At first I did it in school or work place bathrooms. I couldn't resist once I learned how temptingly easy it was to take that small break for the big, though silent, O.
I suspect there are others like me: people who masturbate at their workplace or school. Surely, there's nothing too unusual about it. Then again, no one I know has ever admitted to doing so (duh).
I don't masturbate because I'm stressed out. It's not because I have too much work, not enough work, deadlines; I haven't just quit smoking and need to relieve the tension.
The reason is much more basic: I get horny a lot, sometimes in the most inappropriate places.
Even if I have an enthusiastic lover who loves me till I'm sore, that still isn't enough.
The way I excuse it is, if I'm hungry I eat, if I'm horny I get off. I'm not about to put the demands of the 9-to-5 world before those of my healthy instincts.
My lunch break often serves two purposes.
At first, though the risk of being caught was always present, it wasn't something I considered a part of the act. But over time that element became as important as the bodily demand. Then it became the act's main reason. And so eventually I ventured outside of school and office bathrooms.
At work, I practised coming at my desk, skipping the little bathroom trips and trying to perfect my little act by squeezing my thighs and the muscles in my vagina, doing one of my many mindless jobs while imagining dirty, delightful things.
Wetness, hardness, breaths, pauses, moans. Furious pinks and glistening reds, memories of water-cool summers and the fresh touch of skin. Or winters spent in the caves of pulsing, sweaty blankets.
The first time I came this way, without a touch, I had to lean against my desk to hold steady. The orgasm was much more powerful than usual. Right before I came, I imagined everyone in the office somehow finding out what was happening and I climaxed.
That was that episode that really unleashed the little fetish. The orgasm became secondary. The thrill was number one.
I got horny at Chapters once. But it was seeing all these people unaware of what was happening in my skirt that really put me over the edge. I was overtaken by an urge to rub against a rail, anything, something that would get me off right then, right away!
Everything around me seemed to fade. There was only me and the urgency between my legs.
I went into the women's bathroom. I thought about the other women there and felt guilty but even more aroused. I was the pervert in the next stall. I felt like I was taking advantage of them - me, a masturbator in the women's bathroom!
But I was too excited to stop. And I was too excited thinking of myself as a pervert to do so. I was becoming responsive to my fetish.
Since then I've done it in tanning beds and buses, restaurants and an Ikea store. Recently, I was on a date at a restaurant with a very skilled lover, and I challenged myself to come then and there. I told him what I was doing and asked him to talk dirty to me. Over our grown-up dinner, sotto voce, he told me about what he would like to do to me, and I came beautifully, amongst tables of couples. Were some of them perhaps doing the same thing?