Mature

My husband was away again, and my back couldn’t take any more. My neighbor’s message said, “The first massage is free.” I never imagined how far it would go.

Each strike against her skin aroused her more, and Renata didn’t know whether the worst part was surrendering or discovering someone was watching from the top of the stairs.

The tree that grew between our yards was only the excuse. What I really wanted was on the other side of that wall, and I learned to jump it every time he left.

I ran into her in the communal showers and, without thinking too much, decided to provoke the situation. What followed turned a boring trip into something I still can’t get out of my head.

He was new, shy, and polite. He never imagined that that afternoon, after everyone left the office, a single command from me would be enough to put him on his knees.

That night I stopped being the proper lady I’d always been. I wrote what I truly wanted, hit send, and waited for three strangers to come for me.

The last thing I remembered was toasting with a beautiful woman. The next, waking on a basement floor, weak, naked, and with no possible escape.

I came home still burning from the night before, never imagining a kitchen conversation would unravel me more than any caress.

At fifty-five I thought desire was a thing of the past, until my daughter’s husband looked at me the way mine had long forgotten how.

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.