Fantasies

I went into the bathroom wearing my thong and came out with it tied in my hair. I had no idea the line for 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 poured 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. Only the heat remained, his fixed gaze on mine, and the certainty that neither of us was going to stop.

She stood up from the table, turned around, and looked at me in a way that left no room for doubt. I followed her without thinking, my heart pounding in 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 told me to spread my legs and put my hands behind my head. 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 give back every lie. On Día de Muertos, an obsidian amulet offered 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.

That night she would perform the ritual for the first time: naked, bound to the stallion, with a veteran warrior ready to wrench from her the pleasure that belonged to the goddess.

They wound an antique watch, and by dawn his body was no longer his. A week of stolen pleasure with a price that only gets collected on the last night.

She grabbed my arm in the middle of the street and whispered that if I let her go, she might disappear. I had no idea how far that night would go or what price I’d pay for following her.