I touch myself like someone’s watching me.

I touch myself like someone’s watching me. There are nights I spread my legs wide under my hijab and leave my heels on. My anklet makes tiny sounds every time my foot moves, like it’s counting my breaths. Horniness crawls up my belly and makes me arch my back without thinking. Sometimes I run my fingers along my slit just enough to feel how soaked I am. I imagine a man standing over me, telling me not to stop. It makes my whole body shake, wanting him closer, wanting his weight pressing me open. My hijab stays on because it makes me feel hidden and dirtier at the same time. I don’t close my legs right away. I like how open I feel, even when no one’s there. I write because I want someone to know how much I need to be touched. If you want me to keep writing about what I do when I am burning, you can support my work.