My New Beginnings

Sorry for the gap in time, we have both been traveling with little time to continue sharing our lifetime sexual experiences.

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Moving into my own place was exciting and a bit lonely. Although I knew William wasn't my life partner, I did miss his companionship, the friendship, and the fact that there was always something to clean, put away or tidy up.

He had been our social coordinator too -- dinners, pub nights, finding parties. Without him the flat felt bigger than it was and the silence sat heavier.

Now that I was alone I had an exceptional amount of free time.

I could have rung Zoe the first night. It would have been easy. One call and she would have been on the train, laughing in my doorway, pushing me back against the wall the way she had last time.

But I didn't want easy. I needed to get used to being on my own, find new things to do, explore places, meet people in my own time.

More than that, I needed to work out what I actually wanted without anyone else's hands or preferences getting in the way.

Although alone, I still wanted intamcy. Well, I wanted orgasms -- proper ones that left my legs shaky and my head quiet for a bit.

For the first time in years the pleasure was entirely mine.

No one to perform for. No one to finish for. No one whose boredom I had to manage. Just me and the freedom to take as long as I liked.

I returned to the adult shop on a quiet Wednesday evening and did a bit of selfish shopping.

I bought a larger firm rubber dildo with a bit of give to it. It was not as large as Zoe's collection, but larger than the one i owed. I bought a smaller battery vibrator that would fit in a pocket. And, at the recommendation of the sales clerk, I also bought the big white Hitachi massager -- still sold as a body massager, though everyone knew what it was really for. She said Id love the depth of the vibrations.

I carried the plain bag home on the tube like it was nothing special, but I was already wet by the time I got my front door open.

The best part of living alone was that I could please myself whenever I liked.

The minute I got home I washed all my new purchases, bathed, jumped into my bed and started to experiment and explore with each.

The next evening I met some work colleagues out for a curry and a pint of Stella. I rushed through the dinner, hurried home, stripped off my clothes and made love to my wand in my bedroom. When i turned it to the low strong setting, it vibrated throughout my pelvis and deliverded really deep clitoral orgasms.

Some evenings the freedom itself was the point. I would come home from work, lock the door, and take everything off before I even put the kettle on.

Blouse, bra, skirt, knickers -- left in a heap by the door. Me naked and free.

I would walk around the flat completely bare with all the lights on. No curtains. Just me, making tea or sipping a glass if wine, checking the post, stretching, existing in my own skin without having to cover up for anyone.

One of those nights, I stripped myself, took a quick bath and moved into the kitchen for a glass of wine and a bread with jam. The only light in the room was a soft table lamp that warmed the room.

I opened the fridge which illuminated the kitchen with a brighter white light.

Standing by the open fridge, I glanced across at the flats opposite and realised a woman was looking across at me.

She was far enough away that the details were soft, but she was definitely looking.

I didn't cover myself.

I grabbed the bottle of wine, closed the fridge, topped of my wine, and stayed where I was staring at her for very long pause. I walkes closer the light ao i was illuminated even more, turned the light off and walked to my bedroom. That was the first time I noticed her, but definitely not the last.

The sexual need grew alongside the freedom.

Some early mornings it was just the little battery vibrator pressed hard against my clit while I laid in bed, or sat on the kitchen chair in an open shirt, one foot up so I could see my wetness. The motor humming away. My hips world jerk and my breath would shorten inside a minute. I would hold it there until the first sharp peak hit, then keep it pressed through the aftershocks until my thighs trembled and I was properly slick.

Other days it was only my fingers in the shower before work. Hot water over my breasts while I slid two, then three fingers into myself, curling them against the soft spot that made my knees give.

I rubbed my clit with my thumb in tight circles, feeling how open and wet I was. When I came I had to brace a hand on the tiles, a low sound lost in the water, my cunt pulsing hard around my fingers.

Weekends I took my time. Candle lit, glass of wine, no rush.

The rubber dildo first -- slow strokes that slightly stretched me, one hand working it while the other pinched and rolled my nipples until they stood tight and erect.

When the stretch felt good enough I would set the dildo aside, still shiny, and press the Hitachi hard against my clit. The deep vibration took me apart in long waves.

Sometimes I would push the dildo back in and hold it deep with one hand while the massager stayed on my clit with the other, rocking between the two until the orgasm hit so hard I'd bite my lip. The wand would be touching the dildo vibrating the inner parts of my pussy.

The aftershocks left me gasping and half-laughing at how thoroughly I could please myself.

This was what autonomy felt like -- choosing the pace, the intensity, exactly how my body would come undone.

The need kept growing. Risk started to feel necessary.

One Tuesday lunchtime I slipped into the ladies loo at a busy Italian place near the office.

The stall was narrow; the lock clicked.

I hiked my skirt up, pulled my knickers aside, and pushed two fingers straight into my already wet cunt. I was soaked just from the walk over, from the thought of people eating a few metres away.

I rubbed my clit in fast circles, the wet sounds loud in the quiet cubicle. My other hand I inserted two fingers in me ans flickered them back and fourth.

The orgasm hit quick and dirty -- thighs shaking, a soft whimper as my pussy clenched and pulsed. Wow i thought.

I regained my composure, straitened outfit and returned to work

The risk was mine. The pleasure was mine.

Work itself became a playground for me.

Id occasionally bring my small vibrator to work.

On an occasional late afternoon, when the floor had thinned I would lock myself in the accessible toilet on the third floor.

Skirt up, knickers round one ankle, foot on the closed lid.

Id press the small vibrator against my clit and held it there while I watched myself in the mirror.

The buzz filled the tiled room. I'd edge myself for ten or fifteen minutes, rolling my hips, spreading myself with two fingers so I could see how glossy and dark pink I was.

When I finally let go the climax ripped through me hard enough that my knees nearly went.

I cleaned up carefully, smoothed my skirt, and went back to my desk with that heavy, satisfied ache that made the rest of the day feel softer.

My sessions at home at my large window was different.

The window was for when I wanted to be seen.

One Thursday night I came home restless, the city already dark. I left every light off and grabbed a few of my favorite friends.

The glow from the street and the other buildings was enough.

I opened the big picture window fully. Cool air on my bare skin as I undressed.

For a moment I just stood there naked, looking out.

Then I sat on the low sill, legs spread, and started touching myself.

I was already wet, christ I was pretty much always wet these days.

As I sat looking out to the night sky I eased two fingers into me, curling up to the soft place that always made my breath catch.

My thumb found my clit and rubbed in slow circles. I kept my eyes on the windows opposite. Most were dark or curtained.

One wasn't.

Ahe stood there, looking out at me again.

She was far enough away that my finer details would be lost, but the position of my hands and the slow roll of my hips made it clear what I was doing.

She didn't look away when she realised I was watching her watch me.

She simply stayed, one hand resting lightly on the glass.... almost loke she was reaching out to touch me.

I didn't stop.

If anything I went slower.

I spread my legs wider so she could see the shape of it -- the rhythmic movement of my hand, the way my body tensed and released.

The submissive part of me loved it, loved being the entertainment.

But the deeper truth was that I was still in control. I chose the window. I chose to stay open. I chose how long to keep going while she watched.

She didn't move. She just watched.

I added a third finger and started fucking myself harder, the shift in my posture was visible even at that distance.

I then grabbed the little vibrator and firmly pressed it to my clit while my fingers kept working my inner pussy.

I saw her head tilt sightly.

The first orgasm rolled through me deep and strong, my pussy gripping my fingers in tight pulses, a low moan I didn't bother to be quiet.

I kept going, eyes locked on hers, the vibrator still buzzing against my oversensitive clit.

The second one hit -- thighs trembling, more wetness. Still she watched. Still I didn't close my legs.

By the third climax I was shaking, opmouthed, staring straight at her while my body seized and released again and again.

Only when the last aftershock faded did she give me the smallest nod -- almost a private thank-you -- before she stepped back into the darker part of her room.

I stayed at the open window a little longer, fingers lazy on my sticky, swollen cunt, already wondering how soon I would do it again.

This was what autonomy felt like: the right to take pleasure exactly as I wanted it, to be seen or not seen on my own terms, to decide that my body belonged first and always to me.

Two weeks passed and I saw a woman staring at me at the weekend market. We were both selecting wold flowers.

She was likely in her late 40s, pretty, and I could tell that she was probably stunning in her early years.

It had to be her, as ahe looked at me with appreciation and admiration.

Shortly, a man 10-15 years her senior and rather overweight walked up and handed her a pack of paper wrapped meat.

I assumed it was her husband.

He commented that they didn't need flowers and rather should go look at the cheeses.

She complied, turned to follow him, and looked back at me and said "thank you."

It was her.