Lesbian

A broken wheel left us alone in the forest, and when she appeared naked among the branches, I knew the journey would never end the same way.

In the early hours, I felt her return to bed, breathing hard. When I turned around, I saw her touching herself beneath the sheet, thinking I was asleep.

We’d spent years brushing against each other under the excuse of family affection. Once the door closed and we were alone, I put on my skimpiest bikini and lit a joint.

I closed the office door trembling; when she told me to take off my clothes, I knew she hadn’t forgotten anything about last time.

When she served me a beer and put her hand on my fly, I realized she’d been deliberately letting herself be seen through that window for days.

She crossed her legs, knowing I was watching, and her skirt rose just enough. When the classroom was empty, she smiled and asked me to help pick up the trash.

We traveled to reunite, but a few drinks, a steamy dance, and a confession ended with us fucking without restraint.

I asked her to arrive naked at the pool and left the door unlocked. Ten minutes later, I watched her cross the patio, her red hair shining in the pool light.

I got up on tiptoe to spy on the murmurs from the next room. Camila’s father wasn’t on the bed. Her mother was, on top of another woman.

I saw her enter the bar alone after the match and knew the night wouldn't end with insults, but with a far more intimate surrender.

I went to the mall looking for a new costume. I ended up masturbating in a dressing room and facing a villainess who froze me at the worst possible moment.

The drunk ran off as soon as he saw the uniform, but she didn’t move an inch away. I realized the night was going to be a long one.

It started with glances in the locker room, but when I opened the apartment door and saw my girlfriend with him, I knew the night was about to get out of control.

She looked at me as if she still knew me from the inside, and I had to pretend to be cold while my whole body remembered her hands.

I found her torn, soaked panties on the floor. When she turned in bed and looked at me with shame in her eyes, I knew the night was only beginning.

I was twenty-three when I went to spend my vacation with Aunt Renata—and one night I understood why she’d been looking at me differently since Sunday dinner.

She arrived with her purse, a flimsy excuse, and a gaze fixed far too intently on my cleavage; when she pulled out that toy, I knew she hadn’t come just to study.

It began with a drink by the sea and an innocent question; it ended with four adults acting on fantasies they could no longer keep silent.

She had someone else’s blood on her hands when she shut my door and asked for something that no longer sounded like an order, but hunger.