I Dared to Try on My Own What I Had Imagined So Much

The idea had been going around in my head for days. It wasn’t really something new: I had thought about it many nights, before falling asleep, when the house fell silent and I lay there staring at the ceiling with that warm restlessness between my legs. But thinking about it and doing it were two different things, and until that Sunday afternoon I had never quite dared.

I had a toy tucked away at the back of the drawer, under a pile of clothes I never wore. I had bought it online months earlier, in a fit of curiosity, and ever since then I looked at it more than I used it. It was penis-shaped, neither too big nor too small, just enough to make the idea intimidate me a little. That afternoon, I finally decided to stop looking at it.

I was alone. My flatmates had gone away for the weekend and weren’t coming back until Monday. I had the whole house to myself, all the time in the world, and, above all, the certainty that no one was going to interrupt me. I locked the door to my room, more out of habit than necessity, and felt my heart start to race before I even began.

The first thing was to get ready. I stepped into the shower and let the hot water relax the shoulders that always carried the tension of the week. I washed slowly, calmly, enjoying the moment as if it were a ritual. I knew I wanted to try something I had never quite managed, and I didn’t want to rush it. I wanted to do it right.

I took my time with the cleaning. If I was going to play with my ass, I wanted to be calm, with nothing to pull me out of the moment later. I used lukewarm water, patience, and several passes until I was satisfied. Then I washed the toy with neutral soap, rinsed it well, and left it drying on a clean towel. Every step made me a little more nervous and a little more turned on at the same time.

Still in the bathroom, I tried to open myself a little with my fingers. I braced myself against the sink, breathed, and went slowly. But my fingers are slim and, no matter how much I insisted, I couldn’t feel what I was looking for. Then I tried the tip of the toy, just a brush, and it hurt. I stopped at once. Not like this, I thought. Not in a hurry, not standing up, not with my back cold against the tiles.

I washed it again, dried myself, and went to my room. There I’d be more comfortable, more myself, and my body would respond better.

***

I lay down on the bed on my back, with two pillows under my back to prop myself up a little. The afternoon light came in filtered through the curtain and left the room in a golden half-light I liked. I stretched out my hand toward the bedside table and took out the lubricant. This time I wasn’t planning to skimp.

I put a good amount on my fingers and started touching myself on the outside, not going in, just stroking, letting my body get used to the idea. I closed my eyes. I let my breathing grow slower and deeper. Little by little, the first finger went in without resistance, and this time it didn’t hurt. This time it felt good.

I played like that for a while, unhurried, listening to my own breathing. When I felt I was ready, I grabbed the toy, put on more lubricant than I thought I needed, and pressed it against me slowly. I pushed just a little. The tip slid in. I waited. I pushed a little more, then a little more, backing off when my body tensed and advancing when it relaxed. It was a dance of patience and desire.

And then, almost without realizing it, it went all the way in.

My legs trembled. I’m not exaggerating: I really felt them shake, a current that rose from my thighs to my belly. I stayed still for a few seconds, surprised by myself, by having managed it, by how good that fullness felt, something I had never reached before. I let out the breath I hadn’t even known I was holding and laughed to myself, pleased, almost disbelieving.

I started moving it slowly. In and out, gently, discovering the rhythm I liked. I tried different ways: deeper, shallower, faster, slower. Each variation gave me a different sensation. But what turned me on most was something else.

I sat up and straddled the toy, letting my own weight sink it into me. With one hand I held myself up; with the other I started touching my clit in slow circles. The combination took my breath away. It was too much and it was perfect. I turned on my phone, found a video, and let myself go while on the screen a girl panted between two men.

I rode up and down on the toy at my own pace, setting the rhythm myself, master of every movement. My fingers didn’t stop drawing circles over my clit, faster and faster, with more and more pressure. I could feel the heat concentrating, building up in one spot, ready to explode.

The orgasm hit me like a wave with no warning. I pressed myself hard against the toy, threw my head back, and let myself be shaken all over, my thighs trembling again and a moan escaping me on its own. It took me a while to come down. When I did, I stayed stretched out on the bed, sweaty, out of breath, with a stupid smile I couldn’t shake. That night I slept as I hadn’t slept in a long time.

***

I couldn’t get the idea out of my head all week. Every night, before sleeping, I went back to that memory, to that shiver, and new things occurred to me. Curiosity, once awakened, doesn’t go back to sleep so easily. And I had another toy waiting in the drawer.

The following Sunday I repeated the ritual. The long shower, the calm, the cleaning with patience. But this time I had a more ambitious plan: I wanted to know what it felt like to have something in each place at the same time. I had imagined it so many times that I almost knew it already, even though I had never experienced it.

I laid the things out on the bed. The penis-shaped toy, the lubricant, and some Ben Wa balls I had bought in the same impulse as the rest and had not properly tried out either. I looked at them for a while, weighing things up. Then I breathed, smiled, and told myself that’s what being alone at home was for.

I started as I had the previous time. That second time my body already knew the way; there was no fear or pain anymore, only desire. I used plenty of lubricant and, this time, the toy slid in with a ease that astonished me. It went in and out as if it had been doing it all its life. The sensation was completely different from the first time: now everything was slippery, easy, fluid.

I got the idea to turn over. I lay on my side and then face down, leaving the toy trapped between the mattress and my own weight. That way, each time I moved my hips, I could feel it sink in and pull back without having to hold it with my hand. I had both hands free, and that opened up a world of possibilities.

That was when I reached for the Ben Wa balls. I rolled onto my back again, with my knees bent, and slowly slipped them into my vagina, one by one, until I felt them inside me, filling me in a new way. I didn’t move them. I left them there, still, while I started rocking my hips again so the other toy could resume its in-and-out motion.

The sensation of having something in each place at the same time overwhelmed me. It was as if my whole body were occupied, attended to, awake. I turned on another video on my phone, propped it against the pillow, and started touching my clit while the sounds from the screen mixed with my own broken breathing.

I moved faster. My hips set one rhythm, my fingers another, and everything synced into a spiral that kept growing without stopping. I could feel the Ben Wa balls pressing from inside every time I squeezed, and the other toy responding to every turn of my hips. There wasn’t a single part of my body that wasn’t asking for more.

I’m not going to lie: I came even harder than the first time. I arched on the bed, bit my lip to keep from crying out out of sheer habit, even though there was no one who could hear me, and let myself be carried all the way to the end. When it was over, I lay still, breathing hard, my body limp and my head empty of everything except that feeling.

***

It took me a good while to move. When I finally did, I gathered my things, washed them calmly, and put them back in the drawer, this time not hiding them quite so much. They were no longer a secret I was ashamed of. They were something mine, something I had discovered on my own, at my own pace, without rushing and without anyone telling me how.

I lay there for a while, thinking about how far I was from that first afternoon when the tip hurt and I stopped after a few seconds. About how desire, when you give yourself permission, finds the way. About everything I still had left to try.

And that’s what I wanted to tell you. What began as a curiosity tucked away in the back of a drawer ended up becoming one of the best ways I found to get to know myself. Sometimes the best company is yourself, an afternoon off, and the urge to find out what your own body is capable of when you stop being afraid of it.