I Prefer Sleeping Alone – How She Found Herself Masturbating with a Cucumber

She was lying on the bed, ready to fall asleep. Impressions of the day were loose in her head, circling around. She felt a warm pull between her legs. Suddenly, dark thoughts came rushing and the moment ended, but she was determined to dive out of the dark this time. Last night, she missed her orgasm thanks to his lack of beat, but she wasn't mad. She remembered her roommate bought some cucumbers yesterday. She got up, picked the biggest one from the fridge, washed it off. It was the perfect size. Cold, firm cucumber. She wasn't horny. She tried thinking about different lovers, tried to trick herself into feeling that pull again. They didn't do anything for her. She pushed the cucumber in dry. With her right hand, she rubbed her clit. With her left, she was jamming in the cucumber. She was clumsy with her left hand, and she started laughing. If a man fucked her like that, she‘d think he was having a stroke. Pangs of hunger danced in her stomach, and she wondered does her body recognize that the cucumber is actually food. Is there a rule against putting summer cucumbers in your pussy? Amidst all those unrelated thoughts, she felt her orgasm build up like a thunderstorm. She observed it from a distance. Maybe she could put something in her ass as well. The feminism came so far, didn't it? She wondered if her neighbor, Facebook feminist, could see her now, and if she would be proud of her, or she would have prefer if she bought a dildo, proudly proclaiming herself a woman-who-jerks-off. She remembered the first time she had a vaginal orgasm, with a banana. She was so happy to learn that she, too, can cum vaginally. She ate the warm banana, smiling.

Sweat was rolling down her left cheek. Her left hand hurt and refused obedience. With her right, she was moving faster and faster. Scenes from her dreams were passing through her head, towers on the hill, towers on the sea. She started cumming, intensely. The cucumber put a nice pressure on her walls. She took it out with a plop. She looked at it, thinking she never saw a dick this firm. It was sticky. She held it in her right hand, next to her hip. Her left hand was resting on her warm pussy, feeling the heartbeat. She turned around on the bed. She was thinking about her roommate and whether she would like to make a salad tomorrow. She wanted to have a lover who could paint her lying on that bed, with the cucumber resting on the pink sheets. What to do with the cucumber now?

She went out on the terrace, naked, cucumber in hand. Unlike last night, the stars were clear on the sky. They have been watching Cosmos these days, and she tried to apply her newfound knowledge looking at the sky. She wanted to make it more conceptually real, but she couldn't. The stars did not look real to her, neither did the cosmos. She lacked imagination needed to simply believe. Walls of the terrace were covered in dancing light-flowers, and she wondered if she finally started successfully hallucinating. She threw the cucumber in the garden below, gently. It fell under a tree, with a dull sound that comforted her. Her pussy was leaking down her legs, cleaning itself. She felt a certain coldness inside, coldness that the cucumber left behind, a certain warm smell of it, that mixed with the smell of her pussy. It was slightly nauseating, like a salad left on the table for far too long. She went back to bed. Tomorrow, she would tell him she jerked off with a cucumber. She would admit she thought cosmos was a simulation, and she would say, carefully: „I prefer sleeping alone“.

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