Gay

Rodrigo went pale and pulled the phone away. I knew exactly what had happened before he even opened his mouth to explain.

The first time I went to his place alone, my heart was pounding when I rang the bell. I didn’t know what to say. He opened the door in a wet robe and smiled.

We pulled down our pants in front of the other four and, when he bent over me, I knew I wasn’t leaving that classroom the same man.

I got to the room first, with a cap and sunglasses, and sat on the edge of the bed not knowing what I’d do when that stranger knocked on the door.

I hadn’t seen Mateo, Diego’s father, in years. When we ran into each other that afternoon, I never imagined I’d end up on his sofa with borrowed red swim trunks and my breath coming fast.

We shared a room to save money. I was married, a father of two. Then came that night at the hotel when he decided we were going to be something else.

At three in the morning, with the icy wind battering the tent, I slid under his blanket without asking. Mauri didn’t move, but I knew he wasn’t asleep.

We’d watched weird videos on his computer at the office that time. What I didn’t expect was that months later, that same curiosity would end up on the couch, under the blanket.

When I lent Bruno the red brief that morning, I had no idea my neighbor would come looking for us and that the path to the river would end in something none of us had ever done before.

He opened the door barely dressed, with that smile that was no longer the polite client’s smile, and I understood from the very first minute that this call wasn’t ending with a drain gasket.

I closed the hotel door, looked at his trembling hands, and knew that this stranger was as scared as I was. And neither of us was leaving.

When I saw him walk into the dark room behind me, I knew the night wasn’t going to end in my bed. He had the body of the kind of man you only see in magazines.

I thought the rain would leave me with nothing. Twenty meters away I saw the dark-skinned boy by the bench, soaked, and I knew the night was only beginning.

I’d spent years imagining it while secretly watching videos. One afternoon, a message on a hookup site, and a stranger got into my car ready to change everything.

She lifted her glass from the corner like she was toasting me. He came over and told me in my ear they wanted to take me to their apartment in Pichincha. I had no idea what was coming next.

I’d wanted to do it for a long time: pick up a man in a public place and take him to bed. That afternoon in the café, I finally dared.

I never thought getting waxed would change anything. But when he ran the wax over my buttocks and told me to get on all fours, something in me lit up.

Going out in a thong and bra under my leggings was my secret ritual. I didn’t expect anyone to dare follow me. Or that I’d want them to so badly.

I lived on the farm and could wear women’s clothes all day without anyone bothering me. Until a stranger wrote saying he liked my photos.

I arrived at their apartment at the agreed time. He opened the door in a robe; she came down later, nervous and excited. The night would be long.