Couple

When I knelt in the sand with the sun beating on my back, I never imagined someone was watching every move from the other side of the crag.

Her boyfriend played with his phone a meter away while she left the fitting-room curtain half open and, every time she undressed, checked that I was still there.

—Today we’re just going to take care of you —she whispered, and I understood that after being her slut all night, it was time to be her girl again.

I pressed her shirt open against the wall in the vestibule, kissed her neck, and knew I wasn’t going to ask her to stay, even though I was dying to.

The taxi arrived at two-thirty. I climbed the four floors with two bags in my hands and the certainty that there was no turning back.

The theater was almost empty. My husband got up for the drinks and, before leaving, had pulled up my skirt and sweater just enough for his friend to be unable to look away.

In the drinks line she asked to smell my perfume. When she leaned in against my neck, I understood that night’s concert would end somewhere other than my home.

My wife thought the game was over when the technician left. She didn’t know the hidden camera had recorded everything, and that my excitement had only just begun as I watched from the office.

We had been locked in the room all afternoon, and still he was awake in the bathroom. Curiosity beat sleep, and what I saw changed me.

By thirty, no one had ever kissed me. The night I spied on my roommate through the crack in his door, something inside me finally woke up.

“Lock the door and take off your clothes,” was the first thing you heard from my voice that night. The rest depended on how much you were willing to obey me.

That night I went down to the studio with the excuse of the copier. In her personal folder there were three files that changed everything I thought I knew about her.

I spread a towel over the bed just in case, opened my legs, and followed the video’s instructions. Half an hour later I understood my body kept a secret.

I closed my eyes thinking I was alone. When I felt the shadow at the door, it was already too late to pretend I wasn’t thinking about him.

I agreed to my husband’s fantasy on one condition: I would choose how, where, and with whom. What he didn’t know was that I already had someone in mind.

I asked her to put on the shortest shorts she owned. I wanted to see how the workers looked at her as she walked by, and how she endured the whole day in that outfit.

For years I practiced with my fingers and toys, but none of it prepared me for the first time I felt another man breathing on my neck and pushing in patiently.

She’d spent the whole dinner without panties, knowing exactly what she was doing to me. When she saw the empty alley, she lifted the red skirt slightly and pressed herself against the wall without saying a word.

At ten years old, my mother understood before I did who I was. Twenty years later, I look in the mirror and finally recognize the woman I always was.

I reached the entrance not knowing if I’d have the courage to go up. My name is Esteban, I’m 48, and upstairs a couple I only knew by messages was waiting for me.