Oral

I ripped the dress, tossed a shoe, and rubbed my thighs until they were red. When I called him crying from the phone booth, I knew he’d come without thinking.

I spent twenty-eight years married to a man who treated me like furniture. At fifty-two, a delivery man rang the bell and gave me back things I didn’t even know were lost.

The burgundy curtain separated me from the empty street. Mara leaned in to fasten the bodysuit’s clasps for me and, without warning, her fingers lingered a little too long.

I went to the bathroom on a night with no electricity, convinced I was alone in the house. A phone light lit up the kitchen and I understood why the two of them had been acting so strange.

We happened to meet in the elevator by chance. She was carrying boxes and I had my hands free. I agreed to help her without knowing that storage room would close with both of us inside.

I got out of the taxi half a block from the hotel, as always. The receptionist no longer asked my name: she handed me the key to 304 without looking at me.

Five cousins, one friend, and a secluded sauna. That send-off was going to start in a jacuzzi with two mouths taking turns on my cock and end at dawn.

Our eyes met in the service-area café. I knew he’d follow me into the bathroom, and I knew I wasn’t coming out the same man who went in.

I was still dripping from the shower when she walked into the bathroom without knocking, wearing that crooked smile she’d been avoiding me with for weeks.

He’d wanted those lips in silence for years. That night, fighting over the console controller, his mouth fell on mine and everything shattered.

When I saw her kneeling among the park bushes, I knew that night I’d check her phone. What I found changed everything I planned to do after.

She’d been watching me for weeks from her corner table, with that calm that unsettled something inside me. When she sat across from me during my break, she wasn’t alone.

I opened the door convinced it was my husband. I was in my underwear, hair messy, and barefoot. When I saw who it was, I knew I wouldn’t be able to shut it in time.

When he took off his shirt to change clothes, I knew I wouldn’t be able to focus on anything he said about screws and shelves.

We were alone that March siesta, and she was still in her uniform. I don’t know how we went from tickling on the sofa to something else.

I thought the dark of the movie theater would distract me from how badly things had gone with her. I didn’t count on that same man who’d surprised us months earlier washing his hands beside me.

I saw the bus driver watching us in the rearview mirror and, instead of covering up, I let him pull down my top. At three in the morning, my ex and I were a free show.

I’d spent months with the app open without writing. When I finally replied, a discreet hotel and a man named Iván were waiting.

The beer had made us affectionate and the terrace seemed empty. Until I saw the flash of binoculars trained on us from the hill.

The shop was empty at three in the afternoon. When he pulled the shutter down and led me to the fitting room, I knew that siesta wouldn’t be like any other.