Masturbation

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.

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 tonight, with his name stuck in my throat?

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.

When the scarf covered my eyes I thought it was an innocent game. It wasn’t. Mariela had other plans, and I didn’t want her to stop.

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.

What started as a stupid afternoon on his sofa ended with me kneeling between his legs, discovering that some favors can’t be returned.

We started talking by messages. We ended up seeing each other naked under the same red moon, each in our own city, each with the other’s breath on the screen.

I was sixteen, the house was silent, and a word had sat in the margin of my notebook for months. That night, at last, I locked the door.

I rarely send photos: it’s dangerous. But that boy gave me confidence, and between black stockings and midnight messages I became the star of his hottest fantasy.

I thought I’d put her in her place. That afternoon, as I came out of the bathroom, I heard a zipper coming down behind the half-open office door.

I never thought a scene in a game would ignite something between us, or that that same afternoon I’d have his taste in my mouth and his name looping in my head.

I was nineteen and had never dared to 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 took the plush toy down from the top shelf, picked 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 been showing myself to her on camera for weeks. That night, with a single whispered sentence, she asked me for something that forever changed 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.