Confessions

Marina was already dripping when she demanded the second round: both men at once, with no barriers, while the action movie still played in the background.

When I pulled back the curtain to look in the mirror, she was there, leaning against the wall, looking at me like she already knew what would happen next.

Monday morning. Adrián’s suitcase disappeared through the door and, before the coffee was even done, we already knew that week was going to be different.

I went up to the hotel wearing a red lace set under the dress he still hadn’t seen. We’d been waiting seven months for that moment.

I’m not the kind of girl who sleeps with strangers in a club bathroom. Or I wasn’t. That night in Barcelona, a short skirt and a mistake changed everything.

It was three in the morning when I peeked into my parents’ room and saw my father in front of the television. I didn’t leave. I kept watching.

I looked down when I saw my skirt was shorter than was prudent. I crossed my legs on the stool and, before the cocktail even arrived, I could feel two pairs of eyes fixed on my cleavage.

I went into my room and found her naked in a corner, masturbating while she watched me. She said nothing. Neither did I. I just sat down in front of her.

I’ve spent years thinking about that moment: Valeria in the empty classroom, her finger pointing at my crotch and that smile promising everything that never happened.

While he drowned in whiskies, he confessed his darkest fantasy to me. He didn’t know what he was asking for until I came home with it on video.

He’d had four days of bad luck until he walked into a seaside bar and saw her sitting alone, with curves that said more than she did.

Alone at home, wearing a thong and red lipstick, I looked in the mirror and felt no shame. I felt something far more interesting.

I had waited months for that Saturday. High heels, lace lingerie, the estate all to myself. No one was supposed to see me. Then Roberto from the estate across the way arrived.

I’d only gone to say hello, but Matías couldn’t take his eyes off me. When his father left, the boy proved he had more initiative than he appeared to.

Marcos almost choked when I told him what I’d done. What came next surpassed any fantasy we’d imagined in six years together.

He was the quietest guy in class, wore glasses, and never talked about anything but studying. I had spent weeks thinking about what I’d accidentally seen.

The package arrived on a Tuesday without warning. Inside, three bikinis he’d chosen himself. The note said: “Try them on this afternoon. Two photos of each. Don’t improvise the angles.”

Camila arrived in a white linen dress and a smile I knew by heart. But that afternoon there was something different in her eyes, and we both knew it.

The cheerleader uniform, five players, and too much beer. That night I lost something I thought mattered and discovered it didn’t matter that much.

When Marcos told me he wanted to share me with another man, I didn’t reject him. I felt curiosity, nerves, and something I had never felt before: real desire.