Domination

I spent twelve months hauling spotlights and hating my life. That dawn, by the fountain, a stranger asked me to photograph her like no one ever had.

Around the bend didn’t come a modern tow truck, but a rusted old rig and a huge man who smelled of the fields. And I knew, before he even opened his mouth, how he was going to collect from us.

I offered her a job and a roof, nothing more. But that first night in the house by the river, neither of us pretended it was still just an arrangement.

I’d soaked her dress at the start of the party. I never imagined that same stranger would corner me against the railing when there were almost no people left on the rooftop.

I thought it was just a game of late-night messages until one afternoon he shut my office door, turned off the light, and stopped asking permission.

She had hated him for years, but when she saw him sitting in that café, all she felt was heat between her legs and a desire she thought buried forever.

I never thought that a comment about how obedient her dog was could ignite something like this between two old acquaintances on her sofa.

She ran her marriage, but that morning on the sand I found out how much she loved a stranger telling her who was in charge, with her husband watching.

Damián arrived every Friday with wine and the smile of an exemplary husband. Tomás slept happily on the other side of the wall, unaware those noises were the only truth they had left.

I arrived trembling at the barn, on my knees in the straw, waiting for a man whose face I would never get to see. I did it for my boyfriend. Or so I told myself.

While the guests toasted in the hall, she tied an apron over her white dress and plunged her hands into soapy water. Her way of saying: I’m yours.

My friend stood me up that night, but the stranger at the bar had other plans for me. And I, even if I wouldn’t admit it out loud, did too.

He brought homemade orujo in an unlabeled jug and got my boyfriend drunk in an hour. When Sergio started snoring, his uncle looked at me and I knew dinner had only been the beginning.

We hadn’t exchanged numbers, but I knew how to find him. I went back to the chat with one thought: to have him call me his kitty again.

His cold hand closed around my arm like a hold. I was ninety kilos of muscle, and still, in front of him, I felt small, examined, bought.

I had the pen in my hand and a lifetime of debt on the table. All he wanted in return was for me to leave my pride at the door.

I had just turned twenty-two and had never been with anyone. Iván was three years younger, but one stupid bet was enough to show me who was in charge.

The metallic voice announced the next phase and, instead of panic, I felt something I shouldn’t have: a ridiculous urge for it all to start again.

The motel terrace connected to his, and from the dimness a deep voice called me “pretty.” I should have gone inside and locked the door. I didn’t.

The order was simple: kneel. My body obeyed before my mind could resist, and I knew that night would take me past a point of no return.