Masturbation

That night I went downstairs for a glass of water and never made it to the kitchen. What I saw in the shadows of the corner left me frozen for an hour.

I got to the pool early in a bikini that left little to the imagination. I wanted to know if the girl with the flirty smile would dare to go further.

My friends were strolling past the display windows laughing. I stopped in front of hers and, by the way she looked back at me, I knew that night wasn’t for them.

For two days I had been lowering the curtains to hide what I was doing. That last morning I decided to leave them open, and the woman in uniform stayed planted on the other side of the courtyard.

When I leaned out the car window to see if my sister was still awake, I found him in his window, smoking. And I knew he wasn’t going to look away.

I wanted people to watch her. To devour her with their eyes. What I didn’t expect was that one of the strangers in the back would dare to chase her into the showers.

I closed my eyes in the empty locker room and let the fantasy carry me farther than I’d imagined. When I opened them, there was no going back.

I set the cup on the bedside table, knelt beside the bed, and understood that that morning nothing in this house would ever be the same again.

I went to the bathroom on a night with no electricity, convinced I was alone in the house. A phone light lit up the kitchen and I understood why the two of them had been acting so strange.

I opened the door convinced it was my husband. I was in my underwear, hair messy, and barefoot. When I saw who it was, I knew I wouldn’t be able to shut it in time.

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.

I saw the bus driver watching us in the rearview mirror and, instead of covering up, I let him pull down my top. At three in the morning, my ex and I were a free show.

The beer had made us affectionate and the terrace seemed empty. Until I saw the flash of binoculars trained on us from the hill.

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.

No one expected me to come back so soon. What I saw in that garage—my mother, shirtless, with her fists wrapped—could never be unseen.

It was two in the morning, I opened the window looking for air, and saw her lying on the sofa across the way, with no idea anyone was watching her.

I parked on the emptiest level of the underground garage and asked if she was still sure. She nodded. I handed her the envelope and asked her to just watch, nothing else.

I went upstairs with a stranger and, when the door closed, I knew my neighbor was already posted behind the curtain, ready to watch every detail.

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.