I let them watch

It’s there—the first swell that feels like a wave taller than I am. I climb it and know I can’t ride it down this time. My thighs shake so hard my knees slip a fraction on the floor; the squeak is obscene and makes me laugh, breathless and startled. The sound beyond the glass answers—closer now, unmistakable, a low chorus caught and smothered by thickness. It’s ridiculous that it turns me on so fiercely—strangers, muffled, contained—and yet I feel it cleave me open in the best way. Being seen is a blade; I press myself to it and purr when it doesn’t cut.

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