Forbidden

In the early hours, I felt her return to bed, breathing hard. When I turned around, I saw her touching herself beneath the sheet, thinking I was asleep.

I heard the moans as I passed through the hall. The door was ajar, and I couldn’t look away. Nor could I stay still.

I came home furious, disrespected my wife, and saw her slipper slip from her foot. That was when I knew the night no longer belonged to me.

I saw him come down the hallway in boxer briefs, smelling of soap and alcohol, and realized I could no longer pretend he was only my son’s friend.

We’d spent years brushing against each other under the excuse of family affection. Once the door closed and we were alone, I put on my skimpiest bikini and lit a joint.

When she began telling me what she did behind closed doors with an adult member of her family, I knew I couldn’t listen without getting turned on.

I’d spent the night dodging his jokes, until I let him into the bathroom and there was no way left to pretend I didn’t want to touch him.

I got up on tiptoe to spy on the murmurs from the next room. Camila’s father wasn’t on the bed. Her mother was, on top of another woman.

I opened her phone to confirm a suspicion and ended up seeing something that left me frozen: my wife with two men from my own family.

When I saw her damp panties on the towel, I understood it was no accident: she knew exactly what I did whenever she left.

She looked at me as if she still knew me from the inside, and I had to pretend to be cold while my whole body remembered her hands.

It began with touches in the patio and lingering looks; it ended against the wall, with her breath broken and my hands where there was no turning back.

The note on the pillow left no doubt: someone was watching her, knew her secrets, and meant to turn her fear into obedience.

I found her torn, soaked panties on the floor. When she turned in bed and looked at me with shame in her eyes, I knew the night was only beginning.

Idris’s bulge pressed against me for a moment, and I didn’t pull away. When they closed the door, I was still soaked. I went to the kitchen for water and saw the fruit bowl.

I went into the garage in the tightest dress I owned, with no panties underneath, determined to make that son of a bitch return every last peso he’d stolen from my husband.

I was twenty-three when I went to spend my vacation with Aunt Renata—and one night I understood why she’d been looking at me differently since Sunday dinner.

I closed the bathroom window so I wouldn't repeat my mistake, but when someone knocked on the glass, I knew he had been thinking about me all night too.

When I entered the bar and saw him at the back table with no Camila between us, I knew the beer was an excuse—and I’d end up with his mouth on mine.

After saying goodbye to my son at the terminal, I was alone with his best friend and could no longer pretend I didn’t desire him.