Desire

When I got to the bar, my wife was no longer alone: a stranger was caressing her waist, and the only thing I didn’t want was for her to stop.

Six years pretending nothing was happening every time they brushed against each other. That night, with the city asleep, neither of them wanted to keep pretending.

I’d gone three months without her hands, without her mouth, without her tits on mine. That night I poured a glass of wine, stripped naked, and decided pleasure didn’t have to wait for her return.

I felt her hand slide up my thigh in the packed subway, and even though I couldn’t move an inch, I didn’t want her to stop.

When she took off her blouse in front of the open window, I knew she wasn’t going to stop even if half the neighborhood was watching. And I didn’t want her to stop either.

I thought I would be guiding her through her first experience, but she was the one who took control and showed me how far my body could go.

She pushed me against the wall with a slow kiss, lowered her voice to a whisper, and told me I’d be a good girl. I never knew her name, but I obeyed her.

Every time she passed by my desk, I lost track of what I was doing. I never imagined one single slip would expose everything I felt for her.

I’d never thought about Nora that way—until she brushed against me in the bar and I understood, from her smile, that she’d been thinking about it for a long time.

I thought I was alone correcting my texts, until her hand settled on my leg and I realized the break was going to last much longer than expected.

She had trained for five years and never competed. On that last afternoon, when her coach straddled her, she knew it wasn’t nerves making her shake.

The light barely came through the blinds, she was still asleep, and all I could think about was one thing: losing myself between her legs before she opened her eyes.

I’m writing this knowing you’re going to read it, even if you pretend you didn’t. And knowing, too, the exact way your body used to respond when you thought no one was watching.

I didn’t take my eyes off her when she came to the bed. I knew what was about to happen shouldn’t happen, and still I let her sit on my lap.

Nadia thought the passion with Andrés had gone out. That night, facing two strangers and a twelve-sided die, she discovered how far she was willing to go.

Diego and I had spent years joking about swapping partners for one night. When Sofía took my hand and led me to her bedroom, it stopped being a joke.

When I walked into that room and saw the two of them together, it took me a second to tell which was my wife and which was the stranger who had paid for her.

“I knew it turned me on to imagine her with another man. What I didn’t know was how far we were willing to go once I stopped making the rules.”

I’d spent nights imagining it. That early morning, sitting in an armchair with a glass in my hand, I finally saw it: my husband inside another woman.

My wife was riding me, thinking about the neighbor while he, on the other side of the wall, was doing the same with his. It was only a matter of time before we stopped imagining it.