Oral

I went back to the room quietly so I wouldn’t wake him, and found him with my underwear between his fingers and the sheet pitched up like a tent.

I kissed him in the car before going into the party, never imagining that inside I’d find the last person I wanted to see: my own father.

We booked the hotel to rest, but what I had in my backpack had other plans for that cold, rainy night.

I promised my friend I wouldn’t touch his little sister. What I didn’t tell him was that his best friend sat next to me every class, too close for me to focus on the numbers.

I’d spent years giving massages to strangers, but none had ever made me tremble like that on the table, waiting for him to beg first.

I walked into the room dressed as a mime, wearing a trench coat over my lingerie and knowing I was about to do something I’d never regret.

When the doctor told me I’d never have children, I thought I’d lost everything. I never imagined the answer would be sitting across from me, toasting as if nothing were wrong.

For weeks I’d been hearing my friends tell me I needed to let go. That Saturday, after the second glass of wine, I decided I’d be the one setting the pace.

I opened the box in front of him because inside was the perfect excuse. What I didn’t expect was for the neighbor to dare that much — or for me to let him.

No one had touched her in months. That January afternoon, with the locker room empty and the three guys still sweaty, she stopped thinking and gave in to what came next.

Daniel slept in the front seat while, a meter away, his uncle and his girlfriend shared the truck’s narrow bunk. And Noelia no longer wanted to sleep.

I always avoided him because he was so quiet and weird. Then a shove on the subway made me discover what he was hiding under those huge clothes, and I couldn't think about anything else.

For thirty years we’d kept crossing paths by chance. That rainy afternoon, in the pharmacy queue, she looked at me differently. And I did too.

On the outside I was the perfect girlfriend, the one who turns off the light and moans softly. That morning I came home fired up from the dance floor and decided I was done pretending.

I spent twelve months hauling spotlights and hating my life. That dawn, by the fountain, a stranger asked me to photograph her like no one ever had.

Around the bend didn’t come a modern tow truck, but a rusted old rig and a huge man who smelled of the fields. And I knew, before he even opened his mouth, how he was going to collect from us.

I put on the shortest skirt I had, and when that college guy rested his hand on my thigh, I knew the trip was going to be a lot longer than the ticket said.

A guy rummaging through a dumpster whistled at me in the street, and when he told me why, I wanted to disappear. What I never imagined was how I’d end up thanking him.

I thought it was just a game of late-night messages until one afternoon he shut my office door, turned off the light, and stopped asking permission.

The rustle of the sheet woke me, and when I turned my head I found her asleep beside me. I remembered nothing from the night before, but my body did.