The App With Which My Brother-in-Law Stripped Me That Afternoon

I don’t know when exactly the idea came to me. I suppose it was the curiosity of seeing the result, the pleasure of telling Bruno about it later, or, why deny it, the thrill the situation gave me. Of all the fantasies my husband and I had shared over the years, none had included his brother or anyone so close. And yet, sitting there in the home office, with the afternoon fading and my mind cloudy, the possibility of eroticizing my brother-in-law didn’t sound bad at all. The fact that he was a happily married man made it even more tempting.

—W-whaaat? —Tomás stammered, his cheeks flushing at once.

—Don’t be silly. I’m not going to get angry if you give me a very realistic touch-up, like you say the program can do. And that way I can see firsthand the quality of the work you offer.

I took the mouse from his hand and rummaged through my files for something we could use. It occurred to me that the company’s organizational chart portrait would be perfect, so I opened it. I appeared from the waist up against a white background, and luckily that day I wasn’t wearing a loose shirt, which would make it easier for the app to distinguish the textures and refine the silhouette.

—Here, try this one —I offered, handing him back the mouse.

He didn’t need much convincing, really. He opened the tool right away and got to work. He traced the whole outline of the clothes he wanted to erase and typed “female naked chest” into the assistant. We watched the progress bar until it reached the end, and there I was: naked and wearing a diplomatic smile, as if showing up to work like that were the most normal thing in the world.

—What do you think? —he whispered, almost voiceless, afraid of offending me.

—I think it didn’t get it right the first time, but I seem to remember it offered more alternatives, didn’t it? —I encouraged him, pretending to be natural to put him at ease.

He unfolded the options panel and went through them slowly, waiting for some comment.

—No. Nope. Not that one. Meh. Yes, I like that one. No. Next. Noooo. This one! No, the previous one. Stop! That one, that one!

We settled on a pair of beautiful, lush breasts. Round, not too saggy, with areolas the same light brown as the nipples. If I hadn’t been there during the process, I would have gasped at how convincing they were.

—This one? —he said doubtfully, looking back and forth between the monitor and my T-shirt.

—Yes, why? —I asked back, not catching the nuance.

—Nothing. I just don’t know if those are the ones you have or the ones you’d like to have —he teased with a half-smile.

—You jerk! —I snapped, giving him a light punch on the shoulder—. Well, now you’ll have to trust my word to know whether your product is amazing or whether you’re pulling people’s leg.

—Okay, okay. Sorry. I’m an asshole, I shouldn’t have made that dumb remark.

—Not asshole. Idiot. An idiot who makes exactly the same jokes as his idiot brother.

—All right, don’t get mad, sis-in-law. I want to leave happy and grateful for the help.

—You’re leaving already? —I protested, and I heard a note of disappointment in my own voice.

—Yeah, I’ve finished what I had to do. I don’t want to bother you anymore.

—You’re also an idiot if you think you’re bothering me. There are still a couple of hours before Bruno gets back from work. Come on, show me what else this program can do.

—More? What else do you want to see? —he asked, surprised that it seemed too little to me.

—I don’t know. We’ve seen that from the waist up it does the trick. But how good is it from the waist down?

—No idea. I’ve never tried it.

—Oh, come on! Don’t lie to me.

—I swear. This is the second time in my life I’ve used AI to strip someone. The first was with the photos I showed you before, and you saw he was always wearing jeans.

He’s nervous. He’s nervous and he’s not leaving. That thought heated me from the inside more than I expected.

—Wait, hold on —I cut in, taking the mouse again—. Birthday, New Year’s Eve, holidays, country house getaway… —I listed out loud the folders where there might be some useful image—. You do realize what would happen to you if you told even one word of this to anyone, right?

—Yes. Don’t worry, this stays here. As soon as we’re done I’ll delete everything —he promised.

—Company dinner —I said triumphantly when I found the folder that promised the best options.

I went through the photos the photographer hired by my boss had taken until I found the perfect one for the test. In it, my colleague Andrés and I stood side by side, both dressed to the nines, arms around each other’s waists and looking straight ahead. Good light, lots of sharpness, full body, and not too much empty space around us.

—This will do —I concluded, pleased with my choice.

He got to work at once. It was obvious which one of us was more eager to see the result. He selected my dress, adjusted the outline and the drape of the fabric, typed “female full naked body,” and let the program work its magic. Before our eyes I appeared whole, from head to toe, with a resemblance that at first glance was not bad at all. The breasts were very similar to those in the previous image; I understood that the algorithm was learning from the earlier results. For the rest, I had to keep asking him to cycle through the suggestions until he found one that fit well, with the pubic hair removed and the labia majora leaving the labia minora timidly peeking through.

—Well, yes. It’s good at the bottom too —I commented to break a brief but awkward silence.

—Well, there you go —he managed to say, visibly rattled.

—Hey, but enough of only you enjoying the view, right?

—It’s just that I don’t have any photos of myself here, on the drive —he excused himself, red as a tomato.

—Ha. No, man. I meant that, since we’re at it, you could leave the guy on equal footing. That way we can also see whether your product works for everything.

The process was quick. This time the options revolved around the amount of hair and, of course, the size and shape of the penis.

—This one —I finally chose.

I stopped on one that suddenly took me back to that morning on the beach, last summer, when I saw him come out of the water almost against my will and felt a current I had spent months pretending not to feel.

—You like that one? —he asked, unaware that my choice was no accident.

—Yes —I nodded, with a knot of nerves at the remote possibility that he might suspect something.

—Well, aren’t you clever. You picked the smallest one, huh?

—If I can choose, why settle for less? Besides, I did it for anatomical consistency. You know what they say about men’s height and proportions. Andrés is pretty tall.

—Oh, really? How tall is he? —he asked, with barely concealed curiosity.

—About five ten.

—Then I’m glad you believe that theory, because I’m six feet tall —he said proudly.

—Come on, you show-off. What are you bragging about… —I teased, leaving the saying unfinished.

—I’m not showing off —he defended himself, offended.

—All right. Prove it to me, then —I challenged him, finally looking him in the eyes.

—W-what? —he stammered.

—Prove it to me. It’s only fair, isn’t it? You’ve already seen me naked, and that image is going to be burned into your brain forever. Those invented pixels won’t matter much when you reach for it. That way we’re even.

—Let’s not go overboard. You seeing me naked is very relative, if you don’t mind me saying —he fired back, on the verge of tachycardia.

—It’s not my fault you don’t keep photos of yourself. Besides, what are you so afraid of? Looking like a little liar?

—It’s not fear, it’s embarrassment. And there’s my brother. And Lucía…

—Now you’re worried about your brother and your wife? Are you going to tell me you didn’t enjoy stripping my photos? That you were just seeing zeroes and ones? What’s the difference between stripping me or any other girl you also, to top it off, photographed in person? —I dismantled every one of his excuses one by one.

—Of course I enjoyed it. The situation has a kinky side I can’t deny, but…

—But…?

—That, whether I like it or not, I hadn’t thought of doing anything more than this.

—What if I’m the one asking you? —I whispered.

—Asking me what.

—To show me what touching up my photos does to you.

—Nadia…

—Look, let’s make a deal. I’m going to take you to the door of a place you could have reached on your own with a little curiosity. Once you’re there, you decide whether you go in or not. It won’t be free, but I assure you it’s worth it.

I took the mouse again and navigated to Bruno’s documents. After several folders with deliberately boring names, meant to throw off nosy people, I got to one named after me. Double-clicking it revealed nine more, with titles as suggestive as they were descriptive: “Blindfolded,” “Blindfolded II,” “Lingerie,” “Bedrooms,” “Camping,” “Mirror,” and a few more. All the intimate photos my husband had been taking of me since we were boyfriend and girlfriend, organized by theme.

—I’m offering you access to everything your brother has collected of me over the years. You can look as much as you want, for as long as you want. The only condition, before opening anything, is that you strip. Fair enough, knowing in advance how exposed I’m going to be. The other option is that we pack this up and you leave, with no loose ends, and I take a cold shower while I start dinner pretending I haven’t spent the whole afternoon wanting something else.

Tomás drained his drink, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, like someone bracing before a jump they don’t know if they’re ready to make. He looked at the screen, then at me, then at the mouse, which he snatched from me to set it on the table. He stood up. For a second my desire read it as regret, until he took off his T-shirt and left it on the back of the chair. He hooked his thumbs into the elastic of his Bermuda shorts and underwear and, with a small hop, let it all fall to the floor.

He wasn’t lying. Even at rest, draped against his thigh, it was imposing, confirming that in his case too height had something to do with the rest. The glans showed only slightly through the opening of the foreskin, and everything about it was begging me to stop looking and start touching.

—Where do you want me to start? —I murmured, my voice trembling and barely recognizing it as mine.

I didn’t give him time to answer. I crossed the office, knelt between his legs, and let the screen, the folders, and the invented pixels fade away forever. What came after wasn’t learned by any artificial intelligence: I taught it to him, slowly, while the clock ticked toward ten and both of us knew neither one of us would delete anything when we were done.

That night, when Bruno came back and asked me how my afternoon had gone, I told him his brother had stopped by to ask me for help with a work program. And I wasn’t lying. I just left out who had ended up doing the favor for whom.