Masturbation Daydream by the Wood Stove With Geena

It began with a quiet evening and a house that finally belonged to me. I had spent weeks buried in work, and my body felt like a held breath. When I lit a candle and poured a glass of wine, I knew exactly what I needed, a few hours that were only mine.

I settled onto the bed in a soft silk robe, letting the cool fabric slide off my shoulders. For a long while I simply listened to my own breathing and let my hands wander, slow and curious, over my neck, my ribs, my thighs. There was no rush and nobody to impress. Every touch was a decision, and I took my time making each one.

As the warmth built, I stopped holding back. My fingers found their rhythm, teasing, pausing, then returning with slightly more pressure each time. I watched the candle flicker on the ceiling and felt the tension I had carried all week begin to melt. A soft sound escaped me, then another, and I did not try to hide them.

When the wave finally broke, it rolled through me completely, leaving me trembling and smiling at the ceiling. I lay there for a long time, heart racing, feeling lighter than I had in months.

That is how I got here, to a habit of taking pleasure seriously and without apology. Now I treat nights like this as a promise to myself, and every time I keep it, I feel more like me.