Desire

They had been going to nude beaches for ten years without anything ever happening. That afternoon a man sat down in front of them and she did what her husband had spent years not daring to imagine.

She dissected other people’s minds for a living; so did he. It only took sharing a table for the two of them to stop pretending they were just looking for conversation.

He sat on the sofa, a handspan away from me, with that repentant-boy face that worked so well on him. And I, who hadn’t slept in weeks, knew I was going to forgive him again.

I was always certain of her faithfulness. So when she lowered her gaze and began to talk about that night, I felt the ground shift beneath my feet.

She went down the stairs with her heart racing and her dress clinging to her naked skin. She knew he was watching from the window, and that tonight the game could no longer be undone.

For years I pretended not to understand why she lingered when passing that shop. The afternoon I followed her inside, I understood my mother had already stopped belonging only to my father.

A photograph pinned to the studio wall was enough to make the professor understand he could never look at her like a student again.

She told herself she was only helping him feel better. But every afternoon, with her boyfriend out of the house, the distance between them grew shorter.

“She came to see her boyfriend, the doctor,” the receptionist told him. Damián had no girlfriend. But when she described the visitor’s blush, he knew exactly who was waiting inside.

I’d spent years cheating on my husband without guilt, but I never imagined a work trip to a remote farm would end with me on my knees before a stranger.

I started by telling him made-up dreams about other men. What he didn’t know was that every word that made him moan had really happened that same week.

“Welcome to my beach,” his voice said behind me. I was completely naked on the towel, and he was the last person I expected to see there.

Marisol couldn’t sleep. She left the hut, leaving Gonzalo among dreams, and walked to the campfire, where the silent guide was waiting. That night she would cross a point of no return.

He could tell something was off in my breath, but he never dared name it. My best work wasn’t on any screen: it was inside his head, on a loop.

When she opened the door to my study, I knew she hadn't come for the inheritance. She'd come for what we left unfinished ten years ago, and I'd been waiting for her all that time.

It’s been seven years since we signed the divorce papers and I never stopped looking for him. What I miss isn’t him: it’s what he does to me when no one else is watching.

She had been burning for months and her husband never got home in time. That afternoon, seven months pregnant, she got off the subway at the wrong stop... or the right one.

I bought a tiny bikini without letting her choose it, counted the hours until dawn, and lay down on the small mattress, praying she’d stay alone with him.

Sebastián told her to tear it all apart. The only thing that broke was the promise she’d made, in the bed of a stranger who smelled like victory.

She told me, “Don’t trust my husband,” and I laughed. Three months later, my wife walked into my office unable to meet my eyes.