But I wanted to see myself, and if they could, too--well, all right.But I wanted to see myself, and if they could, too--well, all right. I make myself do shameless things. I remember the exquisite sensation of my fingers twining in the soft triangle of hair there, gently and suggestively. And I remember my moan as I traced down with a fingertip over my outer lips; I remember the surge of warmth that was now centered under my hands. Then very lightly, I drew my fingertip from bottom to top, increasing the pressure as I stroked my clit, then down again to slide my finger inside me, gathering some of the moisture that had been there for most of the evening, awaiting my kind attention. I soon became slick with my caresses, and my touch was so very exciting, feeling my fingertip slide down over me, then up again, finding a rhythm and a pressure that made other concerns much less urgent all of a sudden. Other concerns like passing pedestrians, walking by on their way into the theater. I clearly remember what happened next. My warm breath came fast, and the knowledge that I had excited myself so was almost as delicious as the feel of my finger as it traced my sensitive lips. I moved along the outside, as I had done before, then stroked myself teasingly with my fingers before devoting my thumb to flicking my clit back and forth, slowly at first, then faster. And my finger was inside me again, increasing the pleasure I was feeling. As I rubbed myself and then, for a few heart-stopping seconds, gently tugged on my clit, I could feel myself moving my other fingers in and out of me. I don't know how I've always known just how I want to be touched; I haven't ever thought about it. I haven't needed to. And this was no exception. As I continued more deliberately, I felt my whole body begin to tremble, felt a hard surge of some darkly wonderful heat. I knew then that I was almost there, because, although I'm not sure, I think I was being rather vocal. |