Stolen Moments

Stolen Moments

by Ignacio G Rivera

I was 12 years old and it was the first time I had stayed in a hotel room without my mother. She wasn’t very far. She was a few rooms down from where I was sleeping. Me, my mom’s coworker and her 6 year old son were sharing a room on this trip, as we were on one of my mother’s charter-bus trips with about 40 of our friends and neighbors.

My mom and her long-time friend and neighbor had a side hustle. Las Vecinas, or The Neighbors, was a small money-making venture run by these two business-savvy Puerto Ricans. They successfully negotiated with a big-time charter-bus travel agent to get a piece of the action in our neighborhood. They didn’t fill up busses at  capacity, but they did good for themselves. The business was a bonus in our family, because we had plenty of opportunities to go on small trips— Niagara Falls, Atlantic City, and Hershey Park to name a few. This particular trip was different. More buses, more people, a longer ride, and we got to stay in hotels. My mom usually had me close to her to keep a watchful eye. I had very little privacy, and the lack thereof, was correlated with keeping me safe.

Prior to that trip, I had only stayed with my mother, so when she told me I was to bunk with her co-worker and son, I was confused. I thought she was playing a trick on me. Then, I felt shy. I didn’t really know this lady, my mother’s coworker. Surely, not enough to be sharing space with her. Plus, even though I had always wanted some space from my mom, this would be my very first chance to experience it and I was nervous.

The very first night, we had returned from a full day of DisneyLand and everyone seemed to be sleeping but me. It was late. As I laid there in a nearly dark room, I realized I had an opportunity. Thanks to lack of privacy and having to only explore in the shower, I had become skillful  at touching myself quietly. I’d run the water, lay a towel on the floor and touch myself. I’d rub, touch, and explore the crevices in a quick delight. I would have only several  minutes to myself before a  family member would knock on the door. And  that was the extent of my masturbation. I had had to steal  little moments of touch for myself, but that night in that hotel room, I finally had time and privacy.

It was pretty dark and all I could see were two human mounds on the bed to the left of me— one big and the other small. I laid in wait, making sure they were both asleep with a  slight snore and a deep consistent rhythmic breathing. This was my cue that the time had come. I reached my arm under the covers and  pulled down my underwear. I decided not to take them off just in case I had to get up for some reason. I pushed them down to my knees and retracted my hands to cup myself. In that moment, I knew what I wanted—to fully enjoy my touch without fear, shame, and interruptions.

I was touching myself for about an hour, making sure to make periodic checks on the mounds. All of the sudden, something shifted. A ping, a gasp and a moan that I almost let out. I started sweating. My body moved under the covers. It felt  uncontrollable yet I could not stop my hand from touching the  button controlling the thrashing of my body. My hand was moving faster, harder and my breath was taken. My teeth clenched. My head fell back and slightly to the left to check on the hopefully-still-asleep mounds. My chest rose and my head followed. I think I elevated a few inches off the bed that night. My body was frozen solid upright as my fingers continued their dance. My fingertips tap danced on the plump wetness and I sang. It evoked soundless ecstasy that flowed with breath out of my wide-open mouth. When I finally took in air, my upper body collapsed onto the bed. I twitched. What was that? I thought to myself. My racing heartbeat felt on my pussy, on my chest, my head. My fatigued hand instinctively shot from under the covers right to my face—to my nose. I needed to smell the dampness—understand it.  I sniffed at my difference. I couldn’t see the wetness in the darkness but I inhaled the aftermath of pure pleasure on my fingers, my knuckles and my palms. It was musky, strong and invigorating. I had no idea that the wonderful feelings between my legs could feel so much better. I laid there, coming down off this high that I had never felt before. I wanted to know more about it. I wanted to tell my friends and most of all, I wanted to feel it again.

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