I'm so glad I found this site, as it's an opportunity to anonymously share something that has always been an intensely private love affair....with myself. I'm not one of those girls who pours her heart out to random strangers but I know that you're not here by accident. You share my desires and (hopefully some of) my fascinations, so lets leave our hang ups by the door and I'll give you front row seats to my twisted little life.
It probably all started in the bath. I can't really remember a 'first time' but I do remember hazy times spending a little longer than strictly necessary 'cleaning' certain parts of my body. I think it helped that I've always had my bath before bed and even now, I love the feeling of silk pyjamas, clean sheets and the whole evening ahead of me before I fall asleep.
I started before I even knew what I was doing, more because I could than for any other need. Then, we had sex education and I could feel myself blushing when the joys of masturbation were explained to the class and I realised that I'd been sexually stimulating myself all this time. That realisation sent a thrill down my spine and straight to my groin. That was what I realised before I went to sleep every night. That was what pushed me over the edge and kept me there, hooked on this new found compulsion, this secret part of me.
Then came periods. Helpfully, these were also covered by sex education, so I knew a little of what to expect. But they didn't give you all the details. They didn't tell you how bloated you'd feel. How your womb would feel like it was trying to claw its way out of your body. How your digestion would go haywire. How you'd go from laughing hysterically one minute, through rage, tears and every emotion you'd ever felt and a few new ones into the mix. They didn't explain any of this monthly pain and they didn't once hint at any of the pleasure.
I began to notice that each time of the month was preceded by new sensations. My budding breasts began to ache unfulfillingly and this coincided with an unrelenting moisture between my legs. That private activity which had so far been reserved for bed times began to interupt my thoughts at the most inconvenient other times. I'd be doing my homework when I'd catch the scent of myself and suddenly become aware of the sensation in my knickers. The second that awareness hit, I'd need to do something about it and I'd automatically slip my hand under the elastic, as if by reflex, and be delighted to find myself already responsive to my touch.
I loved the way it made me feel before, during and after. After I had, I always felt slightly irritable from the sensation of it and the fact it was over. The truth is, I found my irritability infuriatingly attractive. Just that feeling of clenching my thighs together and trying to make conversation with people, slightly shaky and self aware, made me want to f*ck myself again. I needed to come again and again.
I began to associate this furtive activity with times when I was alone. Fortunately, being an only child, these moments were fairly frequent and it was like a lover, always at the back of my mind, yearning for a stolen caress. Any time my thoughts were free and sometimes when they weren't, the feeling, the desire, would creep up on me unexpectedly and I'd find myself rushing home, locking the bathroom door and lying with my feet pressed against the pipe behind the toilet, while my hands thrust into their forbidden pleasure.
So, despite being privately sexual, I was always rather conservative in my habits and it wasn't until I went to university that I became really depraved. I stayed in halls of residence, which was basically a gated block of flats. My room was one of six ensuites on a girls' floor with a shared hallway, kitchen and living room. On that first night alone, after my parents had said their goodbyes, I realised that I was finally free. I came hard that night and remember worrying that my new flatmates in the rooms on either side of mine would hear me.
This was true sexual freedom. At home, I had to steal whatever moments I could get to give myself an orgasm as quickly as possible. But here, I could luxuriate. Whenever the fancy took me, I could slip my hand into my knickers and pleasure myself slowly and gently. I could idly touch myself while reading or doing something else, allowing the feeling to creep up on me and take me by surprise when I found myself dropping my book and my knickers. It was bliss and it was about to get more blissful.
I had worried at first. Girls don't talk about masturbating but I thought that living in close proximity, I would give myself away and they wouldn't know how to talk to me. Either I didn't or they empathised with me because they were all really nice. And here's where something else started to change inside me. I'd had a couple of boyfriends in school and hadn't been completely useless but the truth was, my real pleasure, when I was alone, was never about anyone else. It was for and about me. That changed.
I'm not one of those girly, touchy-feely girls and other girls had never crossed my mind in that way. But something about sharing a small flat with genuinely nice people combined with raging hormones started to work its way into my pleasure. You know the way that when you start, your mind's often not completely on the job and random things can pop into your head as you touch yourself. This was one of those evenings. My friend Kate had leant me a (completely non-sexual) book, which I had been reading and, sure enough, my hand had found its way into my knickers in a completely unrelated way. I hadn't been aroused by what I was reading but the mood overtook me and I put the book down with my other hand, as I didn't want to give it back smelling of me. And at that moment, I wondered whether Kate had ever done the same thing and, this is going to sound odd, but I sniffed the book.
I probably only smelt my own arousal, but the thought of it. The realisation of another girl who I knew and liked, who I thought was cool and nice, lying back and pleasuring herself, feeling like this, made me need to come and it effortlessly swept over me and took my breath away. Before I knew it, I found myself casually thinking about all my friends in the same way. We were all straight (as far as we knew) and I felt sort of guilty about it, wondering how they'd feel if they knew that they were unwittingly giving me orgasms and wondering if they felt like I did.
There was one girl who wasn't as sociable as everyone else. Maria was Italian and, I must admit, I found her odd. First of all, she never seemed to leave the house or stop and talk to anyone. Whenever I saw her, she always seemed to be in her pyjamas with messy hair, unkempt like she'd been in bed all day. One night quite early on, I came into our shared kitchen to make some dinner and I found her by the sink, seemingly pouring herself a glass of water. I said hi and knelt down to pick up my wok from the cupboard under the sink. As I turned around, my face came level with her crotch and I unconsciously inhaled. As I did, I smelled an intense damp earthy scent that was so familiar to me. Now I knew why she never left the flat! I pretended I'd left something in my room, locked my door and squatted there in front of it with one hand pressed deep inside myself, while the other frantically stimulated my tender clitoris.
This is where it gets a little obscene and I appreciate that not everyone will share my particular perversions...
I had been distracted for the last few days and finally made it to lectures. As a joint honours student, I often had a couple of lectures or seminars on the same day, separated by an hour or two. Today was one of those days and I'd normally go home but I desperately needed the loo. I think my body must have lost track of other functions during the last few days as I really needed to go so I headed to the art block. The toilets there are your classic institutional kind - a long row of sturdy looking cubicles opposite a bank of dripping sinks under a long mirror.
I would normally take the end cubicle but it was occupied so I took the one next door, locked the door, pulled down my knickers and took a satisfyingly heavy dump. As I wiped, I realised I was faced with that classic public toilet dilemma - not wanting to leave first. As I'd been so shameless in my relief, I didn't want to be the first one to leave in case the girl in the next cubicle came out while I was still there, recognised me and forever after associated me with my abnormal bowel movements.
So I sat there and waited, listening for an indication that the other girl had finished. It was then that I realised that I hadn't heard any 'toilet' sounds from her cubicle and I was beginning to wonder if she was alright when I heard a sharp intake of breath, followed by a sigh. As I continued to listen, I heard a faint rhythmic squelching sound and was astonished to realise that not only had the girl next to me heard my toileting, but she was now masturbating furiously! My heart raced as I realised that I was indescribably aroused. My whole body was tingling and infuriatingly yearning for relief. With my knickers still around my ankles, I found my clit, which was already hypersensitive, and started to properly relieve myself. I could hear her breathing next to me. I could hear her wetness and mine. I could feel the sensation building inside me.
Suddenly my pleasure was cut short by a loud bang of the main toilet door. This was followed by high heels clopping up to the free cubicle on my other side. I froze and was so frustrated at not being able to continue. I listened again, waiting for the new girl to go. As I listened, she sighed and for a second, I wondered if she was feeling the same. But the sigh was followed by a loud plop. She grunted and plopped again a few times and bizarrely, my heart started to pound again. Here I was, listening to a random girl taking a dump, a girl who had no idea that my finger was on my wet clit, starting to circle indescribably. No idea that her sighs made me contract with pleasure, that the sound of her private bodily functions should arouse me so completely.
At that moment, I lost my inhibitions, I wanted to express myself and be heard. As I contracted, I moaned softly and I heard my forgotten girl sigh in response. Once again, I heard her pleasure, I heard her breathing and her wetness pound with the pounding in my ears, with the thrusting of my fingers. It was building inside me. Inside both of us and I was reaching the point of no return. In sensitivity, I tipped over the edge and convulsed in pure ecstasy. We both came at the same time and didn't worry about concealing our satisfaction. We were so loud and it was f*cking amazing.
I went to wipe myself but I wanted my knickers to be wet with the realisation of what I had just done. Hesitantly, I unlocked the door and went to the sink to wash my hands. My heart skipped a beat as the end cubicle opened and its occupant stepped up to the sink behind me. As I looked sheepishly in the mirror, my eyes widened in recognition, as I realised it was Maria from my flat, no longer in pyjamas but wearing knee high boots with a black ensemble that looked amazing. I just stood there unable to move as she smiled at me sexily in the mirror and winked.
It was then that I realised I wanted her, completely. I wanted to consume her and give myself to her and spend every minute with her. I was still rooted to the spot when I remembered the other poor girl who could not have failed to overhear us wanking over her excretions. I was reawakened by a low moan emerging from her cubicle and began to wonder if there was something in the water...
After the bathroom incident, I started spending more time with Maria. When I saw her in the flat that evening, she asked if I wanted to watch a dvd with her in her room. I said yes, probably a little too quickly and we went into her room and closed the door. I hadn't been in there before and noticed straight away that it smelled of her. She asked me to excuse her a sec before popping into her cupboard of an ensuite to relieve herself. My hand instinctively found myself again as I listened to her unashamed shitting. I was feeling wreckless after my earlier excursions and when she opened the door to reveal her beautiful Mediterranean curves, I knew my fingers had found what they'd been searching for all these years. I love her and I love myself.
Excuse me a sec...