The Masturbational

There's a couple women that I periodically masturbate with on webcam, and it's become a strange, ritualistic form of intimacy that's more satisfying than one-night stands but less complicated than an actual relationship. It usually starts with a late-night text, a simple "you on?" from one of them, and then I'm logging in, the familiar glow of my screen illuminating my bedroom in the dark. We don't talk much at first; it's a shared, silent understanding as we watch each other undress and begin to touch ourselves. The real thrill is in the eye contact, in seeing the exact moment their breathing hitches or their eyes roll back because of something they're doing to themselves, knowing I'm doing the same on my end. We'll whisper dirty instructions to each other, telling one another exactly how to rub or stroke, our faces flushed and our bodies moving in a synchronized rhythm of mutual, digital pleasure. When we finish, it's with a shared, breathless release, and then we might just lie there for a few minutes, watching each other come down before we say a quick goodbye and log off, leaving me alone but strangely connected, the ghost of their pleasure still lingering on my screen.