Oral

I only needed a bathroom that hot afternoon. What that old man at the garage did with his phone left me trapped and at his mercy for days.

I’d been sleeping among the stars for twenty years. The first woman who smiled at me on solid ground dragged me into a bathroom before I could say no.

The auditorium was almost empty when his hand settled on the armrest. I was forty-two and thought I knew everything about desire. That night I learned I didn’t.

When Marisa caught me breathing hard and staring at her legs, she didn’t get offended: she smiled, leaned close to my ear, and told me it wouldn’t end there.

Every morning she watched people from her café table, never imagining that a man in a suit was studying her back—or the silent arrangement he was about to offer.

I told her I couldn’t think of anything to write. She got off my lap, let her clothes fall to the floor, and ordered me with a smile: “Describe me.”

I promised Marcos I’d look after his mother while he was away. What I didn’t tell him was what happened the afternoon she offered to cook at my place.

When he got out of the van with that smile, I knew the broken boiler would be the best excuse fate had given me in years.

I came home from my second date with my heart racing, never imagining that my own husband would ask me that night to tell him everything.

I crossed half the city thinking we were going to eat. When I opened the wardrobe in room ten, she stepped out with a lit cake and an anything-but-innocent smile.

Everyone hurried past his kiosk so they wouldn’t have to hear his filth. One summer afternoon, Dalia stopped for an ice cream and didn’t know how to go home anymore.

I’d been noticing the way my husband’s friend looked at me for weeks. That night, alone in the patio, I understood none of it was accidental.

When she climbed on top of me at dawn on New Year’s Day, I thought that was the whole story. I had no idea her secret would change everything between us.

She parked in front of the building, looked in the rearview mirror, and did not recognize the woman staring back. That night she had decided to stop being the perfect wife.

We’d spent a week planning that night: her husband at soccer, my wife in class. What we didn’t plan was how many times we’d be interrupted.

When he took off his trousers in the fitting room, she had to step away from the curtain so he wouldn’t hear her hold her breath.

When she opened the door in that black lingerie and that cold smile, I knew there would be no talk tonight: only orders, and I was ready to obey every one.

I agreed to help him organize his new house out of pity. I never imagined that each bet would leave me with less clothing and more eager to lose the next one.

At 6:53 p.m., the intercom buzzed. After three weeks of waiting, she was suddenly there—serious and elegant, ready to fulfill every one of her conditions.

I was twenty-four and thought I knew my desire, until her hands guided mine over her oiled skin and I realized that afternoon would change everything.