the café. It was deeper, older. I let her cry as much as she needed and didn’t rush her.

When she lifted her face, her mascara was smeared and her gray eyes looked clearer than ever. She stared at me.

—You’re not him.

—No.

—You’re my cousin.

—Yes.

—That’s why I want to. That’s why, today, with you. I want you to fuck me and make me forget that son of a bitch.

***

I kissed her slowly, with no hurry. Mariana’s mouth tasted like whiskey and something older, like country summers and a plastic pool. I eased her back without stopping kissing her. My hands found her back first, under the blouse, then her sides. I unclasped her bra with one hand, and she gave a low laugh against my neck.

—You have practice.

—So do you.

I pulled off her blouse and bra in one motion. Her breasts fell heavy, white, with the nipples already hard, dark, the size of a coin. I stared at them for a second. Then I lowered my mouth. I took one nipple fully into my mouth, pushed it deep, made it pop against my palate. With the other hand I squeezed the other breast, kneaded it, lifted it. Mariana grabbed the back of my neck and pressed me to her.

—Yes. Like that. Eat them.

I ran my tongue from one nipple to the other, nibbled them carefully, then less carefully. She was moaning softly now, without fear. I licked the groove between her breasts, her sternum, her navel. When I reached the waistband of her pants, I lifted her hips with one hand and used the other to pull the zipper down.

I turned her onto her stomach. I wanted to take her apart slowly, not rush her. I pulled her pants down to her thighs and left her panties on, black, already wet in the middle. I started at the nape of her neck, with my mouth. I kissed her shoulders, the line of her spine, the hollows of her shoulder blades. Mariana purred against the pillow, fists clenched in the sheet.

I lowered my mouth down her back to the curve of her ass. I bit one cheek, then the other. With both hands I spread them open, shamelessly, and ran my tongue through the middle, over the fabric. Mariana jerked and let out a “son of a bitch” into the pillow that made me laugh. I yanked her panties off with my teeth, pulling them slowly down to her knees. Her ass opened fully, white, with her cunt already shining below, soaked, swollen. I ran my tongue from her clit to her asshole and back, and back again.

—Oh my God, oh… don’t stop, don’t stop —she murmured, face buried in the pillow.

I drove my tongue into her cunt to the root, stirred it inside her, pulled it out dripping. Then I shoved in two fingers and with my tongue went after her clit. Mariana lifted her ass, offered herself, started moving against my mouth.

I turned her over again. I finished taking off her pants and torn panties, spread her legs with my hands, wide open, knees against the mattress. Mariana’s cunt appeared to me whole, with thick, dark, wet lips parted like a mouth begging. I stared at it for a second. She covered her face with her forearm, and in that gesture so much hers, so much like the little girl who used to play doctor in the courtyard of the country house, the whole history we had between us came crashing down on me.

—Look at me —I said—. Take your arm away. Look at me while I eat you out.

She took her arm away. She held my gaze. I lowered my face and started eating her pussy for real. I licked her lips, one first, then the other. I found her clit with the tip of my tongue, circled it, trapped it between my lips, sucked it like it was a tiny nipple. Mariana began trembling from the hips down. I slid in two fingers, then three, pushing hard, searching for that spot inside her that makes her see stars. I found it. She started letting out hoarse, long moans I’d never heard from her before.

—I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming —she said, and squeezed my head between her thighs.

I made her come like that, with her thighs shut on my face, a muffled cry that ended in laughter and a warm gush against my chin. I stayed still inside her with my fingers, feeling her cunt pulse, feeling it tighten and loosen, swallowing my fingers on its own.

—You son of a bitch —she panted—. You learned.

—I learned.

I got up and finished taking off my clothes. When she saw my cock hard, bouncing against my stomach, her eyes widened and she licked her lips.

—Come here. Give it to me.

I knelt at the edge of the bed, level with her face. Mariana turned onto her side, grabbed my cock with her hand, weighed it, looked at it closely as if she’d never seen one before. Then she stuck out her tongue and ran the tip over the glans, slowly, circling. She sucked it like it was a candy, lips sealed, drawing strings of saliva from me. Then she opened wide and took it halfway into her mouth.

—Mmh… mmh… —she made with her mouth full, looking up at me.

She pulled it out, spit on it, took it back in. She sucked my balls, one first, then both together, while her hand jerked me firm. I grabbed her hair with both hands, gathered it at the nape of her neck, and started setting the rhythm myself, pushing her face slowly against my hip. She didn’t resist. She opened her throat wider and let me in all the way. I felt her gag for a second, then exhale through her nose and relax. I fucked her mouth like that for a long minute, carefully, taking it out and sliding it back in to the back of her throat. When I let her go, her eyes were watery and a thread of spit ran from the corner of her mouth to her breast.

—Now you can fuck me —she said, wiping herself with the back of her hand—. All of it. I can’t take any more.

***

She climbed on top of me. She bit my lower lip, then my ear. She gripped my cock firmly, rubbed it against her cunt, passed it over her clit three or four times, and guided me inside. When she sank all the way down, both of us stopped for a second. Mariana closed her eyes and stayed still, feeling. I felt her close around me, squeeze my cock with her whole cunt from top to bottom, hot, tight, dripping wet.

—Holy shit —she said softly—. Holy shit, cousin. It fits so well.

Then she started moving, slowly, in circles, with that wisdom separated women in their forties have when they no longer have anything to prove to anyone. Her breasts moved with the rhythm, heavy, hypnotic. I held her hips and lifted and lowered her on top of me. She braced one hand on my chest and with the other caressed one breast, lifted it, offered it to me. I stretched my neck and sucked on it.

—Ride me, cousin. Break yourself on top of me.

Mariana started going up and down faster, taking sharp little jumps, face twisted, mouth open. The mattress creaked, the headboard hit the wall, and with each drop she let out a string of “ah, ah, ah.” She looked me in the eyes without blinking, with an intensity that made the hair on my neck stand up.

I turned her over again. I wanted to feel her weight under mine. I took her wrists and brought them above her head. She looked at me with a new shine, a mix of defiance and surrender. I pressed them a little harder. She smiled.

—This is how you want me?

—This is how I want you.

I pushed deep. Mariana raised her legs, crossed them behind my waist, and squeezed me. Every time I drove all the way in she let out a low, almost furious groan. I kept a dry, even rhythm, no hurry, looking her in the eyes. She never looked away. I could feel her cunt leaking against my balls, hear the wet sound of my cock going in and out, that sloshing only women who are really wet and really fucked make.

—Harder —she asked—. Ruin me. Fuck me like I’m not your cousin.

I let go of her wrists and grabbed one leg, lifted it, set it on my shoulder. I drove my cock in hard, all the way, pulling nearly out and slamming back in. Mariana started crying out for real, without holding back, gripping the sheet, the headboard, me. I pinched her nipples every time I went deep. The bed moved on its own.

—Turn over —I told her—. Get on all fours.

She turned over obediently, knelt with her ass up and her face against the pillow. The sight was worth framing: arched back, white ass raised, cunt open and shining between her cheeks, all mine. I grabbed her hips with both hands and rammed back into her in one pull. I started fucking her from behind, hard, deep, punctuating each thrust with a slap of my hips against her ass.

—Yes, yes, yes, fuck me like that, fuck me like that —Mariana repeated into the pillow, shameless now.

I ran my thumb over her asshole, wet it with spit and with her own juices dripping from her cunt, and pressed it against her without pushing in. She let out a howl and arched her back even more.

—Oh… oh… oh, cousin, I’m going to come again, don’t stop, don’t stop…

I grabbed her hair, twisted it around my fist and pulled her head back. I kept fucking her with that lever, driving my hips with all my strength. I felt her shake all over, clamp down on my cock in spasms, scream into the pillow a long, animal scream I’d never heard from her before. It went on for a while. I let her come all the way, without pulling out, without slowing down.

When I felt I was about to finish, I asked her with my face. Mariana understood.

—Outside —she said, turning quickly and sitting up in front of me—. This time outside. Come on, give it to me, give it to me in the mouth, give me all your milk.

I pulled out. She sat up fast, finished me with her hand and mouth, jerking me firmly, sucking the tip every two or three pumps, pressed against me, not letting me get away. She shook me while looking into my eyes, her mouth open below, tongue out, waiting. I came in spurts: the first went straight into her mouth and onto her tongue, the second crossed her cheek, the third landed on her neck, and the last ones dripped over her breasts, thick, white, shining against her skin. She kept jerking my cock until the very last drop, wiping it against her lower lip.

She stayed like that, not cleaning herself, staring at me wide-eyed, my semen dripping from her chin to her breasts, a strand hanging from one nipple. She ran her tongue over her lips, swallowed what was in her mouth without taking her eyes off mine. Then she gathered with two fingers what had fallen on her chest and ran it over her tongue, slowly, never breaking eye contact. She repeated the gesture three times, until her breasts were clean. She swallowed every bit of it.

—Next time, inside —she said, and pressed her forehead to mine—. I’m protected. I’m telling you now because today I wanted to feel it like this, on my face, on my breasts, to swallow it. I wanted to watch you come. It’s been a long time since I saw a man I care about come.

***

After that we lay there, she on top of me, her head on my chest, her hair loose against my neck. We talked quietly for a long while. About Olmos. About my wife. About Christmases when we were kids. About when she was twenty and I was twenty-two and we almost kissed behind the shed, stopped by a shout from my aunt coming from the kitchen.

—Do you remember? —she asked.

—I remember every second.

—Me too. Twenty-two years remembering it.

I asked her what she was going to do about Olmos. She said she was going to start looking for work somewhere else, seriously. That she couldn’t put up with him anymore, and that this afternoon, with all of it, had clarified something for her that she hadn’t dared clarify for herself. I told her I’d help her with whatever she needed. The invoices, now, I didn’t give a damn about them.

—About this —she said before leaving, already dressed, looking at herself in the bathroom mirror—, not one word. To anyone. Not even to God.

—Not even to God.

—And we’ll come back.

—We’ll come back whenever you want.

She gave me a long kiss at the car door, before getting out half a block from her house, so nobody in the neighborhood would see her. I watched her walk straight ahead, her purse once again clutched against her side, but her shoulders were different. Higher.

I drove to my office thinking of one thing only: that Mariana had always been my cousin, and that after today she would keep being my cousin. But now she would also be something else. Something the family doesn’t have a name for, and doesn’t need to name either.

It’s never too late. Especially when the bed is good.