Cheating

I'd seen the way he looked at me whenever I went to his house. That week at the beach, away from everyone, I decided to find out how far my boyfriend's father would go.

That morning, as she dressed shamelessly in front of me, I understood that the real game wasn’t sex: it was how many people she wanted watching her.

I had spent years faking it in my husband’s bed. That night, a man half my age whispered a bolero in my ear, and everything I thought was asleep inside me suddenly woke up.

At sixty, I promised myself a quiet life. Then the door across the landing opened, and she appeared—with white-streaked hair and a smile promising trouble.

I had always wanted my friend’s boyfriend. That night, when alcohol finally knocked her out, he returned to the living room naked—and everything changed.

I knocked on the bathroom door with my heart racing. I knew I was only going to look. I also knew I was lying to myself.

My friend promised that night would fulfill a fantasy I had only dared confess to her. What I never imagined was how far we would both go.

I kissed him in the car as if I had wanted him all my life, and only then did I realize that the boy I had watched grow up was no longer a child.

Bored at home, I agreed to have a drink with him. I never expected that beer to end with me on my knees—and later in his hotel room.

We were dancing when he leaned to my ear and reminded me what he’d seen that other night. Half an hour later, I was climbing into his pickup at the end of the driveway.

I thought the house was empty, but the murmurs were coming from upstairs. I stood frozen on the staircase, unable to go up or leave.

For years, everyone had treated her as invisible. But that night, trapped by the storm in a cabin, my mother-in-law stopped being my father-in-law’s wife and became something else.

Years ago, I wrote ten commandments to keep from hurting anyone. First: never intervene. Second: remain hidden. This is one of the nights I’ll never confess.

I didn’t choose all three of them at once. It happened gradually, until one night I discovered they were messaging each other to get rid of their rivals.

They sat on either side of me, sure they were going to undo me with their games. I let them believe it all through dinner, and took control in five minutes.

I'd spent years pretending with my boyfriend. That night, across the bar, was the one man who truly knew what my body had been asking for.

When her boss offered to take me out to buy the drinks, my husband was left looking like a fool. I already knew that outing wouldn’t be innocent.

I turned off my phone with sixty missed calls from my boyfriend, lit the candles, and waited at the top of the stairs for the downstairs doorbell to ring.

When I went down to the kitchen at three in the morning, she was already there waiting for me, wearing a nightgown so thin it left nothing to the imagination.

I heard every filthy word they said about my body, convinced I couldn’t understand them. When I spoke to them in their own language, their faces turned red.