Salt on my skin

The wind had died down and now there was only the low, buzzing hum of the ship's hull beneath me. I lay there, naked as the shells at the bottom of the sea, and let my fingertips circle over my own stomach. So different, I thought, when it's your own hands mapping every curve. No hasty caresses from a stranger, no performative moans. Just me and the truth of my skin.

My breasts were heavy from the heat, the nipples dark pink like pomegranate seeds. As I took them between my thumb and forefinger, an old image flashed through my mind: Lukas' mouth playing around the same spot while his hand wandered down my thigh back in the park - too briskly, too quickly. I squeezed harder until the image crumbled. No, not today.

My hand slid lower, through the triangle of ash-blonde hair that was damp with sea salt. My fingertips only fleetingly touched the most sensitive spot, enough to send a shiver down my spine. That's exactly how Clara had done it, I suddenly remembered. That summer night on Sylt, when we both staggered back drunk from the beach and she touched me in the dune grass with the patience of a painter. No hurry, no destination - just curiosity that spread through my bones like honey.

I bit my lower lip as two fingers slowly pushed their way inside me. Not like Matteo, who always moaned as if he had to win a competition before I even got warm. No, this time my own rhythm determined the game. Every inch I gave myself was a revolt - against the men who only saw me as a projection, against the women who wanted to make me their muse.

The sun was now burning down on my closed eyelids as I pressed myself deeper into the deckchair. I reached for my own throat with my free hand, feeling my pulse pounding there. That's what I'd done with Elena when we spent days in her Berlin attic apartment just drawing the curtains and turning each other into gods. She called me a “light thief” because I had stolen her shame from her own body.

Suddenly I felt the hull of the ship lean beneath me - a wave or a change of course? The movement made my hips push involuntarily against my own fingers. A groan escaped me, harsher than expected. I held my breath, but the ship had long since regained its balance. Or was it no longer me?

When I opened my eyes, all I could see was the cloudless sky. But somewhere, very close by, there was a soft creaking sound - wood on metal? My gaze shot to the balcony door. Closed. The curtain motionless. Imagination, I told myself as my hand continued to play, now more demanding. Excitement mixed with defiance. Let someone watch! Let him see how little I belonged to him.

A cry shrilled through the air from the deck - a child whining for an ice cream. I laughed quietly to myself as my legs trembled. The memories and the present merged: Lukas' impatient grips, Clara's laughing whisper, “You're so much more than this,” Elena's lips kissing away any self-doubt I had.

As the tip of my tongue slid over my lower lip, I tasted salt - was it from the sea or from myself?