The Shower Where I Discovered How I Like to Touch Myself

My schedule at university had become a complete mess. One lonely class in the morning and then, from one in the afternoon until six, my body glued to a chair while I tried to pay attention. That particular day was exhausting, one of those days when you get home with your head stuffed full of cotton and all you want is to get under hot water. So as soon as the last class ended, I promised myself a long shower to let the tension go.

My parents were still at work, but I didn’t know what time they’d be back, and that made me nervous. I was a little embarrassed imagining them walking in just when I was moaning under the stream. Without thinking too much about it, I closed the bathroom door and turned the lock. For weeks I’d been hooked on a story site I’d stumbled across online. I have to confess that the stories that turn me on most are anal-masturbation ones. I’d never tried it, but just imagining myself exploring that forbidden little corner made my thighs clamp together.

There’s something I should make clear before going on. I had never put more than one finger in my cunt. I was afraid it would hurt, I suppose, that silly idea you carry around since adolescence. With my clit, though, I had learned how to play very well, too well, to know every pressure and every rhythm that took me to the edge. For now, that was enough for me. Although that night, with the accumulated fatigue and the filth of the story still turning over in my mind, something told me I was going to dare to go further.

I’m not skinny or fat; I’m at that middle point I like. I’ve got big breasts that sometimes annoy me, but I know drive men wild, and more than a few girls too. Defined waist, a nice ass, firm legs. Jeans look killer on me, and I know it. I’m comfortable in my body, and that’s exactly why I love exploring it, finding out what I like without having to answer to anyone.

I started undressing slowly in front of the mirror. First the T-shirt, then the bra. I love standing there and grabbing my breasts hard, feeling their weight in my hands. Then I slid my jeans down, and before taking off my underwear I did what I always do: I pulled the fabric up so it pressed snugly against my sex. The sensation is delicious, and in the mirror I could see a wet patch growing on the cotton.

Completely naked, I played with my nipples, a light brown color. I don’t like tugging on them; I prefer to barely brush them, almost without touching them. That’s enough to make them hard instantly and send a direct current all the way down below. I brought my right breast to my mouth, not quite reaching the nipple, just enough to lick it and leave a faint mark. In the reflection, that image looked beautiful to me.

I reminded myself I had to hurry if I didn’t want my parents ruining the night. I stepped into the shower, turned on the tap and let the hot water fall over me. I rubbed soap over my whole body, unhurriedly, lingering longer than necessary on my neck, between my breasts, on the inside of my thighs. Once I was clean, the real fun began.

The steam filled the bathroom and the tiles were covered with a thin layer of mist. I love that moment, when the world outside disappears behind the curtain and it’s only me, the water, and whatever I feel like doing to myself. I closed my eyes for a second and let the story come back into my head: that voice telling, in lavish detail, how it dared to go further each time. Goosebumps rose on my skin despite the heat.

I pressed my breasts against the cold tiled wall. The contrast between the lukewarm water and the icy tile was enough to make my nipples hard again. But I wanted to feel something more, heat somewhere else, in that place the story had planted in my head. I knelt first, then let myself fall back onto the shower floor. It was cold, just enough to prick my skin, though I knew it would be burning in a minute.

I positioned myself so that when I opened my legs, the stream would hit my sex directly. Right there. The pressure of the water beating against my clit tore a sigh from me.

—Ahhh —I said softly, holding myself back.

It was delicious, but not enough. I looked around for something round to rub myself with. The bar of soap. I started by stroking my lips with my fingers, massaging my clit from top to bottom, slowly, then side to side. That’s it, slow, yes, just like that. I took the bar of soap and ran it in circles over my clit. The sensation was good, slick, but again it fell short. My body was asking for something to enter, to fill me.

Then I saw my razor, resting on the edge. The blade was protected by the cap, so the end of the handle was free and smooth. Perfect. I coated it with soap and started sliding it in and out of my cunt. First gently, slowly, giving myself time to get used to it. It didn’t hurt. Quite the opposite.

Little by little I moved on to a more deliberate in-and-out motion. I could feel my breasts bouncing with every thrust; they’re so big that they swayed in time with my hand. I love my breasts, especially in moments like that, when the whole body becomes one single thing. I could tell I was soaked, and not just from the water. I pulled the handle out for a second, shoved my fingers deep inside, and brought them to my mouth to taste myself. Sweet. There’s a reason they call me Candy at university, and that night, alone in my own bathroom, I understood better than ever why the nickname fit me so well.

The position was starting to tire me, and my back was begging for a change. I turned slowly and got on all fours, resting my forearms on the shower floor. The water now fell on my lower back and ran in warm threads between my ass cheeks, a constant caress I couldn’t control and that, precisely because of that, turned me on even more. That warmth sliding over me right there brought the story fantasy back in an instant, the exact image I’d been keeping to myself for weeks.

I took a second to breathe and listen to myself. No one was there, there was no real hurry, just me deciding how far I wanted to go. I took the razor and, very carefully, rested the handle against my anus. Just the tip, only a little. I imagine they’re really fucking me, slowly, that someone is watching me and enjoying it.

Meanwhile, with my right hand I went looking for my cunt. My favorite finger is my ring finger, I’m not sure why. I shoved it in and out fast, nonstop, my breathing broken and my heart racing. Yes, like that, almost there, fuck me, put it in me, make me yours however you want. The words came into my head without permission, as if someone else inside me were saying them.

I added my index finger. Two fingers going in and out, slick with everything my body was producing, and the handle barely sunk in behind, setting a different rhythm. The double sensation overwhelmed me. I felt everything tightening, pleasure rising from below and gathering until I could no longer hold it in.

The orgasm shook me to the core. I let my body collapse forward, forehead on the shower floor, trembling, panting, exhausted. The water kept falling over my back as if nothing had happened, indifferent to what I had just discovered about myself.

I stayed like that for a while, getting my breath back, with a stupid smile on my face. What a way to reward myself after an endless day of classes. I had come into the bathroom just looking to relax, and ended up crossing a line that had been circling in my mind for weeks. Best of all, it hadn’t hurt at all. Quite the opposite. Now I knew that what I’d only dared to read about was just the beginning.

***

I turned off the tap when I heard the engine of the car in the driveway. My heart jumped, but this time in a different way. I wrapped myself in the towel, looked at myself in the fogged-up mirror, and drew a little line through the mist with my finger, like a signature of complicity with myself. My cheeks were flushed and my eyes shining, the look of someone guarding a freshly minted secret.

I came out of the bathroom just as my mother was setting her keys on the hallway table. She asked how my day had been, and I told her it had been long, exhausting, the usual. I wasn’t exactly lying. What I didn’t tell her was how I’d decided to end it, or that I was already thinking about the next time, or about everything I still had left to try.

This is the first time I’ve dared to write something like this, to put into words what I normally keep to myself. Don’t be too hard on me. I’d love to know what you think, whether you liked it, whether you imagined me under the water. I’m writing this to you with one finger between my lips still, stretching the moment out a little longer. A kiss, Candy.