What I Do When My Parents Leave the House

It’s Saturday morning and the alarm goes off around ten. I don’t turn it off right away. I stay still under the duvet, listening to that ridiculous beeping while my body refuses to leave the warmth of the sheets. Outside, the day looks gray, lazy, perfect for doing nothing. I stretch out an arm, snatch the phone from the nightstand, and drag it up to my face with my eyes half-open.

I open the first social network that appears, not looking for anything in particular. Thumb up, thumb down. And then, amid all the noise, a girl’s video starts playing on its own. It’s nothing explicit, just a woman moving slowly in front of a camera, but something about the way she arches her back sinks into me. I play it again. Once. Again. And I feel my pulse speeding up without permission.

I’d been like this for several days, with a buildup of tension I hadn’t found the moment to let out. I still live with my parents and privacy in this house is a scarce luxury. But this morning is different. This morning desire doesn’t ask; it demands. I realize I’m wet almost instantly, before I even touch myself, just from imagining.

I slip a hand up under my T-shirt and rest it over my breast. The skin is hot, sensitive. I start slowly, drawing circles around the nipple without quite touching it, deliberately stretching out the wait. The video keeps playing in the background, a murmur of breathing keeping me company. I bring two fingers to my mouth, wet them, and bring them back down. Now, yes. I pinch, tug, squeeze with a firmness that tears a sigh out of me.

—Mmm... —escapes me, and I bite down on the sound immediately.

Shut up. Mom’s still in the kitchen.

That thought, far from stopping me, turns me on even more. The danger of someone hearing me turns every gesture into something forbidden, and I’ve always liked forbidden things too much. Between these four walls, hidden under the fabric, I feel free in a way I can’t explain.

My sex starts demanding attention for real. I can feel it throbbing, impatient, but I force myself to wait. I want to torture myself a little, draw the moment out until it’s unbearable. I mimic what the girl on the screen does: I strip off my T-shirt and pajama bottoms, stay completely naked, and hide under the duvet again, as if it were my own secret refuge.

I stroke the insides of my thighs, up and down, coming closer and pulling back. Today looks like it’s going to be one of those long mornings. I know it because my body isn’t going to settle for a single orgasm; I can feel it in the way every nerve ending seems to have woken up at once.

At last I slide one finger between my lips, already soaked, and a shiver runs through me from head to toe.

Fuck. I’m going to soak everything.

I keep rubbing my clit very slowly, in tiny circles, holding myself back so I don’t go too fast. I need more, a lot more, but I also need to make it last. I feel brazen, daring, deliciously alone with myself under these sheets, with that stranger’s breathing sounding far away. My sex throbs with an urgency that almost hurts.

I turn over. Face down, I bury my face in the pillow and start rubbing myself with my hand trapped between my body and the mattress. No more soft touches; now I want pressure, friction, something solid to push against. I rub hard and bite the pillow to smother my moans. I close my eyes and the video stops existing; I don’t need it anymore. I’m so wet I can hear the slick sound of my own fingers.

My legs start to tremble. A delicious cramp climbs up from below, my thighs tense, and almost without warning, I come. It’s a short orgasm, abrupt, almost grumpy, as if my body only wants to get rid of the first urgency. I stay there panting against the fabric, heart racing.

And still, it’s not enough. As soon as the trembling calms, I want more.

***

I hear movement in the hallway. The front door opening, voices, the keys. My parents have plans for today and they’re going to be out for most of the morning. I wait, still naked and flushed, until the car starts downstairs in the street and the engine fades away. Then silence falls over the house like permission.

I smile against the pillow. Now yes.

I get up, still a little shaky on my legs, and open the dresser drawer where I keep the things I like to play with when I’m alone. A small suction toy, the kind that vibrates and pulses at the same time, and a long tube of body cream, suspiciously convenient in shape, which I’ve been using for another purpose for months. Today I can be everything I need to be. I can moan without restraint, scream if I feel like it, let myself go without a single nosy ear for miles.

I climb back into bed and lie on my back, knees bent and feet planted on the mattress. I place the suction toy over my clit. With how soaked I am, at the lowest settings I barely feel it, so I slowly turn the power up. And then it starts. A deep vibration that runs from my pubis to the tips of my toes, a wave that grows and keeps growing.

I reach the edge of the second orgasm within minutes, but this time I don’t want it to end so soon. I lift the device away just in time, panting, frustrated and delighted at the same time. I turn over, get on all fours, and reach for the tube of cream.

I slide it between my legs and start to penetrate myself. Slowly, very slowly. I’m tight and at first it stings a little, but I’m so wet that my body yields right away, opens, welcomes it. I push in and pull back, setting a slow rhythm that I speed up as the discomfort turns into something warm and thick. I pant louder and louder, with no one to hide from.

I slap one ass cheek with my free hand. The blow cracks sharply in the empty room and the sting mixes with everything else in a way that drives me crazy. It’s not enough. The more I get, the more I want. I’m burning all over and my body has become one single demand.

The rhythm of my hand quickens. I pinch one nipple hard enough to hurt a little, slap myself again, and when even that isn’t enough, I bring the tube to my mouth and lick it, tasting myself. I like it. I like it so much I lose the last bit of shame. I feel like a heat-crazed animal, a creature that only knows how to crave, that only wants to ride until it can’t anymore.

So I improvise. I fold the pillow, place it between my legs, and straddle it, pressing the suction toy and the tube against my sex at the same time, both at maximum power. And I ride. I move frantically, uncontrollably, back and forth, grinding against everything, chasing the feeling that’s already starting to gather in the center of my belly.

I pinch my nipples with both hands, almost viciously, and for a moment I lift my eyes. There’s a mirror leaning against the wall, across from the bed. And I see myself. Hair disheveled, aroused, mouth parted and eyes glassy, moving over the pillow with no shame at all. Seeing myself like that, so surrendered, so mine, is what pushes me to the edge.

And I explode.

The orgasm splits me in two. I scream without holding back, once, long, and collapse onto the bed with my whole body shaking. The pillow is soaked, the sheets too, my thighs shine. I lie there, face down, breathing in broken gasps with a stupid smile stuck on my face.

***

It takes me several minutes to come back to reality. The ceiling, the gray light from the window, the suction toy still humming softly beside me until I turn it off. I’m exhausted, yes, but not satisfied. The curious thing about mornings like this is that every orgasm, instead of calming the hunger, feeds it.

Today I woke up brazen, wanting a lot, and I know the next step won’t be something my fingers or my toys can give me. I’ll need something else. A voice on the other side of the screen, someone to tell me in my ear what they’d do to me, a partner in one of those hot conversations that go on until you lose all sense of time.

I sit up, search for my phone among the tangled sheets, and start my next mission: finding someone willing to play along. A conversation, a call, whatever comes up. The house is still empty and I have the whole morning ahead of me.

But that, better save it for next time. Right?