For the first time in months I am traveling on my own. After a hot day in Rome I chatted for a while with two of my roommates in the hostel, an Irish couple leaving early in the morning. They downed some sleeping pills and left me to scroll through my phone on the next bed over. An hour or maybe more of wasting time and the door buzzes presenting our final roommate. It is about midnight and due to the darkness I can't see her very well. However, the silhouette of her body clearly betrays her petite stature and shoulder-length hair, leaving much else to the imagination.
I remain motionless as she steps onto the edge of my bed, reaching for something on hers. With most of her form hidden by the bunk bed, including her watchful eyes, I feel free to gaze at her smooth, toned legs, flexing their muscles as she stands on the tips of her toes. They lead upwards to frizzly jeans shorts, ending just below her crotch.
She hops down with a bag of toiletries in one hand, some loose clothing in the other, and heads for the shower. After closing the door I hear her outfit drop to the floor, followed by the sound of rushing water. Inadvertently I start to imagine what she might look like under that hot shower, washing the sweat from a tiring day away and rubbing soap over her youthful skin. How I would run both my hands over her body, carefully exploring all the intimate spots she is now routinely washing, perhaps even bored at their familiarity.
With a cloud of steam she exits the shared bathroom, lit from behind, and I can see the tips of her nipples poking the fabric of her pajamas. The air-conditioned room is way too cold, but as often happens, none of the buttons seem responsive, so I couldn't turn it off when I arrived. Now I am grateful for the stubborn insistence of the machine to cool the room, although she quickly climbs atop her bed and hides under the warm blankets.
I return to my phone, a habit I really should get rid of, but one that is so easy to fall into again and again. Not ten minutes later I realize with a jolt that the bed is subtly shaking. Immediately my heartbeat increases and blood flows down, as I recognise the rhythm of a young woman pleasuring herself. Perfectly attuned to my surroundings I feel the vibration of her hand with all my body, but when I take off my headphones to listen more carefully I must have made a sound, because as suddenly as the fingering started, it now stops.
I remain as still as I can manage. Clearly she is needy and impatient, because after a couple of slow breaths I feel the bed start to vibrate again. With my eyes now used to the dark I can see the changing light on the ceiling, coming from the screen of her phone. My imagination runs wild as it tries to fill in the gaps. What might she be watching while she chases her pleasure? I picture her lying on her side, with her hand between her thighs, and a range of pornography on her phone. Perhaps something intimate and passionate, or maybe more rough and dominating. She could be watching a video of herself with a previous partner, or one made by a hidden camera filming an unsuspecting couple.
Foolishly I frighten her when I turn over on my mattress, and she stops once more. Fired up by my excitement and suffering from a lack of blood in my brain I push my left foot against the bedpost, trying to make it jiggle slightly. Like starting a broken car with jumping cables I notice the results of my work as she returns to rubbing her clit. With this minute establishment of contact I try another tactic. Softly I tap the wood of the bunk bed three times. After a short pause she taps the bed three times as well.