Massage

I offered to massage her feet without knowing she’d place hers exactly where I didn’t dare ask for it, and that neither of us would say a word.

When I opened my Epiphany gift and saw a voucher for a massage with Pilar, I laughed. I had no idea my wife had spent months planning exactly what would happen.

I lay naked on the table on purpose, not covering myself, just to see what he’d do when he came in with the hot oil.

The first afternoon I went to help him, I thought I’d only be doing his exercises. I never imagined I’d end up discovering with him everything my home had denied me.

When he got into the car and smiled at me, I knew we weren’t going to make it anywhere decent that night. It had to be ours, even if it was only on a dirt road among almond trees.

Years had passed since I last saw her. When she sat down across from me at that bar and rested her hand on my thigh, I knew that night would not end the way my cousin imagined.

I was her assistant. We worked twelve hours a day. That night, barefoot on her sofa, she looked at me like never before, and I knew something had changed forever.

At 21, I thought I could handle anything. But when Esteban put his hands on my back and I felt my body respond, I wasn’t so sure of anything anymore.

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 I crossed the dungeon door, she held out her hand for me to kiss. Then she pointed to the floor. I knew at that instant the night would be long.

I never thought getting waxed would change anything. But when he ran the wax over my buttocks and told me to get on all fours, something in me lit up.

I went to drop off a package for my mother-in-law and ended up with my hands on something that wasn’t her ankle. I can’t regret a thing.

That morning I thought I was alone in the house. I walked naked down the hallway and, as I turned the corner, there she was, with a look that wasn’t a mother’s.

I looked down when I saw my skirt was shorter than was prudent. I crossed my legs on the stool and, before the cocktail even arrived, I could feel two pairs of eyes fixed on my cleavage.

The fireplace burned, rain hammered the windows, and the two of them looked at me with that mix of curiosity and vertigo that comes just before crossing a line.

When she turned in those heels, the dress lifted just enough to reveal the exact line where the stocking ended and the skin began. And then she asked me for a massage.

I was fifteen when I caught them the first time. Now, at twenty-two, I can’t look at those memories the same way.

That night I understood that teaching someone to feel their own body can be the most intimate act of all.

I closed my eyes beneath the blindfold and my father’s voice built every detail. I wasn’t in my room anymore: I was with Rodrigo, and he was doing exactly what I’d dreamed.

I was fifteen and didn’t know what I was seeing. Now, at twenty-two, every memory of those afternoons takes on an entirely different meaning.