Touch Shy

The internet lied to me. I had read that it was wet, but underneath it was dry as the Sahara desert. Maybe it was the movement, so I had the bright idea to increase the speed.

- It's still wrong - I turned to the side of the bed talking to myself - maybe more to the left?

The first yawn came, I closed my eyes, it was not much fun. After a few seconds I went back to try again, it couldn't be that hard, could it?

I decided to sit down, after all I had a position like this, and sleep would go away. Not much had changed, I stretched out my arm and took the cell phone from the bedside, opened the front camera and put it down there.

It is not a very pleasant sight I must admit, but it cheered me up because if my friends like it so much it had to be at least as good as coxinha. Or cake, some say it's better than food, which I must say I've never heard such baloney because if even a trip to the amusement park and a good sitcom can't beat the sensation of eating, masturbation can't beat it.

Masturbation.

I think it was the first time I thought of the act using that word. It was also the first time that a 10-letter word embarrassed me.

I put my dress back on, and looked out my window at the street. A few teenagers were drinking beer, few faces were familiar.

The skinny boy from the street above who is always with several friends. The tall girl from down the street that I remember sneaking into one of my birthdays. I think the short girl's name is Kailane? Keilane? I remember it was a pretty name.

It was these people who were in the little round that I exchanged half a dozen words with.

Which is already a lot for me, whose main specialty is not talking.

I hadn't bothered to hide that I was spying, so I wasn't surprised when the pair of supposed Kailane's eyes met mine.

I didn't swerve, Kailane didn't either, before I knew it we were having a staring contest and modesty aside, how great I am at it.

One of the boys I didn't know poked her with the bottle looking for what she was seeing so the staring battle ended.

In case she looked back at my window I had no way of knowing, because I quickly ducked, brutally embarrassed - maybe the girl was explaining at that moment to her friend that she had a crazy person staring at her.

Back in bed, I texted my best friend, and stared at the ceiling without much thought. My thoughts varied mostly about what I would eat the next day.

I also reviewed the last few months, even though I hated it at some point my distraction led to rethinking everything:

What I could have done.

What I should have done.

Who I interacted with, and how I did it.

It's probably like that for everybody, to feel that you haven't done enough.