Women

In front of the camera, the sexologist promised a simple anatomy lesson. But when the host slipped a hand under her thong, both knew there was no turning back.

She agreed to the shoot hoping for elegant photos for her profile. She didn’t expect that old camera to strip away much more than her clothes.

When I got into her car that Friday, I knew we were no longer going to talk about my future. There was something else between us, and we’d both spent weeks pretending it wasn’t there.

All it took was for her to tilt her head toward the back door for me to set my glass on the bar and follow her without thinking twice.

Eight years into my career, no patient had ever looked at me like that. That afternoon she put her feet up on my sofa, held my gaze, and everything I thought was solid began to tremble.

When Renata opened the bedroom door wearing a harness and asked if there was room for one more, I knew that Christmas was one none of us would ever forget.

I opened the trunk not knowing that inside it waited another woman’s secret: her lingerie, her diary, and proof that she too loved someone forbidden.

She booked a routine wax before vacation. What she didn’t expect was the way that woman would look at her when she closed the private room door.

When she sat at the bar and smiled at me, I thought we’d only share a drink. I never imagined that a few hours later I’d be naked, waiting for her next order.

I was only serving drinks. She was looking at me from the other side of the bar as if she already knew, before I did, how that night would end.

When I got to the bar, my wife was no longer alone: a stranger was caressing her waist, and the only thing I didn’t want was for her to stop.

Six years of pretending nothing was happening whenever they brushed against each other. That night, with the city asleep, neither wanted to keep pretending.

I felt her hand slide up my thigh in the packed subway, and even though I couldn’t move an inch, I didn’t want her to stop.

When she took off her blouse in front of the open window, I knew she wasn’t going to stop even if half the neighborhood was watching. And I didn’t want her to stop either.

I thought I was alone correcting my texts, until her hand settled on my leg and I understood the break would last much longer than expected.

The light barely came through the blinds, she was still asleep, and all I could think about was one thing: losing myself between her legs before she opened her eyes.

I’m writing this knowing you’re going to read it, even if you pretend you didn’t. And knowing, too, the exact way your body used to respond when you thought no one was watching.

Two gleaming bodies, a circle of men watching, and one unanswered question: would they fight for attention or split it like accomplices?

I’m shy with almost everyone, except my husband. That’s why I was so surprised to want that stranger who sat down in front of me, as if she’d been waiting for months.

In the bathroom, a makeup bag was waiting for me with a note: “put everything on and turn it on.” From that moment on, I stopped deciding what happened to my own body.