My Date with Myself That Night on February 14

Hi, I know it’s been an awfully long time since I wrote anything here. The last time I opened this digital notebook was in September, I think, when I told you about the weekend at the cabin. There was no time, no desire, nothing. Routine swallowed everything up and, when I got home, all I wanted was to collapse onto the sofa and watch shows I wouldn’t even remember afterward.

But today is February 14, and it seemed wrong to let the date go by without a little gift for you. And for me, above all, because what I’m going to tell you about was also a way of giving myself a different kind of night. No partner, no obligations, no one waiting for anything at the door. Just me, my wet cunt, and that toy I’d kept for months in the drawer with my intimate things.

I’d bought the toy in September, just before the hiatus. You remember I told you I’d worked up the nerve to go onto that website and order it under a fake name and everything, terrified that the delivery guy would guess what was inside the box. It arrived, I opened it, tried it, and it was a failure. Too many nerves, too much urgency, no patience at all. I put it away and promised I’d try again when I was in a better mood. Six months went by.

This morning, while I was drinking coffee, I told myself: tonight I’m going to fuck myself properly. I was alone in the apartment. My roommate had gone to a barbecue in another city and wouldn’t be back until tomorrow. I had the place to myself, with no thin walls, no creaking hallways, no chance of anyone hearing anything. I could scream, I could moan like a bitch, I could come screaming if I felt like it.

***

At nine, I ate something light: a salad and a glass of very cold white wine. Not too much, not too little, just enough to loosen my shoulders a little. Then I got into the shower and took my time. I shaved my entire cunt slowly, leaving it smooth, feeling my hand slip between my lips every time I ran the razor over it. I put on that vanilla-scented cream I only use for myself when I’m in a good mood, and patiently dried my hair, as if I were getting ready for an important date.

And in a way, it was.

I took a set out of the drawer that I’d bought too and had barely worn: black lace panties and bra, delicate, with embroidered details along the neckline. I put it on slowly, looking at myself in the mirror, assessing the result. It wasn’t that I needed to look pretty for anyone that night, but I wanted to feel desirable. I wanted to like the woman in the mirror. I looked at my tits squeezed by the lace, my nipples already hard and showing through the fabric, the black triangle between my legs where my shaved cunt was barely visible. I liked it. I liked it so much that I ran my hand over my panties and felt the dampness already beginning to seep through.

I turned off my phone. That was the best decision of the night. No notifications, no anxious urge to check it every five minutes, no possibility of a message pulling me out of the moment. I left it facedown in the kitchen and went back to the bedroom.

I lit two candles on the bedside table, not because I wanted to turn this into some corny ritual, but because the warm light flattered me and helped me get out of my head. I put on a soft playlist, with no lyrics, just piano and strings. And I opened the drawer.

***

The toy was waiting for me there, in its cloth case. A pale-pink silicone dildo, not too big, not too small, with a soft texture I remembered well even though I hadn’t touched it in months. I took it out, washed it as the manual instructed, dried it, and went back to bed. I set it down beside me on the sheet, standing upright, almost obscene beneath the candlelight, and stared at it for a while as if it were a guy I’d just brought into my room.

I sat against the headboard and looked at it for a while. It’s strange, but before I started, I almost wanted to talk to it. To tell myself that this time there was no hurry. That if it worked, perfect, and if it didn’t, that was fine too. The plan was to listen to myself, not to perform.

I started the way I’d read about on some forum: trying to get myself aroused before anything else. I closed my eyes, breathed deeply, and let my mind wander. I thought about old scenes, about someone I’d met years ago and had never told anything to. I thought about hands on the back of my neck pushing me down, a mouth close to my ear telling me, “Open your mouth wide, slut,” and a hard cock sliding in and out of my throat while I cried and came at the same time. I slipped my hand inside my bra and squeezed one nipple, pulling hard until a moan escaped me. My other hand went down on its own, slipped beneath the lace, and found my cunt soaked, literally dripping onto my panties. I ran two fingers between my lips, feeling how wet I’d gotten just from thinking, and brought them to my mouth to suck them. I was ready.

I grabbed the toy and brought it to my mouth. I know it sounds strange, but I hadn’t done this the first time, and I think that was one of the problems. This time I wanted to take the trouble to prepare it and prepare myself. I ran my tongue over the tip, slowly, as if it were a real cock. I circled the silicone glans with my tongue, salivated all over it, licked it from base to tip with my tongue flat, the way I would have liked someone to watch me do it. I closed my lips around it and began to move it, taking it deeper little by little, sucking it eagerly, squeezing it with my cheeks drawn inward.

I reached a point where I gagged and stopped. I pulled it out carefully and saw saliva falling in thick strands from my mouth to my chest, staining the lace of my bra, running down my chin, dripping between my tits. I was surprised by how much I liked the sight. I felt like a whore, I felt more womanly, more alive, more my own. I deliberately spat on the toy, watching it, and spread the saliva up and down with my hand as if I were jerking it off.

I put it back in my mouth, this time deeper, pushing it myself against the back of my throat until my eyes watered and some of the mascara left over from the day ran a little. I learned to breathe through my nose, relax my throat, control the rhythm. I took it in both hands and started sucking it for real, keeping up an even rhythm, listening to the wet sound my mouth made every time it went up and down. I don’t know how long I stayed like that. Maybe five minutes, maybe fifteen. When I finally took it out, it was completely soaked, shining with saliva from end to end, and I was dripping too, much lower down. I felt that my lace panties couldn’t take any more, that they were stuck to my cunt and drenched, with a dark stain that had spread all the way to the seam.

***

I took them off slowly, still sitting, and let them fall beside the bed. When I peeled them away from my cunt, a little strand of wetness stretched between the fabric and my lips, and the obscene detail made me laugh. I kept my bra on. I liked the feeling of the lace brushing my nipples every time I took a deep breath, and I liked seeing myself half-dressed with my cunt exposed, like in the porn I sometimes watch when no one can see me.

I lay on my back, bent my knees, and spread my legs as wide as they would go. With two fingers, I opened my cunt lips so I could see myself in the wardrobe mirror, which was off to the side. I saw myself pink, swollen, gleaming with wetness, my clitoris poking out hard and asking for attention. I started by passing the toy over it without going inside, rubbing it between the folds, pressing it gently against my clitoris, moving it in circles, then up and down, soiling it with my own juices. The sensation was different from my fingers: firmer, more constant, without the advantage of my fingers automatically knowing where to touch. But for that very reason, it made me guide it, stay attentive, and not lose myself on autopilot.

After a while I brought it to my entrance and pushed. Just the tip. It hurt a little, but not unpleasantly. It was more a strange sensation, like when your body remembers something it doesn’t do often. I felt my cunt opening around the silicone, giving way millimeter by millimeter. I pulled it out, waited, and tried again. And again. And again. Each attempt went a little deeper, each thrust gaining another centimeter inside. By the fourth or fifth time, half of it was already inside, and I bit the pillow so I wouldn’t laugh out loud from pleasure.

Meanwhile, my other hand wasn’t idle. I began stroking my clitoris in slow circles, synchronizing the movement with the toy’s rhythm. Two fingers pressed together, circling, squeezing harder when it went in, easing off when it came out. And then something happened that I hadn’t managed the first time: my body stopped fighting me. It relaxed. Accepted. Opened. My cunt swallowed the rest of the silicone cock in one go, all the way to the bottom, and I felt the base hit something inside me that made my whole body tremble.

It began sliding in and out easily, slick with my own juice, making that filthy wet sound you only hear when you’re extremely wet. I started moving it, first millimeters, then gradually farther, then with short thrusts, then with long thrusts that pulled it almost all the way out and drove it back in hard. The discomfort transformed into something else, something warm that rose from below and climbed through my pelvis, something that made me squeeze my cunt around the toy, begging for more. I sped up my fingers on my clitoris. Sped up the toy. I felt my body starting to move on its own, lifting my hips to receive it, searching for the rhythm it needed, as if I were really being fucked.

***

There was a moment, maybe ten minutes in, when I needed more. It wasn’t enough. I pulled the toy all the way out and shoved it back in at once, with more determination, burying it to the base. This time it didn’t hurt. This time I arched on the bed, grabbed the sheet with my free hand, and let out a long, hoarse moan that I don’t even know was mine. “Yes, like that, harder, fuck me,” I heard myself say out loud, to no one, to the walls, and I was surprised by how good it felt to talk dirty to myself.

I started fucking myself for real. I pushed the toy inside with both hands, changed the angle, searched for that spot I knew was somewhere in there. When I found it, I almost screamed. It was a spot on the upper wall, a few centimeters inside, and when the tip struck it, a jolt shot from my cunt to the nape of my neck. I began pounding that spot, short and fast, while my other hand never stopped circling my clitoris. I fucked myself mercilessly, as if the toy belonged to someone else and not me, as if someone were splitting me in half.

I concentrated on breathing. Inhale, exhale, move, press. My head began to empty. The only things that existed were the growing heat, the candles flickering on the wall, the lace rubbing against my nipples, my own fingers, the sloshing sound of my soaked cunt swallowing the toy again and again, my moans becoming less and less restrained.

I felt that I was close. My legs began to tremble little by little, first my thighs, then my calves. My toes curled on their own. My breathing broke, my stomach tightened as if I’d been kicked, and my cunt began closing around the toy in spasms, squeezing it, sucking it inward. I sped everything up: my finger, the toy, my mind. “I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming,” I repeated aloud like a litany. And then it came.

I screamed. This time I really screamed. It wasn’t a delicate moan; it was a hoarse howl that came from deep inside me as the orgasm exploded in my cunt and spread upward in a long, profound wave, rising from my hips to my shoulders and leaving my back arched, without the strength to do anything. I felt a warm gush pour out of me, wetting my thighs, the sheet, and the toy that was still buried to the hilt. I had squirted unintentionally, for the first time in my life, and in that moment I didn’t care; I just kept squeezing my clitoris and moving my hips against the silicone because the wave seemed endless. I closed my eyes and let it happen, without fighting it, feeling each contraction like another turn of the same orgasm.

When I began coming back to myself, I noticed something funny: the toy had slipped out on its own. I hadn’t pulled it out. My own body, with all that wetness and all those spasms, had expelled it by itself, and it lay beside my thigh, gleaming in the warm candlelight, covered in thick, clear fluid. Beneath me was a huge dark stain on the sheet. I laughed to myself in the room, a weak, grateful laugh, my cunt still throbbing.

***

I lay there for a long while without moving a finger, my legs still spread and my twisted bra leaving one tit exposed. My eyes were closing with exhaustion, but I didn’t want to fall asleep yet. I wanted to stay awake and register the sensation, so it wouldn’t vanish as quickly as it had other times. I ran my fingers over my swollen cunt and sucked them again, more out of curiosity than anything else, and I liked recognizing my own taste.

After a while I got up on jelly legs and went to the bathroom. I washed the toy with warm water and mild soap, dried it with a clean towel, and put it back in its case. I washed my face, cleaned myself between the legs with a little water, put on clean panties and an old, oversized T-shirt I wore to sleep, and went back to bed. I changed the top sheet because the bottom one would have to wait until morning.

I blew out the candles. I turned on my phone for a second just to set the alarm, then turned it off again. I slipped beneath the sheets and fell asleep almost instantly, with that strange peace that only appears when the body has finished asking for what it was asking for.

***

I woke up different today. I don’t know if I’m calmer or happier, but I’m different. As if I’d made peace with something. I thought a lot about why I’d failed the first time and why I hadn’t this time, and I think it had to do with rushing. With the idea that something had to happen, that I had to get somewhere. This time I expected nothing, and that was why everything happened, including coming harder than I ever had by myself.

Practice makes perfect, as the saying goes. In my case, it was more about patience. And silence. And stopping treating myself like a task left unfinished. And daring to talk dirty to myself, suck the toy as if it were real, and let my cunt do its thing without rushing it.

I promise I won’t wait so long next time. A few other things happened to me over these past months, and I’ll tell you about them at some point, but for today this is enough. I hope you gave yourselves something nice this February 14 too, even if it was just five minutes alone with the door closed and your hand firmly between your legs.

Thank you for continuing to read me whenever I appear. Wet kisses.