Confessions

I stepped out of the car with my coat open, wearing nothing underneath, and from across the street they started pointing at me. My husband watched from far away, waiting to see which one I’d choose.

I watched her get out of the car to brush crumbs from her skirt, and without knowing it, I knew at that instant we still had many kilometers left and very few excuses.

When my boss suggested we go up to his apartment to keep the party going, my wife hesitated. But curiosity and alcohol outweighed caution that night.

It was seven in the morning, I’d just broken up with my girlfriend by text, and my neighbor was still face down in my bed. I wasn’t about to waste the morning.

Her mom went out on an errand, her sister left with her friend, and we were left alone. Camila opened her biology book and started asking questions no teacher answers.

That night I went downstairs for a glass of water and never made it to the kitchen. What I saw in the shadows of the corner left me frozen there for a whole hour.

I’m 41, and that early morning I accepted a much younger couple’s invitation to a rehearsal space. What happened changed my idea of desire.

I opened the door to his apartment wearing the shortest miniskirt I owned and saw his expression crack as his gaze climbed up my legs.

When Bruno looked up from his monitor and saw his boss staring at his mother, he knew he had two options: make a scene or stay silent.

When the others went to the bar and we were left alone by the pool, my aunt asked me something that changed the way I would look at her forever.

I got off the museum ship with my head spinning. That same night, facing the Pacific, a woman I barely knew kissed me like no man had ever kissed me before.

I told myself it was just curiosity. I uploaded four photos, used my fake name, and waited to see if anyone still looked at me. That same week, Matías appeared.

Her white T-shirt soaked with sweat, her nipples pressing through the fabric, and the question thrown between two glasses of wine: is what they say about you and Lucía true?

I’d only been in the alley for a month when I was put in charge of the punch with house 207. I didn’t expect the woman who opened the door and her husband to change my idea of desire that very night.

Tomorrow marks eight years since that last night with him, and I still wonder whether I was brave or just selfish to ask him for that.

The doorbell rang after midnight and I opened it expecting pizza. It was a stranger with a bottle in his hand and the truth about my wife on his lips.

Thirty-two years old, red nails, and a way of looking at women that seemed like a greeting and a question. I was a married woman. That is, until the night I forgot my keys.

At five in the morning, with my wife’s friend smoking on my terrace, I knew I was going to tell him about the night she herself pushed me over the edge.

Her message came Tuesday at four: “My boyfriend’s away. I need to get out.” My best friend’s sister was waiting for me, eager.

When I learned I had only a few years left, I decided to live them without rules, starting with the person who slept three meters from my door every night.