Alone at Home, I Let Myself Be Carried Away by a New Fantasy

That week in February was unbearably hot, and that Tuesday in particular the city air hung heavy like a damp blanket. I got home after a very long day, with my blouse stuck to my back and no desire to do absolutely anything. I ate something, standing up in front of the fridge, and went straight to the shower. I needed to wash the day’s sweat off me and, above all, the tension.

I turned on the water, lukewarm, almost cold, and stepped under it. I stayed there for a long while without moving, feeling each stream run over my shoulders, my back, my legs. The heat in my body slowly went down. I closed my eyes and let the water do all the work.

When I got out of the bathroom I tied my robe over my still-wet skin and went to the living room to throw myself onto the sofa. I flipped through channels without finding anything, that boring routine of looking for something to watch so my head wouldn’t have to. After half an hour I decided the best thing was to go to bed.

When I got to my room I realized I was still wearing the robe. The night was still hot, suffocating, so I let it fall to the floor and lay down naked on the sheets. The cool cotton against my back was the only pleasant thing about the whole day.

It was early and I wasn’t sleepy at all. I tossed from side to side, looking for a position, and none of them worked. At one point I decided to stop fighting the bed. I stayed on my back, breathed deeply, slowly, and tried simply to relax.

Little by little my body started to yield. Almost without thinking, I began to run the pads of my fingers over my skin. First my neck, then the curve of my breasts, my stomach. I went down to my pelvis, my thighs, and back up again.

I made that journey several times, very slowly, as if I were getting to know myself again. After a few seconds my nipples were hard and I had a warm tingling rising from my belly. Without realizing it, I was already pressing my thighs together.

How long has it been since I’ve given myself a little time like this?

The thought caught me by surprise. It was true: for weeks I had been coming home exhausted and falling asleep without another thought. I missed this, this permission to not rush, to answer to no one, to do whatever I felt like with my own body.

For a second I thought about reaching for my phone and putting on a video, like I always did. But that night I didn’t want to start there. I wanted to go slowly, build it myself, without shortcuts. So I kept caressing myself a little longer, letting anticipation do its thing.

Still lying there, I spread my legs wide and let everything be exposed to the room’s air. I brought two fingers to my mouth, sucked them until they were nice and wet, and lowered my hand to stroke my outer lips very softly. The first touch drew a sigh from me.

Right away I noticed my own wetness making its way through, that sign that the body was moving faster than the mind. I took advantage and slid my fingers inward, gliding over my inner lips with a slowness that was almost deliciously painful.

While I traced that slick area over and over with one hand, I kneaded my breasts with the other and played with my nipples, tugging lightly, rolling them between my fingers. My arousal grew with every pass, and that softness from the beginning no longer was enough.

Then I remembered something. I had a cucumber in the fridge, bought for a salad I never made, and the idea sent a shiver through me. I got up and hurried to the kitchen to fetch it, driven by the urgency of wanting it close for when the moment came.

On the way, I grabbed the baby oil from the dresser, the one I sometimes use on my skin. With both things in hand, I went back to bed and picked up exactly where I’d left off, still vibrating.

I poured some oil over my breasts and started kneading them, squeezing them hard. I pinched my nipples forcefully and a muffled cry slipped out of me. The oil made everything feel softer, slicker, more intense.

I poured another stream over my stomach and spread it with my open palm, drawing circles until I got back down again. I ran my fingers from top to bottom, fast, not skipping a single spot, chasing that point that made my back arch.

I took the cucumber, still cold, and rested it beneath me, against the slit, between my buttocks. The contrast in temperature made me jolt. It was hard, thick, and just feeling it there, firm, made me even hotter.

I opened my legs as wide as I could and started rubbing against it, moving my hips forward and back. Like this, yes, just like that. The uneven texture against my most sensitive spot lit me up like never before. It felt incredible.

I sped up the motion, riding it, letting all my weight drop into each sway. My breathing kept catching and a long moan came out every time I pressed myself against it again. I could feel something building down there, a pressure growing and growing without restraint.

I kept going until my body shook all at once, as if something had exploded from inside me. I felt the contractions, one after another, and the wave of pleasure that left me trembling on the sheets. I stayed still for a few seconds, panting.

But I didn’t want it to end. Before I’d fully caught my breath, I sat up in another position, legs wide open, and took advantage of the fact that the cucumber was completely lubricated by me to start sliding it into myself, slowly at first.

God, that feels so good.

I pushed it in and pulled it out faster and faster, unable to hold back my moans. Every thrust filled me in a way my fingers couldn’t, and the thought of what I was doing, alone, in the middle of the night, excited me even more.

I lay back down without taking it out, and while I moved it with one hand, with the other I started touching my clit, hard and fast, in tight circles. The combination of the two things left me on the edge of losing control. I was completely lost in my own body.

I couldn’t stop moaning, writhing, begging quietly for things I wasn’t saying to anyone. My breath came in gasps, sweat starting to bead again on my forehead. I felt like I was going to come any second and yet it still wouldn’t quite get there, and that delicious agony lit me up like a bonfire.

I stayed like that for several long minutes. In and out, punishing the clit, back to the nipples, doing everything I could think of to push myself a little closer to the edge without going over. I wanted to stretch it out, I wanted it to last, I wanted to squeeze myself dry to the very end.

When I could no longer take it, my body surrendered completely. I gave in to an orgasm that shook me from head to toe, with a hoarse cry that filled the whole room. I was left wrecked on the bed, my muscles loose, my skin prickling.

I took a few seconds to catch my breath. I pulled the cucumber out and, almost without thinking, brought it to my mouth. I wanted to taste myself, I wanted to feel something big and firm between my lips. It wasn’t the same as having a real man, I knew that, but at that moment it was all I had, and I enjoyed it just the same.

I knelt on the floor beside the bed to imagine the whole scene. I closed my eyes and convinced myself I really was giving someone oral sex, moving my head slowly, playing with my tongue, recreating every gesture.

Almost without realizing it, I spread my knees and lowered one hand down again. I was still soaked, ready, as if my body still wasn’t satisfied. I started touching myself again, and a moan slipped out around the cucumber.

My clit was still swollen, hypersensitive, so I went back to it patiently, squeezing and releasing, exactly the way I like best, while I kept licking and sucking with my other hand busy.

It was hard to moan with my mouth full; the sounds came out muffled, and even so I couldn’t stop. There was something about doing both things at once, about acting out that scene for an audience that didn’t exist, that had me completely hooked.

And then something appeared that I had never fantasized about before. I imagined myself kneeling just like now, with one man in front and another behind, taking me at the same time. The image hit me with unexpected force. How delicious that would be, how delicious it feels just to imagine it.

It was a new fantasy, a door I hadn’t known I had. I let myself fall all the way into it, without censorship, letting my mind fill in every detail: the hands, the weight, the rhythm of the two bodies. I don’t know how much longer I masturbated, given over to that invented scene, until my body gifted me a third orgasm.

After that I had nothing left. I collapsed onto the cool floor tiles, my chest rising and falling, trying to get my breathing back to normal. My skin was shining, my hair stuck to my face, and I had a stupid smile I couldn’t wipe off.

After a few minutes, I gathered enough strength to drag myself back to bed. I settled between the sheets, still naked, my body heavy and my mind finally blank. Nothing else was needed: after such a night, I fell asleep almost instantly, deeply, the way I hadn’t slept in a long time.