Voyeur

The apartment walls were paper-thin, and my girlfriend’s best friend slept just on the other side. That first morning, we pretended not to remember she was there.

I went up to that flat for a haircut. She opened the door with the promise that she’d stay in a thong in front of a complete stranger.

That night the dare was simple and insane at the same time: cross the property naked, on all fours, right past the window where anyone could see me.

I walked to the shore with a stupid plan: pass in front of her and memorize her. I didn’t know that stranger would let herself be watched as if she’d chosen it.

The first time I walked into her apartment, I found a thong hanging in the shower, and I knew that food-for-hot-water deal was going to cost me far more than a few empanadas.

The first time he made me lower my head while he fucked me, I thought I’d resist. I didn’t. And I discovered how much I liked stopping myself from deciding.

When she finally opened her eyes, she discovered that the four armchairs around the bed were no longer empty. And then she understood what he was playing at.

They left the club at two in the morning. Renata had no idea the real show that night was playing on a screen at the foot of the bed.

I sat on the low wall facing the sea, spread my legs, and let the wind do the rest. Six strangers saw everything. I wanted all of them.

I gave her permission to be with another man. What I didn’t expect was to be glued to the phone, listening to everything, unable to hang up.

I parked a block away so I wouldn’t make noise. The lights were off, but from the back of the house came laughter that didn’t fit any quiet gathering.

She wore only a long coat and high heels. Her only plan was to feel strangers’ eyes roaming over her body while she pretended to shop.

When I saw the man coming up the path, he squeezed my head harder. He wasn’t going to stop. And I didn’t want him to.