Seduction

When Diego left me the car and went home with the child, I never imagined I’d end the night against a bathroom wall with another man’s mouth on my neck.

There was a week left before my wedding when I sat in the middle of the room and let a stranger convince me to go into that bedroom.

I went down to the pool thinking I was only looking for the gym and some sun. I didn’t know they had already decided what to do with me once their husbands closed their eyes.

I came out of the shower dripping, thinking it was my mother at the door. But when I opened it, there she was—the only woman I could never get out of my head.

Take down the photos, hide my clothes, conceal the webcam, and hide in the ironing room: that night my wife would bring home a stranger and I’d be the only witness.

My wife noticed the waiter watching her as he served the tea, and I came up with the most forbidden idea of the entire trip: inviting him upstairs.

“I started thinking and came up with a few ideas,” he wrote. Three hours later, a stranger was ringing our doorbell.

When the dressing room door opened, I knew it wasn’t my assistant. It was him, and he had that look that made me choose between desire and guilt.

At the wedding everyone was looking at her in a way I never had. That night she came up to get me and I passed out drunk. What happened after that I only found out at dawn.

Bruno’s curiosity awakened something in me I could no longer control: I wanted my trainer to touch me for real, not just in my words.

She leaned against the edge of the desk, opened her jacket, and said huskily, “Now you can stop wondering.” And I knew that afternoon wouldn’t end at the office.

He held my gaze at the counter for ten seconds, and I knew I would follow him to the restrooms. That morning, I stopped being the perfect wife.

She only wanted to understand her body before getting married. She never imagined that therapy group would lead her to betray everything she believed about herself.

Three days without thinking about anything except the smell of hot rubber and his hands on me. And my husband, without knowing it, gave me the perfect excuse to go back.

My girlfriend had been out of town for a week and I could think of only one thing: text Mariana and meet her at our usual café for a little game.

Every morning she chose a different garment, knowing it would end up torn on the living-room floor. What she didn’t expect was the door opening early.

I held her gaze while I lied, my hand still remembering his skin trembling against the cup, praying she wouldn’t put the pieces together.

I've been faking it in bed for years. That night, while he ordered another drink, I exchanged glances with the man at the bar and knew I wouldn't return from the bathroom alone.

I told Andrés that therapy was helping me clear my head. I didn’t tell him that every session left my body shaking and my conscience split in two.

At three in the morning I sent my personal number to the client. When her name appeared on my phone, I knew I’d already crossed a point of no return.