The Kitgum Nurse Didn’t Care for Me Like the Others
When I opened my eyes on the bed of a Ugandan hospital, I never imagined the nurse on duty would lower my fever with his hand beneath the sheet that very night.
When I opened my eyes on the bed of a Ugandan hospital, I never imagined the nurse on duty would lower my fever with his hand beneath the sheet that very night.
I thought I’d rented an ordinary room—until I discovered what kind of couple slept across the hall.
I went to the bathroom to get myself a little worked up, but the man who had been watching me already had other plans for me.
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.
When Sara went upstairs to bed, Rubén turned to Adrián and said what neither of them had dared say in two years. Adrián didn't stop him.
I watched them fuck on my living-room sofa and couldn’t look away; when he caught me, he decided none of us would remain just a spectator.
The moment he dropped him at his building, he knew he wouldn’t make it home without touching himself. He parked in the first dark spot he found and lowered his hand to the bulge in his trousers.
Every night I closed my eyes and returned to the same image. I knew it was wrong, but curiosity proved stronger than any guilt.
When I climbed into the passenger seat and he said, “Look what you’re doing to me,” I knew I wouldn’t leave that taxi the same person I was before.
He arrived without warning, with that smile of someone who always gets what he wants, and in one week he turned my mother’s life, mine, and the whole neighborhood upside down.
My friendship with that rough but good-natured old man took a turn one afternoon over wine in a lost village, when he whispered what he planned to do to me.
I went in thinking I’d stop at any moment. That I’d say enough, that this wasn’t for me. Fifteen minutes later, I was crying out the opposite.
I grew up understanding naturism as something natural, but nothing prepared me for the day my mother’s boyfriend stopped covering himself in front of me.
I crossed his garden every afternoon to help with the vines, but we both knew I was really there for the way that huge man looked at me.
There was just one guy at the back, washing his hands. He looked at me in the mirror and, without a word, we both knew the wait was over.
It had been months since I’d had a good cock, so when that daddy in the white Mercedes messaged me, I didn’t think twice.
We wandered disguised as monks when the forest spat us out in front of an inn of generous flesh and bottomless wine; what happened inside could not be confessed as penance.
She climbed the stairs knowing that, once she crossed that door, the naive woman she had been until then would cease to exist forever.
We hadn’t exchanged numbers, but I knew how to find him. I went back to the chat with one thought: to have him call me his kitty again.
No one answered the intercom, but the door opened anyway. That’s when I knew there was no turning back and that man was going to do whatever he wanted with me.