Masturbation

I was straight my whole life. Until one afternoon my son crossed the living room and I couldn’t look away from his crotch. That night I knew I couldn’t stop.

I walked into the locker room without thinking and walked out trembling, looking at naked women as I had never looked at anyone in my life.

When he arrived that night, I was already on the other side of the glass with the lights off, watching her greet him with a smile she had never shown me.

I parked outside the house, my hands sweating. It was my first session with a naked client, and I still didn’t know I’d end up with two men on top of me.

I’d been trying for years to get her to give in again. That afternoon, between joints and caresses on the couch, she sat up and kissed me like before.

That morning, her husband left on patrol without looking at her. By nine, she had already chosen the clothes she would wear to open the door to another man.

I’d never been attracted to men, but that figure on the screen stirred something I couldn’t name. Then she offered to pay me.

My wife agreed to pay an expert to massage me in front of her, but she didn’t expect to discover how much pleasure it gave her to watch another woman make me moan.

I went in looking for lingerie to please another man and came out discovering that a woman’s hands can make tremble what I had never felt tremble with myself.

I saw him in briefs only once and since then I can’t sleep without thinking about him. The fact that he’s my half-brother should be enough to stop me, but it isn’t.

I have my cheek pressed against the cold tile and I can’t remember his face, only the rhythm of him coming in and out of me while his hands hold my waist.

It was six in the morning and the bar was empty. He poured me a tequila, looked at me the way he’d been looking at me all night, and told me he wouldn’t let me leave so soon.

That morning, when I half-opened my eyes on the mattress pushed up against the balcony, she was already there on hers, smoking, waiting for me to turn over.

I used the gap in the curtain to spy on her, but she caught me in the mirror and, instead of covering herself, began undressing for me again.

We climbed the rusty stairs and heard moans behind the curtain. I couldn’t stop watching—or feeling my best friend pressed against my shoulder.

It was two in the morning, I was bored and horny, and I dropped into the game lobby expecting nothing. Then I saw her avatar lean toward mine.

We started with stupid stickers at the end of the shift. Then came the nickname. Then the fantasy. That night he texted that my place was closer, and I couldn’t say no.

I lowered my skirt’s zipper without knowing he was watching from the window across the street. What began as embarrassment became a game.

We both knew the other was bisexual, but we had never done anything about it. That afternoon, a beer and an old game changed everything.

When she walked into her room naked except for the blouse, those white hips swaying, I knew I would never sleep in that house again without thinking of her.