I Confess to What I Imagine When I’m Alone in My Bed
I’m naked while I write this. And I want you to know exactly what goes through my head when I shut the door and no one can hear me.
I’m naked while I write this. And I want you to know exactly what goes through my head when I shut the door and no one can hear me.
They went up to the second floor carrying a tray of pastries. None of them imagined they’d learn that afternoon how much desire had been sleeping between the three of them.
When I moved to the capital, I thought I was only looking for work. My roommate taught me something else: that men look at what they shouldn’t, and one gesture is enough to confirm it.
In primary school she loved me more than I could return. Twenty years later, her voice on the phone was the same, and my hands trembled.
We were coming back to the hotel at three in the morning, having gotten nowhere with the guys. What happened once we closed the door changed our friendship forever.
The lover’s initials weren’t written out in full, but they matched the man smoking on my balcony.
I warned her that if I didn’t like it, I’d drop her at the next corner. She smiled, reclined my seat, and asked me to close my eyes for a second.
I opened the door expecting dinner and found a slight girl with red-painted nails and a smile that said much more than “good evening.”
For a whole year I lived two lives: the perfect professional beside my partner, and the insatiable lover who returned to the hotel each night. Until television announced his death.
I thought I had only gone to open the door, but that night she came into my room with me and whispered that she was going to make me lose my mind.
I spent all day imagining the exact moment the key would turn in the lock. I wasn’t going to say a word—just let him find me like that, waiting.
I went up to his landing in jeans that showed everything and my heart in my throat. No one answered. When I gave up, the elevator doors opened and there he was.
My mother rented out the extra room to two newly arrived brothers, and from the first day I felt them stripping me with their eyes. I never imagined how far it would go.
I confessed the fantasy at eleven thirty at night. By two in the morning, the date was locked in and I was more scared than she was.
Drunk and heartbroken after losing my job, I said yes to her flirting. “Just five minutes in the bathroom,” she promised. I had no idea how far she meant to go.
The cabin was meant to be her refuge in solitude. Until an engine broke the fjord’s silence and Mikkel and Sigrid stepped out, bringing the end of everything Greta thought she was.
Mariana was nursing the baby by the fire, unaware that Catalina was watching from the other side of the cabin, a new heat rising under her skin.
One random dawn I turned on the camera and, without knowing it, opened the door to the only woman who learned how to make me tremble from six hundred kilometers away.
I opened my eyes in the middle of the pleasure and saw her leaning against the doorframe, watching us. She said nothing. She just slid a hand inside her shorts.
I put the proof back where I’d found it, washed my hands, and went down to the kitchen as if I knew nothing. That night, the dirtiest game of our marriage began.