Across town, I'm lounging on my balcony, sipping a disgustingly healthy green smoothie and watching the sunset paint the city skyline. My name's Diana Martins yes, that Diana Martins who towers over most at five-foot-eleven. I make no apologies for it.
I set down my drink and stretch, my long legs crossing over the ottoman, puting on a flashy dress which I wear whenever I want to make an entrance. My mother calls me "intimidating," but I prefer "commanding." Being tall has its perks, especially when you're browsing the top shelves at bookstores or trying to catch a bartender's attention. Though I have curly hair that refuses to be tamed, you might as well own it.
Now, let's talk about my interests. I'm a proud lesbian, and I have a penchant for exploring my own body. There's something liberating about taking control of my pleasure, whether it's with my trusty vibrator or my own hands. I love the thrill of it, the way it makes me feel alive and in tune with myself.
So, here I am, a tall, confident woman who knows what she wants and isn't afraid to go after it. And right now, what I want is to indulge in a little self-love, to embrace my desires unapologetically.
Let's see where this night takes me...
I head inside, sliding the balcony door shut behind me. The apartment is quiet just how I like it on these nights. My roommate's away for the weekend, which means I have the place to myself. Perfect timing. No distractions, no interruptions, just pure, unfiltered pleasure.
I dim the overhead lights until they cast a warm, golden glow across my carefully curated space. The shelves are lined with feminist literature, art prints featuring women's bodies in all their glory, and my collection of scented candles. I retrieve three sandalwood-scented candles from the drawer of my nightstand, arranging them around the room. The sweet, earthy aroma fills the air as I light them, watching the flames dance and flicker, sending soft shadows playing across the walls.
This is my sanctuary.
With the ambiance set, I take a moment to breathe it all in. The world outside fades away, and I feel a sense of freedom wash over me. I slip into something more comfortable a soft, lacy robe that hugs my curves just right. It's a reminder of my femininity, of the power I hold over my own pleasure.
I walk over to my bed, the sheets cool against my skin as I sit down. My heart races with anticipation. I can already feel the familiar heat pooling in my core, a reminder of the night ahead. I reach for my vibrator, the sleek device glinting in the candlelight, and I can't help but smile. Tonight, I'm going to explore every inch of my body, savoring the sensations and letting go of any inhibitions.
As I lay back on the bed, I close my eyes and let my hands roam over my body, feeling the soft fabric of my robe against my skin. I'm ready to embrace the night, to indulge in the pleasure that awaits me.
I untie the sash of my robe slowly, letting the silky material fall open. The air kisses my exposed skin, raising goosebumps along my arms and breasts. This moment belongs to me alone no expectations, no performance. Just pure authenticity.
My fingers trail down my neck, lingering at my collarbone before dipping lower. I trace lazy circles around my breast, thumb circling my nipple until it hardens beneath my touch. A soft moan escapes my lips. I've learned exactly how I like to be touched firm enough to send shivers down my spine, but gentle enough to savor the sensations.
Each brush of my fingertips sends tiny sparks of pleasure radiating through me. I take my time, exploring the landscape of my body as if discovering it anew.
"This is for me," I whisper to myself, embracing the moment fully. I let my other hand wander down my stomach, feeling the warmth of my skin as I inch closer to where I crave the most attention. My breath quickens, and I can feel the heat pooling in my core, urging me to continue.
With each movement, I lose myself deeper in the pleasure, letting go of any lingering thoughts or worries.
Just when I was about to ascend into that blissful, cloud-ten space, a sudden, sharp knock shattered the silence. Knock. Knock. Knock.
My eyes flew open. A frustrated groan lodged in my throat. Who? Why? Why this hour, of all hours?
The moment was gone, the spell broken, leaving behind a throbbing, impatient ache. I cinched the sash of my robe with a sharp tug, the silk suddenly feeling less like an embrace and more like a flimsy barrier. Padding to the door, I peered through the peephole.
Racheal. Of course.
I pulled the door open, the heat of my interrupted pleasure undoubtedly flashing in my eyes. "Rach, now is really not"
She didn't let me finish. In a whirlwind of manic energy, she yanked the door wider and bustled past me, invading my sanctuary. The scent of her cherry blossom perfume clashed violently with my calming sandalwood.
"Girl, what is wrong with you?" she demanded, her voice an overly too high. "Why aren't you taking my calls?" Her eyes darted around my room, scanning the dim, candlelit space, the rumpled sheets, my discarded smoothie glass. "Don't you dare tell me you were on 'Do Not Disturb,'"she said, pointing a finger at me, "because I would actually kill you. I've been calling for twenty minutes!"
She was looking at me, then past me, as if expecting to find someone hiding in the shadows of my walk-in closet.
I crossed my arms, my height allowing me to look down at her slightly, a stance that usually made people back off. Racheal, however, was immune. "I was... occupied," I said, my voice a low, controlled contrast to her frenzy. "It's called having a private evening. A concept you seem to be violently opposed to."
"But it's an emergency!" she wailed, finally stopping her frantic inspection to focus on me. She hugged her purse to her chest like a life preserver.
I leaned against the doorframe, the cool wood a stark contrast to the warmth still humming under my skin. I raised a single eyebrow, the picture of skeptical calm. "Define 'emergency.' Did your favorite vintage store close permanently? Did they run out of oat milk at the café?"
"Worse!" she breathed, her eyes wide with genuine distress. "It's Mark."
I sighed, the last remnants of my sensual mood evaporating. "What did the walking red flag do now?"
"He just texted me. He's in the lobby. He says he 'needs to talk' and he 'can't live without me.' Diana, he's got a boombox."
I stared at her, processing this. "A boombox. Like, from the 1980s?"
"Yes! He's holding it over his head, and I think he's about to play 'In Your Eyes' like some tragic John Cusack wannabe!" She collapsed onto the edge of my bed, narrowly missing my vibrator, which I subtly nudged under a pillow with a quick finger. "What do I do? I can't go down there! It's so... public. And cringe."
I looked at my friend truly panicked, her evening ruined, and in the process, she had expertly torpedoed mine. The candles still flickered, the room still smelled divine, and my body was still very much asking for the finale it had been promised.
But this was Rachel. And commanding women don't just command their own pleasure they sometimes have to command a crisis.
A slow, wicked smile spread across my face. "Okay. Here's what we're going to do." I pushed off the doorframe, my full height straightening, the robe flowing around me. "You are not going down there."
"Then what? He'll just stay there!"
"Oh, he won't stay for long," I said, walking to my balcony door and sliding it open. The sounds of the city drifted in. "I'm going down. And I'm going to give Mark a piece of my mind he won't soon forget."
Racheal's jaw dropped. "In your robe?"
I glanced down at the lacy fabric. "Especially in my robe. It adds to the effect. Now, stay here. Don't touch my candles. And do not, under any circumstances, answer the door for anyone else."
Before she could protest further, I swept out of my apartment, the silk robe trailing behind me like a banner. The frustration of my interrupted evening was now channeled into a new, far more entertaining purpose. The night, it seemed, was taking me somewhere else entirely. And honestly, confronting a man with a boombox while looking like a vengeful goddess sounded like a pretty powerful kind of pleasure, too.