Lingerie

Nobody knows. Not even the person I sleep with every night. But when I close my eyes I see myself in front of the mirror, transformed into someone else, ready for him.

I joked that she should sleep with me that night. I never imagined that after midnight, my bedroom door would actually open.

I told him I just wanted to practice taking photos. It was a lie. What I really wanted was for him to finally look at me the way I’d been looking at him for weeks.

I ordered my first toy online so I wouldn’t die of embarrassment in the store. What I didn’t imagine was the delivery guy’s face when he handed me that box.

She knew he watched her too long, trying to hide it. And, as always, she decided not to let it go.

I was always a man of soccer and conquests, until the first thong brushed my shaved skin and I understood there was no going back.

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.

Every Sunday, when she left, I opened her wardrobe and became someone else in front of the mirror. That afternoon she forgot her keys and came back early.

Under my track pants I wore only fishnets and a lace thong. I wasn’t looking for just any doorway: I was looking for the place where they’d treat me like an object.

I crossed the living room to get a glass of water, forgetting the curtains were still open. On the other side of the glass, his eyes had already found me.

I was ready from four in the afternoon, soaked and aching, when that short man knocked on my door, never imagining I’d force out his nickname.

I drove at night transformed into another woman and no one knew. One slip at a stop was enough for him to discover who I really was.

When I arrived at the restaurant in my black dress with lace underneath, I already knew I wasn’t leaving there as the faithful wife I was pretending to be.

I found her biting her lip in front of the mirror, bikini on, her crotch already wet. I wasn’t going to wait for her to be ready.

She wore a miniskirt, black stockings, and sunglasses that kept me from knowing when she’d caught me watching. Until she stopped pretending and started playing with me.

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 it was a secret date with my girlfriend’s cousin. What I didn’t know was that the phone beside the bed was streaming everything live.

When Bruno looked up from his monitor and saw his boss staring at his mother, he knew he had two options: make a scene or stay silent.

I went downstairs for ice and he shut the door behind me. With the party going on outside, I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop him even if I wanted to.

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.