It's 11:30. Through the open window I can hear the sounds of men . I’m frustrated and irritated.

 I pace the room in my underwear.  It’s hot and the sweat feels sticky on my skin.

In the mirror, a hideous reflection stares back.  This is me, Veronica. My skin is pale, covered in freckles. I used to be slim, but never athletic. My body has always felt alien to me, disproportionate.  Now fat has rolled here and there, but instead of covering the bones it somehow accumulated on my belly and thighs, leaving me flat-chested.

 I turn away from the image, repulsed.

I take a butt plug from the shelf and slide my hand down my panties. It goes in easily with a soft pop . By now, I'm well used to it.

I sit on the chair and bring up a few tabs from my favourites. My weight pushes the plug deeper and for a moment I feel satisfaction. I try to ignore the sticky sweat and tell myself to relax. A moment later my hand is down and I'm rubbing myself, but the voices keep reaching me and the sweat feels gross on my fingers. I cringe with frustration.

I open another tab, shove the plug deeper and try again. Despite my best efforts, I can't bring myself to come. It's depressing. It feels like a painful itch that I can't scratch, like a pimple that won't pop. It's pure, excruciating agony as I thrust several finger inside myself trying to get my body to work. It won't. Infuriated, I push myself up and pace yet again.

I bend over, going through a heap of clothes. The plug stretches me and with grim determination I push away all neat, ordinary things I have.Finally I get my hands on a skirt. It will have to do.  It’s short enough to be lifted up if someone decided to pin me to a wall…. I bite my lip. With shaking hands I put it on and look in the mirror. Am I… am I really going to do this?        

I reach and grab a white shirt. It’s pretty. And proper. My fingers reach and undo the top button. I can feel my heart pounding. Everything feels unreal, blurry. I squeeze my ass and feel the comfort of the plug. I undo the second button.

As I walk out of the apartment, I'm a mess. I look … almost casual, but underneath I'm nude and dripping wet. I walk down the stairs and every step stirs the plug inside me. I'm still sweaty, sticky and deeply frustrated. I step out in the street I start walking forward. The surreal feeling hasn’t left me, and I press forward despite having no plan.

I pass a drunk man leaning on a wall and he barely lifts his eyes. The stench of his breath lingers for a few steps and even as I shudder from repulsion a part of me is still angry that he didn’t turn, he didn’t say anything. As I approach the pub the voices rise again and the dimly lit alley is filled with cigarette fumes.

Three men walk out of the pub and head straight in my direction. One of them looks at me and I can’t help myself. My hand reaches to undo one more button on my shirt. Surely they know. Surely they can see that I have nothing underneath. Now they’re right in front of me; their dirty shirts stained with beer barely cover their large bodies. My eyes fall down to the ground, but I can feel them. They’re close. They pass me by and disappointment rises inside me like an icy wave. Am I that ugly?

 In a fleeting moment a hand reaches out and squeezes my ass. The sensation of the plug flashes vividly then fades away.

In a few brief moments I’m standing in front of the door of the pub and I can feel this ocean of masculinity that flails on the other side, at arm’s length. My hand reaches for the knob and my gut twists inside. Excitement mixed with frustration battle their way through anger, shame and anxiety. I can’t do it. I run away into the back alley, shaking uncontrollably.

 What am I thinking?! All I’d be getting inside is ridicule, shame, humiliation. A crazed, desperate woman, rushing in the pub with a plug up her butt. It’s preposterous. I’m preposterous.

Tears start rolling down my cheeks and I cry out, falling to the ground. The cobbles are hard and cold but I don’t care. My hand rushes down and I masturbate, sobbing. I should have had the courage to go in! Regardless of shame or ridicule, one of the men was bound to get excited, to take me to a backroom, pin me to a wall and fuck me like a whore.

I imagine how his breath would feel in my ear. I imagine his cock deep inside me and my fingers start to accelerate. I can almost anticipate his ejaculation, his warm seed inside me. I imagine how good that would feel. But my excitement is overtaken by yet another wave of self-loathing. I could have gone in.  I could have had that. But I didn’t.

My tears are interrupted by a dark figure approaching. I lift my eyes and realise it’s the drunk man from the street. He is looking at me intently. My skirt is folded up and my hand is deep inside me. My shirt is unbuttoned and my breasts are exposed. I’m practically naked before him.

His drunken mind works on some primitive level and he seems to make a decision. He unzips his pants and pulls out his cock.It is surprisingly erect.

I’m almost shocked but the wave of frustration is still pulsing red hot in me and I know I can’t possibly bear to hate myself any longer. I’ve reached my limit. I can’t. I just can’t.

I get on my knees and open my mouth. He knows what to do next . His hand reaches behind my head and pushes me forward. I don’t resist. I start sucking and let him manipulate me like a puppet, to move me back and forth to his own rhythm and desire. It tastes weird. But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because I don’t have to do anything. I am desired.

Finally someone desires me as a woman, finally someone wants to have me. For the first time my body doesn’t feel alien. It feels warm, and soft, and ready. Now it is not him pushing me forward but me moving on my own free will. It’s an entirely liberating feeling. I can feel him twitching and hardening and I feel proud. I feel I can do whatever I want, I can offer myself and be accepted. He wants me to continue. I’m as certain of that as I am certain that I want it too.

I pull my legs slightly apart and let my hand slide again. This time it’s different. This time it’s not frustrating. This time I can feel my hand as a supplement to the cock in my mouth and it arouses me even further. I touch myself again and again. I can see that he likes it. It’s almost as if it is not me but him that is touching me.

In a moment of pure euphoria I stand up, turn around and slam my hands on the wall. I glance back at him. He is staring at me.

I lift up my skirt. The moment he penetrates me a violent wave goes up my spine and sends my head spinning. My hands grow weak but it doesn’t matter. Now he’s holding me, pushing me to the wall, his hands fumbling with my breasts. I can feel myself like a glove on top of his cock and I lower myself to feel him even deeper. He grunts and pushes me harder. I push back, unable to help myself. He gives in to the pleasure and ejaculates inside me. Sloppily he pulls out and takes a step back. WIthout his support my legs feel weak and can no longer hold me, so I fall.

The man walks away. I am half naked,wet and disoriented in a back alley. But that doesn’t matter. There is only one thing that matters. I no longer hate myself.