Fantasies

I shut the bathroom door, let the uniform fall to the floor, and knew I wouldn’t be able to think about anything else that afternoon but his hands.

No man ever made me finish. I found that out late, after years of other people’s hands and faked orgasms: the only body that knew exactly what mine wanted was my own.

I promised myself I wouldn’t touch myself until I got home, but between work, the gym, and one way-too-hot stranger, my body had other plans.

I was bored, stressed, and horny when a lavender-haired girl appeared in my private room and asked whether I wanted more than simple game chat.

I asked her to put on the shortest shorts she owned. I wanted to see how the workers looked at her as she walked by, and how she endured the whole day in that outfit.

I turned off the TV when she went upstairs to sleep, but the scene kept replaying in my head with my sister’s face instead of the actress’s.

I thought it would just be a few more photos in exchange for a few dollars. But when I got on all fours in front of the camera, I knew tonight the desire would be mine alone.

At four in the morning, alone in the bakehouse, he discovered that the divorce had not awakened his usual desires: it had awakened others, with a neighbor’s name.

I imagine a woman like me: same soft skin, same mouth. We caress each other slowly until there’s no turning back and I finally live out what I’ve dreamed of alone for so many nights.

When I opened the box and found the black lace and the feathered mask, I thought it was Andrés’s whim. It would be months before I understood who had really chosen it.

I’d spent the whole morning imagining being caught. I didn’t expect it to be the professor I’d been thinking forbidden things about for months.

We’d joked about the idea after the movie. A week later, my wife left me a voice note at one in the morning, and the bedroom smelled like another man.

I went to the office with the plug in and stockings under my clothes, dreaming of what my wife would do when I got home. That night, onstage, everything changed.

When I saw my sister crossing the restaurant with that new sway, I knew the game I'd invented to arouse my lover had stopped being a game for me.

There are mornings when I wake up wet, my nipples hard, with one fixed thought. Another of my heat weeks has begun and no one at home suspects what I’m hiding.

I accepted the dare without suspecting that the fifth photo would lead me to a deserted cove, facing a stranger stretched out under the last ray of sunlight.

She reread the message four times, and her heart beat like it had when she was twenty. She was fifty-nine, and a stranger had just awakened something she thought was lost forever.

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.

She said it laughing, almost as a game: that she liked a friend of ours. I never imagined the three of us would end up in the same room.

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.