Seduction

I never told him about my tastes. A WhatsApp notification on his sofa was enough to change everything between us that night at his house.

When I turned to wash my hands, I saw him in the mirror: tall, gray-haired, with his zipper open and his gaze locked on mine. My night was just beginning.

When she came through the salon door, I knew that session was going to break something inside me. And I wasn’t wrong.

For years, Romina had imagined her mother while making love to her boyfriend. That night, with wine loosening her tongue, she could no longer keep it inside.

I wanted them to imagine her from a distance. I didn’t expect her to organize the scene herself, or my screen-side accomplice to show up with a flashlight in his hand.

When I got into the car that morning and saw her alone at the wheel, I knew the weekend wouldn’t be innocent in the slightest.

I went downstairs barefoot for a glass of water, convinced I was alone. I saw the light on in the office and knew that morning wasn’t going to end the way it had begun.

When she whispered that she was dripping and apologized, I realized our fantasy had gotten out of hand. And the stranger still hadn’t done his worst.

When she walked into the office with those hips, I knew the appointment wouldn’t be routine. What I didn’t imagine was how far her exam would go.

I dialed her number when I figured he already had her beneath him. I wanted to hear her moan while another man paid for her, never knowing I was in on it.

After a decade of bad sex with men, I met Renata, her drawer full of toys, and a finger where no one had gotten before.

When she rang the doorbell with two bottles of wine and that smile, I knew our unfinished conversation at the bar would finally end on my couch.

I recognized him the moment he turned around. He was going to be my gym teacher, and at the first touch of his hands on my back, I knew that day wasn’t ending there.

For months I’d let her dance alone, waiting for someone to push far enough. That night, a man taller than me finally did it.

The lover’s initials weren’t written out in full, but they matched the man smoking on my balcony.

I used to dream about men. Now it’s only her: the stranger who touches me under the table and slips into my bed every night, even though my partner sleeps beside me.

We’re identical, she repeated as she painted her lips. And it was almost true: only one detail separated the twins, and it was the one Carla had never confessed to her boyfriend.

When I looked up from my phone and saw him walking toward my bench, I knew that afternoon in Zona T would not end with a simple chat under the palm trees.

When she opened the door in that short dress and that alcohol-soaked smile, I knew the night wouldn’t end the way she’d planned.

I accepted the date out of curiosity: to be the object my boss lends his friends. But what his partner wanted from me that night, I never could have imagined.