Fantasies

I never thought watching a stranger touch herself at dawn would ignite such a strong desire in me that I’d end up in a park that same night, losing all shame.

I’m twenty-four and still learning what turns me on. That afternoon, with my hand on my throat, I discovered something I didn’t know I needed.

Three mornings a week she cleaned the corridor right on the other side of my desk. And three mornings a week I learned not to look away from the glass.

It took two days to arrive, and for those two days I could think of nothing else. When I finally opened the box, I knew that night I was going to know myself in a new way.

It started as a solitary game at midnight. By the time I was done, I had discovered something about my own pleasure I could no longer pretend not to know.

I waited for the house to go silent so I could turn off the light, open the drawer, and find out how far I could go on my own.

I asked my husband for a photo of himself and got one of another man: a perfect stranger. That night I had no idea how far that image would take me in my sleep.

I hadn’t written to him in a year. That afternoon I opened the email, typed his name, and before I thought it through, I was already telling him exactly what I wanted him to do to me.

There was still more than an hour to go, the seat next to me was empty, and that tingling between my legs was the only thing on my mind.

I promised myself I’d never miss him again. So why is my hand between my legs and his name stuck in my throat tonight?

I’d been turned on for days with not a single minute alone. That Friday I booked a room, took the vibrator out of the box, and decided the night was mine.

Every morning is the same: I open my eyes with my body on fire and the bed in disarray, knowing no pillow can soothe what I truly crave.

I was nineteen and had never dared explore myself. That afternoon, with the house silent, I decided to imitate what I saw on the screen.

His hug sent a rush of heat through my whole body that I couldn’t explain. I only knew that, as soon as I was alone, I’d have to finish what he had started.

She brought down the stuffed animal from the highest shelf, chose the right video, and prepared for a session no one else would ever know about.

At sixty-four, I thought that part of me was dead forever. One phone call and a carrot were enough to prove how wrong I was.

I’d spent weeks showing myself to her on camera. That night, with one whispered sentence, she asked me for something that changed forever what I thought I wanted.

I never saw them. I only heard every word, every blow of the headboard against the wall, and suddenly their pleasure was mine too.

By day, I seemed like the most innocent of all. By night, behind a closed door, I discovered a version of myself no one would ever have imagined.