Caught By My Roommate

This happened about ten years ago, when I was in my first year of university. I was moving away from home for the first time, traveling from my quiet hometown of Kochi to a massive college campus in Bangalore, where I knew absolutely no one. I was planning to major in specialized design, something which wasn't offered back at home, and following my dreams meant leaving my comfort zone. Back then, I was a nerdy young woman just growing into self-confidence after my highly unpopular school days.

The best way to describe me would be "unremarkable", or so I thought back then. I had the usual teenage interests and shopped at the same commercial street stores as everyone else. I had a face and body that were completely average—I was never the prettiest girl in the class, but I was also never really unattractive either. I had shoulder-length thick black hair that I always kept tied back in a ponytail, glasses, a medium build with average height and weight, and decent boobs and curves. My eventual husband later told me I could be the poster child for "the girl next door", though that was never how I thought of myself at the time.

When I was first heading off to college, people used to ask me if I was scared, nervous, excited, whatever—and I always said I was incredibly excited and wasn't nervous at all. That wasn't true. In truth I was very nervous, but not for the usual academic reasons. I had always been a good student, so the difficult classes didn't scare me. I always made friends easily, so that didn't scare me either. What truly scared me was that I didn't know how I would be able to masturbate when I shared a small room with a roommate.

Ever since my first period around age 12, I had masturbated almost every single night before falling asleep (the odd night when I was too tired or something I might not), and it had gotten to the point where I literally couldn't sleep without doing it. It was my strict nightly routine: I would climb into bed, my mind would start to wander, and within five minutes I would be tingly and wet and start touching myself. I had never had a boyfriend at the time, and I also was never very adventurous. The most random place I had ever masturbated was in the bathroom shower, so I wasn't planning to do anything weird. I was just hoping that things would somehow work themselves out and I would have some privacy in my room.

When I arrived in the Bangalore women's hostel for the first time, I surveyed the room. It was pretty much what I expected—two small beds only about eight feet apart in one room, with two study desks as well. I met my roommate as well, but I wasn't too happy about the person the university had assigned me. The woman, Kinjal, was from a very wealthy diamond merchant family in Surat, and she spoke virtually no English or Malayalam, only Gujarati and some very heavily accented, broken Hindi. So much for becoming fast friends.

She seemed nice enough, was tall for an Indian woman and incredibly thin, though not too much so, and was reasonably good-looking. But it was almost impossible to talk to her, and she didn't seem to have much interest in getting to know me anyway, so we pretty much ignored each other from day one. I did all the things that you'd expect at first-year orientation at a university—got drunk a few times, met some new people, went to introductory classes—but Kinjal did none of that. I would soon discover she had a fixed pattern.

She never went to class. I got the impression she was deeply homesick, since she would sleep during the day and stay awake all night lying in bed, talking with her friends and her boyfriend back in Gujarat on her laptop. During the first week, things pretty much took care of themselves—I was too exhausted most nights to masturbate and just fell asleep; I didn't have the privacy anyway.

But as things settled into a routine, it became sheer torture. With Kinjal wide awake while I was trying to sleep, it meant I didn't have any chances to touch myself before bed like normal, and since she never went to class, I didn't have any alone time in the hostel room either. I also wasn't comfortable doing it while she slept because it was still broad daylight, and she was a light enough sleeper that I frequently woke her up accidentally in spite of trying to be as quiet as a mouse around the room. Every night was the exact same—I went to bed around midnight, got unbelievably horny, and had to try to ignore it and force myself to fall asleep.

Most nights I tossed and turned for one to three hours before finally sleeping, and the delicious tingling between my legs was nearly impossible to ignore. On occasion I would give in and gently rub myself a little bit while moving as little as possible, but I couldn't orgasm without more direct pressure and it only served to make me drastically more frustrated. I checked out my other options, but they were severely limited. The hostel bathrooms were gross, and had very little privacy, so they were entirely out.

The showers were even worse; they had more privacy, but because the hostel block was old and had originally been a boys' dormitory back in the day, there was only one common shower room per floor. The stalls were individually enclosed and there were never any worries about voyeurs or anything because the stalls were only open a crack at the top and bottom to let the steam escape, but I still was not willing to masturbate in a room where someone could walk in at any moment, hear the echoing water, and hear me panting.

And so the first month at the university passed. For some reason I still remember that I only managed to masturbate three times in the entire month. Twice I did it in the room on the rare occasions that Kinjal left the room to get food and I knew she wouldn't be back right away, and both times were barely pleasurable. I essentially ripped my pajama bottoms off as soon as the wooden door closed behind her and aggressively attacked my clit. I usually like to take my sweet time and touch my breasts, stroke my inner thighs, rub slowly and carefully, and bring myself to the brink multiple times before finally allowing myself to orgasm.

But these times I was way too horny to wait. Both times probably lasted less than five minutes total, and were much more about desperate relief than actual pleasure. The third time I masturbated was in a wooden study carrel in a quiet, dusty corner of the university library. For some reason, I was torturing myself by reading an erotic blog on my phone about men's hidden sexual fantasies.

Reading all those explicit stories about men masturbating and thinking about sex turned me on way too much to think clearly, and I wound up rubbing myself frantically through my jeans under the desk until I orgasmed. I was deeply ashamed afterwards at not being able to control myself and doing something completely out of character for me, but at the same time, I had a bit of precious relief for another couple of days.

My first year of university was rapidly turning into a nightmare. My hyperactive sex drive was ruining my concentration and studies, and my grades were way down from what I was used to back home. I couldn't concentrate in class or while I was doing assignments, since I was always thinking about sex. I even had to start wearing panty-liners so I wouldn't soak through my cotton underwear and have to be cold, wet, and uncomfortable all day long. Anything could set me off—having guys brush against my nipples in crowded college hallways, hearing girls talking about their boyfriends in the ladies' room, brushing the thick seam of my jeans against my clit while sitting down on a bus.

I was wandering around the campus in a constant horny daze, and I had no possible outlet for relief. One night in early October, I somehow managed to fall asleep again without orgasming. Usually I'm a very heavy sleeper and I only rarely don't manage to sleep straight through the night, but for some unknown reason on this night I woke up around 3 AM. Once I got my bearings in the dark, I heard a sound coming from Kinjal's bed.

It was nothing unusual at first, since she was usually typing on her laptop all night long—but in this case, I heard an unmistakable, repetitive squishy sound I knew all too well. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room, I looked over and saw that Kinjal was lying in bed under her thick blanket with her legs spread wide and her knees up in the air, making a distinct tent shape. Her face was barely visible in the soft glow of the streetlamp outside, but it was contorted in deep pleasure, and there was obvious, rhythmic movement under the covers. She was masturbating!

I've never been attracted to women, but in my easily excitable, deprived state, I was instantly soaking wet between my legs. My vagina pulsed angrily with long-unsatisfied lust. I knew I had to masturbate right then, but at the same time, I didn't want to alert Kinjal that I was awake, or make things unbearably weird between us. Plus, just knowing she was doing it was turning me on, and I didn't want to surprise her and have the secret show end! I decided to rub really slowly and carefully, and I eased my right hand down beneath my covers and between my legs.

I was already soaked. I collected some wetness on my fingertips and started circling my clit really slowly and gently with my right middle finger, feeling it swell instantly to my touch. The teasing touches worked way too well, though; even though I was going agonizingly slowly, my orgasm snuck up on me in the absolute fastest time I had ever orgasmed before—it was literally less than a minute. Because I wasn't expecting it to hit so hard, I let out a loud, unstifled "Oh!" and a heavy moan when I came.

My legs buckled together and my whole body shook violently against the mattress. It wasn't really relief, since it was a short one and I was still incredibly horny afterwards and knew I was going to have to keep going. But when my body finally finished convulsing, I opened my eyes to find Kinjal sitting bolt upright in bed, with the bedsheet pulled up tight around her neck to cover herself up, and staring dead at me.

I had never been caught masturbating before, but I was only a little bit embarrassed because I knew that she had just been doing the exact same thing. As I sat up myself, I realized that her clothes were piled up in a messy heap on the floor beside her bed. She was obviously completely naked under the thin sheet. (I had just put a hand down my pajama bottoms, so I was still decent). Because we still hadn't really learned to communicate, I had no idea what to say or do, so we just stared at each other in the semi-darkness for what felt like an absolute eternity.

My heart was pounding in my throat and my clit was still pulsating fiercely with anticipation. Finally, she made a move—she reached over, turned on her bedside study lamp, and slowly lowered the sheet, deliberately exposing her small breasts to me. In the soft, warm light I could see her face and chest flushed deep red with the female sex flush (I get it really bad too), and her tiny dark nipples were erect and incredibly pointy.

She was looking at me expectantly, hesitantly, and the raw look on her face let me know she was still extremely aroused. I knew it was my turn to make a move, and while I still had heavily mixed feelings about the idea of doing anything sexual with another woman, I was far, far too horny to care about social norms. I carefully unbuttoned my pajama top and exposed my own medium-sized breasts to her gaze. I looked down at myself and realized I was in the exact same flushed, heated state, and my own nipples were standing at rigid attention.

We still hadn't spoken a single word to each other, but as I watched, Kinjal moved her right hand back under her covers and started moving it slowly and repetitively while staring intensely at my boobs. Oh my God... I decided to make the next move, and so I threw my heavy covers completely down to the end of the bed. I peeled off my pajama bottoms and cotton panties and leaned back against the cool wall with my legs opened wide, exposing my center to her, but not touching myself just yet. I was still drenched.

Her dark eyes immediately darted down and started staring hungrily between my legs. As I watched her, she moved her own sheets entirely away, exposing two fingers working slowly in wet, sloppy circles on her clit. She had a thick, full bush of dark pubic hair compared with my neat trim, and I could clearly see it matted and shining with wetness in places. The heavy sexual tension in the small room was unbearable.

We both abandoned all remaining caution and started openly masturbating while staring right at each other. She lay back against her wall, and I watched and noticed her technique was slightly different from mine (I had never seen anyone else masturbate before, so I had no way to compare). She used her middle and ring fingers to aggressively rub circles and up and down on her clit, while I used three fingers in slow circles on mine, with my middle finger pressed right on my hood.

I finally was able to have the desperate masturbation session I had been craving for over a month, completely going to town on myself. I touched my breasts, tweaking and lightly pinching my nipples, applying deep pressure inside on my G-spot, and rubbing my slick clit as it throbbed and cried out for more, more, more. I completely lost count of how many orgasms I had. I usually have two or three in a normal session, but this time was probably well over ten since I was so unbelievably aroused.

Across the room, Kinjal obviously came hard at least twice, moaning loudly and muttering breathlessly in Gujarati as her slender body convulsed and shook violently against the mattress. When it was finally over, we still didn't really talk; we just quietly put our pajamas back on. I turned over and went to sleep as she pulled her glowing laptop back out. In the morning when I got up for class she was fast asleep, and I worried all day long on campus about whether or not things would be incredibly weird between us for the rest of the school year.

When I got back to the hostel room around four o'clock, she was awake and sitting on her bed, waiting for me. Her English still wasn't great, but with a lot of hand gestures and heavy use of the Google Translate app on our phones, we were able to really communicate properly for the very first time. She explained her entire background to me.

She was the middle child and only daughter of a wealthy industrialist and a traditional homemaker, and was enrolled in this Bangalore university at her powerful father's strict insistence. She didn't want to be in the South, didn't even actually want to be in college, but was doing it so as not to dishonor her family's wishes. She knew she was going to fail her management courses, but was okay with that since she had fought so long and hard with her father over even coming here in the first place.

I was also able to discover that she was incredibly homesick and didn't know how she was going to survive a year over here without really speaking the local languages or mixing with the crowd. She had a serious boyfriend and a lot of close friends back home in Surat that she missed terribly. We also discovered that we both had very high sex drives and masturbated a fair bit, and that she had been doing it late at night while I was supposedly asleep ever since we moved in together.

Video calling and late-night chatting were her lifeline, and she was spending a lot of time talking and occasionally having cybersex with her boyfriend back home at night to feel close to him. I told her about my own background and my daily sexual needs; I typed out that I was straight, but I was totally okay with what had happened the previous night, and I genuinely hoped that things wouldn't be weird between us going forward.

She typed back that she was straight as well but had really, really enjoyed the previous night's intense fun. I had too. We left it at the mutual understanding that we didn't want anything physical to happen between us, but we both had our undeniable sexual needs, and we were completely free to take care of them in each other's presence whenever the urge arose. We lived together in that small room until April and never really became close, emotionally bonded friends, but we were at least very cordial and comfortable after that night.

I went back to happily masturbating almost every single night before bed. Sometimes Kinjal would join in from her bed, sometimes she'd just quietly watch me, and sometimes she would ignore me completely and look at her laptop. I probably caught her a dozen times or more over the next several months as well, and it was the exact same story. Sometimes I would eagerly join in, sometimes I would watch her touch herself, and sometimes I would just roll over and go back to sleep.

As a result of my burning needs being met, my focus returned, my grades went back up, and I wound up finishing the year very well, eventually earning my design degree. Kinjal eventually dropped out and went back to Gujarat, and we never kept in touch. I never heard from her again. I'm now happily married, have children, and a good job in my field. I have never told anyone about my first-year hostel escapades, not even my husband. But I still need to orgasm every night before bed, and the odd times that my husband isn't home to help get me off, I still relive my wild experiences with my Gujarati roommate as I rub myself, and wonder if she ever does the same.