Lesbian

She came out of the bathroom in lingerie, posed in front of me, and asked me from one to ten how hot she was. I already knew where that night was going to end.

I’d always fantasized about being with another woman, but I’d never done it. That night, in her apartment, she put her hands on my hips and I knew we weren’t going to sleep.

I walked into the locker room without thinking and came out with my legs shaking, looking at those naked women like I had never looked at anyone in my life.

I arrived thinking we’d drink beer and celebrate his promotion. Carla opened the door in a tiny skirt and a sheer blouse. Damián still hadn’t arrived.

My boyfriend was snoring like a log in the back room when she came up to me. Her southern accent and those black eyes told me everything before her hands did.

I was forty-four, had two daughters, and a recent divorce when the girl from across the street looked at me differently and said what I didn’t dare think.

For years I’d watched my wife be flirted with at every gym gathering. That night, with the air already heated, it stopped being a game while I watched everything from the armchair.

I’m married. I’m straight. That was me when I walked into the mall bathroom. What I was fifteen minutes later, I’m not so sure anymore.

That September morning I saw the shyest girl in class walk in. It took me two weeks to realize the shy one wasn’t her, it was me.

Vera approached before the bout, brushed her cheek, and spoke to her about Dafne. On that strip, Renata wasn’t just fighting for an Olympic berth: she was fighting for the right to feel again.

I never thought an avatar in a video game would give me back the urge to desire another woman, or that desire would stay with me long after I shut off the console.

I texted “Want to play?” from my fitting room. Five seconds later I slipped into hers, ready to make her come in silence before the saleswoman noticed.

It was our first sleepover without her parents home. When she turned off the light, her hand found mine under the sheets, and I understood she’d been waiting for that gesture for years.

At forty-eight, in a Miami bar, my best friend grabbed me by the neck and kissed me. It was my first time with a woman, and I knew I could never go back.

I arrived at the square expecting a polite coffee with the woman who taught me to read poems at seventeen. What happened next wasn’t in any book.

I thought the party was over when I closed the door. But she was still barefoot on my sofa, glass on her knee and another box in her hands.

I thought we were only going up to the pine grove to eat omelet and drink red wine. I never imagined my cousin would ask me to touch her among the trees that afternoon.

Lucía was the most proper girl in the school crowd. That night I saw her walk into the birthday party in a miniskirt and realized the Sunday-Mass girl was gone.

On the curve where the trees formed a tunnel of light, I reached out and laid my hand on hers. No words were needed: none were needed to say yes, that I wanted to try.

When she pointed me out in the sea of people, I knew that night was going to break something I’d spent years trying to keep intact.