Seduction

That night I went to the office under the pretext of using the photocopier. In her personal folder were three files that changed everything I thought I knew about her.

The clock said three and sleep still hadn’t come. Then I remembered that post and opened the drawer where I kept my best-kept secret.

The box hidden under the tree wasn’t for me. It was for her, and when she asked me to teach her how to use it, I knew the night would be nothing like we planned.

It had been ten years since anyone had touched me with those intentions. That afternoon, face down on the therapist’s table, I discovered my body still knew exactly what it wanted.

Your message arrived before the coffee: “What would you do to me?” And I, naked and half awake, knew that question was going to cost me the whole morning.

I came home from the gym burning up, stripped in front of the mirror, and knew that shower wasn’t going to be like the others: a freshly opened package was waiting for me.

I’ve been writing for half an hour and I no longer know whether the hands running over that skin are the character’s or mine on my own body.

Turning off the light would have been the sensible thing. But that night, on the ninth floor of an empty hotel, the last thing I wanted was to go unnoticed.

She stood beside the bronze sculpture in a black dress that seemed in love with her body, and she looked at me without shame, as if she already knew what we would do that night.

When he rolled down the window and I heard his voice, the five years we hadn’t seen each other vanished in an instant and I knew I would get in without asking where we were going.

I slipped the vibrator into the toiletry bag beside the toothbrush. If fantasy could ease the pain, no one was going to stop me from trying that night.

I closed my eyes thinking I was alone. When I felt the shadow at the door, it was already too late to pretend I wasn’t thinking about him.

It was nine in the morning, I was wearing a dress that could be pulled aside easily, and a secret was vibrating between my legs. No driver beside me imagined what I was doing.

Renata entered the dean’s office expecting a suspension. The dean locked the door, told her to stand up, and said the punishment would be very different.

I only wanted to get home. But his honey-colored eyes and that half-smile of a boy who knows what he wants made me change course in the middle of the station.