Exhibitionism

I told her to go in alone, as if she didn’t know me, and to do whatever she wanted if she found something she liked. I had no idea how far she was willing to go that afternoon.

We were alone in the sand, naked and turned on, when I discovered two young men spying on us from the rocks. Romina just asked if I wanted to keep going.

I asked her not to wear anything under the green dress. I had no idea that little tease would open the door to the couple at the next table.

Lucía came back from class with another couple’s name saved on her phone. That night we knew Saturday would no longer be an ordinary Saturday.

She came home with news that would change the rules between us: a brand wanted to photograph her in lingerie, and the idea excited her far more than I expected.

A small-town, religious married woman never imagined the secret photos my husband kept would end up all over the region.

When the guard shouted her number, the laughter died at once and a hundred eyes fixed on her: the only unspoiled beauty in a yard of concrete, sweat, and barbed wire.

I only got two photos that morning: her naked facing the sea, and an hour later, an opened condom wrapper. She told me the rest in bed.

We went looking for a new dildo far from home, where no one knew us. What happened in that booth left the toy forgotten on the floor.

My girlfriend had been out of town for a week and I could think of only one thing: text Mariana and meet her at our usual café for a little game.

I kept telling myself it was only part of the therapy, that it was nothing personal. But with another man’s cum running down my thighs, I didn’t believe a single word of it anymore.

After that Sunday at the beach, none of my coworkers could look at me the same way. And my wife knew it: she was the one pulling every string.

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.

When I saw him emerge naked from the icy February water, I knew that morning wasn’t going to end at the easel.

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.

It started with a threat over a false rumor. It ended with her husband on his knees in the sand, begging me to fulfill the desire he never dared confess.

I told him I wouldn’t touch him, that he should only look. But every folder he opened on the screen pushed me a little closer to crossing the line we’d been skirting for months.

Five years later I saw her pushing a cart with a little girl inside. She lowered her eyes and ran off. Neither of us wanted to remember what we shot together.

I walked into the room dressed as a mime, wearing a trench coat over my lingerie and knowing I was about to do something I’d never regret.

I opened the box in front of him because inside was the perfect excuse. What I didn’t expect was for the neighbor to dare that much — or for me to let him.