In seventh grade I was introduced to romance novels by one of my really good friends. Her mom had hundreds of them in the basement and she would smuggle them out to me. The first one I read grabbed my interest in such a way that I stayed up way into the night reading. Later I found myself completely engrossed in them. I read them on the bus, at lunch, during class hidden beneath the table. I longed to be the woman on the front cover, beautiful and confident. I wanted to experience the pleasure described in those books and know what it was to fall in love.
Slowly my curiosity got the better of me. I remember reading one erotic novel that had me so turned on my cotton panties were drenched in fluid and I wasn’t quite sure why. In the attempt to wipe away all the “messiness” I hit my clitoris just right, discovering the tie between being turned on, the fluid and how to draw out that pleasure.
My antique bed was broken so my mattress and box spring were sitting on the floor. It was already bedtime but my parents were in the living room which was just on the other side of my wall. I was trying to be as quiet as I could so I would not be heard. I rolled over on my stomach and lifted my body up so my fingers could move easily up and down, back and forth.
As I got closer I realized the mattress just had to much give, it molded to me making it harder and harder to get where I was trying to get to. I paused what I was doing and almost gave up in frustration when I then crawled out of bed and laid on the floor. I pumped my little body up and down as if there was a lover beneath me. I closed my eyes and allowed the images of who that was and all the things they could do to me flow through my brain. My fingers just moved back and forth until this hot molten burst exploded through me and I bit down on my own hand to keep from crying out in pleasure.
Rolling over onto my back I just laid on the floor for a moment staring up into the dark waiting for my breath to return to normal. The room smelled of what I had just done and guilt prickled at me. Surly this was not ok. I didn’t want to crawl back into my sheets with the smell on my hand but I didn’t want to open my door and chance my parents asking me why I was up.
After laying there for about ten minutes the euphoria was wearing off a little and I decided I would just go to the bathroom wash my hands and get a sip of water. That was plausible enough but I now understood what “the room smells like sex” meant and next time I would need to be better prepared.