My Fantasies Alone When No One Suspects a Thing
After a long time without writing, I sat down again to tell something I never told anyone. It’s not a love story or a random encounter in a hotel. It’s the story of what I do when I close the door and am left alone with myself, that part of me none of my friends knows and my family would never suspect.
I discovered pleasure by accident, almost without understanding what was happening. In the bottom drawer of my father’s closet there were some magazines he hid rather badly, under some old folders he never moved. I found them one afternoon out of boredom, and what started as simple curiosity ended up becoming something else.
What caught my attention most wasn’t the men. It was them. The women on those pages, with their shaved, smooth skin, their full breasts, the nipples that looked warm even printed on paper. I turned the pages slowly and something lit up in my belly, a tension I didn’t know how to name but that was begging for attention.
The pages I liked most were the ones with two women together. I would stare at them much longer than necessary, imagining textures, imagining what it would be like to touch and be touched that way. I think that’s where I understood, long before I admitted it, that I liked both.
***
With the years, the internet came, and with the internet an entire world opened up to me. An old laptop, headphones on, and the whole night ahead. Photo sites, videos, stories written by strangers who described things I barely dared think about.
I read stories of women giving themselves to other women, of mouths and hands and tongues, and also of men with hard cocks filling them without shame. I imagined myself in the middle of all that. I slipped my fingers in slowly, feeling myself get wet, and I stayed still for a second just to recognize that feeling of being completely soaked.
What aroused me most was not just the physical pleasure. It was the contrast. During the day I was the quiet girl, the prudent one, the one everyone described as innocent, incapable of having a dirty thought. No one had any idea that this same girl, every night, stroked her clit in the dark, biting her lips so as not to make a sound.
That double life drove me wild. Knowing they saw me one way and the reality was completely different. Sometimes, right in the middle of a family dinner, I would remember what I had done the night before and have to hide my smile.
Masturbation became a habit, almost a ritual. At times I felt a little guilty, because I grew up hearing that it was wrong, that it was dirty, that a woman should not touch herself. It took me a while to shake that idea off. Today I see it differently: getting to know my own body was the best thing I could have done for myself.
***
I’ll never forget the first time I had a squirt. I had seen videos of women releasing jets after touching themselves intensely, and I was dying of curiosity to know whether I could do the same. It seemed almost magical to me, out of my reach.
So one night I decided to really try. I laid a folded towel on the bed, stripped completely naked, and followed, step by step, the instructions on a page that explained the exact direction and rhythm. At first I felt clumsy, almost ridiculous, trying out angles.
And then it happened. In just a few minutes, a pressure that grew and grew until I could no longer hold it in. I let out a gush that surprised even me, my whole body trembling, my breasts wet, my legs weak. I lay there on the bed, breathing hard, feeling like the most perverse woman in the world. And I loved that feeling.
From that night on I wanted to repeat it again and again. I learned to read my body, to recognize the signals, to push right to the edge and let myself fall.
***
My imagination has always been my best toy, but over time I also dared to experiment with other things. Once, after reading a story about some friends who used fruit during a game between them, I got an impossible-to-ignore curiosity.
I went into the kitchen, grabbed some grapes and some strawberries, and went back to my room. I slowly slid them in, one by one, feeling the cold against my heat. Then I pulled them out coated in my fluids and ate them while I kept touching myself. I know it sounds like too much, but in that moment I felt free, absolutely in charge of my pleasure, with no one there to judge me.
Another of my discoveries was, of all possible things, an electric toothbrush. I’m sure more than one woman reading this knows exactly what I’m talking about and is smiling. Vibration is a wonderful thing.
The first time I used it, I did it over a pair of thin black stockings, pressing it slowly against the fabric. When I switched it on and positioned it against my clit, I nearly came right away. I had to take a deep breath and control myself so it would last. I stayed like that for a good while, sitting with my legs open, letting that vibration run through me while I fantasized, until the orgasm shook me so hard I almost fell off the chair.
***
As the years went by, I became a lot hornier. By the time I was in college, I would often wear sunglasses just so I could look around calmly without anyone noticing. Behind those dark lenses I indulged in watching whatever I wanted.
I would stare at the bulge of some guy that showed through his pants without meaning to, or feast my eyes on a good neckline, a pair of legs, the curve of a classmate’s back. I collected those images like souvenirs. And that same night, in my bed, I used them all. I reconstructed every detail: the shape of a mouth, the way hips moved when someone walked.
That habit of looking and keeping never left me. I like to observe. I like to imagine. I like for a stranger, without knowing it, to become the center of my fantasy for hours.
***
One of my recurring fantasies was born from so much reading and looking in secret. I imagined myself alone at home, with all the lights off, knowing that on the other side of the window someone might be watching me without my seeing them. The idea of being looked at, of putting myself on display without really knowing for whom, put my body on edge in a way few things could.
One night I decided to play with that. I left the curtains just slightly open and stood naked in front of the mirror, touching myself slowly, imagining an anonymous gaze fixed on my skin. I don’t know whether there was anyone outside or not, and precisely that doubt was what made it irresistible. I caressed my breasts, slid my hand between my legs, and let myself go, thinking that each of my movements was a little private show for an invisible audience.
When I was done, trembling, breath coming in broken gasps, I stayed a long while looking at myself in the mirror. I liked that woman I saw there: unafraid, unashamed, owner of her own desire. That night I understood that fantasy is sometimes more powerful than any real encounter, because it has no limits other than the ones you choose to set for it.
From then on I learned to build entire scenarios in my head. I invented situations, characters, places. Sometimes it was a stranger seducing me in a bathroom; other times, two people at once demanding me urgently. My mind became a private theater where I could direct every scene exactly the way I wanted, and that gave me enormous power over my own pleasure.
***
A lot has happened in all these years of exploring myself. I learned that there are desires that turn me on so much I can hardly hold myself back. I admit that sometimes I’m far bolder than anyone would imagine: I’ve even touched myself in places where I shouldn’t, holding my breath and with my heart about to burst at the risk of someone noticing.
Luckily, today I have a partner who understands me like no one else. He knows perfectly what I like, knows my most perverse side, and instead of getting scared, enjoys it with me. He knows I melt when he touches me in public, when a hand slips under the table in a crowded place, when the risk of being discovered makes everything more intense.
I can’t help it and I’ve stopped trying. I love pleasuring myself thinking about both women and men, without labels, without guilt, letting myself be carried away by what my body asks of me at every moment.
That part of me, the one nobody suspects, is probably the most honest. The one that doesn’t act, that doesn’t pretend, that doesn’t answer to anyone. And even if the world keeps seeing me as the calm, prudent girl, I know very well who I am when I close the door.
Anyway, this is my little story. I hope it lit something inside you, that it awakened the urge to explore yourselves without shame. Because in the end that’s what I’ve learned all these years alone: that desire, when you embrace it without fear, is the best gift you can give yourself.