Windows

Lately, I've been masturbating with the window open.

The window is next to my bed. It's wide enough to cover most of the wall, and tall enough that its sill is almost level with my bedside. At night, when the blinds are up, the streetlights emit an ethereal glow into my dark room.

I touch myself late at night when my roommate isn't around. And sometimes when she is - but asleep. Often, it's so hot that I don't want to cover myself with my thin bedsheet.

I touch myself with my nightshirt pushed up and my panties pushed to the side. I lay on my back; my legs open and one knee bent. I play with my clit until I'm wet - sometimes I already am before I even begin. Usually I don't need to even finger myself. The phantom of a memory of another's cock or fingers pushing into me is enough.

I love it when cool breezes blow through the screen over my hot, wet center. Tantalizing.

I rub my clit and I sink into myself and imagine. That time in the Actor's room on a late summer's night (or early morning). He was lying on his back. I was straddling his hips, and he started touching me. Soon, my face was buried in his chest and my naked ass in the air; short skirt hiding nothing. His bed was directly opposite his bedroom window, and I liked to fancy that whoever walked past and happened to look into this particular second floor window would be gifted with a sight of my bent-over self, straining towards orgasm.

(Of course, nobody would have been out at that hour, and probably wouldn't have been able to see me even if they looked, but that's beside the point. A window is an eye. Or many eyes. A window is the possibility of being watched.)

I imagine what would happen if me and Christopher do what we had briefly talked about. I told him that the Actor often studied in a quiet little cubicle in the library stacks. This was the only cubicle I knew of that had a door, and a lock on the inside. An area that was practically made for library sex. And inside: a desk, a chair, and a window. That faced another wing of the library - a vast expanse of windows.

We would have to be quiet, we said. We would have to be quick, we said. Rely on the adrenalin-drenched, breathlessness of the situation.

There was always the floor, I said.

I imagine us, zip-lipped and fully dressed except for dropped pants. Me braced against the desk and him pushing into me. Clothes rustling.

Or us on the floor, him seated with me in his lap, pressed close. Almost uncomfortably.

When I come, it's with the deep breath of a person who has spent a long time underwater, and welcomes the sweet taste of air. My back arches, and for a few seconds my body is frozen as my muscles flutter.

And then I relax. My heartbeat slows back to normal, my eyes slide shut, I turn on to my side and fall asleep in minutes.

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