I Touched Myself While He Slept Next to Me

I Touched Myself While He Slept Next to Me

Part 1: The Cabin

I needed to get away. Just for a couple of days. No messages. No to-do lists. No pretending to be fine.

So I packed my backpack, tied my boots, and left the city behind.

I didn’t tell anyone exactly where I was going—just that I was heading to the mountains for a weekend hike. I’d booked a bed in a remote alpine hut, one with a common sleeping room, warm food, and clean mountain air. Shared space, shared silence. It sounded perfect.

It took me most of the day to hike up, but the air grew cooler with each step and the noise inside me began to quiet. By the time I reached the hut, the sun was low and golden, painting the sky in soft amber streaks.

I checked in, found my bunk—bed number 6 in a row of 10—and set down my things. Everyone else was still outside, gathered on the terrace, watching the sunset with steaming mugs of tea.

I didn’t want to talk. Not yet. I wanted to melt into the space. I wanted to feel invisible.

So I headed to the shower.

The water was lukewarm, but it didn’t matter. I let it wash away the sweat from the climb, the dust, and maybe even a few thoughts I didn’t want to carry anymore. I took my time. Shampooed slowly. Massaged my shoulders. Breathed.

When I stepped out, I wrapped myself in the oversized shirt I always sleep in and some soft shorts. My skin was still slightly damp, and I felt… alive. Awake in a way I hadn’t felt in weeks.

Dinner was simple—soup, bread, and something sweet with apples and cinnamon. I ate slowly, alone, at the corner table. And that’s when I noticed him.

He was sitting by the stove, reading something. A small light flickered beside him, and the way the glow kissed his face made me pause.

He wasn’t looking around. He wasn’t performing for anyone. He was just… still. Calm. Present. Something about that quiet energy pulled me in.

Our eyes didn’t meet. And that was okay.

Later, when I returned to the sleeping room, most of the beds were already occupied. The lights were dimmed, people were tucked into their sleeping bags, whispering their last goodnights.

I found mine again—bed 6.

And he was in bed 5.

Right next to me.

I froze for a moment, surprised. He lay on his side, back facing me. His breathing was slow, rhythmic, and deep. Already asleep, it seemed.

I slipped under the covers carefully, trying not to make a sound. The room was quiet, save for the soft sounds of people shifting in their sleep, the rustling of blankets, and the distant creaking of wood as the hut settled into night.

I lay there, staring at the ceiling, eyes wide open.

I couldn’t sleep.

I tried closing my eyes, turning to one side, then the other, adjusting the pillow, breathing deeper. Nothing worked.

Maybe it was the mountain air. Or the way the room felt warmer than expected. Or maybe it was him. So close. His body giving off just a hint of warmth I could feel through the thin gap between our beds.

I could hear him breathe. The slow rise and fall of his chest.

It made me… aware. Of my own body. Of the way the sheet brushed my thighs. The way my skin still tingled from the shower. The slow ache I hadn’t felt in a while. That empty, electric space just beneath my belly.

I shifted slightly, and my thighs pressed together.

God.

I exhaled quietly.

The space between our beds suddenly felt thinner than it was.

I pulled the blanket tighter around me, hoping it would make me forget the thought forming in the back of my mind. But it didn’t.

I bit my lip.

This wasn’t the plan. I came here to be alone. To rest. To breathe. Not to feel like this.

But I did feel like this.

I turned on my side, away from him, facing the wall. The sheet slid gently between my legs, and the friction made my breath hitch.

I closed my eyes and let my hand slide under my shirt, across my stomach. My skin was warm, soft, waiting.

I paused.

Just one touch, I told myself. Just to release the tension. Just to feel like I’m in control of something—anything.

My hand moved lower, brushing over the waistband of my shorts. Slowly. Lightly.

I let my fingers rest there.

His breathing was steady behind me.

I slid my hand inside. My panties were already damp.

I swallowed hard and kept still. Every movement had to be deliberate. Silent. The room was quiet, but not silent enough to hide anything careless.

I began to circle my clit. Gently. Barely touching.

My breath came slower. Deeper. My body curled in just a little.

My fingers were careful. Teasing. I didn’t want it to end quickly. I just wanted to feel… me. My heat. My rhythm.

Every sound in the room felt louder now—the soft snore from the bunk above. The shuffle of someone turning in their sleep. The distant wind outside brushing against the window.

But mostly, I heard him.

Still asleep. Still breathing deeply.

Still just inches away.

It made it harder to stop.

I closed my eyes tighter and let the pleasure build. Slowly. Quietly. Like waves that kissed the shore but never crashed.

I pressed the heel of my palm down for just a moment and almost gasped—but caught it in my throat. I couldn’t let anything escape.

It was maddening, this quiet lust. It made everything sharper. More intense.

The tip of one finger slid lower, dipping into my wetness, then rising back to circle again. The tease drove me wild.

And yet I didn’t rush.

I was terrified someone might wake. That he might turn over and see me.

And that fear?

It only made it worse.

Or better.

I kept going.

My hips moved just enough to meet my hand. Slow, steady pulses.

The coil inside me tightened.

Still quiet. Still calm.

Until I couldn’t hold it.

My body tensed, then trembled.

The orgasm rolled through me like thunder in the distance—deep, slow, quiet—but it left my whole body shaking.

I stayed still. Frozen. Every muscle alert. Listening.

No one stirred.

Not even him.

I exhaled, finally.

My fingers slipped out and rested against my thigh. My skin was warm. My heart thumped slowly, but steady now.

I opened my eyes and stared at the wood-paneled wall in front of me.

It was dark. Quiet. Peaceful.

I’d just done something I hadn’t done in a long time—not like that. Not so raw. Not so close to being seen.

I felt… alive.

I wiped my hand gently on the sheet, pulled the blanket higher, and finally let myself relax into the pillow.

And just before I drifted off…

I thought I heard him move.