# ~~~ Letter to my Omegle stranger ~~~
Today, I came back early from the market where I had gone with my mother. She had some more errands to run across the city. My sister was at the pool with her friends. My father had left for Moscow a couple of days ago. This could only mean one thing: a couple of hours of freedom from the prying eyes and ears of my clan.
Having the flat to myself gave me complete privacy to let my dirtiest thoughts run free. I want you to know that I am not a complete degenerate, I usually don’t do this sort of thing. Today, I had a feeling deep in my stomach that I was going to do something more daring than anything I had done before.
I think deep down, I am a bit of a voyeur. I like seeing others naked. When my sister or my roommates get changed, I like to observe how their bodies look, imagine how they would move in the fantasies I made up for them. There is something mystical, almost sacred, in observing the revelation of a body for me to worship.
These are the thoughts that led me to our chance encounter on Omegle. I did not know your name and certainly never will, yet I have seen your smile, your deep brown eyes and heard your soft voice greeting me. Pardon me, my dear stranger, for appearing to you solely through my eyes and forehead. This is why I am writing to you, to convey the depth of my appreciation for the moment we had, and help you visualize the impression you’ve made.
After exchanging some trite remarks about our respective age, location, and what preoccupied us at the moment, you quickly steered the conversation towards the more carnal objective we were both silently pursuing. However, your question to me was deeply unsettling. I had never thought such a proposition was commonplace in this area of the internet. You asked me if I would like to see you pee.
I said “yes, sure”, more enthusiastic at the idea of seeing your appendage than being a witness to your urination. However, there was something outrageously thrilling about observing something otherwise so private, or at least so well kept from the ladies.
You were sitting in the backlight, wearing a loose t-shirt and light sports shorts. You lowered them slowly to tease me, at first only revealing the small patch of hair that surmounted your shaft. Then, you lowered them some more, freeing your soft penis from its delicate prison.
There was really nothing exceptional about this view, apart from the fact that it was a very aesthetic scene, with the lighting playing with the shadows to produce a larger or smaller impression as you turned back and forth. Nevertheless, there was something soul-stirring about seeing you in this most simple apparel.
You took a large glass and positioned it under you, ready to serve its purpose. There was a couple of seconds, perhaps 10 or 30, where nothing was happening. I was sort of paralyzed by anticipation, my heart racing in my chest. Then you started peeing, at first with unassuming pressure and then with a steadier flow.
After this strange moment, we continued conversing for a little while. You got your member harder and showed me as you paraded in the light. It was bigger than I anticipated from the softer form and more than pleasing to the eyes. You sat down again and asked me what I thought.
I was too shy to answer truthfully. The truth is that I was completely enthralled by what I had just seen. I could feel growing in me a different energy, the kind of excitement that comes with breaking down social taboos and letting go of inhibitions. You asked me if I had had boyfriends. I said no. You answered you had a girlfriend once. I think she was lucky, although I don’t really know you. Then, you asked me if I enjoyed masturbation.
The answer came so fast and so strongly: “hell yeah”. I want you to know that I felt free to tell you this, not through written words as I sometimes do, but with my own voice, a voice that had never once proclaimed so openly my love for sexual pleasures.
I want you to know what happened after you left. I was laying down on my bed, my phone still filming my eyes. It felt so surreal that I had a hard time making sense of it. It happened so fast I didn’t realize how aroused it made me.
I put down my phone next to me, letting the revolving chain of suitors continue without either me looking or them seeing me. I was perhaps not ready to expose myself as much as you did, but I wanted to continue feeling observed as I took care of my pressing needs.
Seizing the opportunities that being home alone offered, I started touching myself without any kind of holding back. I turned on my bed, exploring all sorts of positions, following any leads of pleasure until I discovered a new one. I started acting more assertively, humping my pillow and fingering vigorously like I wished you had fucked me, moaning loud enough to be heard outside the apartment. It felt so freeing to finally express my most intimate desires so vocally.
I knew others could listen to me, I hoped they enjoyed it, but I can’t help being disappointed that you never got to hear how much fun I had because of you. That afternoon, I came more times than I am willing to admit in this letter. Let’s just say I continuously played until my sister came back home, about 2 hours after we first started talking. At this point, I felt dehydrated and very sweaty from all the exertion. My legs, ribcage and groin muscles were sore from the repeated tension and stretching, but I felt so deeply relaxed and satisfied that none of this mattered.
Thank you stranger,
Layli
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Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/n3k4sv/confession_4_letter_to_my_omegle_stranger