Voyeur

That folder was never supposed to exist. But I opened it—and among hundreds of photos of me asleep and naked, I found something worse: the email where he shared them.

The door had been left ajar. When I sat up on the table, I saw my little brother staring from the hallway. He didn’t dare come in.

I turned on the phone, cracked the curtains open just enough, and waited for his shadow to cross the window while I stayed naked in front of the mirror.

When I looked through the keyhole and saw her on her knees in front of him, I knew lust had defeated pride long before that night.

I had the house to myself, four drinks in me, and the certainty that four men were watching me from the scaffolding. I wasn't going to waste the morning.

We saw him among the lilies, watching us from the shadows. Daniela knelt without warning, and I knew that night would change everything we were as a couple.

I went up the stairs, opened the main bathroom door, and there she was, in the tub with the baby, barely covered by a thin layer of foam.

Behind dark glasses, no one knows where a man is looking—and that July afternoon, he decided to look far beyond the edge of the umbrella.

I went out to smoke in the dark and saw him: crouched behind the palm tree, eyes fixed on the window where she was undressing, unaware she was being watched by two.

When I came out of the bathroom that afternoon, I saw him pull his hand out from between his pants. And the TV was lower than usual. It wasn’t a coincidence.

We’d been talking on WhatsApp for almost a year without ever meeting. That afternoon, in the hotel room, she sat down in front of me and started taking off her clothes.

I opened the curtains, turned on the corner lamp, and knew he’d be peering in from the next terrace over. That night, we were going to give him something he’d never dare ask for.

We’d been drinking beer around the pool for hours. When I went into the house looking for ice, the moans were coming from inside—and they weren’t hers alone.

The bed creaked to the rhythm of restrained moans. I walked barefoot to the crack in Camila’s door, and what I saw left me frozen in place for an hour.

The towel barely covered me when I knocked on my neighbor’s door on the seventh floor. He agreed to help me open my apartment only if I let the last thing I had on fall away.

I dressed to blow my boyfriend’s mind. The one who opened the door was his older brother, and his eyes ran over me before he even said hello.

I wanted to play a prank by lighting the candles in front of the pool house. When we pushed the door open, no one was laughing: my son was against the cabinet, and his friend’s father wouldn’t stop.

I went up to the third floor to eavesdrop and ended up locked in a closet, spying on an early-morning secret that changed everything I thought I knew about desire.

When the first one approached the car, my wife already had her skirt raised and her blouse open. What came next, I watched from an armchair, drink in hand, hardly breathing.

I went to the bathroom on a night with no electricity, convinced I was alone in the house. A phone light lit up the kitchen and I understood why the two of them had been acting so strange.