The Pleasures of Self Pleasure

The thing about reading erotica when you’re single is that there’s no one to help you relieve the ensuing ache. I don’t know why I keep doing this to myself. It’s ten in the evening on a Friday night and I’m curled up on my couch reading erotica on my favourite website. 

I sigh and set my phone down. I need a drink. Perhaps, I should’ve gone to Kofi’s party after all. I hate parties though, and I think Kofi’s friends are obnoxious. My phone pings with a notification. It’s Jay. My lips curl into a smile. It’s usually the effect a text from her has on me. Jay lives in the apartment next to mine, and I’ve wanted to do sinful things to Jay since the first time we’d spoken, which was the day after she first moved in six months ago. 

Her text says all the sockets in her place had stopped working for some reason. She needed a place to charge her phone before it died. She promised not to hang around while it charged. I could pretend to not be awake and ignore her text. I’m not ready for the assault on my senses that is Jay. I can’t promise I won’t jump her, especially considering that I’m slightly turned on by the erotica I’ve been reading.

My phone pings again. I decided I wouldn’t reply. In the morning, I’ll knock on her door, say I’d only just seen her messages and offer to charge her phone for her. I pick up my phone to continue my reading. However, I feel terrible about lying. I last about ten minutes before I open the notification and tap out a reply. 

A few minutes later, there’s a knock on my door. I get up to get the door when I suddenly feel underdressed and frumpy. I’m wearing a big t-shirt over a pair of small shorts. It’s Friday night and I’m going for comfortable, not sexy. I shake my head to dispel the thought. 

She knocks again and I sigh. It’s Friday. I have the right to look as frumpy as I want. Besides, it wasn’t like she was coming to visit. She was just dropping off her phone to charge. I didn’t need to look good for that. 

The knock sounds again and I drag my mind back to the present. I open the door and she smiles an uncertain smile.

“Hey. I’m really sorry to bother you.”

I forget how to speak for a second. Her shy smile makes me want to jump her. 

“Hi,” I say a little too loudly and cringe inwardly. I keep standing in the doorway and do not offer to let her in. I don’t trust myself at this point. She doesn’t ask to be let in. 

“Don’t worry about it.” I’m still standing in the doorway. I don’t make a move to take her phone. It’s a few seconds before I realise I’m staring. She’s wearing shorts and a tank top, and her short locs are a cute mess. If my staring makes her uncomfortable, she doesn’t show it. Or perhaps she knows she’s gorgeous and is used to stares from enthralled women. 

When I catch myself staring, I let her in and point in the general direction of the extension beneath the TV. Her scent wafts over me as she walks past my outstretched hand. She smells good. I suddenly have visions of my face in her chest, our bodies tangled under the sheets. She bends to plug in her phone and her shirt rides up, revealing a slice of dark skin. 

Mm, her skin. I want to lick every inch of that chocolate perfection. I want to feel it against mine, on top of me, beneath me, beside me. I want to lick it while she’s wet from the shower, I want to kiss her body as she lays beneath me, as I give her pleasure and take mine from her.

I stand awkwardly by the couch. I’m not usually such a horndog. She turns back. “Would it be okay if I came back for it tonight? I want to be able to call the electrician quite early to come check on my sockets.”

“I’d be awake. Come get it tonight.” I cringe again inwardly. That sentence could mean so many things. The twinkle in her eye suggested that she’d thought of other meanings too. 

“Thank you. I’d let myself out then.” She leaves and I lock the door behind her. The dull ache between my legs is no longer dull. However, I resist the urge to touch myself. With a sigh, I pick up my phone to continue where I left off. 

It takes all of five minutes before I concede that this is hopeless. I need to cum. Jay’s recent proximity to my body had sent my senses into overdrive. I want to take a shower, but I’ve always had a fear of falling and hitting my head in the bathroom because I masturbated and lost my balance. The shower can wait. 

I get rid of my shorts right there on the sofa and spread my legs. My left hand idly touches my clit, while my right hand plays with my nipples, one and the other. I think of the story I’d just been reading. In my mind, the characters are Jay and I. The image makes me wet. 

I stop touching my clit and insert a finger into my pussy. I move the finger slowly, teasing myself. A tiny moan escapes me. I add another finger and increase the pace. I almost always never orgasm from penetration alone, but it’s still a very pleasurable sensation. 

I spread my wetness onto my clit and rub it with my other hand. Slowly at first, because I don’t want to get there so fast. Soon though, I need more and my fingers move faster. My toes start to curl and I can’t concentrate on using both hands at once. My fingers come out of my pussy and grip the side of the couch.

I continue rubbing my clit, hard and fast. As I do this, I imagine that it is Jay’s mouth all over my pussy, her tongue flicking and lapping at my clit. My back arches and the only part of my feet touching the couch are my toes. I squeeze my eyes shut and let out a loud moan as I feel the orgasm grip me.

I come hard. It takes me a minute to catch my breath. The couch is wet beneath me. I bring my fingers to my mouth and lick myself off of them. I’m still trying to get my breathing under control when a knock sounds on my door. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. 

I get up and try to make myself look like I hadn’t just fucked myself on my sofa. I throw a couch pillow over the moist patch, run my hands through my hair and check who it is through the peephole. It’s Jay. I’m a little flustered that I have to talk to her literally seconds after I’d made myself cum to thoughts of her. 

“Sorry. I remembered that I hadn’t turned my data off and came to do just that so my notifications don’t disturb you. You sounded quite busy though so I waited till you were finished, which it seems you are.” 

Again, that mischievous twinkle is in her eye. It doesn’t occur to me to be mortified that she heard me touch myself, or weirded out that she stayed and listened. Instead, my post-orgasmic bliss emboldens me and I take her hand and tug. She doesn’t resist. Her lips settle on mine when the door closes. 

Thank God for faulty sockets. 

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