Masturbation

I had never taken my blouse off outdoors. My pulse was racing and my hands were trembling, but something in me needed to know what it felt like for a stranger to be able to look at me.

I've been sleeping alone for months. But when insomnia tightens its grip, I have her on top of me again, moaning my name like before everything broke.

In front of the screen, with a cloth between my teeth so I wouldn’t scream, I obeyed every order from a man whose face I never saw. And I’d do it again.

Eight years had passed since the last time I undressed in front of that camera. That night I turned it on again, and on the other side the same man was still waiting for me.

He asked from the screen, and I obeyed: opening the window, dropping my clothes, and letting those men watch me shamelessly.

That morning there was no one at home to hear me. Only the mirror, my heels, and the voice of a man living inside my head.

It all started with a picture on my phone. Ten days later I can’t get out of bed without thinking about when I’ll get to touch myself again.

I adore the nap when I’m alone at home. Today the chill of the storm raised my skin, and without realizing it, all I could think about was the way you’d look at me.

It’s raining, no one’s home, and the show I put on to fall asleep turns into something else. Then I remember where I keep my red toy.

It was ten in the morning, I was alone at home, and I could only think about his hands. Today, at last, we’d be alone, and I needed to calm what he’d awakened in me.

The son of a bitch had used her own body as inspiration, and now she was trembling in front of the screen, not knowing whether what she felt was anger or desire.

I’d stuffed it in my purse in a hurry, but that afternoon I took it out for another reason: I was alone, bored, and far too horny to hold back.

I’d spent the whole day with my underwear damp just thinking about what was waiting for me at home. The box was still closed on the bed, and I couldn’t take it anymore.

She thought about him all day. Now, under the sheets and with rain tapping at the glass, her hand begins to explore what her imagination had already promised.

I never had privacy for anything. That afternoon, on an empty bench with my skirt hiked up, I understood I could finally do exactly as I pleased.

I had never touched myself. That afternoon, behind a poorly closed door, I understood why my body had spent years asking for something I was afraid to give it.

No one knows what I do in the dark, with the door shut and the bottom drawer open. That night I decided, for the first time, to leave proof of it all.

I knew the exact time she’d be back. I left the door half open, turned off the light, and waited to hear her footsteps in the hallway before I started.

I stepped into the shower to wash away the day’s exhaustion and ended up sitting on the floor, the stream between my legs, whispering your name.