Desire

I received the unsigned note in front of everyone. That same night, behind a mask, a man's hands taught me what I'd kept silent for so long.

I had a week to decide whether to leave everything behind. That night, four men set out to make me forget the decision, even if only for a few hours.

He hadn’t slept in two days, but footsteps in the dark aisle woke him: someone was going into the bathroom where another boy was already waiting, and no one else knew.

Matías opened the door barefoot, wearing a half-smile that hid nothing. Behind Andrés, Esteban was already breathing against his neck. All three knew why they had come.

I went upstairs to drop off some paperwork and came back down with a stranger who smelled of expensive cologne. Then the elevator stopped, the lights died, and everything changed between us.

It started as a game in the back row of a theater and became an addiction: finding the city’s most impossible corner to lose control.

He told me to close my eyes in front of the shop window. When I opened them, I knew Hugo wanted to see me turned into something I’d always wanted to be but never dared say out loud.

He went in believing the showers were empty, but the steam concealed someone else. His teammate had not heard him arrive, and he could no longer look away.

They said the blue of his overalls brought him luck. But that night, under the spray and his teammates’ eyes, he learned luck had another name.

They had set up the screen, served the cider, and weathered the muttering. Finally alone in the deserted plaza, there was only one thing left to do: go up to the attic.

He’d spent days only seeing him through a screen. When the door finally shut behind us, I knew that night we’d make up for every stolen hour.

When my mother found the stains on my underwear, she thought the worst. She didn’t know Marco wasn’t hurting me: he was helping me stop being afraid of who I am.

I thought the hardest part of coming home would be the banner at the village entrance. I was wrong: the hard part was the dinner table, when we started telling the truth.

He stayed on my sofa for a couple of weeks, polite and distant, until one Sunday afternoon he dropped the line that woke everything we’d buried in those summers.

I’d gone two weeks without cumming and my imagination played a dirty trick on me in the middle of my shift. What I didn’t expect was for someone to notice before I did.

For months I’d been pretending not to look when he came out of the bathroom in his underwear. That Christmas, alone in the flat, I opened his dirty laundry bag.

When the officiant asked whether anyone had something to say, the groom raised his hand. Not to say yes, but to confess what he had been holding in for months.

I’m thirty-four and I never doubted what I was. Until that seed started growing inside me, silent and persistent, and I could no longer ignore it.

I learned his schedule, the sound of his boots, the exact moment he took off his shirt because of the heat. What I didn’t know was how far that obsession would take me.

She left them by the mat, still warm from her bare feet. It only took my daughter being distracted for a moment for me to commit the madness.