Self-Love during Quarantine

The following story is based loosely on true events, but some details have been altered for the sake of this retelling.

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2020 was supposed to be a great year for me. I was going to finally finish my MA and even go to Greece over the summer.

Then the COVID-19 pandemic happened and trampled over all my plans.

My trip to Greece was cancelled, obviously. In-person classes were cancelled as well. Now everything is online. The only ways I can communicate with my professors are via email and Zoom meetings. My classwork is still due, but now, because of the "stay at home" order, I don't have access to even half the resources I would've had access to otherwise; I can't even go to the university library to access books.

The only upside to any of this, I thought, was that I would be quarantined with my boyfriend in our shared apartment, meaning we'd be able to keep each other company and maybe spend more time having sex. Even that hope got blown away, though, since apparently he's considered an "essential worker," meaning he still has to work, leaving me alone in our apartment for a significant number of hours each day during the week.

I'll admit, it's kind of nice having some alone time in the midst of this pandemic. It's also nice to know that he's still making money, since I know a lot of people have lost their jobs or been furloughed. That doesn't mean I don't miss him sometimes when he's gone, though.

For several weeks towards the beginning of the pandemic, I was so frustrated and worried about everything that I found I couldn't really get aroused. I could sometimes get a little bit aroused, but I was always distracted by my thoughts and I could never seem to get really into it.

Usually I'm the one begging my boyfriend for sex, but, for several weeks at the beginning of the crisis, I just couldn't get in the mood. Whenever he tried to initiate sex, I'd just mutter, "Not now" or "Maybe later tonight." Every night, he would go to bed at the usual time and ask me to come to bed with him, but I would stay up, usually worrying or working on something for one of my classes, and I wouldn't get to bed until early in the morning.

When my boyfriend and I would have sex, I either wouldn't have any orgasm at all, or it would be a weak orgasm. This was very unusual for me, since I normally come very easily. My boyfriend, of course, started to become worried for me, since I wasn't acting like myself.

"I'm just stressed. That's all," I would tell him.

Information about the virus was constantly in the news. I was worried about my parents and how they might fare. I was worried about my schoolwork and my degree. I was worried about everything that was going on. Being stuck in the same small apartment all day was also getting to me.

Then, one day in around late March, I was home alone because my boyfriend was at work. I was trying to work on a paper about conceptions of gender in the Byzantine Empire that I was supposed to be writing for one of my classes. A major part of the paper dealt with Byzantine gender roles as they relate to sexuality.

I was writing about how the Byzantines generally saw women as naturally inclined to lack control—not just over the world around them, but also over their own selves. It was thought that women were constantly filled with sexual desires and that, because women were naturally weak-willed, it was especially difficult for women to resist these sinful urges. This was seen as dangerous, because it was thought that women's lack of self-control posed a serious threat to men's control and, of course, for the Byzantines, men's control was what really mattered most.

I don't know exactly why, but, for some reason, while I was writing about these horribly misogynistic ideas, I started feeling turned on. I think it is because, although I oppose misogyny in all forms, the thought of being sexually "out of control" was very arousing to me. For some reason, I enjoy thinking of myself as a slut and a temptress.

I still had plenty of time to finish writing my paper, so I reached down into my panties and touched my pussy. The sensation of my fingertips against my soft, wet folds made me feel even more aroused. I desperately wanted to play with myself. I laid back in my seat and rubbed both my hands all over my belly and my pubic region, feeling the warm softness of my flesh.

I peeled off my pajama pants, leaving myself sitting there with only my shirt and my panties. With my left hand caressing my left thigh, I began to stimulate myself with my right hand. I positioned my hand so that my palm was stroking my clit while my middle and index fingers were sliding inside my opening. I let out a soft moan, then another.

I pulled off my panties. Then, with my sex exposed, I went back to stroking it, sliding my fingers up and down over my whole opening. It felt so spectacular, like I was finally scratching an itch that had needed scratched for weeks. My whole upper body was writhing at the sensation.

I imagined how a man would feel if he walked in at that moment and saw me, cute little blonde that I was, sitting there at my desk, playing with my little twat. I imagined how aroused he would feel, how the sight of me would so thoroughly undermine his sense of self-control, how he would lust for me.

I moved my hand in clockwise circles, rubbing my entire vulva, churning it, covering it in the wetness that was seeping from within. Then I slid two fingers inside myself and began thrusting in and out rhythmically. I imagined that it was a man's cock inside me that was fucking me and not just my own fingers.

Then I took out my fingers and brought them to my lips so I could taste myself. After I was done tasting myself, I rubbed myself around in circles again. Then I slid two fingers inside myself again. I kept repeating this cycle over and over again until I decided that I needed to move to someplace more comfortable.

I stood up and headed over to the bed, taking off my shirt and my bra along the way. I laid down on the bed with my back propped up slightly with a couple pillows. With my left hand resting on my left breast, I spread my legs and reached down with my right hand to touch my pussy. With the four main fingers of my hand, I began rubbing my clit in clockwise circles.

I couldn't believe how wet I was getting. My pussy was absolutely dripping with natural lubrication. Everything felt so unbelievably smooth and slippery down there, as though it were silk drenched in oil. I kept rubbing myself, faster and faster. I laid back all the way, my left hand moving from my breast to the inside of my left thigh. I let out my first soft moan since lying down, then another, growing more persistent.

My head fell back onto my pillow amidst a tangle of my blonde curls and I found myself lying there, gazing down at my groin with my eyelids barely open and a smile on my face as my fingers worked their swift magic on my clit. They knew exactly what I liked, far better than any man ever could.

My left hand slid back up to my breast and clutched it as my right hand continued its work. My legs were wiggling uncontrollably as I rubbed myself out. My breasts rose and fell with every moan from my half-parted lips. I could feel the softness of the bed beneath me, cushioning my bare flesh as I subtly writhed upon it.

I could feel my heat rising, the slight sweat starting to break out from beneath my skin, as my climax approached. My right hand moved ever more persistently as my left hand clutched my breast ever more tightly. My moans grew loader and more fervent. Beneath my hand, my buttocks were pulsating up and down against the sheets, my legs flailing limply in accordance with them.

Finally, the crushing moment came and I cried out as that hot burst of ecstasy exploded from my loins, spreading throughout my body. My legs, which had been wagging so much, suddenly froze as I felt my top half leap off the bed into the air before immediately being flung back, crashing against the pillows, my head falling back as my buttocks squirmed against the sheets.

I could feel my wetness all over my right hand. It was covered in my juices. I brought it up, smearing my essence all over my belly, my breasts, and my neck. Meanwhile, my left hand journeyed down to feel my precious cunt.

I giggled to myself in satisfaction, thinking about how the Byzantines had so readily believed in imaginary miracles like the so-called "Miracle of the Holy Fire," but they had been so skeptical of very real miracles such as the one I had just experienced—the miracles of the bedchamber.

My right hand was at my mouth now, my pinky finger moving towards my lips. I greeted it, eager to taste myself again. I'm sure that licking up my vaginal juices off my hand probably isn't sanitary and I'm sure that health officials probably wouldn't approve of it, especially in a time like this, but I did it anyways. I wasn't going to let that stuff go to waste. (Besides, it's partly the forbiddenness of these sorts of things that makes them so fun.)

As I did this, I felt as though I had, in my own small way, triumphed over the virus, since I had managed to overcome the concerns that had been distracting me and, for the first time in a while, I had managed to give myself a really good, proper orgasm.