In Public

When his hand settled on my hip and he whispered “Hi, baby,” I thought he meant one of my friends. When I turned around, I knew the night wouldn’t end as expected.

Behind dark glasses, no one knows where a man is looking—and that July afternoon, he decided to look far beyond the edge of the umbrella.

I went out to smoke in the dark and saw him: crouched behind the palm tree, eyes fixed on the window where she was undressing, unaware she was being watched by two.

The towel barely covered me when I knocked on my neighbor’s door on the seventh floor. He agreed to help me open my apartment only if I let the last thing I had on fall away.

I wanted to play a prank by lighting the candles in front of the pool house. When we pushed the door open, no one was laughing: my son was against the cabinet, and his friend’s father wouldn’t stop.

At two in the morning, in that room with red lights, I stopped pretending I was only there to keep my husband company. I was watching. And I was liking it far too much.

Five cousins, one friend, and a secluded sauna. That send-off was going to start in a jacuzzi with two mouths taking turns on my cock and end at dawn.

Our eyes met in the service-area café. I knew he’d follow me into the bathroom, and I knew I wasn’t coming out the same man who went in.

Our dark glasses gave us the perfect permission: he watched the topless girls, I watched the men, and we both knew what would come next.

That morning I decided to go out with nothing under my skirt. I didn’t want to be touched, only watched. And in the second-floor ice cream shop, someone noticed.

I thought the dark of the movie theater would distract me from how badly things had gone with her. I didn’t count on that same man who’d surprised us months earlier washing his hands beside me.

I saw the bus driver watching us in the rearview mirror and, instead of covering up, I let him pull down my top. At three in the morning, my ex and I were a free show.

The beer had made us affectionate and the terrace seemed empty. Until I saw the flash of binoculars trained on us from the hill.

When I looked up from the grass, two headlights went out thirty meters away. Inside the car, a motionless shadow kept watching us.

I’d waited all summer for the cove to empty. It was deserted, yes—but moans behind the dunes drew me in, and I couldn’t help becoming a voyeur.

When I bent down to pick up a magazine from the lowest shelf, I felt the cold air rush between my legs. Three pairs of eyes rose at once. I didn’t pull down my skirt.

Whenever I enter a fitting room, I leave the curtain slightly open. The woman watching never knows I’m looking for her—and almost always, one of them plays along.

When I realized that what turned me on wasn’t looking but being watched, I sought out the empty shed behind my house on New Year’s Eve and deliberately dropped my panties.

Three beers, a joint, and a secluded table on the balcony. The thrill of knowing anyone might look over was exactly what we wanted that night.

I offered her my seat when she got on, and a few stops later her hand was already reaching for my fly while the nurse across from us watched without hiding it.