Fantasies

The paper robe barely covered me. When his hot hands slid down my back, I knew that session wasn’t going to end the way I’d imagined.

Three hours under the sun, drenched in sweat, and from beneath the tree he saw something on the terrace that left him breathless: they knew he was watching.

I left home in a sweater that showed everything, wearing nothing underneath. My boyfriend walked behind me as strangers’ eyes roamed over me.

I went into the bathroom wearing my thong and came out with it tangled in my hair. I never imagined the line into the theater would be the longest part of the night.

—You don’t have to believe you can —he whispered in her ear—. I do. Your only job tonight is to surrender and let your body obey.

I served him tea to help him relax, but I knew work wasn’t the only thing making him tense. That night, I decided to do something about it.

I put on my shortest miniskirt just to see if I could make him nervous. I never imagined that night he’d show up again, this time inside my head.

His wife’s friend opened her legs in front of him, smiling, just to show him what he would never get to touch that night.

The steam erased faces and names. All that remained was the heat, his gaze fixed on mine, and the certainty that neither of us would stop.

She got up from the table, turned around, and looked at me in a way that left no room for doubt. I followed without thinking, my heart pounding against my chest.

I placed my hands on the cold wall, took a deep breath, and understood that on the other side someone was waiting for the invisible permission to start touching me.

We had a pact and one word to stop everything. But as she slept face down, I knew that morning I wasn’t going to say it.

We’d spent years brushing our hands against each other without saying a word. That night, in my dim living room, looks were no longer enough—and none of us wanted to pretend anymore.

He ordered me to spread my legs and put my hands behind my neck. What he thought was a routine pat-down was really the start of my game.

I saw her among hundreds of people and knew I was going to look for her. What happened next, by the sea, was the most vivid dream I’ve ever had.

We were alone in the mountains, or so I thought, until I felt eyes on us from the cabin next door and I didn’t want them to stop.

We’d been together fifteen years and I thought I knew everything about him. Then, one ordinary night, he whispered something in my ear that changed everything.

For a year she dreamed of the day she could return every deceit. On Día de Muertos, an obsidian amulet gave her exactly that.

Since Tomás’s death, I embraced my lust without restraint, but the package wrapped in black velvet that arrived that night hid something my fantasies never imagined.

I’d spent three weeks swallowing dust and loneliness when the driver looked at me fixedly, without smiling, and said: “Come, my house.” It wasn’t an invitation: it was an order, and I followed him.