I've been stroking myself for almost two hours. My fingers, hidden in my jeans with one button open, are soaked. I try to contain the little sounds of satisfaction that come from my half-open lips.
No one to the right and left of me in at least two places. And above all, no one behind. I've found an ideal spot in the amphitheater, trying to survive the tedium of these masterfully...deadly lectures. Despite the impressive number of students in my class, most of them fought for the front seats. That's what makes (and allows) my pleasure.
Masturbating out of boredom during class. That's what my first year of medical school is all about, where I have no desire to study. A whim of my parents. Which I gave in to in order to have a year of peace at home.
The monotony and the obligation to sit for hours on end always set my hormones on fire. I'm no longer ashamed of my desire. I exult in this exhibition, this provocation and this rebellion against the system.
A provocation that, for the moment, has gone unnoticed.
Part of me is terrified of being caught in the act and humiliated in front of 200 people. But my guts are boiling at the thought. The mixture of the two creates a perpetual tension that makes the act all the more delicious. Every day, I feel like I'm taking my jeans down another centimetre... How far would I be prepared to go?
Suspense.
The ringing aborted my last little orgasm. Too bad. I put the button back on my jeans and threw my bag over my shoulder, before disappearing into the corridor.
Swallowing my sandwich while watching a few YouTube videos satiates my body a little, but not my mind. I stare blasély at the stunted silhouettes on their course sheets.
I head for the girls' toilets. I push open the door and discover two 3rd-year students staring at themselves in the mirror. I sink into a cubicle and rest my buttocks on the cold frame, sighing. My jeans and thong fall to my ankles.
I observe my thighs, reddened by the perpetual rubbing of the jeans over long hours. I vaguely waxed last night. I don't really care though, I like this unabashed punk look. Pimp my pussy!
I laugh at my little joke. The two girls still haven't left the sink. Damn, those bitches can be chatty.
I start running my fingers over my vulva. It's a bit dry, but it doesn't matter. I like to feel the cold between my thighs. I move back and forth a few times. But the pleasure doesn't come. I can't stand their voices.
I can't get any peace. Damn, at least guys don't spend an hour in front of the mirror after doing their thing. I raise my eyes to the sky and a crazy idea brings a smile to my face.
What if I...? I dare you.
I push open the bathroom door, zipping up my jeans on the way out, under the scornful gaze of the two bitches. I take advantage of a lull in the corridor traffic to enter this forbidden place, with panache and without any embarrassment. Into the men's room.
I can't make out anyone in the immediate vicinity, and forcing my luck, I immediately take refuge in the last stall for some peace and quiet. I sit cross-legged so that no one can see my colorful converse, which would attract too much attention.
I make myself comfortable so as to caress myself quietly. It was definitely a good idea to come here. How exotic!
A man enters the bathroom and relieves himself in the urinal. I wait for him to come out before continuing, as if the sound of my fingers on my clitoris could be heard. A second boy enters and ventures into the stall next to mine.
And...nothing. He's ghosting, just like me. I see boxers and pants appear in my field of vision. He's waiting for his moment of privacy. The first boy leaves.
To my surprise, no disturbing noise follows my neighbor's (relative) solitude. I can see his left ankle trembling nervously. He sighs and seems to breathe deeply as if to calm himself.
I say in my thoughts, amused by the situation. I wait patiently, without a sound, my upper lips tightly closed and my lower lips delicately parted by my fingers.
The young man pulls out his mobile and a few minutes later, I hear the jungle of PornHub quickly muffled by a clumsy lowering of the volume.
I almost burst out laughing, such is the comicality of the situation. With a certain malice, I press my ear against the wall, listening to the faint murmur of a woman who seems to be enjoying herself. A little shiver of excitement seizes me as I hear my neighbor pleasuring himself. Fap fap fap.
I'm enjoying myself simultaneously. But I'm actually more amused than excited. The fear and unease I should be feeling have completely left my mind.
I hear the porn actor visibly cumming on the girl's face, commenting in a very macho tone:
- Ah, you see, all women like that.
A scathing reply escapes my mouth, half-voiced.
- Some maybe, but none like it in their hair.
My neighbor flinches as if he's seen the Devil and nearly drops his smartphone in the toilet. In a trembling, falsely serious voice, he answers louder than I do.
