Desire

Between email and email, with the door closed and the stopwatch running, I’ve spent years perfecting a routine I’ve never told anyone. Until today.

When the mirror showed me a face that wasn’t mine, I understood that I no longer ruled this house. I only obeyed and wanted to please her.

I thought those photos were mine alone—until she counted to five by the ships and hiked up her dress without warning.

She packed modest clothes and a body tired of waiting. What she found at her friend’s home changed her forever, though she never dared tell it.

When she asked me to help with the washing machine, I never imagined I’d end up staring at her without hiding it. A woman like that shouldn’t be left alone so often.

When she opened the door in that black lingerie and that cold smile, I knew there would be no talk tonight: only orders, and I was ready to obey every one.

At 6:53 p.m., the intercom buzzed. After three weeks of waiting, she was suddenly there—serious and elegant, ready to fulfill every one of her conditions.

I was twenty-four and thought I knew my desire, until her hands guided mine over her oiled skin and I realized that afternoon would change everything.

We crossed the park in the dark and, before I knew it, she was on her knees in front of me with a smile I still can’t get out of my head.

She wore absolutely nothing beneath her long coat, and as soon as the doors closed, I sent the elevator to the top floor to have her all to myself.

I’m 34, with long blonde hair to my waist and a desire I no longer hide: I live to obey. This is my introduction, unashamed and unfiltered.

I ran into her in the communal showers and, without thinking too much, decided to provoke the situation. What followed turned a boring trip into something I still can’t get out of my head.

That night I stopped being the proper lady I’d always been. I wrote what I truly wanted, hit send, and waited for three strangers to come for me.

Three months became nine, and among waterfalls and orchids I discovered that my different body was no curse, but the heart of a desire the village celebrated.

I was furious at my husband’s idea, but when I took off my last piece of clothing and floated naked in front of them both, I realized I liked it more than I should have.

For a full week I watched her from behind a dune, convinced I’d never dare approach her. Then she lost her house keys on a Saturday afternoon.

Renata wanted to take up more space; Damián wanted to stop deciding. The ritual granted them exactly that, and by morning their bodies began obeying another desire.

She was leaning against the wall, looking at her phone, in a black dress that suited her far too well. She wasn’t smoking. She was just waiting, and I still didn’t know for whom.

We’d been married twelve years, and I’d never seen her so fully in command of herself as that afternoon, standing in the water and letting strange men look at her.

We left almost without saying goodbye. In the car, with anger still burning inside me, I decided to remind him who he belonged to that night.