Forbidden

My husband was away again, and my back couldn’t take any more. My neighbor’s message said, “The first massage is free.” I never imagined how far it would go.

The tree that grew between our yards was only the excuse. What I really wanted was on the other side of that wall, and I learned to jump it every time he left.

I locked the stall, knelt on the cold tiles, and knew I was going to obey him to the end, even if anyone could walk into the next bathroom.

I came home still burning from the night before, never imagining a kitchen conversation would unravel me more than any caress.

I arrived at his door with a backpack, no family, and no way back. He got home from work at five-thirty, and all I wanted was to be the woman I had always known I was.

At fifty-five I thought desire was a thing of the past, until my daughter’s husband looked at me the way mine had long forgotten how.

He hadn’t seen me in years, but when I opened the door at midnight and felt his firm hands on my waist, I knew my godfather was looking at me differently now.

I let him in thinking he just wanted a glass of water. Ten minutes later I was on my knees in front of the sofa and didn’t want it to stop.

I invited him for a coffee knowing it wasn’t coffee I wanted. At fifty, Raquel discovered guilt had never been stronger than her desire.

The first time it was just a reflection in the glass: a still silhouette on the other side of the courtyard, watching her eat breakfast in her robe. She didn’t pull the curtain. She didn’t close it either.

Ten minutes before six, I put away the papers, touched up my red lipstick, and drove to the motel where he was waiting with a very precise order from my husband.

The passenger seat was uncomfortable for him, so I offered to share the bed. I had no idea what would happen when he thought I was already asleep.

I turned off the TV, waited for my aunt to start snoring, and lifted my leg over his hip. I felt how hard he was and knew there was no turning back.

I hid on the stair landing just to hear his deep voice talking about my body. I knew it was wrong. I also knew I couldn’t stop listening.

I opened the door with my headphones on, suspecting nothing. When I looked into the living room, he wasn’t alone, and I had the cold blood to keep watching.

I hated him for the way he stalked me, but that morning under the fridge light I discovered his gaze made me tremble for reasons I refused to admit.

When the lights went out and we were left suspended at the very top, my cousin stopped pretending to be innocent and told me exactly what she wanted to do to me.

That night, while everyone was asleep, my aunt left her glass on the sand, slipped off her sandals, and told me the water was better with nothing on.

I only meant to connect the cameras to my phone. Instead I found, recorded and dated, what my mother did every time my father left for work.

I only wanted to sweet-talk him into raising my grade, playing the pickpocket who distracts to steal. I never imagined how far my own bluff would take me.