Threesomes & Orgies

When Doña Hilda opened the door and looked us up and down, I knew that night by the fire would cost us far more than a dry roof.

I sipped my coffee, pretending to focus on my phone, but I was watching them both. If they knew I’d already had every inch of their bodies separately, we’d all have left together already.

When he took off his T-shirt in my living room, I recognized the tattoo my wife zoomed in on every night. The anonymous single was there, sweaty and smiling.

Carla came out from between Lucía’s thighs with shining lips, looked at me from the sand, and I knew my quiet afternoon was over for good.

Mateo promised he’d watch everything from his table, but when two strangers started touching me at once, his silence scared me as much as their hands.

My heels were killing me when Andrés leaned over the counter and whispered that the conference room would be empty all night.

I walked in wearing only a red velvet cape and nothing underneath. The rule was clear: nobody knew who anyone was, and that changed everything that night.

When my husband left town, the two old men from the fifth floor invited me to celebrate a birthday. What happened on the dining table never should have happened.

We’d been fantasizing about him for months. When he accepted our dinner invitation, we knew that night wouldn’t be about the master’s program only.

I arrived at the park ten minutes early and thought about running away three times. When I saw them approaching hand in hand, I knew I was going to say yes to everything.

When Camila suggested we go down to my boyfriend’s basement, I knew that night wouldn’t end like the others: my brother had already tried her that afternoon.

I got on the bus thinking I’d just have one beer. By the time I wanted to get off, it was already too late to pretend I didn’t want to stay.

When my parents left for the village, my uncle Andrés took off his trunks and asked if I minded. I didn’t mind. Not at all.

I’d spent twelve years pretending that what happened in her apartment that afternoon meant nothing. My own wedding’s open bar proved otherwise.

My grandmother, my mother, and I thought that trip to the mountains would be the break we needed. Until the storm trapped us with two strangers.

When Ataq explained that Inuit hospitality included sharing wives, my wife and I looked at each other in silence. That night, the heat came from somewhere else.

We had spent our whole lives doing the right thing. Then suddenly it was three in the morning, and the three strangers were still in the house.

She had just had her first experience with another woman when two strangers appeared through the zipper, and she realized the night was only beginning.

They were my son’s friends. They were twenty years old and looked at me like I was the only thing they wanted in the world. I should have gone upstairs alone. I didn’t.

When I saw my grandmother kissing that man in the hallway mirror, I should have gone back to my room. Instead, I stayed and watched.