Lingerie

The beds squeaked in sync. If she moaned, my girlfriend got louder. It was a silent competition between four people separated by a few inches of drywall.

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.

When I got out of the car with the blouse clinging to my body and my thong showing through my pants, I didn’t expect that man’s gaze to stay locked on me through the whole interview.

I’d been up all night studying with coffee, until a squeak in the wall beside me made me lower my pillow and realize who was making that noise.

I went downstairs barefoot for a drink of water and found her sprawled on the sofa, her legs braced against the backrest. She never turned her head. I didn’t move.

I put on a miniskirt and heels that Thursday when I had the house to myself. I was only going to flirt for a while. That’s what I told myself as he shut the camera room door behind us.

We’d been married ten years and I thought I knew her well. One night in a motel, she confessed what she’d always wanted, and I decided to give it to her.

The proposal came with the third drink: each night, one of the four would be in charge in the other couple’s room. They said we’d start that very night.

When she sent me the photo from the fitting room wearing lingerie, I closed it without replying. She saw that. That was how it all began.

When I heard the corn vendor’s cart, I only thought about satisfying a craving. What I didn’t expect was for his night to end in my kitchen, looking at me like I was dessert.

Under my button-down there’s lace. Under my dress pants, fishnet stockings and garters. My coworkers see Matías. I know who I really am.

I put on the sexiest underwear I owned and walked alone to the riverbank. That night I discovered the body always knows what it wants.

When we got to Pablo and Vera’s place, the champagne was already cold. I tried to act calm. My body had been betraying me for weeks every time he brought it up.

As a closet cross-dresser, I went to the most important interview of my career with lace panties under my suit. I thought no one would know. I was wrong.

I’d spent months thinking about her, about her feet, about her mouth. The Halloween party gave us the night we’d both wanted without saying it out loud.

I’d been burning up for an hour with Rodrigo not home. When I called the sex shop, I never imagined the clerk would show up at my door ten minutes later.

Sofía had been wearing that mischievous look for weeks. When she suggested a stranger watch her touch herself on camera while I observed in silence, I said yes without hesitation.

Claudia thought of herself as a respectable, religious, faithful mother. But that afternoon, kneeling in front of her own son, she understood she could no longer ignore the darkness in her.

The first time I put on her lingerie and looked at myself in the mirror, I didn’t know whether what I felt was shame or something completely different.

I had been preparing that day for months: the wig, the dress, the lubricant. I thought I was alone at the abandoned lookout. The guard disagreed.