Selfish Voyeur

I started my morning as always, drinking coffee and eating my breakfast.

It was Saturday but could’ve been a Sunday. I haven’t had time for myself for a long period. I’ve been dedicated to work and sometimes to lovers.

I think that having only a man in my life doesn’t fit me, or doesn’t fill me

 

And I’m okay with it.  I’m totally okay with it.

 

That sunny but plenty boring Saturday I was planning to see my friends to go to dinner. I decided to take care of myself that day; I took a shower and used my favorite body lotion on my skin, it smelled like strawberries.

I poured a cup of wine while I was choosing my clothes.

And without noticing, sip by sip, the wine in the cup wasn’t there no more. I felt dizzy; I liked the feeling so I poured another glass of that grape liquor.

 

I drank the whole cup again, in less than five minutes.

My body started to feel warm, so pleasant, that I placed one finger in my lips and begun to think that It’s been a long time since I dedicated to myself. I didn’t knew how to start. I was naked, sitting on the floor next to my bed. I didn’t needed a bed for this, I can be there, moaning and sweating and coming.

 

I started to suck my forefinger, playing it with my tongue. I felt I was getting wet so I dared to put my middle finger inside my mouth too; I started drooling, I was more aroused than I imagined.

 

I pulled my fingers out of my mouth, passed them over my lips, took my tongue out again and passed it between them. I ran my hand down my neck and clavicles, to reach my nipples. I felt warm; my breasts were as warm as the shower water. In front of me, I had a long mirror, hanging from the ceiling to the floor.

 

It could see me, and I could see myself.

 

I was blushing; my neck, my cheeks, my ears. I realized that that aroused me more.

 

I kept playing with my left nipple. I decided to spit on it. Wet it so much that my fingers ran easily. I press them lightly. These nipples that at times look so innocent, so fragile, were aggressive and erect at that moment, waiting for my next movement, prompting me to touch them, pinch them, lick them.

 

I looked at myself more and more this time. I lowered my hands even more, down my belly, while I still looked at the mirror, passing through that tattoo of a stupid name that I no longer remember to whom it belonged. I spread my legs a little, in front of the mirror.

 

I saw that the ground was wet. It was me.

 

No one of the men I had slept with in the past passed through my mind at that moment. They were just hobbies. I didn’t remember that being with myself could be so pleasant. I rediscovered, me, inch by inch. I ran my hands down my thighs, through my groin. I was still red, but now it was not just my neck and cheeks; the chest and the palms of my hands had joined that palette of warm colors.

 

I wanted to close my eyes, but I couldn’t help but to look at myself in the reflection.

 

I kept walking my hands through my body, touching myself, feeling my skin, moaning. I opened my legs wider and I could see how swollen my labia majora were.

Those two prominent longitudinal cutaneous folds that extend downward and backward from the mons pubis to the perineum were twice their size.

 

I could see its glitter; it shone, lubricated by a thin wet layer. I spread my legs even wider. I could see how my clitoris peeked out; it leaked and I saw how it ran down to the cleft of my vulva, as if it were a riverbed.

 

I was astonished, but in between the stupor, I hurried to touch it. It was burning, and to the touch, it gave me a thousand sensations, which went from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes.

I kept rubbing, while my right arm rested on the marble floor. I sighed and moaned, and with each rubbing, i couldn’t stop watching myself, how wet I was, how much fluid was still running, this time from the inner lips, screened behind the labia majora, fluid moist fully the tip of the clit till it made a tiny pool in the back commissure of the frenulum.

I didn’t turned my eyes, watching myself, watching my pleasure was what kept me going. I couldn’t stop, I didn’t want to stop. I felt a shiver run down my head and shoulders, down to meet my navel.

I felt the muscles of my pink vagina begin to shudder. I shuddered. I wasn’t going to stop there. I rubbed harder, felt the first pull inside me; I shouted. I kept seeing myself in the mirror, pleasure written all across my face; eyes still locked on myself.

In less than a millisecond, I felt the second pull inside me, the strongest. Then the third, the fourth till I couldn’t count anymore. I could feel it between my fingers, how the pulsing contracted to give birth to that long-awaited orgasm that I was offering myself, ripping a sweet howl of pleasure from my depths, and leaving me a calm, content stupor and pruney fingers.

A priceless gift from me, to me. Smiling, I could finally close my eyes.