Anal

I was waiting for him with my bags packed, ready to leave him. But when he began telling me what happened with her, I discovered my body was reacting differently from my pride.

I had just enough budget, and my boyfriend offered me his aunt’s house. What I didn’t know was that his cousin would turn that week into something I never told him about.

He texted me at ten in the morning, and I knew that afternoon, with the house empty, I’d give him exactly what his girlfriend would never allow.

She came down from the empty stands in a red dress that left nothing to the imagination. The coach still didn’t know that afternoon would change everything.

I came out of the shower dripping, thinking it was my mother at the door. But when I opened it, there she was—the only woman I could never get out of my head.

I found him half-naked in the kitchen’s dim light, and his gaze traveled over my nightgown. In that instant I knew there would be no turning back.

The night before my wedding I prepared myself alone in the hotel suite. What my future husband didn’t know was who I was really preparing for.

She perched on the edge of the desk, opened her jacket, and said in a hoarse voice: “Now you can clear up your doubts.” And I knew that afternoon wasn’t ending in the office.

My girlfriend had been out of town for a week and I could think of only one thing: text Mariana and meet her at our usual café for a little game.

I told Andrés that therapy was helping me clear my head. I didn’t tell him that every session left my body shaking and my conscience split in two.

I never dared tell her. But that afternoon, while she was having coffee with her friends, I typed the two words that set everything in motion: “then accept.”

Each excuse she gave my fiancé was more elaborate than the last. I left that office trembling, aching, and with a smile I couldn’t hide.

I climbed the fourteen stairs with the cold stuck to my clothes and the secret stuck to my skin: no one in the building imagined what was happening one floor below.

I agreed to therapy to understand my body before marriage. No one warned me I’d end up begging the wrong man not to stop.

She was filed away as inaccessible: the haughty bank director who kept freezing my mortgage. Until I saw her enter a couples’ club on her husband’s arm, ready for anything.

While he puts away the domino tiles and heads off to the club, she’s already feeling her body heat up, thinking of what awaits her in that student apartment.

I opened the door half-dressed, my hair a mess and the bed still warm. He looked at the basket of my lingerie before he looked at me, and I didn’t bother to cover myself up.

I kept telling myself it was only part of the therapy, that it was nothing personal. But with another man’s cum running down my thighs, I didn’t believe a single word of it anymore.

Each email brought a new photo and a crueller line. I drank whiskey in front of the screen, not knowing whether the woman tied up was truly my wife.

I never imagined I’d be the one pushing my wife toward another man, but there I was, reading every email with a racing pulse and a dry mouth.