In the stories of Having Fun with the Curious Neighbor, Manuel García tells the stories of real men: virile, practical, sometimes tough, but driven by a desire that strikes like an electric current at first contact, at first glance that lasts a moment too long. His eroticism is carnal, direct, never glossy. It is made up of silences, smells, touches, and everything that remains suspended when words are not enough.
In the story that gives the collection its title, a man finds refuge in the evening quiet of his home: his body stretched out after a hard day, the pool reflecting the light, the silence broken only by the chirping of crickets. But behind the hedge, something moves. A shadow. A gaze that observes. And when he finally discovers who is hiding among the leaves—a boy with light eyes and nervous hands—the calm turns to tension, and the tension to something deeper, more dangerous, more real.
The water slid slowly over his chest, cold as the night that was falling. Then, a rustle. A hesitant figure among the leaves. He grabbed him by his sweatshirt, pulling him out suddenly, his warm breath against his face. Blue eyes, an uncertain gesture, no words. Only skin that trembled, and desire that had already decided for both of them.
Manuel García writes about men who recognize themselves in silence, where strength becomes vulnerability and desire takes on a concrete, inevitable form.
Sometimes a glance through the hedge is enough to discover everything you don't dare to say.
