The same story told from the other side

The damn heat of Madrid had me crushed in my third-floor apartment. A mess. Thinking about whether to go down to the building's pool or just throw myself on the couch and wait for the temperature to give a truce, I approached the window that overlooks the interior patio. To see if some air was blowing. And there I saw him. The window across from me. Nacho. The one from the third floor, just like me. A damn coincidence that didn't go unnoticed.

I already had him marked, of course. You didn't see many like him around the portal or at the neighborhood gym. A few forty-somethings, yes, but what a forty-something. Short hair, that three-day beard taken care of. And the body... damn. You could tell he spent hours at the gym, a damn muscle-bound, defined, without a damn bit of fat to grab onto. A body that, damn, commanded respect even with age. But what caught my attention the most was that air of self-sufficiency, of a guy who had his life and everyone else under control. As if he thought he was untouchable. That no one could unsettle him. A bit arrogant, yes. And that's what I liked. It meant the fall would be much louder. And much more fun.

And there he was, in his living room, the window wide open, in his damn comfort zone. Alone in some briefs that clung to his skin due to sweat. Lying on the couch, in "king of my damn castle" mode. The sun coming in through his window hit him just right, highlighting every line of his body. The chest muscles, the marked abdominals, that hard curve of the hip. He breathed slowly, with that air of total relaxation, oblivious to the world. And damn, he looked incredibly good. Hot. Exposed. Too comfortable in his damn skin. Too secure.

My stomach flipped. It wasn't just lust, that it was, and a lot. It was the need to break that pathetic security. To take away that air of "I'm the owner of the damn universe and you're nobody." I wanted to see him humbled. On his knees. Under my thumb. See that face of self-sufficiency broken. The idea ran through me like an electric shock, pure malice and desire. And I knew, in that instant, that I had to go for him. Right now. That he was like that, exposed, in his fortress. It was the perfect moment.

An excuse. Something quick, something that would get me inside without raising serious suspicions. I looked around me. The TV remote on the table. Perfect. Loose battery, I need a screwdriver. The most idiotic excuse in the world, but it had to work. It had to be that simple to catch him off guard. So he would think: "a favor of shit to a neighbor." So he wouldn't see the blow coming. The damn hurricane that was coming his way.

I dressed in the minimum: short training pants, which mark the package well if you're not wearing anything underneath, and a tank top. I wanted him to see me. To see my physique up close, to notice that the twenty-six-year-old kid not only had a pretty face and was a hu...