The Fantasy That Came Over Me While I Touched Myself Alone

I almost always need something. A video I already know by heart, a photo saved in a nameless folder, the audio of some moans that someone uploaded to the internet without ever imagining it would end up here, with me, in my bed, using it to get myself hot. But this afternoon was different. This afternoon I only needed myself.

I was bored and turned on, a dangerous mix. I lay back on the quilt without taking my clothes all the way off and let my hands do whatever they wanted. I closed my eyes and started massaging my breasts over my clothes. The bra was tighter than usual; they felt swollen, sensitive, and my nipples hardened at the first touch.

God, this feels so good when there’s no rush.

I traced slow circles, first gentle, then with more insistence. I pinched them just a little, just enough for that pinch to turn into a current running straight down to my belly. I let out a long sigh. I brought one hand down over the fabric and felt the obvious: I was soaked. I had barely done anything and my panties were already wet.

I decided not to open my eyes. I let my mind and my fingers work together, without censorship, without logic. And my mind took me very far away.

***

Suddenly I was no longer in my room. I was sitting on a narrow balcony, on a high floor, with the whole city breathing below me. A warm breeze was blowing, making my skin rise in goosebumps, and my skin was bare. All of it. Not a single piece of clothing. The air caressed my thighs, my back, my breasts, as if it had fingers of its own.

Were there people down below? Of course there were. It was midafternoon, the street was alive, people were passing by with shopping bags, couples, someone talking on the phone. And I didn’t care about any of it. On the contrary: that was the hot part. I wanted them to see me. I wanted someone to look up, discover me with my legs open on my balcony, and take that image home with them to finish the day thinking about me.

I started rubbing my breasts slowly, letting a moan slip out toward the street. I still wasn’t getting anywhere, but I wasn’t in a hurry. I put one foot up on the edge of a chair, the way I do in real life when I touch myself alone, and stayed like that: completely open, exposed to the sun and to any gaze that wanted to linger on me.

I lowered my fingers. I started rubbing my clit in slow circles, looking out at the street with a shameless smile. And then I saw him.

***

An older man, on the balcony across from mine, was watching me without even pretending not to. He had the age to be anyone’s grandfather, white hair slicked back, a shirt open because of the heat. He was fucking me with his eyes while his hand, almost without thinking, rested over the bulge in his crotch.

I had no idea he could still get hard like that.

That thought, instead of stopping me, turned me on even more. I spread my legs wider still and let him look as much as he wanted. The pleasure was mine; he was only the perfect witness. I bit my lip, looked him straight in the eye, and mouthed slowly, knowing he could read me:

—Come on, take it out. Let me see how thick it is.

As if he’d heard me, as if the fantasy were obeying me, the man unbuttoned his pants and freed it. Thick, hard, rising toward the afternoon sky. He was enjoying the show, so I decided to give him more.

Without taking my eyes off him, I licked my index finger very slowly, put it in my mouth, and pulled it out shining wet. I closed my hand in the air and pretended I was the one working him, up and down, setting a rhythm he copied at once on himself.

—Do you like it like that? —I murmured—. Faster?

He sped up. So did I. And then all at once, without warning, my body took over: I had an orgasm just from rubbing, just from watching him lose his mind over me. A shudder ran through me and I had to grip the edge of the chair.

I never imagined some stranger that old would get me this hot.

I closed my eyes again for a second and the fantasy kept going on its own, like a river that no longer needs you to push it.

***

The man was so worked up he could hardly keep himself steady. I tilted my head at him: come, come up. It took me nothing to decide. In this invented place I was in charge, and that afternoon I was feeling generous.

—If you almost came from far away —I told him—, wait until you’ve got me close.

He appeared at my door faster than should have been possible. He hadn’t even put his cock away; he was still carrying it out, and the second he saw me it hardened again like a young man’s. It made me feel tenderness and lust in equal parts.

—Normally I wouldn’t do this —I confessed, pressed against his ear—, but today I’m way too hot. I’m going to give you the best gift of your life.

I kissed him. I kissed him hard, with my whole tongue, and he answered with a hunger I hadn’t expected from someone his age. One of his hands squeezed my breasts; the other tried to find its way between my ass cheeks, groping, playing.

—You’re getting me soaked all over —I panted against his mouth—, but not so fast.

I licked his ear, kissed his neck, opened his shirt button by button while I pulled down his pants to his ankles. He was enjoying it so much that for a second I was afraid his heart wouldn’t take it.

—Easy, baby —he said with a crooked smile—. If I die, I die in heaven. Do whatever you want with me.

And boy, did I want to.

***

—I’ve been dying for a blowjob —I said, and I got down on my knees.

I grabbed his cock with one hand and ran my tongue over the tip. His whole body jerked. I took it into my mouth in one go, as much as I could, until I felt I was short of breath, and even then I didn’t stop. With my free hand I opened myself up, two fingers inside, giving myself pleasure at the same rhythm I used to suck him.

I licked him the way you lick an ice cream in the middle of summer, your favorite flavor, taking care with every drop so nothing would melt and be lost. I went up, down, paused on the tip, looked up at him from below so he could see my face while I did it. He had both hands tangled in my hair and kept repeating my made-up name like a prayer.

He couldn’t stay on his feet for long. With one sudden, surprising movement for a man his age, he hauled me up, turned me around, and bent me over the balcony railing. He spread my legs with his knee and, without asking permission, thrust into me in one brutal stroke.

—I never imagined you’d be this strong —I moaned, digging my nails into the hot metal—. Give it to me hard, give it to me.

He had me cornered against the edge, in view of anyone walking below, and he was fucking me without the slightest hesitation. Every thrust drew a louder moan from me than the last. Let them hear. Let them look. That was the whole point.

—Harder —I begged him—. Don’t stop.

His hips slammed into me with more and more force, and without even realizing it I reached my second orgasm of the afternoon, this time with him inside me, feeling him throbbing as I came apart.

***

He turned me around again. He wanted to see my face. He entered me again, this time face-to-face, lifting one of my legs to sink in deeper.

—How long has it been since you came like this? —he asked, his voice broken—. Give me all that cum you’ve been saving up for years.

He lowered his mouth to my breasts and started sucking them desperately, as if he could actually pull something out of me, biting just a little, then licking to soothe.

—Just like that —I told him, arching my back—. Right like that.

His hands opened me up again from behind, and once more I felt his fingers slipping into where they shouldn’t be and, nevertheless, where I wanted them.

—Damn —he panted—, you really know how to enjoy it everywhere.

I brought his mouth to mine. I kissed him while I felt him emptying inside me, while a new orgasm shook me from head to toe. I felt my whole body pounding, twisting, trembling against his, the two of us pressed to the railing of a balcony that doesn’t exist, in a city I invented whole, facing a street that never really looked at us.

***

I opened my eyes.

I was back in my room, in my bed, with my clothes half off and my legs still trembling. It took me a few seconds to come all the way back. I looked down: the sheet was soaked beneath me. I had come a lot, more than I can remember coming without anyone touching me but myself.

I stayed like that for a while, breathing, with a stupid smile, going over every detail of what I had just made up. The balcony, the breeze, the white-haired man, the street’s looks, my own audacity.

And just from remembering it, I felt my hand start to lower on its own again.

If you liked it, tell me how you touched yourself while reading me. And tell me if you want a second part: I’ll love reading you and thinking of you the next time I close my eyes and let myself be carried away.