I am currently working on an erotic novel, but I realized I needed more practice in writing about pleasure and sex. So, I decided to write short minimalist vignettes inspired by some memories and poetic fantasies. Comments, corrections, and suggestions are most welcome.
Please note, English is not my first language, so be kind.
All characters are 18+.
Layli ❤
# ~~~ My Secret Garden ~~~
Dear journal,
The last few days have been draining; between the preparations for my sister’s wedding, taking care of the extended family who flocked to our small apartment from all over the country, and preparing for my English and literature exam, I have had no time for myself. Home felt like a war zone invaded by barbarians, who despite being “of kin”, did not share my appreciation for privacy and tasteful discussion. My aunts’ only interest, so it seemed, was in the young guys of the village, none of whom I had ever met, but they were nonetheless adamant that sooner rather than later I were to wed one of them.
“I’m just gonna go study outside, it’s too noisy here”, I told my mom and left before she could force me into another task.
Once out, I took deep breaths. I had grown increasingly angry at everyone. I share many things with Jean-Paul Sartres, one of which is the firm belief that “hell is other people”. Living in such proximity to the judgemental looks of strangers could only be described as infernal. The fresh spring air reminded me that reality still existed outside the walls of our building.
Hearing some noise behind me, I elected to walk faster before one of my cousins could decide to come with me. I crossed the road quickly and started walking along a hidden path directly leading to the river. Few people knew that an old pedestrian bridge was still standing nearby, albeit barely, and connecting to the dilapidated “botanical garden” on the other bank. This is a secret I keep jealously. The garden, which is more of a forest now, is so unkempt, that most people do not venture that far from the main entrance and it offers plenty of small oases to read to the sound of the river in near-complete solitude.
If I came here today it is not merely to read. Sure, I needed to analyze a couple more poems as practice for the exam, but I was generally ready for the test. No, I wanted something more, something all the activities at home had prevented me from doing. “I am on a mission, a salvage mission, for I am dying from a thirst I cannot quench…”, I started muttering to myself, immediately giggling at my melodramatic tone.
This became more pressing after the events of yesterday. I found myself in conversation with neighbours when my crush unexpectedly joined us. I had not seen him in many weeks, and seeing him shook me to the core. I guess I still have feelings for him after all. *“That man who seems to me the peer of Gods”* as Sappho wrote 2000 years ago perfectly describes how he appeared to me that night.
Later, I tried to sleep, but everything about this short interaction was whirling in my mind, from his heartbreaking smile to my sudden lack of words. *“When I glance at you, I can no longer speak, my tongue is broken, and a subtle flame is creeping into my skin”*, the poem goes.
That subtle flame was creeping indeed, and with it a strong desire to do some things I was still scared to admit. Now well into the park, I found a nice spot, a flat rock protected on all sides by the thick forest and an old panel of soviet concrete.
As I was laying on the rock, I closed my eyes and listened to the environment. This was deeply calming. I could hear the birds chirping nearby. The sounds of trees dancing with the wind. The strong base groan of the river. I was breathing in sync with the elements and sinking in the sun.
My thoughts went back to my Apollo, his perfectly chiselled jawline and kind eyes. The reminiscence of all those times I saw him play football – shirtless – through my kitchen’s window made me shiver. Or maybe it was the wind.
I took a deep breath. Yes, this was finally happening. I was free. Free from the looks of others, no longer pretending to be someone else. I felt like Alice after falling down the rabbit hole, unsure of her bearing, but decided to explore the enchanted world at her feet. I sat on one side of the rock on top of a blanket I had carried. I lowered my skirt, by just 10-15cm. In case someone was to come, hiding my true endeavour would quick. The feeling of my buttocks on the plushy blanket felt exquisite, as did the gentle caress of the wind.
My right hand mechanically reached out to my lap, the other lightly touching from my navel to my breasts. I slid my hand under my panty, gently circling around where I was itching for his presence. As pleasure grew stronger, I closed my eyes to solely focus on my body’s feelings, while also trying to maintain a mental image of my crush. My breathing became deeper and deeper, as I was getting more entranced in the simple, yet precise, movements that produced such precious sensations. Normally, it’s at this point that my left hand starts covering my mouth, so that I don’t let out any involuntary sounds. I smiled knowing there was no need here.
I felt tingly on my face, certainly flushed from those emotions. I laid back on the rock as if it would be my only source of stability through this trip. I remembered the next lines of the poem *“I cannot see anything with my eyes, and my ears are buzzing, a cold sweat comes over me, my whole body trembling”*. How much more graphic could she go in describing this blissfully painful departure from the quotidian?
Suddenly, a rush of emotions took me over. The loneliness, the fear of becoming a misfit, a pariah, and having no one else than my books to ever keep me company. The anger towards my sister, for embodying the perfection everyone required of us, towards my aunts and their relentless criticism, and my mom who never sided with me.
A tear was just about to roll out of my eyes when I let out a long moan of both pleasure and exasperation. I felt the forest’s support: almost like the rocks, the trees and the wind, all unfortunate witnesses to my vice, conspired to make this moment most satisfying. I let the forces of the forest take care of me. Both my hands now between my legs, one circling around the clitoris, the other titillating my insides, my breathing became sporadic and shallower. Half crying and half in awe, I continued to vigorously please myself. I imagined his large appendage thrusting deep inside me; turned my inserted fingers upwards as I pressed down on my clitoris with the other hand. I was really breathless for a second, just before my ribcage and abs tensed up; my face projected frontward; my inner ties shook by the wave of pleasure coming through me. I gasped, grunted and moaned, all at once. It seemed to last for an eternity, yet once over it felt like it was gone too quickly. I leaned back, my mind still foggy about all that happened.
“I am paler than grass, and I seem nearly to have died.”
“If that was dying, then I want to die again”, I told myself, reaching for my pubic area one more time. Despite my finger only leaving a minute or so before, the sensations felt completely new. I was much calmer, I felt happy in my heart, and quite frankly I was not thinking as much about that guy than I was single-mindedly obsessed with reaching this pinnacle of pleasure once more.
It did not take long for my body to tense up again. I became agitated, my head going from right to left, a crisped smile on my lips. My legs kicked into the air, my whole body shaking. I let out a deep sigh of satisfaction. I think I must have been unable to move for a couple of minutes while my mind tried to piece together what kind of person I was now. Although I felt slightly embarrassed by this little escapade, I also felt relieved and calmed. Perhaps I should go back sometimes?
Thank you for reading. Don’t forget to leave a comment if you liked it.
Layli ❤
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/msben0/confession_1_my_secret_garden_f_masturbation