The Night I Learned to Touch Myself
At twenty-three, I still didn’t know how to touch myself. One summer night, a noise in the hallway and an ajar door taught me everything at once.
At twenty-three, I still didn’t know how to touch myself. One summer night, a noise in the hallway and an ajar door taught me everything at once.
A broken wheel left us alone in the forest, and when she appeared naked among the branches, I knew the journey would never end the same way.
I saw you alone at the end of the bar, drink in hand and wearing the look of someone asking for exactly what I wanted that night too.
I went to get my jacket so I could leave without interrupting. Then I saw Daniela’s hand buried under Paula’s clothes, and my feet refused to move from that doorway.
She accepted the invitation to pay her cheating boyfriend back in kind and chose the fine-featured zombie, not imagining what she would discover when she took off the costume.
It had been more than ten years since I’d seen her. I found her by the dildo shelf and, without thinking, gave her my number.
For months I’d imagined that scene in her office, but I never thought it would be her who made the first move, with the lock clicked shut and her perfume filling everything.
I placed my hands on the cold wall, took a deep breath, and understood that on the other side someone was waiting for the invisible permission to start touching me.
Diego was touching himself while thinking of Nadia when his desire opened a door sealed for eighteen hundred years. What crossed through was hungry, and the city would be its feast.
I’m twenty-four and still learning what turns me on. That afternoon, with my hand on my throat, I discovered something I didn’t know I needed.
It took two days to arrive, and for those two days I could think of nothing else. When I finally opened the box, I knew that night I was going to know myself in a new way.
Caro was six years older than me, had a life that looked perfect, and a secret she thought she’d take to the grave. That night she decided she couldn’t hide anymore.
I was nineteen and had never dared explore myself. That afternoon, with the house silent, I decided to imitate what I saw on the screen.
There was no one home, no plans, and no excuse. Just me, the sofa facing the window, and the dangerous idea of leaving everything on display.
She climbed into the back seat beside my boss’s wife, thinking she was going to help me. She got out wondering when she could see her again.
“Put on the song I told you to and start undressing slowly. Don’t rush: tonight I’m in charge, even if we’re hundreds of kilometers apart.”
The clock said three and sleep still hadn’t come. Then I remembered that post and opened the drawer where I kept my best-kept secret.
We’d spent years summering together, seeing each other topless without thinking anything of it. Until that first day at the beach, when her hand slipped inside my bikini and everything changed.
She went down to reception just to ask about a trail, but she kept staring too long at the green eyes of the girl behind the desk. And the girl noticed.
She had never imagined what it would be like to be with a woman. That afternoon, with her blouse half open, she stopped wondering.