Neighbors

When I stepped out of the elevator with my thong already soaked and my dress clinging to my sweat, I knew that tequila wasn’t going to stay just tequila.

Seven in the morning, my husband still asleep, and I already feel that heat settling between my legs without asking permission. Another day like this. Or worse.

I saw her on all fours over the dry grass, with the fluffy tail swaying between her cheeks, and I knew that Sunday afternoon was going to be unlike any other.

I told myself I only cut past the lot because it was the shortest way. But when his eyes followed me and his hand brushed my hip, I couldn’t lie anymore.

I went down to help him wearing what I had on. I hadn’t guessed what would happen when I sat beside him in that room.

For weeks I kept going down with excuses. He glanced at me from the side and looked away. Then a package arrived that wouldn’t fit in the elevator, and everything changed.

When I opened his gallery to clean the camera, I found hundreds of photos of me. I thought about leaving. Then I saw what was under his pants and changed my mind.

I left the curtain slightly open on purpose. She knew it and never stopped looking. That’s how it began: watching each other from afar before distance stopped mattering.

I watched her from my window while she hung the laundry on the terrace. Those huge tits, that knowing smile. She knew I was looking and never said a word... until that Tuesday.