Lesbian

When she sat at the bar and smiled at me, I thought we’d only share a drink. I never imagined that a few hours later I’d be naked, waiting for her next order.

She led the retreat with the devotion of someone who never breaks a rule. I just wanted a private massage, far from the prayers and the watching eyes.

We’d hated each other at the office for years, but that night, with my fourth margarita in hand, her thumb brushed my bare thigh and everything changed.

When I offered her the job, she smiled and told me it was her turn to ask questions. The first was whether I’d take her to bed after dinner.

I was only serving drinks. She was looking at me from the other side of the bar as if she already knew, before I did, how that night would end.

When I got to the bar, my wife was no longer alone: a stranger was caressing her waist, and the only thing I didn’t want was for her to stop.

Bruno had broken my heart again, but waiting for me in that house on the outskirts wasn’t him, it was his mother, wearing a dress that left nothing to the imagination.

Six years pretending nothing was happening every time they brushed against each other. That night, with the city asleep, neither of them wanted to keep pretending.

I’d gone three months without her hands, without her mouth, without her tits on mine. That night I poured a glass of wine, stripped naked, and decided pleasure didn’t have to wait for her return.

I felt her hand slide up my thigh in the packed subway, and even though I couldn’t move an inch, I didn’t want her to stop.

When she took off her blouse in front of the open window, I knew she wasn’t going to stop even if half the neighborhood was watching. And I didn’t want her to stop either.

I was twenty-two and had never seen another woman naked until that afternoon in the shower, when she took off her underwear as if I weren’t watching.

I went looking for advice from the only woman I trusted, never imagining that afternoon at the country house would teach me everything my body didn’t yet know it could feel.

I thought acting on my own would make her proud. I was wrong. The moment Renata walked in and saw what I’d done, I knew I’d be punished.

High heels, rebellious hair, and a black dress worth more than my whole wardrobe. I showed up in ripped jeans and military boots. Neither of us had come to chat.

Renata was spreading tanning lotion over my breasts when she asked me whether I’d ever had a lover. I blushed like a little girl. I said no.

I thought I would be guiding her through her first experience, but she was the one who took control and showed me how far my body could go.

She pushed me against the wall with a slow kiss, lowered her voice to a whisper, and told me I’d be a good girl. I never knew her name, but I obeyed her.

Saira drew the circle, lit the candles, and spoke the forbidden name. What emerged from the smoke was no docile slave: it was a woman who smiled.

Every time she passed by my desk, I lost track of what I was doing. I never imagined one single slip would expose everything I felt for her.