Anal

I was waiting with my suitcases packed to leave him. But when he started telling me what happened with her, I discovered my body was reacting differently than 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 had no idea 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 shadowy kitchen, and his gaze traveled over my nightgown. In that instant I knew there would be no turning back.

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

She leaned against the edge of the desk, opened her jacket, and said huskily, “Now you can stop wondering.” And I knew that afternoon wouldn’t end at 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: “but 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.

I had classified her as unattainable: the haughty director holding up my mortgage. Until I saw her enter a swingers’ club on her husband’s arm, ready for anything.

While he puts away his dominoes and heads to the club, she is already burning inside at the thought 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.