The Glass Booth Where I Let Them Watch Me

Told by both of them, she first and then him.

What a night. It had been incredible, far more than I ever imagined I’d be capable of doing. If Daniel had seen me—and even though he’d spent months pushing me to try someone else, specifically Hugo—he wouldn’t have believed it was me who ended up naked on that stage, in front of an audience that shouted and applauded every time I showed a little more skin.

It was arousing to a degree I hadn’t even known existed in me. I’m sure those in the front row noticed that the sheen between my thighs wasn’t only from the water those strangers were throwing at me, but from how hot everything was making me: their voices, the things they whispered in my ear, the hands reaching toward me asking for more. And I, like the other girls, gave it to them.

I didn’t even know places like that existed. Dives, Hugo called them. I’d heard of them in some magazine, in reports from abroad, but I always thought they’d be a thing in beach areas full of foreigners, people much more liberal than us. That night I discovered I was wrong.

I never believed I’d be able to take off my underwear in front of all those people, with some of them barely a handspan away from me, looking at everything with a brazenness that should have made me ashamed. And at first it did, terribly. But as the atmosphere picked up, I got more and more into the game, exactly what those running the place wanted: to get the customers worked up at our expense.

I couldn’t blame alcohol. I had drunk, yes, but not much. I was completely aware of what was happening and enjoyed every gesture, every look. My nipples were so hard they almost hurt, and my skin was prickling in the cold air over the water. What kept me together was seeing Hugo close by, in the second row, attentive, watchful. He was the one who rescued me at the end, covering me with his jacket, though even that couldn’t stop them from groping me on the way to the car.

I felt hands on my breasts, fingers squeezing me, a palm sliding where it shouldn’t. I could hardly tell one caress from another through the euphoria and the nerves. I walked along half-dazed, laughing without really knowing what at.

Hugo wanted to stop at the side of the road. I didn’t understand why until we got home. I got out of the car with his jacket on and my skirt in my hand, the two of us laughing like mad. He barely gave me time to cool off a little: he lunged at me and took me right there, with an urgency I’d never known in him. I knew exactly why he’d been looking for a lay-by in the road.

And now, to wait and see what he had in store for the next day. I confess: I was impatient.

***

Time was running out on us. Carla had to go back to work, and Daniel was returning in two days to spend the weekend at his place. I had a thousand ideas in my head, a thousand ways to heat her up and enjoy her, but by then I was already clear on one thing: what really turned her on was feeling watched, desired. That drove her wild. And I wasn’t about to waste that streak of exhibitionism that had come to light.

We fucked as soon as we got in, without even waiting to cross the threshold of the living room, right there on the terrace. With everything from the show still throbbing in my body, it only took me two minutes. I carried her to the bed and we kept going until both of us finished in gasps. Afterward we collapsed, spent, clinging to each other.

She had always seemed to me like a somewhat cold, distant woman. A married lady, a respectable housewife who gave no opening for any approach. But it was obvious that putting herself on display, seeing the lust on the faces of strange men, transformed her completely. She lost her modesty, her shame, her sense of what was proper, and gave herself over without reserve.

When I woke up, we were still tangled together. Her hand sought mine half asleep, with those sighs of someone slowly regaining consciousness, and made me understand, without words, that the day was starting well. I helped her, slowly, with all the care in the world not to break the moment. And that’s how the morning slipped away, until hours when anyone else would already have had breakfast twice.

We didn’t have breakfast. A bit of time by the pool, a light lunch on the terrace, in the shade. She was acting a little strange, more covered than usual, in a T-shirt and panties almost all day. And I noticed something else: she didn’t bring up the previous night. She didn’t ask where I’d take her, what we’d do, when she had been so excited before imagining it, choosing clothes, wanting to know everything.

I had to be the one to break the silence while she set the table.

—Are you ready for today’s outing? —I asked.

—I don’t know... where are you taking me?

—Have you ever been inside a sex shop?

—No, those toys and that tacky clothing don’t interest me at all.

But my idea wasn’t to buy anything. It was something more arousing. Some of those places, fewer and fewer of them now, have a section away from the shop, reserved for special customers, people looking for something more intense and, above all, company with the same tastes.

She perked up as I told her what it would be like, what she could do, how we should behave. I promised her I wouldn’t leave her alone on any stage this time, that we’d be together the whole time. She blushed imagining situations, laughed nervously every time I described what they might suggest to her there.

We went down to the pool and, as proof that she liked the plan, she stripped the moment we arrived and dove in headfirst, gesturing for me to follow her. I didn’t get in. I didn’t want to do anything that afternoon. I wanted her hot, anxious, wanting something to happen, ready to accept anything when the time came.

But she was only curious. She came up to me in the water, in confidante mode, and started asking questions. She needed to know, not make a fool of herself, walk in as a worldly woman above all that.

—Well, and what’s there besides the shop?

—Booths. Places where you can bump into other people.

—And do you have to get naked?

—You can be however you like, nobody forces you. We’d be alone, but near others who are there for the same thing.

—Other couples?

—To be honest, few. Almost none.

I told her what little I knew, almost all of it read that very afternoon online. That it was mostly a male environment, that the booths were private unless we wanted otherwise, that there were little openings for communicating with the ones next door. And something else I made up, because the truth was I had never set foot in a place like that. I kept that to myself: for her, I had to be a worldly man, someone who had the situation under control. Only then would she go calmly and enjoy whatever happened, whatever it was.

***

We had dinner nearby, in a neighborhood bar, so we wouldn’t have to drive afterward. Carla had dressed simply, as I’d told her to: a short denim skirt, mid-thigh, a loose dark shirt, and sandals. Almost no makeup, no jewelry. This time she was wearing underwear; you could make out the black strap of her bra, and I knew her well enough to know the panties matched.

The bar had tables with paper tablecloths and nothing to cover her legs when she sat down. I hadn’t counted on that. The skirt rode up to reveal almost all of her thigh, and no matter how much she tugged, there was no way to pull it down, until she got tired and stopped fighting it.

The men looked, of course. But none of them made a crude gesture or said a word out of place. They just looked at what was being offered to them, enjoyed it in silence, and went back to their own business. That calmed her, and she was able to eat with no more surprises.

The place was two streets away. We parked almost at the door and went into the unknown. The manager turned out to be a polite, helpful guy. While she wandered among the crowded shelves, I explained what we were looking for. He told me his shop had everything for every taste and that we were welcome, because few couples dared to come in there.

He led us, hand in hand, down a corridor where no one was visible, to a slightly wider glass door than the others. It was for two people. He pointed out where the bathroom was and warned us that the door next to it led to the dark room.

She hadn’t said a word the whole time; she was just going along with it. But when he opened the door, she was surprised and couldn’t stay quiet.

—But it’s made of glass... everyone can see us.

The guy reassured her. He explained how to adjust the glass so it could be seen from outside or not, depending on what we wanted. How to engage the lock if we didn’t accept visitors. The green light that indicated the opposite. And the little hatch system that connected to the neighboring booths. All very sterile, very functional, designed to satisfy the strangest tastes without anyone having to explain themselves. He left us a card for the videos on the screen, I paid him, and he left.

The cubicle was small: two almost reclined armchairs pressed against the walls and just enough space to open the door. I suggested we start with the simplest thing, strip and see what they had on that interactive TV, where you could choose category and title like on any website. We found some hooks and hung our clothes up so they wouldn’t end up on the floor.

People passed by in front. Men who stopped for a moment in front of the glass.

—Can they see us? —she whispered.

—I have no idea. I suppose so, I don’t remember how it worked.

A hand appeared through one of the openings, on Carla’s side. The gap was large, almost big enough for a head. The hand was feeling around in the air, searching. The two of us watched it until it found her bare skin.

—What do I do? —she asked, half scared, half excited.

—Let him. That’s what we came for.

The fingers found her wetness and began to play, slowly, warming her up while she looked at me wide-eyed. A little later another hand appeared on my side and did something similar with me, a calm, curious caress.

She laughed.

—Now it’s your turn. You know, that’s what we came for.

The hand on her side disappeared and in its place a cock emerged through the opening. Carla wrapped her fingers around it, hesitating, and said in my ear:

—I’d never seen one other than Daniel’s and yours.

—Do you want to see more? Touch them, play with them?

Then I really explained to her what the dark room was, what had sounded so strange to her before. She said she was afraid to go alone, so I went with her. It was only two steps away.

The place was dim, but everything could still be made out. Several openings of different sizes lined the walls, and through them some eye would appear to see who had come in. I gave her a gentle nudge.

—Help yourself first. I’ll wait for you in the booth.

I went back to our cubicle and let her discover it at her own pace. Later she would tell me what she’d done, with a different look on her face, half confession, half pride. I just had to wait. I knew that when she came back she wouldn’t be able to control herself.

And that’s how it happened. She came in all at once, climbed on top of me, seeking my body with an appetite I’d never known in her, and moved without restraint until both of us ended up gasping, surely loud enough to be heard in the neighboring booths.

At some point, without either of us noticing, a man came in through the door I must have left poorly shut. He stood to one side, watching us in silence, not touching us, simply enjoying what he saw. When he finished, he gathered his things and, before leaving, brushed Carla’s back with an almost grateful caress. She didn’t protest. I signaled to him and the man left as quietly as he had come.

After that we had to wash up. We were sweaty, exhausted, both of us laughing again without really knowing why. While she got dressed, Carla looked at me in the mirror and said only one thing.

—Are we coming back tomorrow?