The Fantasy I Fulfilled When the House Was Empty

My name is Damián, and I want to tell you about an experience that, although it may not seem like much from the outside, marked a before and after for me. It changed the way I live my desire, my body, and pleasure. It was like opening a door without knowing what was behind it and finding myself face to face with a version of me that had spent years waiting for me to let him out.

Back then I was still living with my parents, so I didn’t have the freedom to turn on the computer whenever I felt like it, dim the lights, and calmly give myself over to what I was feeling. I had to wait for those strange moments when the house was silent, with no one nearby. And even then, often the urge was stronger than caution.

There were nights when I couldn’t resist. I locked myself in, put on my headphones so I wouldn’t make any noise, and browsed with one hand on the mouse and the other lower down, always with one eye on the screen and the other fixed on the door, alert to any footsteps in the hallway. Sometimes I did nothing more than look, the tension throbbing through my whole body. Other times I finished quickly, in silence, my heart in my throat.

But there were also those few, almost miraculous times when I was completely alone. Those moments were something else. That was when I could really release all the desire I’d been holding in, turn down the volume on the outside world and turn up my own pleasure. I’d get ready, calmly choose what I was going to watch, and surrender without rushing, enjoying every second as if it were a gift.

***

It all started the night I discovered a page dedicated to erotic content. It wasn’t just any page. It had something addictive about it, with sections and categories that awakened curiosities I didn’t even know I carried inside me. At first I just wanted to look. I created an account without thinking too much about it, just to open a few posts that required registration. I filled in the details absentmindedly, never imagining I was opening the door to something much deeper.

The next few days I spent hooked, exploring every corner of that site, which had something hard to explain about it. The posts were varied: photos, videos, texts, some brutal, others more suggestive, but all of them shared the same intention to arouse. Every post received points from users, and that made the people uploading content strive to show their best.

I discovered there was a ranking with the most highly rated content, and I got lost in those lists: the favorites of the year, the month, the week, until I ended up checking the most viewed of the day. It became a ritual. I’d go in, choose a category according to what turned me on at that moment, and let myself be carried away. Hours looking, wanting, exploring. Sometimes that was enough. Other times I’d release all the tension with a stifled moan and the screen still lit up.

The next day, the same thing. As if something inside me was asking to go back, over and over again.

***

Since I’d already gone through all the sections several times, I always found something new that would almost inevitably lead me to finish the way I did every day. But there was one category I’d always skipped. The few times something from there came up, it was photos of men showing themselves, and honestly, that didn’t turn me on. Just as there was one area where women uploaded images and videos of themselves, ranging from the softest to the most explicit, there was another for men. Each one showed whatever he wanted, as far as he wanted. I’d never paid any attention to it.

Until one day, without looking for it, everything changed.

I was bored in front of the computer, with my whole family moving around the house. One of those impossible situations: four people around me and, on top of that, I had to go out in a while to run an errand. Even so, I went on the site, more out of habit than anything else. And the first thing that came up was a post of a guy showing off his body.

He was standing in a room with dim light, and he looked confident, relaxed. Naked body, firm, with that mix of provocative and natural that people who know they’re desirable have. I didn’t stop to look at him too long. But something about that image stayed with me, turning over and over in my head. Not because I was turned on by seeing him, but because all of a sudden an idea crossed my mind.

What if I were the one uploading a photo like that?

What would happen if I showed my body? If someone, on the other side, got turned on by an image of me? If a woman, real, unknown, curious, went into my post, stopped for a few seconds, and touched herself thinking about me?

I liked the idea. The fantasy of being desired turned me on more than any video. Of someone getting hot looking at my skin, my shape. Of fantasizing about me, of masturbating to my photos, of having an orgasm while wanting me. Of her legs trembling while she wrote an anonymous comment telling me what she’d do to me. The mere idea made me hard. And I still hadn’t done anything.

***

The days that followed were a strange mix. When I was at home and found a moment alone, I kept doing what I always did: sitting in front of the screen, browsing the sections, letting myself go until I finished. But something had changed. When I wasn’t in front of the computer, the idea of that post of mine kept coming back nonstop. It showed up while I was walking down the street, while I was riding the bus, while I was having dinner with my family. Even in bed, before falling asleep, when my body started to loosen up, that fantasy became clearer and stronger.

I imagined everything: what photos I would take, which part of my body I’d show first, whether it would be something suggestive or outright explicit. I thought about the angles, the light, the pose. I wondered how many people would see it, how many would get turned on by me, how many would touch themselves. How many would close their eyes after coming, with my image still glowing on their screens.

It had become an obsession.

It wasn’t just about getting off. It was something deeper, something to do with being seen, with being desired, with provoking pleasure on the other side of the screen. The idea alone gave me a strange mix: a tingle in my chest, electricity through my whole body, and a tension impossible to ignore every time I fantasized about it.

Three or four days went by like that, with the idea spinning around in my head all the time, turning me on more than any image. Until, suddenly, fate winked at me. We were having lunch as a family, a perfectly ordinary scene, when my sister, between bites, asked if she could go to the movies that night with some friends and stay over at one of their houses.

I was in my own world, fantasizing about the photos I was going to take, until I heard her voice. I sat up a little in my chair, slowly turned my head toward my old man, and waited for the answer. But it wasn’t the answer my sister was expecting. It was the one I was expecting, with almost childish anxiety. Only what I wanted wasn’t a night out. It was something much more intimate. More sordid.

Because if my sister left, and my parents—as we’d already known for weeks—also went to that party they’d planned long ago, then that night the house would be empty. Empty and mine alone.

That “yes,” when it finally came, wasn’t just a family permission. It was a sign. The confirmation that that night, at last, the long-awaited moment had arrived.

That night was going to be the night. My first photo session. My first post. My first time exposing myself to the world.

***

That afternoon, after eating, I had class. I don’t remember which subject it was, but I do remember I didn’t hear a single word from the teacher or my classmates. My head was somewhere else. I could only think about what was going to happen that night, about me, my body, about how I was going to show it.

When I got home, there were still several hours left before everyone would leave. The minutes passed slowly, desperately slowly, as if time were stretching on purpose to play with me. Every sound, every movement, every passing minute brought me a little closer and made me a little hotter.

At last, my sister’s friends came to pick her up. While my parents finished getting ready, I moved through the house with a mix of anxiety and excitement. When I saw them get into the car and drive away down the street, I knew there was no turning back. I was alone. Completely alone.

I already had the clothes I was going to wear ready. I’d chosen the corner of the house, thought through the angles, the light, everything. I had built the scene in my head over and over in the last few days, and now I was going to make it real. I locked the door, and it was like flipping a switch inside me. I felt myself hardening instantly, as if my body had been waiting for just that signal. A wave of desire ran through me from head to toe, intense, electric. I was about to strip and show myself.

I went into my room and looked for the brief I had planned to wear. I took off my pants and underwear. I was still hard, tense, as if my body also knew it was time to go on stage. I put on the brief: black, made of a very thin fabric, soft and delicate, almost see-through, showing quite a bit of what was underneath.

Over that I put on a slightly worn pair of jeans and nothing else. With that on, I started taking the first photos. My hands trembled a little, but my body was urging me forward.

***

I started out in front of the full-length mirror, barefoot, with the jeans on and my torso bare. I’m five foot ten, and at that time I trained quite a bit, so I was defined: my abs showed and my arms looked firm. I didn’t let my brown eyes or my short, dark hair be seen. I showed only up to my nose, my mouth, and a couple of days’ worth of beard.

There was something about that partial image, about showing without showing everything, that turned me on even more. I took some from the front and others in profile. Then I unbuttoned the fly slowly, as if I were stripping for myself, and captured the tight brief, the one that let my defined shape be guessed at, as if it wanted to burst out of the fabric.

Then I pulled the pants all the way down and kept going. Just in the almost-transparent brief, clinging to my body, outlining every curve. Desire mixed with adrenaline, and it was hard for me to stay still between one photo and the next.

I was still as hard as at the beginning, throbbing, impossible to ignore. The time had come to show what I wanted to show. I pulled the brief down a little and let the tip peek out. I took some photos like that, with the fabric still squeezing the base, as if struggling to hold in what it could no longer contain.

Then I lowered the brief a little more, until I was free. The room light gave it a warm shine, and every angle seemed to highlight something different. I was so turned on I barely needed to touch myself to keep the tension going. I took shots from far away, in wide frames in front of the mirror, and then I moved closer: close-ups, details, shadows. Desire turned into image.

And then came the final step. I took the brief off completely and stood totally naked in front of the mirror. I looked at myself. I desired myself a little too. And I took several more photos.

There I was, naked, aroused, my body throbbing and the camera full of images that, until a few days earlier, had existed only in my head.

My first post was about to be born.

But that, and what came after it, which was even more intense, I’ll tell in another chapter.