My Coworker Asked Me to Photograph Her from Behind
I thought those photos were mine alone—until she counted to five by the ships and hiked up her dress without warning.
I thought those photos were mine alone—until she counted to five by the ships and hiked up her dress without warning.
When I pulled her thong down to put cream on her, I noticed the couple next to us had stopped pretending. And then I understood that watching was part of the game too.
I had watched her through the peephole at exactly 7:15 every morning. What I didn’t know was that she counted my footsteps behind hers whenever she went downstairs.
Marcos thought he was in charge of the game. His wife looked at me over her shoulder, let the towel fall, and I understood that she set the only rule.
When I opened the recent files folder, the images appeared as thumbnails. I wanted to close it fast, but she was already looking at the screen with me, in silence.
I recognized her the moment she crossed the threshold. That twenty-three-year-old girl had been undressing for me on screen for months and didn’t even know it.
When the first one approached the car, my wife already had her skirt raised and her blouse open. What came next, I watched from an armchair, drink in hand, hardly breathing.
He appeared among the dunes, stopped to watch, and didn’t leave. We kept going, and so did he. That’s how the most exciting game we’d ever had began.
When the first ones came up to the car and she didn’t look away, I knew that night we were going much further than we’d planned.
I’d gone in to buy a toy. I didn’t expect to end up on the floor of the shop, completely naked, with strangers watching me from behind a fallen box.