The Dream About My Mother I Never Dared to Tell
His heart was racing and the sheet was soaked in the seven-degree dawn. The problem wasn’t the cold —it was who he’d dreamed about.
His heart was racing and the sheet was soaked in the seven-degree dawn. The problem wasn’t the cold —it was who he’d dreamed about.
He was in his chair, oblivious to everything, wearing his headphones. And I was on his bed, with a silly idea I finally dared to act on that afternoon.
I put on my shortest miniskirt just to see if I could make him nervous. I never imagined that night he’d show up again, this time inside my head.
His wife’s friend opened her legs in front of him, smiling, just to show him what he would never get to touch that night.
She got up from the table, turned around, and looked at me in a way that left no room for doubt. I followed without thinking, my heart pounding against my chest.
We’d spent years brushing our hands against each other without saying a word. That night, in my dim living room, looks were no longer enough—and none of us wanted to pretend anymore.
I never told my partner. But when I close my eyes, I’m no longer the one in control: someone comes in, holds me down, and my body stops obeying me.
I knocked a thousand times and nobody opened. When reception let me in, I found suitcases that weren’t mine under the bed and an unmistakable smell.
I had been lying in my hammock for weeks, rubbing myself with oil and closing my eyes, until one afternoon I felt someone watching me through the cypresses.
Marina left the phone book open to the letter C. I was only going to talk about my bedroom problem, but that first appointment didn’t end as anyone would have imagined.
I’d stuffed it in my purse in a hurry, but that afternoon I took it out for another reason: I was alone, bored, and far too horny to hold back.
She thought about him all day. Now, under the sheets and with rain tapping at the glass, her hand begins to explore what her imagination had already promised.
I had never dared watch myself while I touched myself. That afternoon I put my phone in front of the bed, took a deep breath, and learned something new about my own desire.
I had never been an exhibitionist, but that afternoon I opened the curtain, placed a chair in front of the glass, and stripped naked not knowing who was watching.
It was half past eleven at night when Daniela appeared in the hallway and asked me for help with the fire. I’d spent the whole afternoon thinking about what their bags were hiding.
At four in the morning, while he was making love to me, my husband whispered my coworker’s name. And I, in the dark, smiled.
I saw him dancing with another girl, and something inside me broke. I wasn’t looking for revenge—I was looking for someone to make me feel what he no longer gave me.
When Camila closed the door with her suitcases, I never imagined that half an hour later a stranger would offer me his company and know so much about my wife.
There is one instant, just when the door closes and I hear the car driving away, when I stop being her husband and become something very different.
That afternoon, sitting across from me, Mariela stopped talking about her problems and began unbuttoning her blouse with a calm that froze my breath.