Confessions

We sat facing each other with a martini each. One rule: see, talk to, smell each other. Touching was forbidden. And she had an ice cube in her hand.

I took the elevator in heels and a wig, praying I wouldn’t run into anyone. He opened the door in a robe and called me a slut before I even said hello.

When I opened the bedroom door, the last thing I expected was to see my girlfriend under her friend, legs open and a look that told me not to come in yet.

Until that night I thought I already knew all my limits. One look, one gesture from her, and everything I thought I knew about my desire collapsed in silence.

I’d been glancing at him for half an hour when he spoke to me. Behind the rocks, neither of us had any intention of getting dressed again for the rest of the afternoon.

He opened the door barely dressed, with that smile that was no longer the polite client’s smile, and I understood from the very first minute that this call wasn’t ending with a drain gasket.

I closed the hotel door, looked at his trembling hands, and knew that this stranger was as scared as I was. And neither of us was leaving.

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.