title: Sometimes
author: Hotpants
keywords: Fmast

Sometimes it all comes together. 

It's that time of the month. It's spring. You're horny. You find yourself smiling to yourself while entertaining fantasies when walking down the street... you feel it must be blatantly obvious what you're thinking about, like an odour plume must come from in between your legs. But if it is, people are discrete enough not to show it. You drift off when talking to a shop keeper, to someone at work, and remember the time when you ended up at David's place two months ago, his skin against yours, his hands all over you. You do not miss a chance to secretly touch your breast or your crotch when alone in the office. One or two times, you even sneak into the bathroom and start masturbating, but then the door opens and you hastily have to flush and pretend you were up to ordinary toilet business when coming out of the cubicle. And even if the perpetrator leaves to go somewhere else after finding the toilet occupied - it's a turn-off, an interruption, and you stroll back to your desk. 

What you really need, what you really want, is a shag. Is to get laid. But sometimes, it's just not an option. You feel so empty down there and rhythmically squeeze and exercise your pussy muscles around nothing. You make sex noises, let out little moans as if in bed when no one's around. Men look at you in the street, they always do, but you're too much of a chicken to try and pull a stranger. What if they treat you bad, if you change your mind, because something does not feel good and they don't let you? Or, more likely, what if they feel threatened, overpowered, alienated or are simply loyal to their possible partner and reject you? What is that going to do to your ego? David's not an option anymore because he behaved like an idiot afterwards and you are too proud to run after him. There are guys you fancy, guys you flirt with, guys you meet on a daily basis, who fuel your fantasies and your feverish spring heat. They eat you with their eyes, they start fidgeting as you enter the room. You act as though you don't notice, as though you don't care, as though you're out of their reach. The truth is that they're out of your reach, because all it would do is cause emotional trouble and, also, you do not want to build up a reputation. So you abuse them in your mind, do things with them they wouldn't even dream about, while being perfectly contained on the outside. And you even feel guilty for playing with them for the validation. 

The truth is that, sometimes, there is no way to get laid that will not lead to regrets afterwards. You even think about men from your past - check their facebook profiles look at their pictures. Yves, from last summer - he was such an adonis, naturally beautiful, and endearingly unaware of it. So ernest, he took the love making so seriously, he had a great cock, smooth skin and a knack for pleasuring women. But he has a girlfriend now - and you don't want to get anyone into trouble by emitting temptations that are difficult to turn down. Carlos - you always had a thing for him, so sensual, so adventurous and so much in control of his perfect body. He had always known it and even though it annoys you that he had always been so unjustifiedly sure about you, you knew he reciprocated, on the most primordial physical level - you had watched him as he watched you dancing, paralysed as he had stared at your gyrating hips, shamelessly, no attempt to hide what he was thinking. But it was not the kind of story that would lead to a planned effort to meet, to date, to make contact - that would turn it into something entirely different. 

The point where it gets really frustrating, is when even the next best thing after actually getting laid is not an option. Why does that vibrator have to be so fucking loud? Why do you still have to live in a flatshare at that age? Why does it have to be the case that every sound can be heard between the rooms? Why feel guilty about inducing religious guilt, why feel ashamed in front of the judgmental and joyless? And yet, you just rub and rub, make no sound, and you come, the finger and the clitoris, but it's not enough.

But then finally, you come home and they're gone. You grin in anticipation. You are so starved for sex that the second best thing seems the best thing ever. You take a shower, you close the blinds, you undress. You stroke yourself. The new sheets smell like washing powder, your skin smells like water lily, your hair smells like shampoo. You open the box by the bedside and take out the rabbit vibrator that has not been in use for a while. In sudden anxiety, you switch it on - to check if the batteries are still alright. The rabbit part for the clitoris vibrates as it should vibrate, and the shaft for the pussy twirls as it should twirl. Everything works perfectly. You switch on some music and start stroking yourself. Who or what should you fantasize about, David, Carles, Yves, a faceless stranger? Yves seems like a good option... You remember how you had seduced him, invited yourself to his room when he had least expected it. It made you feel so sexy and irresisteble. You remember each one of his touches his breath in your ear as you start stroking yourself. You switch on the vibrating rabbit part once you're wet and hold it against your clit, a rabbit ear each side, the slower one of the two velocities. Your muscles down there relax, it feels so nice, so gentle, endorphines float through your body. You whimper and it's okay, the party poopers are gone. You close your eyes and let your head fall back. In your mind, Yves is spooning up against you from behind and cups one of your breasts with one of his hands, kissing your neck. You breathe more heavily and start moving your hip, to slide your clit across the rabbit, held firmly in place with your hand. Back and forth, back and forth, to vary the location of stimulation, but also because the hip movements enhance the excitement. You squeeze out some KY Jelly onto your finger - you are very wet, but a vibrator is not a cock, it is not covered with smooth warm skin and it does not give in. It's not as nice. The plastic is rough on your sensitive pussy tissue. The vibrator is not nearly as nice as a real cock, in more ways than just one - smell, taste, and, most importantly, it does not modulate its movement in response to your own movements and sounds, and it does not thrust. It is difficult to thrust it in forcefully with your own hand at that bizarre angle. It also does not squirt, which is a shame. You like the taste and the feel of cum. But still, your pussy is pulsating and it wants to be filled, has felt empty for so long, and you cramp your pussy muscles in anticipation. You slide the tip in - it's quite big at first and you gasp. But then you contract your muscles around it and try sucking it in more deeply. You switch the twirling motor on and it starts stirring your insides a little bit. Not the strongest effect the device can produce, but still pleasant. With the hand you pull it out a couple of centimetres, slowly, and then you thrust in again, as good as you can. You correct the position of the rabbit part against the clitoris and then you start fucking yourself at a steady pace with the vibrator, in, in, in, in, imagining it was Yves who was fucking you from behind, and squeezing the object as hard as you can with your muscles down there, to increase friction, and to facilitate the build up of orgasm. The vibrations against the clit get transferred through the entire lower part of your body. If you relax, you can also feel them at your anus, and it feels very nice - sometimes, you like holding the rabbit part up against that hole as well, but only from the outside. At this moment, you wish your vibrator had two rabbit extensions. If such a sex toy exists? You stroke your anus gently with the index finger of the left, while keeping up the pace of the vibrator with the right. The index only enters half a centimetre - it's about stimulating the entry, not about penetration. You abandon the Yves-fantasy. Instead, you imagine being a guy and watching  yourself from the outside, just as you are now, doing it to yourself, moaning and whimpering and thrusting your vibrator inside yourself. That picture turns you on enough. It feels very sexy to be able to let go, to be able to enjoy, to give yourself up to those forces as they take possession of your body, your distorted grimasse, your dirty grin. You are approaching climax. The vibration on the clit becomes too intense, you switch off the vibrator part, but keep thrusting the twirling dildo in and out. Your left moves up front to take over the job of clitoris stimulation, but more careful, more slowly, more gentle. You whine a little bit as your muscles clasp the item harder and your index presses your clit inside your slit. Your legs had been open, but now you squeeze them together, working the vibrator in and out from behind. You suck in the air and then emit a suppressed cry as you come and contract your muscles around the pink plastic cock, arching your back, curling your toes. And then it's over. You lie on your bed, relaxed, your muscles still contract rhythmically, the thing is still inside you. Self-reliance is the name of the game. 

After five minutes of come-down, you get up, and go to the bathroom, to wash the tool of your pleasures, deeply satisfied. There is another advantage that vibrator masturbation has over common plain finger masturbation - you still feel it hurt a little when you walk and when you sit, just like after real sex, a gently-painful souvenir of a great experience. 

Sometimes the second best thing really feels like the best thing in the world. And it is so low-maintenance, as well.