We Were Only Going to Watch at That Swingers Club

They say that when you want something too badly, you run the risk of seeing it come true. And then what? Are you ready to live with the consequences? It’s easy to play with fire when only you get burned. The real question comes when the person you love most enters the game with you.

Andrés and Camila were not so different from any other young couple. They had been together for three years, since university, and had gone through everything that comes with that age: arguments, jealousy, late-night makeups, promises that don’t hold. For him, she had not been the first, but she was the only one who left a mark. For her, he had been everything. The first kiss, the first shiver, the first time she undressed without fear.

The problem was not a fight or a betrayal. It was something quieter. Routine crept between them like a leak, and little by little it put out the fire. They no longer sought each other with the same urgency. The desire that used to drive them to strip in the hallway at home now arrived late, or not at all.

For Camila, it was just a phase. Love was still there, she thought, even if the hunger had pulled down the blinds. Andrés didn’t see it that way. He had tasted hunger and did not know how to settle for lukewarm calm.

***

The crack appeared one ordinary afternoon, inside the car, disguised as an innocent question.

—Camila… do you ever fantasize about other people? —he asked, staring ahead.

—What? —she frowned—. I don’t follow.

—It’s simple. Have you ever pictured yourself with someone else… like that?

—Are you serious?

—Not because you’re lacking anything. But we all do it sometime, don’t we?

—Well, I don’t. I’m with you. Why would I think about anyone else?

—I’m with you too, and I love you —he clarified—. But sometimes other images cross my mind. It doesn’t mean anything.

She looked at him with a mix of disbelief and disappointment.

—If I love you, I don’t desire anyone else.

—I don’t believe you —Andrés said, not accusingly, but with a conviction that hurt—. I’m sure you hide some fantasy.

—And if I do, it’ll stay mine. Not everything needs to be shared.

Shut up already, he thought. But he didn’t shut up.

—I would want to try. —As soon as he said it, he knew he’d thrown out a lit match without knowing where it would land.

Camila looked at him in silence for an eternal second.

—Are you telling me you’d like to sleep with other women?

—When you put it like that, it sounds bad.

—And how do you want me to say it? —her voice trembled, and he would have sworn her eyes filled with something on the verge of breaking—. The only thing I understand is that you don’t want me anymore. Or worse, that you don’t love me anymore.

—It’s not that. It has nothing to do with that.

—Of course it does. If you want other women, it’s because I’m no longer enough for you.

She slammed the car door and took with her much more than a conversation. She left behind a handful of unanswered questions.

***

During the following weeks he tried everything: messages, calls, voicemails that went unheard. Sometimes he saw her in the street and she crossed to the other sidewalk, as if he were already part of the urban furniture. Only when he thought he had lost her completely did he understand how much he had held in his hands.

Almost four weeks passed. And then, one afternoon, coming out of the library, he saw her. There she was, standing in a white blouse and with an expression that said neither yes nor no. He froze in place. She took the first step.

There were no reproaches or “why.” Only a raw, necessary, urgent embrace. The body before reason, the skin before answers. That night they made love as if it were the first time, or as if it were the last, and they never spoke about the matter again. Andrés kept silent out of fear. He kept silent because he had nearly lost the one thing he could not replace, and he chose to forget desire in order to stay with her.

***

It was Friday night. The exams were finally over and the idea was to celebrate with dinner downtown, with another couple of friends. But the plans went wrong at the last minute: the friends canceled and they ended up alone, wandering aimlessly through the liveliest streets of the neighborhood, amid neon lights and a crowd that seemed to float.

Andrés was absorbed in his phone, trying to navigate with the map, when Camila stopped dead. A girl dressed in a tight flight-attendant uniform, much shorter and more provocative than usual, had approached her. She must have been about twenty-five, with a sly expression and the practiced air of someone who has repeated the same script a hundred times. Camila was smiling, surprised, with that spark that appears in the eyes when something breaks the routine.

—What are you up to, silly? —Andrés asked as he came closer, somewhere between humor and suspicion.

Noticing his presence, the girl took a step back with a polite smile and vanished with the same ease with which she had appeared.

—We were invited to a place… a different kind of place —Camila said, barely hiding her nerves.

—What kind of place?

—I think the kind you like… —she laughed, like a little girl who has just done something mischievous and hasn’t decided whether to confess it.

—Me? —he pretended to be surprised, though the lights at the entrance were already giving him a clue.

—Yes, you. Don’t play dumb. We’ve been invited to a liberal club.

—She must have thought you’d be interested.

—I’m sure she saw your face and had no doubts left —she teased.

At another time, that comment would have put him on guard. But Camila’s tone was different. There was no reproach or sarcasm, more a conspiratorial joke, a new game that neither of them yet knew whether they would play.

—You know I don’t want anything that makes you uncomfortable —he replied, weighing every word.

—And did you ask me if it makes me uncomfortable?

—I don’t need to. I know the answer.

—If you haven’t asked me, how can you know? —she looked at him sideways, amused.

—You went almost a month without speaking to me over a similar conversation —Andrés said, testing the edge.

—Maybe that month helped me think. Sometimes people change their minds.

He didn’t know whether she was being sincere or testing him.

—Would you like to go in? —he asked at last, not wanting to pressure her.

She looked at him with a half smile.

—Just to watch… —she whispered, and in her voice there was something between complicity and vertigo.

Something inside him lit up all at once, like a wire that had been tense for months.

—I don’t want you to do it for me.

—I’m not doing it for you. I’m curious. I want to know what these places are like.

It was her tone, calm and firm, that decided him. If anything went wrong in there, he knew the wound would not be his. But he also understood that he couldn’t protect her from everything. Sometimes watching is also crossing a line.

***

Andrés went up to the girl in the uniform and, almost in a whisper, said:

—We just want to come in and see what it’s like.

—No problem —she replied with a sideways smile—. As long as you come as a couple, you’re welcome.

They followed her down a carpeted hallway, with bluish lights that seemed to hover over the walls. The interior was not as sordid as Andrés had imagined. More intimate than provocative, more elegant than vulgar. At the bar they ordered something: Camila a white wine, him a drink he would not remember afterward. The girl appeared again and, with a subtle gesture, invited them to follow her.

—If you like to watch, come with me.

—And if we don’t want to do anything? —Camila asked, more curious than uncomfortable.

—That’s fine. Some like to watch, others like to be watched. Nobody forces anything here —the girl explained, and before opening the door she reminded them of the rules: respect, consent, freedom. Her voice was so sweet it created a strange calm.

Camila felt her pulse racing, as if someone were pounding her chest from the inside. Her palms were sweaty, her knees trembling. Just before crossing the threshold, Andrés took her hand and interlaced their fingers, like someone seeking an anchor before jumping into the water.

The room wasn’t large. It resembled the living room of a modern apartment, with the same bluish light bathing everything, as if they were inside an aquarium. The ceiling was almost entirely a huge mirror reflecting the bodies. Black sofas surrounded the room, with red cushions offering the only warmth in the scene. Three couples were scattered like pieces on a board, glass in hand, eyes attentive. When they came in, every gaze turned toward them. None was shameless, but all had something of a test.

Camila chose the farthest sofa, as if she wanted to put distance between herself and some hidden danger. Andrés sat beside her and took a long drink, looking for in the alcohol a boldness he still could not find inside himself.

—Don’t worry, I’ll be right back —said the girl in the uniform before winking at them and disappearing.

They were left alone, shrinking inward, pretending to be natural when their bodies betrayed them. The stiffness, the restrained gestures, the averted gaze: everything gave them away, two beginners who had walked through a door bigger than they had thought.

—Good evening, guys. First time? —asked a man in a deep voice and kind tone.

—Yes… good evening —Andrés replied, aware that lying was pointless.

***

The first to approach was a man in his early thirties, his hair tied back in a high ponytail and the calm confidence of someone who knows the rules. Beside him, a dark-haired woman drank in silence. Camila couldn’t help noticing her breasts, large and firm, barely contained by a tailored jacket that seemed made to leave no one indifferent.

Camila took Andrés’s hand and placed it against her chest.

—I think my heart’s going to jump out —she whispered.

—Easy —he smiled, not letting go of her—. We’re just watching.

But neither of them believed that phrase anymore.

The couple on the left started, without bothering to hide it, kissing and undressing as if some silent signal had given them leave. The guy, with a lean, defined body, got up and went to sit directly across from them. The girl followed: a petite blonde, very fair-skinned and small-breasted, wearing a denim miniskirt and high boots. Andrés couldn’t avoid comparing her to the dark-haired woman with the generous neckline. Two opposite bodies, one full and one fragile, displayed a breath away from his face.

—We’re just going to watch —he repeated under his breath. He didn’t know if he was saying it for her or to calm himself.

The man with the ponytail leaned back with lazy ease and the dark-haired woman knelt in front of him, stroking him slowly, enjoying the fact that she was being watched. As she did, her gaze met Andrés’s and did not look away. On the other side, the blonde was doing the same with her partner, with a slow, almost hypnotic rhythm. Camila covered her face again, this time smiling, her cheeks flushed.

—Why don’t you sit here? —the ponytailed man said then, pointing to the space between the two couples—. Better view.

—We’re fine here, thanks —Andrés answered.

—We don’t bite… unless you want us to —the man added, with a smile that did not ask permission.

Camila shook her head, laughing, as if that small laugh were her only defense against the vertigo. But the man with the ponytail, unaccustomed to hearing “no,” got up with his erection marking the way, took her hand with disconcerting gentleness and led her to the empty space. He placed her there like an honored guest. Andrés didn’t think twice: he followed and sat close beside her. Now they were too close to everything. The temperature had risen, and not because of the thermostat.

***

The two women stopped moving at once and, without any signal needed, began to lick them as if in a rehearsed choreography, never taking their eyes off the new couple, knowing it unsettled them. Camila covered her mouth; nervous laughter had become her only release valve. She pressed herself against Andrés, looking for a safe zone that no longer existed.

—Just watching, remember? —he whispered in her ear.

The dark-haired woman with the low neckline changed position, reclined on the sofa with the naturalness of an actress and opened her legs so her partner could bury his face between them. She moaned without shame. And then, with studied audacity, she stretched out her hand and let it fall over Andrés’s crotch. He jolted. He tried to pull away, but without real conviction, as if his body still didn’t agree with his head.

On the adjacent sofa, the wiry guy rose and brought his erection dangerously close to Camila’s face. She turned to Andrés looking for comfort, and that was when she saw the dark-haired woman’s hand on her boyfriend’s crotch. They looked at each other for a moment, just long enough for discomfort to become flesh. And right there she felt another unexpected caress sliding up her chest: the blonde, shameless, had brushed a breast. Camila reacted as if stung and jerked her hand away, scandalized.

Without quite knowing when, everything was overflowing. And the worst part was not the chaos around them, but that neither of them seemed able to stop it. Desire had broken in like a wave and was about to wash over them.

—Touch it, you’ll like it —purred the blonde, offering Camila the hard sex of her guy.

—No… just watching —she replied in a thin voice. But no one seemed willing to listen anymore.

Meanwhile, the dark-haired woman with the low neckline had undone Andrés’s zipper and, finding what she wanted, was stroking him deftly. He didn’t stop her. He closed his eyes, surrendered to that forbidden sensation, no longer knowing whether to resist or enjoy it.

***

Suddenly the girl in the uniform reappeared, as if nothing had happened. She came up to Andrés, took off his T-shirt with a fluid movement and then went for Camila, but Camila, still having some strength left, held on to her top and stopped her. The man with the ponytail, conscious of his role in the scene, got up and sat right between them. Without asking permission. Like the wolf separating the most vulnerable member from the pack, he left Camila without her last refuge. He on her right, Andrés on her left, isolated.

The man wrapped around Camila’s back and unclasped her bra with skilled fingers. The lace fell to the floor with a whisper, discreet like the shiver already running over her skin. Her small, pale breasts were exposed. Shame caught up with her in the form of ragged breathing. And yet she did not get up. She did not run. She stayed there, as if her body no longer belonged to her.

—Are you okay? —Andrés reached out and brushed her arm.

But the man with the ponytail turned and, with a sharp gesture, held him in place.

—You, mind your own business.

Within seconds, Camila’s skirt and underwear joined the bra on the table, laid there like hunting trophies. She closed her legs, curled inward, with her skin bristling and her emotions overflowing, trapped in a wet dream she could no longer control. Less than a meter away, Andrés tried to catch her gaze. He wanted to know if she was still herself, if he should intervene, if he could still save her… or if he should simply let himself be carried away.

—We only came to watch… —he said, for the last time.

—She’s enjoying herself. Relax too —whispered the girl in the uniform, with a voice made of honey and anesthetic.

***

The man with the ponytail opened Camila’s legs like the pages of a book and placed his fingers at her center. Feeling the invasion, she closed her eyes and shuddered with an almost imperceptible jerk. Something inside her was breaking, or igniting. Or both at once.

Andrés couldn’t stop looking at her. In truth, everyone was looking at her. It was she, with her moving shyness and fragile resistance, who was the exact center of everyone’s desire. And then he felt jealous. A sharp, absurd stab, as if he were waking up inside a scene he himself had allowed and that now became painful. He wanted to reach for her hand once more, but the man with the ponytail cut him off with authority.

—You, stay in your place.

The wiry guy climbed onto the sofa and brought his sex to Camila’s mouth. She resisted for a moment, shaking her head with small gestures, a timid laugh escaping between her lips. But at last she gave in and took him into her mouth, slowly, with her gaze lost. The petite blonde licked one of her breasts with an almost ritual devotion. The man with the ponytail, meanwhile, lifted her chin.

—I want you to look at me.

She opened her eyes. In them there was fear, tenderness, and something else she could not even name. He laid her back carefully, spread her legs, and sank into her without a fuss. Camila took him without screaming: only her face flushed and a nearly muffled moan slipped from her lips. Meanwhile, her hand gripped Andrés’s tightly, and he watched with a stab that sank deeper with every thrust.

***

The man with the ponytail held her knees and pushed them forward to go deeper. Camila arched her back and began to pant in rhythm with the thrusts.

—Ah, ah, ah… —each sound echoed in the room, thick and wet.

Andrés had stood up, and the dark-haired woman with the low neckline was taking him in her mouth like someone savoring a delicacy, running her tongue over him without hurry, while the blonde covered him from behind with slow caresses. He did not want to look at Camila; witnessing that was too painful. But like an addict who needs his fix, he could not take his eyes off her, trapped in the intensity of conflicting feelings.

And then, in the center of the room, something was heard that sounded less like a plea than an order.

—Harder! —Camila demanded, sinking her nails into the stranger’s ass and pulling him toward her.

That drove them all toward the abyss. The thrusts intensified, the man’s muscles tensed each time he plunged into her, and Camila could only close her eyes and give herself over. A deep growl broke the air when the wiry guy climaxed in the dark-haired woman’s mouth. And seconds later, the man with the ponytail pulled out of Camila and spilled over her stomach and chest in gasps, marking her like freshly taken prey.

***

The magic of the night vanished all at once. Everything that had seemed like an unreal dream was now certainty. Camila would have given anything for it to have been a delicious lie she could tell herself. But the truth was that she had been with another man, and she had done it in front of the person she loved most. Was that really me?, she thought. Guilt began pounding her chest like a hammer.

Gathering her courage, she opened her eyes determined to face Andrés’s gaze. But when she finally looked for him, he was already walking out the door, half-dressed, in hurried steps. Before disappearing, he turned his face, and their eyes met one last time. That was when she saw he was crying, and she knew that something, that night, had broken between them forever.