Exhibitionism

My friend promised me a wild costume night. I put on the sexiest outfit in the sex shop and headed out, not imagining what was waiting for me at that bar.

I’ve always hated public bathrooms, but that day I had no choice. What I never imagined was what I’d find when I ran back for the phone I’d left on top of the water tank.

I was sixty and my marriage was asleep when I noticed the boy next door spying on me through the hedges. I didn’t cover up. I played along.

That Thursday I didn’t have classes and the morning was mine. I turned on the water, closed my eyes, and let myself go... not imagining boots would appear in the window.

I had gotten used to being looked at, but that afternoon, alone at the waterfall, I decided I wouldn’t cover up this time when I found him hiding among the trees.

He shut the room door with all my clothes in his hands and left me on my knees, naked, with one order: “I’ll wait for you in the car.”

When he had us go up on the stage and people started betting on what we were wearing under our dresses, I knew the luxury party was no longer normal.

For fifteen years I’d greeted him on the beach without imagining what that man saw every night through the bathroom glass while I thought I was alone.

At four in the morning, locked under the sheets with my mother’s phone, I started opening folder after folder without suspecting that nothing would ever be the same again.

Our bedroom window faced his rooftop exactly. That night I realized the idea of being watched aroused me more than I’d ever admit.

I opened the curtain just enough to confirm my suspicion: he was outside, with his hand inside his pants, waiting to see something he shouldn’t have seen.

We thought it was a twenty-block ride. Neither Lucía nor I imagined we’d get off that bus as two completely different women.

I went out alone to explore the northern area and a blow to the back of my head changed everything. I woke up surrounded by strangers, naked and with no escape.

I left the curtains open on purpose and pretended not to see him. He, standing on his rooftop, didn’t miss a single detail of my naked body.

Every week we stared at the photos at the entrance without daring to go in. The night we crossed the threshold, I discovered how far I could go with him watching.

I’ve spent thirty years pretending to be the modest wife my husband thinks he set free. What he doesn’t know is that on this cruise, I’m the one pulling the strings.

When she told me what really turned her on, I knew we were opening a door we’d never be able to close again. And I didn’t want to close it.

I turned on the system from the office just to keep an eye on the tools. What came up on the screen was my wife taking off her bikini in front of him.

She came down from the plane of pleasure to a flat in Ruzafa, and as soon as the street’s desire brushed her skin, she knew no loose clothing could contain what she was.

I took my time handing her coat over, enjoying the way men looked at her. I never imagined one would dare that much in front of me.