Peeping

I had never taken a job like that before: he only wanted to sit and watch while other men used me, and keep for the end what they left inside me.

She caught me watching those videos behind her back. Instead of getting angry, she smiled and asked, “Do you really want another man to fuck me in front of you?”

We had whispered about it a thousand times and I never believed it would happen. But that night she knelt in the middle of the room and all I could do was sit and watch.

I don’t know who you are or where you are, but as I write this I imagine you reading me, and that idea is exactly what’s soaking my thong.

Forty minutes earlier my hands were shaking. Now I’m holding the harness, and for the first time in eighteen years, I’m the one deciding what happens in this room.

Rubén filled the coffee maker while, on the other side of the window, our women stopped pretending. Neither of us looked away, and then his hand found mine.

I opened my eyes in the middle of the pleasure and saw her leaning against the doorframe, watching us. She said nothing. She just slid a hand inside her shorts.

They thought the cove was empty. I stayed behind the rock, holding my breath, watching her move on top of him as the sky turned orange.

“It’s only a handjob,” he promised her. But her husband was coming home that very night and the two of them were still tangled in the sheets, unable and unwilling to stop.

I put the proof back where I found it, washed my hands, and went down to the kitchen as if I knew nothing. That night our marriage’s dirtiest game began.

I’d never done it with anyone. And the first person who entered me wasn’t my boyfriend, but his father, one afternoon when the house was empty and I couldn’t say no.