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My hijab hides what my hand seeks. Some nights I keep my hijab on while my hand goes lower, feeling how wet I already am. My anklet moves higher when my thighs open for my fingers. It makes me feel like I am wrapped in secrets above and soaked with wanting below. Sometimes I catch my breath, scared my moans might be heard. I wonder how long I’d hold my moans back if eyes were watching me touch what my hijab keeps hidden. I write because it’s the only way to show how my hand finds places no one else sees.
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