I Touched Myself in the Theater Bathroom Thinking of Her

I saw you for the first time at a party, a couple of summers ago. You were wearing a wig with black and silver strands that fell to your shoulders, and a short dress that clung to you in a way I could barely hide from. I kept staring at you more than I should have. Your legs, your skin without a single mark, the curve of your cleavage every time you laughed. I couldn’t stop imagining what was beneath that fabric, how warm you would be if I got close, how your nipples would stiffen if I licked them slowly, whether your pussy was shaved or had a little hair, whether you’d like me to eat you out slowly or fuck you with two fingers until you came.

I asked a mutual friend your name. Marina. I looked you up on social media after that, followed you, and for a few days I kept checking your profile like a teenager. Until he showed up in your photos: a guy with an easy smile, his arm always around your waist. I stopped looking. I told myself it was stupid, that we didn’t even know each other, and I tucked you away in that corner of my head where I put the things I’d rather not want.

Or so I thought.

***

The day of the conference dawned clear. I had taken it seriously for weeks: I got up early to go to the gym, did legs until they were shaking, I wanted to feel firm, confident, at my best. I went home, took a long shower, let the hot water wake up every inch of my skin. I ran my fingers over my pussy almost without thinking, checked that it was smooth, sensitive, and bit my lip when the spray hit my clit. I was almost about to come right there, but I turned off the tap. I wanted to get to the theater hungry.

I got dressed without a bra. I decided that in front of the mirror, almost like a challenge to myself. I chose a sheer blouse that made my nipples easy to guess whenever I moved, and I did my makeup lightly, something natural, just enough to bring out my eyes. I liked what I saw. I left the house with that strange feeling of being armed, of carrying something hidden that no one else knew about.

The theater where the talks were held was old, with red seats and high ceilings. I went in, found a seat, and the first thing my eyes registered wasn’t the stage or the day’s schedule. It was the legs of the woman presenting the event. Long, crossed, with a dress that rode up a little every time she shifted position by the lectern.

What a beautiful woman, I thought, and forced myself to look at my notes.

It didn’t help. The first lecture was interesting, it really was, but I was only half there. The other half kept following the movement of those legs, the way the presenter leaned toward the microphone, the way her voice filled the room. Without realizing it, I pressed my thighs together. I felt the first warning of heat between them, that warm wetness already beginning to stain the fabric, and I took a deep breath. I imagined myself kneeling in front of her, slowly lifting her dress to her navel, pulling her panties aside with my teeth and burying my tongue in her pussy until she clutched my hair.

***

As soon as the talk ended I went out into the hallway for some air. I needed to clear my head before it got out of hand. And then I ran into Lucía.

Lucía is a colleague at the agency. For a long time we’ve been playing with that tension that never quite explodes: a hand that stays a second too long on an arm, a look that lasts longer than it should. I’ve fantasized about her many times, alone in bed, imagining a threesome with another coworker who’s also dropped the idea more than once. I picture her on all fours while he fucks her from behind and I tongue-kiss her, or eating my pussy while he fucks me, taking turns, wet, with semen slipping down our thighs. But she’s married, and I’ve never had the nerve to put into words what I think when she’s close.

—I wasn’t expecting to see you here —she said, and kissed me on both cheeks, leaving her perfume stuck to my face.

—Me neither —I answered, and noticed my voice came out lower than usual.

We sat together for the next lecture. It was a bad idea and I knew it the moment her knee brushed mine and neither of us moved away. I could feel her heat through her clothes, the brush of her arm every time she shifted in her seat. Out of the corner of my eye I looked at her abdomen, defined beneath her slightly open shirt, and my mouth went dry. I imagined her with nothing on, just in her underwear, lying somewhere waiting for me, legs spread and her hand inside her panties, inviting me to finish what she had started.

I’m not going to make it through the whole day like this.

The heat was no longer an idea. It was lodged between my legs, throbbing, demanding. It was a physical urgency, almost unbearable, the kind that clouds out everything else. My clit was pulsing with every beat, swollen under the fabric, and I could feel my panties soaked through and clinging to my pussy. I wanted to fuck right that second, in that theater full of people, surrounded by women I had neither the chance nor the permission to touch. I wanted a cock inside me, or a mouth, or fingers, anything that would fill me and let me come at last.

***

And just then my phone vibrated on my lap.

It was a message from you. From you, Marina. The girl with the wig, the one I had put away so I wouldn’t want her. You’d found my contact and were writing to me as if nothing was wrong, chatting about some work matter, trying to be friendly, testing out a conversation that at another time I would have found charming.

But I was too turned on to pretend to be normal. I read your messages and didn’t think about the topic you were talking about. I thought about closing that distance, about telling you without filters what I had inside me: that I wanted to kiss your neck slowly and work my way down, sucking your nipples one by one until they went hard, that I wanted your mouth between my legs sucking my clit while I ate your pussy, in a slow, dirty sixty-nine, that I wanted to feel your fingers sinking into me, two, three, fucking me slowly while I bit your nipples and pulled on your wig.

I can’t take it anymore. I’m too turned on to keep sitting here.

My hands were shaking a little when I put my phone away. And suddenly I remembered: in my bag I had my headphones, the big ones, the ones that cancel out all the noise around me. I almost laughed with relief. It was an escape. A way to steal the five minutes from the day that I needed not to lose my mind.

—I’ll be right back —I whispered to Lucía, and stood up without waiting for an answer.

***

The bathroom was at the end of a side hallway, far from the bustle at the entrance. I pushed the door open and went into the last stall. There was someone else, two doors down, speaking softly to another girl, but I didn’t care. At that moment modesty was the last thing left to me.

I locked the bolt and leaned against the cold wall. I put on my headphones and the world shut off all at once: no murmur from the hallway, no footsteps, no voices. Just my racing breath and the pounding in my ears. I found a video on my phone, something specific, two women in an anonymous bathroom, one kneeling and eating the other’s pussy against the stall door, and let the moans fill my head.

And I started touching myself.

I did it standing up, my back against the wall and my legs barely apart. I slipped my hand under my skirt, moved the thin fabric of my panties aside, and found myself soaked, much more than I had imagined. The lips of my pussy were swollen, slippery, and my clit stood out hard beneath the pad of my finger. The first touch pulled a sigh from me that I didn’t even try to hold back. I ran two fingers up and down, coating myself, then slowly pushed them inside. I was so wet they slid in all the way without resistance. I muffled a moan and started fucking myself, one finger and then two, searching for that spot inside that made my thighs clamp together.

I thought of the blonde with the long legs and the dark-haired man Lucía and I had imagined, the three of us tangled up somewhere without clocks or witnesses, him fucking me from behind while I ate Lucía’s pussy and she writhed in my mouth.

With my other hand I pinched a nipple through my blouse, already hard, sensitive to every pressure. I twisted it a little, with that mix of pain and pleasure that drives me wild, and felt my pussy tighten around my fingers. I thought about naked women’s bodies scattered all over the theater, about the presenter uncrossing her legs just for me, lifting her dress at the lectern and showing me she wasn’t wearing panties, about Lucía waiting for me in her underwear with that half-smile of hers, with her hand between her legs showing me how she came. I pulled my fingers out of my pussy and took them to my clit, slick with my own juices, and started rubbing it in quick circles, without stopping, pressing hard, letting myself be carried away by the images and the gasps playing straight into my ears.

I thought about you, Marina. About your mouth, your wig, everything I had forbidden myself to want for months. I imagined you kneeling in front of me in that same bathroom, wig on and mouth open, eating my pussy hungrily, sucking my clit between your lips while you slid two fingers into me and fucked me with them. I imagined you looking up at me, your chin shiny from how wet I was, not stopping licking me, whispering for me to come in your face. And that was what pushed me over the edge.

I sped up. My legs were already trembling, barely holding me up, and I could feel the orgasm climbing from the bottom of my belly like a wave I wouldn’t be able to stop. I slipped two fingers inside again with my free hand, fucking myself while I ground my clit with the other, and felt my pussy clench in spasms around my fingers.

I finished like that, standing up, biting my lip so I wouldn’t scream, with a jolt that buckled my knees and left me shaking against the tiles. I came on my own hand, hard, long, in waves that made me squeeze my eyes shut, silent on the outside and undone on the inside. My fingers were slick, shining, and when I finally pulled them out of my pussy, strands of wetness stretched after them.

***

I stayed still for a moment, catching my breath, my forehead against the wall. When I pulled one headphone off, I realized something: with the music trapped in my head, I hadn’t heard my own sounds. But the bathroom hallway had. Anyone passing by would have clearly heard the unmistakable rhythm of a woman rubbing her pussy until she came, fingers going in and out wetly, her breath broken, with no attempt to hide it, in the middle of the day.

I felt a little ashamed, and at the same time I didn’t. Part of me, the part that had gone without a bra and had decided that in front of the mirror that morning, felt strangely proud.

I turned off my phone, looked at my shining fingers under the stall light, and on impulse I brought them to my mouth. I licked my own taste slowly, one by one, as if I were closing something. Then I cleaned myself carefully, settled my soaked panties against my still-throbbing pussy, and breathed until my pulse returned to something like normal. I opened the door and went out looking at the floor, avoiding the eyes of the two girls still by the sinks.

I washed my hands slowly, watching myself in the mirror. My cheeks were flushed, my nipples still outlined under the blouse, and there was a new calm in my gaze, the kind that only comes afterward. I went back into the hall, sat down again next to Lucía, and crossed my legs as if nothing had happened, though I could feel my wet panties clinging and my pussy still throbbing beneath my skirt.

I took out my phone. Your message was still there, waiting for an answer, still talking about that work topic neither of us really cared about.

I’m going to tell you, Marina. One of these days I’m going to tell you exactly what I think when I look at you. That I want to fuck you. That I want your pussy in my mouth and mine in yours. That I just came in a bathroom thinking about you.

I started typing. This time not to talk about work.