Just Me and My Hands Tonight

I broke up with Mark last week, and it's hit me harder than I thought. He was everything to me for a while, the one who knew my body better than anyone. But now, he’s gone, and there’s no one else around. So here I am tonight, in the quiet of my apartment, with just myself to keep company. I slip out of my clothes until I’m lying on the bed naked, fingers tracing over my skin. It’s been days since I touched myself like this, it feels strange and new at first, but then my body remembers exactly what it wants. My hands move lower, finding that spot inside where pleasure builds up so fast. I stretch out one finger, then another, until my breath is coming in quick little gasps. The room spins a bit as I add more, each touch bringing me closer to the edge. When it finally comes, it’s a rush of heat and release, every muscle clenching tight around my fingers. In the aftermath, lying there sated and alone, I feel a mix of things: sadness for what we lost, but also this weird sense of freedom in not needing anyone else to make me come. It's an odd place to be.