Mature

I opened the curtains half asleep and didn’t realize he was on the other side of the glass, watching me. And something in that look made me want to let him keep going.

He hadn’t seen me in years, but when I opened the door at midnight and felt his firm hands on my waist, I knew my godfather was looking at me differently now.

She got into my car in a loose dress and with the calm of someone who’s no longer in a hurry. I never imagined that two days later she’d ask me to detour to her door.

I decided the night before, while he slept: the next morning I would begin, alone, a routine I had imagined for years but never dared to maintain.

He was old enough to be my son, but he looked at me like a man looks at a woman he wants to undress slowly. And I did nothing to correct the misunderstanding.

When she opened the door in that red housecoat, I knew summer wasn’t over yet: we still had unfinished business between the sheets.

The three of us lived under the same roof, and at first the only strange thing was the silence. Then came the drinks, the dancing, and a trust that should never have crossed any door.

We’d been teasing each other with our eyes in the courthouse for months. That fair afternoon, between two cars and far from everyone, we stopped pretending nothing was happening.

She was nearly twice my age and had a smile that promised trouble. She told me she’d see whether I was truly hungry or just bored, and I was already lost.

I woke up handcuffed to a chain, a collar around my neck and a gag tasting of filth. In front of me, the lady was smiling: she was only just beginning with me.

I invited him for a coffee knowing it wasn’t coffee I wanted. At fifty, Raquel discovered guilt had never been stronger than her desire.

The first time it was just a reflection in the glass: a still silhouette on the other side of the courtyard, watching her eat breakfast in her robe. She didn’t pull the curtain. She didn’t close it either.

The passenger seat was uncomfortable for him, so I offered to share the bed. I had no idea what would happen when he thought I was already asleep.

I thought arriving at the dead hour would protect me from their eyes. I didn’t count on them coming in to clean just as I got out of the shower.

I turned off the TV, waited for my aunt to start snoring, and lifted my leg over his hip. I felt how hard he was and knew there was no turning back.

We were always the last ones to turn off the lights. That night I walked in without warning, and what I saw changed every shift after that.

I hid on the stair landing just to hear his deep voice talking about my body. I knew it was wrong. I also knew I couldn’t stop listening.

I opened the door with my headphones on, suspecting nothing. When I looked into the living room, he wasn’t alone, and I had the cold blood to keep watching.

I’m 46, and I’ve never told anyone this. I entered a dead-end tire shop alone, accepted the first beer, and stopped thinking about going home.

She had been beside me, watching as I lost myself in the painting. When she finally spoke, I knew we both wanted exactly the same thing.