I have to admit that I was always ashamed about what I did to myself when I was alone at night. I never really had the kind of friends that I could talk to about it when I was in my teens. I just remember that it was something you weren’t supposed to do. I tried to stop myself, I really did. I used to lie awake in bed with my legs crossed and my ankles locked together. I would try and try just to go to sleep, but it never happened. My thoughts would always wander to the guys in my class. Sometimes I wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about how cute my teacher was. Other times I’d even think about seeing the other girls in the shower after gym class. I’d try to stop, but I’d always realize that I was squeezing my thighs together and tensing my nether region while I grinding by hips in rhythm with my quickening breath. Those nights always ended with back arched and fingers buried deep inside myself. I was the only girl I knew who masturbated on a nightly basis and it was never something that I thought I’d enjoy sharing with anyone.
I did it in the backyard
The time I wanted to tell everyone about was the crescendo of my self-exploration. It was a day off for me and I was all alone. I didn’t have a single thing to do and I wasn’t going to waste it. I ended up out in the backyard working on my tan in my bathing suit. My house had a high fence and I never thought that anyone could see over it. I was just lying there when my thoughts took their usual night time journey. It wasn’t long before I felt my hand wandering between my thighs against my will. I slipper it under my bikini bottoms and just let my fingers do what they do best. My legs trembled and a whimper worked its way out of my mouth when I came for the very first time outside of my bedroom. It took me a good, long while before I could open my eyes. That’s when I saw my neighbor staring down at me from his second floor window. He was close enough that I could see that he was just as out of breath as I was. It was clear that he was watching the whole thing and masturbating right along with me.
I loved showing off
I thought about that day a lot after I ran inside. Someone had shared my shame with me. It somehow made it less shameful. It also made it more shameful at the same time. None of that really mattered, though. What mattered was that it turned me on more than anything on the planet. I ended up doing the exact same thing at the exact same time the next day, the day after that, and the day after that. Now I always make sure that I have a camera on me when I give in to my shameful desires.