THE WEEKEND THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING -19. POOL DAY SECOND PART - PUNISHED FOR VOYEURISM

PUNISHED FOR BEING A VOYEUR

Three days after the pool, Pedro arrived unannounced.

He didn’t send a message, didn’t call, and Juan, who was sitting on the living-room couch looking at his phone, heard the sound of the lock like a gunshot. He stood up suddenly. His heart jumped into his throat.

He had done everything right, the way Pedro wanted. He had shaved that morning—his whole body, not leaving a single hair, checking afterward with the hand mirror he used for difficult areas. Clean, showered. The house tidy, the dishes washed, the bed made, the towels clean. Naked since five, when he figured Pedro could show up at any moment. His balls shaved, his skin soft, his ass clean inside and out. Everything according to the manual.

But the manual was useless when Pedro was angry. And Pedro had been angry for three days. Juan knew because he hadn’t written him a single message. Not a “good morning.” Not an order. Three days of silence were, in Pedro’s dictionary, the equivalent of one sustained scream.

Pedro came in. He was coming from work. He hadn’t gone by his house, hadn’t showered. He came straight there, with the full weight of the day on him and three days of anger fermenting inside.

He looked Juan up and down. The look lasted two seconds and was like a scanner: it registered the nudity, the shaving, the cage, the posture, the face. It found no faults. He made no comment. That was worse than an insult: it meant that what Juan had done right did not compensate for what he had done wrong.

“Sit down,” Pedro said, pointing to the couch with his chin.

Juan sat down. Naked, caged, goosebumps from nerves, hands resting on his knees, fingers clenched.

Pedro remained standing in the middle of the living room, looking down at him. He loosened his tie, unbuttoned the first button of his shirt. Breathed.

“Do you know why I’m here?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me.”

“Because of the pool. Because of what happened with Analía.”

“‘What happened with Analía’?” Pedro repeated, and his voice had an edge that cut. “Nothing ‘happened’ with Analía. What happened is that you decided to spy on me. You were watching me like a sicko while I was having an intimate moment with my wife. My wife, Juan, the mother of my children. Your friend of fifteen years. The same woman who invited you to the pool, who put sunscreen on your kids, who treated you like one more member of the family. And you looked at her pussy and watched her have an orgasm.”

The word fell like a brick in the silence of the living room.

“It wasn’t like that,” Juan said, and his voice came out small, weak. “It wasn’t something I looked for. I looked up and saw you. I was standing next to the table and saw you through the bushes. It was a public place, Pedro. You were thirty meters away and…”

“And you...