Confessions

When I saw him walk into the dark room behind me, I knew the night wasn’t going to end in my bed. He had the body of the kind of man you only see in magazines.

I thought the rain would leave me with nothing. Twenty meters away I saw the dark-skinned boy by the bench, soaked, and I knew the night was only beginning.

I’d spent years imagining it while secretly watching videos. One afternoon, a message on a hookup site, and a stranger got into my car ready to change everything.

She lifted her glass from the corner like she was toasting me. He came over and told me in my ear they wanted to take me to their apartment in Pichincha. I had no idea what was coming next.

My wife went out with her “friends,” and I went to Mauricio’s. One camera, two couples, and the question of who would be the better slut that night.

I’d wanted to do it for a long time: pick up a man in a public place and take him to bed. That afternoon in the café, I finally dared.

I solved a customs crisis and the consul invited me to his residence. I had no idea what was waiting for me at the end of the garden, or what would come after.

I had a secret room behind my lingerie shop. That afternoon, Andrés was already naked when I got there. We weren’t expecting anyone else.

After years carrying that secret, I said it out loud: my wife slept with other men, and I knew it. What I saw in my uncle’s eyes was not judgment, but something darker.

As soon as the last classmates left, she went upstairs. She took off her skirt first. Then her blouse. Then everything else.

I lived on the farm and could wear women’s clothes all day without anyone bothering me. Until a stranger wrote saying he liked my photos.

Sandra needed help with a blind. I needed to forget the worst day of my life. Neither of us expected Valentina to arrive so soon.

I arrived at their apartment at the agreed time. He opened the door in a robe; she came down later, nervous and excited. The night would be long.

I’d filtered through dozens of profiles before getting to Marcos. Everything I asked for, and the patience that’s never in surplus. But someone always shows up too early.

Someone was touching me in the dark, with a slowness that had nothing urgent about it. I opened my eyes and Valeria’s voice said: “Are you enjoying that, baby?”

I’d been left three weeks earlier. That night I walked into the bar wanting nothing and left knowing I knew nothing about pleasure.

The first time I put on someone else’s heels, I knew the image in the mirror was the most honest version of myself. It took me years to accept it.

We had planned Saturday, but she called on Friday: come tonight, I’m anxious. When she opened the door, I could no longer pretend this wasn’t serious.

They were cousins, they rarely saw each other, and that night they were alone in the living room while everyone slept. Nothing should have happened. Almost nothing did.

I had to sleep on the floor of my own room. My sister and her husband were in the bed. We’d been waiting for the moment for months. That night was the moment.