Memories

I climbed the metal staircase with my skirt pressed to my body and my backpack full of bills, feeling every gaze in the garage crawling up my legs.

I parked half a block away so I wouldn’t make noise. The door was unlocked and the lights were off. What I found at the end of the hallway changed everything.

She looked at him as if she’d known him all her life. He smiled too much. And I, sitting across from them, was thinking about what I had done with each of them separately.

When I heard the moans mingling with the sound of the water, I should have turned around. Instead, I crouched among the bushes and moved closer.

His cock was throbbing in front of me as I told him everything. And the more detailed I was, the closer he came to a limit neither of us wanted to cross.

I kissed him for the first time at nineteen, but we couldn’t finish. Eleven years later, I found him at my boyfriend’s club with another woman on his arm.

Marcelo watched from the couch while Rodrigo undressed me slowly. Then my husband wanted to know something I had never told him.

I went down to the kitchen at midnight never imagining he was still awake. He was in the garden smoking, with that effortless air. He looked at me and I made no move to leave.

Sofía told me that night her boyfriend was too much for her. I just smiled. For me, that wasn’t a problem—it was an invitation.

I knelt between his legs in that hotel room and used my lips to say everything words couldn’t.

She came out of the bathroom wearing a white blazer with nothing underneath and a red pacifier between her lips. That night I knew Camila hadn’t come to please me: she’d come to have fun.

I climbed the gate at three in the morning, with my dress torn and my stockings bloodied, just to look him in the eye and ask whether I was making it all up.

The half-open door let out a muffled moan and I, frozen in the shadows of the hallway, couldn’t move or stop staring at what I was seeing.

My friends had years of experience when I had barely even brushed a guy. That night in Medellín, I made up for all of it at once.

She was thirty-six weeks pregnant and I was alone with her all week. No one knew what crossed my mind every time I helped her.

We went out looking for an alley and came back with a secret. Some Fridays change you without asking permission.

I know I’m dreaming, but the heat of his hands on my skin is too real to ignore. And I don’t want to wake up yet.

I promised myself I’d wait. That the more I denied it, the more intense it would be. But the body has its own reasons, and that night it wasn’t willing to give in.

That night in the rented house in Búzios, with three guys and half a bottle of vodka, Camila decided shame could wait until tomorrow.

When I told my flatmate on the balcony what that stranger had done to me a month earlier, I never expected her to ask to come with me next time.