Masturbation

When he slipped something warm into my hand after returning from the bathroom, I realized my red thong had come back with a secret that would ruin the rest of my night.

I lowered the blinds, looked at myself naked in the mirror, and took a deep breath. I had never touched myself, but that afternoon I had one plan: to discover my body.

We’d spent years brushing against each other under the excuse of family affection. Once the door closed and we were alone, I put on my skimpiest bikini and lit a joint.

When she served me a beer and put her hand on my fly, I realized she’d been deliberately letting herself be seen through that window for days.

When she rang the doorbell and asked if I was alone, I knew she hadn’t come to talk about classes or her boyfriend.

I only approached to have a look, but when I saw that grown woman bend over the crib, I already had a hard-on inside my sweatpants.

I pretended to watch the screen while he opened my pants beneath his sweatshirt and made me tremble in the back row.

I woke up soaking wet, unsure whether the man who had held me in my dream was a colleague, a stranger, or pure imagination. It didn’t matter.

I thought I heard her moan on the other end of the call, and my mind turned that sound into the dirtiest scene I'd ever imagined.

I closed the apartment door, leaned against the wood, and knew I’d be awake for a long time. I needed to touch myself and wanted to take my time.

I went to the mall looking for a new costume. I ended up masturbating in a dressing room and facing a villainess who froze me at the worst possible moment.

When I saw her damp panties on the towel, I understood it was no accident: she knew exactly what I did whenever she left.

I started masturbating silently beside her, but when she thought I was asleep, her hand moved beneath the sheet and everything changed.

Hidden inside a luxury car, I watched them start touching each other and knew that if I didn’t leave immediately, I’d end up soaking wet.

It began with a simple order that morning and ended with my body trembling, open, and obedient, unsure whether he would let me come.

Idris’s bulge pressed against me for a moment, and I didn’t pull away. When they closed the door, I was still soaked. I went to the kitchen for water and saw the fruit bowl.

I opened the door half-naked, with two toys still warm in the living room, and three strangers smelled my arousal before I said a word.

It began with breakfasts, glances, and a silent house; it ended when her voice trembled as she asked me to close my bedroom door.

Years have passed, Mariana, and I still think of you while I touch myself in the dark. This is the confession you’ll never read—and the fantasy I can’t stop repeating.

At two in the morning, I raised the blind in my underwear—and my neighbor across the street was already waiting with the light on.