The Last Trip: I Discovered What My Wife Was Doing

I got back to the hotel after midnight, exhausted from work and with only one desire: to get into the shower and sleep. I rode up the elevator without thinking about anything. When I reached the room door and put my hand in my pocket, I remembered the worst part: I had left the key in the other pair of pants. I knocked once, twice, five times. Nothing. Mariana wouldn’t open up.

I went down to reception and waited another long while for the concierge to finish talking to someone and, after several apologies, he took me upstairs with the master key. The moment I walked in, I knew something was wrong.

There was a suitcase that wasn’t ours under the bed. The sheets were almost on the floor. And a smell of sweat and sex hung in the room, needing no explanation. My key was on the kitchen table, as if someone had left it there on the way out.

Then I heard it. A long, muffled moan coming from upstairs. It was Damián’s room. Even though the voice was softened by the ceiling, I knew that voice. I had heard it a thousand nights in my own bed.

I walked out of the room without thinking. The elevator wasn’t responding, so I took the stairs two at a time. Damián’s door was slightly ajar. I pushed it open just enough to peek inside.

Mariana was on top of him, naked, with her back to me, moving her hips in a rhythm I knew by heart. Damián had her by the waist. Her body was blocking his; I could only see his hairy legs sticking out underneath.

—Like that, daddy —she panted—, like that, harder… make me your whore.

—God, I love the way you feel… —he answered, his voice breaking with the effort—. These tits are insane.

I was frozen in the hallway. I had suspected it before. I had even confronted her twice, on other trips. But seeing it with my own eyes was something else, something my mind couldn’t process. I was paralyzed.

I reacted when I heard bare feet approaching the door. Someone was coming. I slipped into the next room, luckily open, and closed the door silently. I didn’t even hide: I stayed standing against the wall, my heart in my mouth.

—Did you find it? —Mariana shouted from the next bed over, between gasps.

—There’s nothing in your suitcase —another voice replied.

That voice went through me like a knife. Rodrigo.

Rodrigo was Damián’s cousin, an old acquaintance of Mariana’s from before we got married. The last time I had caught her, it had been with him too. She had sworn to me: never again. And there he was, in the adjoining room, looking for lube in my wife’s suitcase while Damián fucked her.

—The Vaseline is under the bed —she said between screams—. But this animal won’t even let me talk.

I heard something fall to the floor. Probably a pair of pants.

—Why did you take so long, bro? —Damián asked—. I’m almost done.

—I stopped by Iván’s room. He didn’t have any either.

There was a brief silence, broken at once by a wet, rhythmic sound. Mariana was giving Rodrigo head while Damián kept fucking her from behind. Three voices, two men, my wife. And a plaster wall between them and me.

—Come here, mommy —Damián moaned—. Ahhh… so good.

He came inside her. I heard everything, every breath, every slap on her ass, every low laugh between the three of them.

Damián caught his breath.

—And I still haven’t gotten to try that ass.

Rodrigo took over right away. Mariana moaned again, this time louder, begging him not to be so rough. The slaps against her skin sounded loud even where I was.

—Easy, bro —Damián said, as if watching—. Don’t kill her.

—You don’t know her like I do. This bitch loves it when I give it to her like this. Right, baby?

—Rodrigo… mmm… not like that…

After long minutes, Rodrigo came with a deep groan. Then the three of them laughed, talking as if it were any old Sunday.

—So you were already fucking her before —Damián said, amused—. If I hadn’t seen it now, I wouldn’t believe it.

—It’s been a while since I last tasted her —Rodrigo replied—. But she always comes back. Right, babe?

—I’m his vice, then.

—Are you swingers or what? —Damián asked.

—Haha, with Rodrigo? No, not at all. He’s been a friend my whole life. Every now and then we treat ourselves.

—Even better. If she behaves like this, I was already thinking about it.

—Diiiiiiid, you two are obsessed with my ass.

—You know what you’re packing, blonde. And you still won’t give it to me.

—I’m not giving it to you without lube. It’s too big, and you know it.

—Let’s go downstairs to the room —Rodrigo said—. There’s less space here.

—No, better here. What if Tomás comes in and sees us like this?

—We’ll let him in and he can enjoy it too —Damián laughed—. What do you say?

—No, daddy. Two of you is enough.

Kisses sounded. They started again. And I stayed there, against the wall, hearing everything, my legs no longer able to hold me up.

***

After a long while, the moans faded. I thought they’d fall asleep and I’d be able to slip away. But then I heard footsteps in the living room. Mariana ran to the kitchen and turned on a tap. A moment later, Rodrigo came back into the bedroom.

—Tell me you went through the room.

—Of course I did. I was there.

—And?

—Tomás got here a while ago.

My legs started shaking. Had they seen anything? Had I left something out in the open? I started searching for excuses in my head, anything, whatever it took.

—I’m kidding —Rodrigo said—. Haha.

—You’re an idiot.

I felt an absurd sense of relief. Relief, after seeing and hearing what had just happened.

—I called Don Esteban’s hotel. Marcelo told me they still haven’t gotten back.

—Did you put everything away in the room?

—Yes, yes.

—Rodrigo, stop. Come on.

—You think you can turn your back on me with that ass like nothing happened? —he gave it a slap that echoed through the whole wall.

—Damián is sleeping!

—You were begging me to help you with him and now you want him asleep.

—I let you touch me because I wanted your help with Damián. Nothing else.

—Oh yeah? And yesterday? And upstairs, half an hour ago? Damián wasn’t the one who had you.

Silence. And then, again, the wet sound, her broken moans. Rodrigo had talked her into it without effort.

—I don’t know how you recover so fast —she panted.

—Take off your thong, baby. Tomás has at least an hour.

This time they were quicker, more urgent. He fucked her from behind and, when she complained, asking him to go slow, he shoved her head into the pillow so she wouldn’t scream. The two of them knew exactly what the other wanted. It was obvious they had been doing this for years, long before me.

***

Soon after, I heard a door slam: Rodrigo left. I waited several minutes before going out. I peered into the hallway, looked both ways. Empty. I risked going into Damián’s room to see if there was any trace of me to gather up. Damián was asleep naked, on his back on the bed, legs spread, as if he’d been melted into the mattress. Mariana’s clothes were strewn everywhere. It wasn’t the first time.

I went down the emergency stairs. I rang the bell for my own room. I took a deep breath.

Rodrigo opened the door for me. I don’t know how he managed to look me in the eye.

—Where were you? —he asked, wearing the cleanest face in the world.

—What do you mean?

I went in and, to my surprise, Don Esteban was sitting on the couch. Mariana came out of the kitchen with a tray of coffee, wearing a robe, her hair still damp. She looked at me as if I were the one who had to explain myself.

—Baby, where were you? —she said, setting the cups on the table—. Don Esteban got here half an hour ago.

—I forgot the key. I was downstairs, waiting.

—But Don Esteban says you came back early.

I looked Don Esteban straight in the eye, begging him silently. He understood immediately.

—Ah, yes, that’s right —he said, not losing his composure—. He came back to have lunch with us.

Don Esteban and I looked at each other like accomplices. Mariana and Rodrigo, too. We all knew something; we all kept quiet.

***

I walked Don Esteban to the lobby. He had given me the news that the job was done: the next day we were flying back. In any other context it would have been a relief. When we stepped outside, he stopped and looked at me.

—Are you going to tell me where you were?

—I was here.

—I know. But they didn’t know. There was tension upstairs, son.

I didn’t know what to say. The first thing that came to mind was an easy lie.

—I was with someone else.

—How’s that? With another woman?

—I took advantage of the free time. There’s a girl here at the hotel…

Don Esteban looked at me for a long time. I saw the disappointment on his face.

—Then you can’t complain about Rodrigo, can you?

I had just lost, on top of my marriage and my dignity, the image I had with the only boss who had ever respected me. But deep down I preferred that to him seeing me as a cuckold again.

***

That night we barely spoke. Mariana kept looking at me strangely, as if I were the suspect. And maybe I was. I didn’t tell her anything about what I’d seen. I had no proof, no strength, nothing. Only the exhaustion of knowing.

The next morning I woke up late. Mariana was already dressed: a light blue tank top and white shorts that showed her thong. As soon as she saw me, she said she was going to say goodbye to Lucía, her friend from the floor below, and return a bikini she had lent her.

—You’re going out dressed like that? —Rodrigo asked from the couch.

—It’s sunny —she replied—. Why not?

—We’re leaving today. It’s windy in Buenos Aires.

—I know. I left my travel clothes outside. I’ll be right back.

It was ten o’clock. By eleven she still hadn’t returned. We took the suitcases down to reception. Rodrigo, calm, kept saying she’d be back. I didn’t answer him.

I saw her come in fifteen minutes later, almost running. She was wearing the same white shorts, the sandals, and the same light blue top. Her hair was wet, dripping. And her nipples were outlined like never before against the fabric.

—What are you doing here? —she said, pretending to be surprised.

—We’re leaving —Rodrigo answered, amused—. The car’s over there.

—Mariana, where were you? —I asked.

—Saying goodbye —she said, crossing her arms to cover her chest—. I didn’t know it was this early.

—I told you when you woke up. And you didn’t even come back to change. How are you going to travel like that?

—I stayed talking with Lucía. Time got away from me.

Wet hair. No bra. More than two hours out. It was obvious who she had said goodbye to, and how.

When she got into the car I looked, almost out of habit, at the thong line in her shorts. It was gone. She was naked underneath too.

For the whole ride to the airport she kept her arms crossed. At the boarding area I had to buy her a pair of pants, some stockings, and a jacket so she could get on the plane without a scene. She barely looked at me. Rodrigo didn’t speak either, but his smile said too much.

I didn’t ask anything else. There was nothing to ask. That trip ended, and with it ended, even though it would take months before we formally separated, my marriage. But that was, without a doubt, the day the divorce began.

This is just one of so many stories I lived with her. A bitter story, yes. But also proof of how blind a person can be when they still believe they love someone.