Voyeur

Everyone at the office talked about Marcos’s wife’s body. I only wanted to see it with my own eyes, even if I had to invent a dismissal to do it.

I saw her when I boarded and knew I wouldn’t sleep. I never imagined I’d spy from the shadows as another man took her against the window.

My phone fell into the water, so I had to use my mother’s. I never imagined a saved chat would show me who came into our house when I wasn’t there.

We don't expose ourselves so people can watch us; we simply stop hiding. And if a blind shifts beyond the hedge, she smiles and spreads her legs a little wider.

“I want us to masturbate while we watch each other,” she told me in the car. I hadn’t expected it, but watching her without touching her turned me on instantly.

We started the day with a dumb bet and ended it in a stranger’s room, with a phone recording everything.

The door was barely shut and inside someone kept saying yes, yes. I shouldn’t have looked, but I stayed frozen in the hallway, holding my breath.

Every morning she watched people from her café table, never imagining that a man in a suit was studying her back—or the silent arrangement he was about to offer.

At midnight I went to the bathroom and the half-open door revealed something I never imagined: my mother, whom I thought was asleep, wasn’t alone in the shower.

I thought those photos were mine alone—until she counted to five by the ships and hiked up her dress without warning.

I was twenty and had never seen a naked man when Mariela took my hand to the back wall and whispered that I should look through the crack.

When I blindfolded her, I didn’t expect to see the old man on the balcony watching us. And instead of lowering the blind, I offered my girlfriend to him.

She wore absolutely nothing beneath her long coat, and as soon as the doors closed, I sent the elevator to the top floor to have her all to myself.

When I was down to just my bra and thong, my friend climbed onto the stage and asked for the music to start over. She didn’t want to leave me alone up there.

I was furious at my husband’s idea, but when I took off my last piece of clothing and floated naked in front of them both, I realized I liked it more than I should have.

For a full week I watched her from behind a dune, convinced I’d never dare approach her. Then she lost her house keys on a Saturday afternoon.

I crept barefoot down the hallway while he slept, determined to give my husband the cuckolding he wanted so badly—but on my terms: he’d never know he already had it.

We’d been married twelve years, and I’d never seen her so fully in command of herself as that afternoon, standing in the water and letting strange men look at her.

The theater was almost empty when she chose the seat one place away. She wasn’t watching the screen—she was watching me, and wanted me to notice.

I boarded the last car expecting a quiet trip. I never imagined the woman in the green dress would invite me to watch what her partner was about to do to her.