Desire

For months we had repeated it in bed as a game of words. That night, when I came back from the bathroom, it was no longer a game: they were kissing on my own sofa.

I touched up my makeup, smiled, and went back to the kitchen with a plan none of them could imagine. That night, I chose the menu.

He let his hand slide down his abdomen in the darkness and allowed the scene to form: him in the middle of the couch, his wife on one side, her friend on the other, an impossible kiss.

At ten sharp I walk into the boardroom and, while the boss talks numbers, my head goes to a place where she and I don’t obey any rules.

She sits two chairs to my left and, while the family talks, my head already has her astride my lap. No one knows. Not even her. Not yet.

He only wanted a decent shirt. But then she looked up from behind the counter, and Andrés’s mind began inventing what was never going to happen.

I’d kept that desire locked away for years. That dawn, drunk and defenseless, I let it slip in front of the one person who could make it real.

I thought she was telling me those stories to make me jealous. It took me a while to understand that what was turning me on was something far darker and harder to admit.

His mother had a habit of adjusting her thong as she walked, even when she knew I was watching. That afternoon, her empty bedroom proved too tempting to resist.

I didn’t want her to belong to anyone else. And yet every night I closed my eyes and imagined her giving herself to men who didn’t even look at me.

She came to pose as queen of the underworld. I fired the flash again and again, professional as ever, until she spread her legs and I understood the session was something else.

Nuria was forty-two, a bar owner on the brink of ruin, and the lender wanted to record her only asset: her and her son, one night, unwitnessed.

All it took was a firm hand on her neck for her to understand that I set the rules that night. The rest depended on whether she dared to stay.

Her ass offered, the unused whip in my hand, and her begging me to begin. But the master’s pleasure is something else: making her wait until fear and desire become one.

While my husband was sucking on my breasts in front of the mirror, I was thinking about her and the body of the man we’d be having dinner with that night.

I asked Damián to come with me and wait in the waiting room. The doctor invited him inside. I said nothing. That silence changed everything.

I recognized him on the platform after twenty years, and we boarded the same carriage. By the time we reached the third station, his hand was already where it shouldn’t be.

Some people collect stamps or travel souvenirs. I collect nights, mouths, and hands I’ve already forgotten, and I still don’t understand why I should be ashamed of that.

I offered my husband’s old clothes as an excuse. The truth is I’d been fantasizing for months about what would happen if I ever had him close, inside my house.

For twelve years I’d been fading in silence. That night I put on the dress he hated, left without saying a word, and came back changed.