Golosa79

She had never been in a sex shop, she told me. We went into a booth together, and amid the moans on the screen, she asked me for something I never imagined hearing from her lips.

Twelve months had passed since the last time. I turned a corner downtown and collided with her: the same perfume, the same look, the same desire I thought I’d forgotten.

They called me the old maid with the cats, but no one in the neighborhood imagined what went on in my house every morning, every afternoon, and every night since that summer Tuesday.

Tonight I sleep on the floor and I brought it on myself. The paradox of asking your Dom to order you to do something, then finding there’s no turning back.

I thought she was asleep the night I brought those two men home. I was wrong: she saw everything. And weeks later she walked into the bathroom, sat in front of me, and demanded to know it all.

When I got into the car and saw that man in the front seat, I never imagined my lover had brought me there to hand me over to someone else.

I was sixty and my marriage was asleep when I noticed the boy next door spying on me through the hedges. I didn’t cover up. I played along.

I only meant to be nice and carry her grocery bags up to her apartment. She offered me a soda, changed clothes, and left her bedroom door ajar.

I got out of the car ready to defend him and ended up seeing him with a stranger on his lap. What I did next wasn’t planned: I simply stopped being afraid.

Every first Tuesday of the month he rang the bell with the water drum on his shoulder. I greeted him each time wearing less and less, hoping he’d stay longer than necessary.