Hotel

I’d spent months with the app open without writing. When I finally replied, a discreet hotel and a man named Iván were waiting.

When I saw her walk into work in the same black leggings from the day before, I knew that day wasn’t going to end like the others. Not like I thought it would, either.

I booked the room three weeks early. When she bit her lip on the second-floor landing, I knew there was no going back for either of us.

I reached the northern hotel expecting to rest before work. That night, sitting across from him in a robe, I knew we wouldn’t sleep until dawn.

She accepted the service as a one-time fantasy, but she never imagined that stranger would lead her to discover orgasms she didn’t even know her body could have.

When I opened the door to 412 thinking it would be empty, I found him naked in the armchair, looking at me like he already knew who was coming in.

I met him online when I was sixteen. Two years later, one August morning, he texted me that he was traveling to the capital and that it was my only chance to see him again.

I thought the nap would leave the beach empty. When I returned from the sea, she had one hand inside her bikini, eyes closed, unaware I was watching her.

I contacted him through an ad site. I’d been trying for a year and nothing ever came of it. That December 24 was the first time I dared.

She never made it to the meetup spot. Twenty minutes later, a stranger came up to me with a proposition I hadn’t planned on.

We’d spent two nights watching without touching. On the third, as two couples mixed one meter from us, my girlfriend squeezed my arm and whispered something to me.

We’d been married ten years and I thought I knew her well. One night in a motel, she confessed what she’d always wanted, and I decided to give it to her.

The proposal came with the third drink: each night, one of the four would be in charge in the other couple’s room. They said we’d start that very night.

Every new city is a possibility. My name is Valeria, I travel alone, and I live a life very few people know. This is what happens when I turn off my phone.

I opened the hotel-room door, and there was Renata: just like her pictures, but with nerves no image could ever capture.

On the drive, she put her hand on my thigh and didn’t take it away. At dinner, she looked at me as if I were dessert. Going upstairs was only a matter of time.

Natalia only wanted to get waxed before going to the beach. She didn’t expect the hotel beautician to be so striking, or what she’d find under her robe.

...

The girls had left, the room was silent, and Rodrigo made a joke that we both knew wasn’t really a joke.

I saw her alone in the café for weeks: voluptuous, pretty, with a body her clothes couldn’t hide. When she confessed she’d gone months without sex, I knew something was about to happen.