When we get home, Mom drops me off and says, “Good luck with your studies, Dear.”
I nod obediently and do my best not to skip into the house. I feel like doing a happy dance, but I refrain.
I’m so glad to have some alone time. Still thinking of the lecture earlier and my conversation with Diana afterwards, I get out my journal and write, “I want to be devoured by an alpha male predator.”
If my mom was home, I would write more about the fantasy that sentence might inspire. But since she’s not, I can take full advantage of thinking about what I would like to happen.
Later, I’ll tear up this page and throw away the tiny pieces of what cannot be. Right now, though, I’m going to pretend that it can be. I lay back on my bed with my legs spread open, touching my clit and wishing that it was someone else touching me.
One time I was able to go to a co-ed slumber party. Sadly, it’s about the only fun thing I’ve gotten to do in my life. My mom had to go out of town for training for work, so she took me to my aunt’s house, who lives about an hour away.
My cousin was having the sleepover and she told me not to not to tell my strict mom about the party and I listened, although I was terrified she’d find out. During the sleepover, everyone played Truth or Dare, and I let a guy finger me. That’s about as far as I’ve gotten sexually, and I still can’t believe I did it. I just threw caution to the wind and decided to go for it because it might be the only chance that I would ever get to explore like that— or let someone else explore me like that— and so far, I’ve been right.
This guy was nothing to look at— my cousin is only slightly less socially awkward than I am, and the few friends she has are pretty nerdy— but it was still exciting and felt good. And now I like to do it to myself, because it feels amazing.
I started out way back when by imitating what the guy at the sleepover had done to me. But since then I’ve become a lot better at it than he was. I push in and out of myself with the finger of one hand while rubbing my clit with my other hand. It’s the closest I’ve ever come to having sex and it feels like a drug. Sometimes once I get started I can’t stop, and I do it over and over, feeling my own soppy juices and turning into a quivering mess on my bed.
The guy who fingered me was scrawny and pimpled and definitely not good looking, so I never think about him, except for how forbidden it felt to have his finger down there in my most private area. For some reason—perhaps because he was my age, and so bad at fingering me— I always fantasize about being with older men. I like to think about the more experienced, sexy men who would be able to take me to a whole new level compared to the few minutes of what my friends back in high school called “finger banging.”
So, while I pinch and rub my clit and finger myself slowly and then more rapidly, I think about being with someone sexier and better than the guy who did it before. Sometimes I think about the older guy who owns the donut store around the block. Then there are a couple of neighborhood guys on my block who are fathers of kids— now adults— around my own age,but these fathers are always jogging and they’re in really good shape.
I guess I just must have a thing for older men because all the men I fantasize about happen to be a lot older than I am. But it’s always just a fantasy. It doesn’t mean I’d actually let them take my virginity. At least, that’s what I tell myself— maybe because I don’t think there’s any chance of it really happening.
One guy I always think about while I touch myself, no matter what, is my family doctor, Dr. Monroe. That’s my dirty little secret I didn’t want to let Diana know about.
Like the neighborhood guys who jog around my block, Dr. Monroe is old enough to be my father, except that he’s even more good looking than they are. He has dark hair with some gray mixed in— salt and pepper style— and thick rimmed glasses. But that just makes him look wise and sexy. He’s in very good shape and I can just tell when I look at him in his Oxford shirt and white lab coat that he has chiseled abs.
I hate to admit even to myself that I fantasize about Dr. Monroe because I’ve been a patient of his practice for years and I’ve known him since I was a little girl. It’s just plain filthy that I think about him in that way. But I can’t help my thoughts. And I know he can’t really take my virginity even though I would totally let him. He’s so sexy, with a full head of hair and a mischievous grin.
After today’s psychology lecture and my talk with Diana, I can’t help but think about Dr. Monroe while I’m touching myself. To be more precise, I’m wondering what would happen if Dr. Monroe decided to go a little further with me than normal during a doctor’s exam.
This is my dirty secret— the one person I wish would do everything Diana talked about and more, to me. It’s so naughty it’s unspeakable. But that doesn’t mean I can’t think about it and wish it could actually happen. Which I often do, and am doing right now.
I imagine Dr. Monroe opening my legs and spreading them even wider than they are now. He’ll tell me he needs to examine me with his big cock. And then he’ll put it inside me, just like my own finger is right now, each time coming out wetter and wetter with my juice.
I can’t stop thinking about how it would feel if he were really to take my virginity. I’m sure he has a long, thick cock that would hurt going in but feel so good doing to me what my own hands cannot. Maybe after he was finished with me he would spill his cum all over me to mark me as his own….
I’m just on the verge of climaxing when I hear the angry sound of throat- clearing. What the hell? Had I been so caught up in fantasizing about Dr. Monroe that I didn’t even hear anyone come into the house?
Sure enough, my mother walks right into my room, destroying my sex life—or what little of it I have— my dignity, and no doubt my entire life, yet again.