Voyeur

I left the curtain half-open on purpose. That afternoon wasn’t just for Adrián and me: someone else was waiting for the show from across the street.

The first afternoon, I still hadn’t unpacked, and I already knew no one there would take their eyes off us. And the worst part was this: I was starting to like it.

I knew he spied on me every afternoon from his balcony. What I didn’t know was how much I liked him doing it—or how far I was willing to go.

I’d gone weeks without going out and the fire was eating me alive. That night I put on the wig, opened my coat at the fence, and let the street decide for me.

The walls were paper-thin. We heard her moaning in the next room and realized she’d been listening to us the whole time, waiting for an invitation.

For months I watched her through the peephole at 7:15 sharp. What I didn’t know was that she counted my steps behind hers every time she went downstairs.

The first morning I found her in the kitchen almost naked, moving as if I didn’t exist. That’s when I understood her husband’s game had only just begun.

Marcos thought he was in charge of the game. His wife looked at me over her shoulder, let the towel fall, and I understood that she set the only rule.

I’d spent years making sure no one looked at her too long. That afternoon, hidden among the tall weeds, I couldn’t stop looking myself.

I never thought being watched by complete strangers would turn me on so much. That night, behind glass, I discovered what I really liked.

I arrived at her place an hour before dinner and found her naked in front of the mirror, torn between two dresses and about to change everything.

He asked me to hold some tools while squatting down. I knew perfectly well what he was doing, and still I didn’t get up.

We thought we were sneaking around in the sand, until a stranger came over and confessed he’d been watching us for hours. And he had a proposition.

It was after eleven, everyone was asleep, and the rain was falling hard. I thought I’d just go get wet in the patio for a while. I had no idea how far I was going to dare to go that night.

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.