Oral

I’d gone almost two years without touching anyone when I saw her step off the minibus with that smile. I promised myself that before I flew home, that mouth would be mine.

Everyone at the university knew what I was like, and the guard at the gate only needed a smile to understand that that afternoon, after cleaning up, I wouldn’t be leaving so fast.

I stopped my bike in front of Andrés’s house not knowing his mother was waiting for me in the doorway, and that that empty afternoon would change everything between us.

I’d been a widow for fifteen years and sexually asleep. Then that man, nearly twenty years younger, looked at my lips and I knew the morning wouldn’t end in notes.

—Marina, you won’t believe this: I went in to clean the room and there was a couple in the bed. And I just stood there watching from the doorway, unable to move.

You didn’t know us from Adam, but you spent the whole afternoon with your hand in your swimsuit, watching us play. And we knew it from the start.

I got out of the car thinking I was going to defend him and ended up seeing him with a stranger on his lap. What I did next wasn’t planned: I just stopped being afraid.

I was married, I was straight, and I was sure of who I was. That dawn, in a car parked by the beach, I stopped being so sure.

When the downpour flooded the city, everyone ended up at my place. I never imagined I’d feel Damián inside me again that night—or that we wouldn’t be alone.

That morning I didn’t get dressed or dry my tears. I just dialed his number and asked him to come without telling my husband.

I put on the white apron and the little cap, did my makeup like a slut, and called him to let him know the room was ready. We had the rest memorized.

I had just come out of the shower when I saw her message on the screen. She wasn’t what I was looking for, but her photo changed my plans that very afternoon.

I’ve spent years getting paid to sleep with strangers. I never thought I’d be the one begging to see her again.

When he put my hand on his crotch while driving, I knew there was no going back. That night I stopped pretending and gave myself to him completely.

I smelled fresh coffee and knew the night before hadn’t been a dream. Yamila was still there, in my kitchen, her skin still warm with desire.

The coach looked at me from across the table and smiled. My father gripped the back of my neck and whispered, “Son, we’re going to do whatever it takes to get you on the team.”

When she came out of the bathroom with her robe tied carelessly and her nipples pressing against the fabric, I knew I could never look at her as just the cousin from summer beach trips again.

I wanted her from the very first day, with her perfect body squeezed into those leggings. What I didn’t imagine was what she was hiding underneath, or how far I was willing to go.

She was the only woman at the club who charged to dominate men. Until a rich client sat beside her and, instead of stripping her, only wanted to listen to her until dawn.

I stopped at the light out of curiosity. An hour later I was on my back, asking her to take it slow, discovering a side of myself I’d spent years pretending didn’t exist.