The rain persists with its percussion and occasionally you feel the camper sway a little, as one second the wind leans in and pressures the body, pushing the weight against the springs of the suspension.

And then in the next, it relaxes, releasing its invisible weight, fooling the inertia inherent in the camper’s bulk, and allowing the frame to gently reestablish its grounded center with a slow shimmy that soothes you inside; a rhythmic motion as might mimic the gentle sway of a child’s cot, or garden hammock.

Laying on your side and in your favored fetal form, you very gently raise your knee and allow your thighs to release their caress of one another. You tell yourself, reassuringly, it won’t matter to lay quietly with the trusted, comfortable and comforting feeling of this smooth silicon sculpture nuzzled neatly between your closed thighs.

Gradually you lay the form against the soft cotton of your undies, allowing time for your vulva to affirm how the smooth shape could most comfortably and snugly come to rest.

You look to the window and see the condensation beginning to bloom at the corners of the pane, and you delight in the trails of rainfall that continue their relentless dance against the surfaces.

Lowering your thigh, gently closing over, as carefully you slide your hand away, leaving your warm toned limbs to reunite with the smooth silicon body which now rests and relaxes, thigh-wedged a glove-like cupping.

And there, in the creases, clinging to the curves of your most beautiful intersection, where the perfectly hand-drawn inside-line of your otherwise endless thighs, finally indents, you allow this one small secret to be tenderly smuggled. A stow away from this intemperate storm.

Laying fetal beneath the faux fur blanket, swaddled inside your long black, relaxed pullover, your feet warm within their woolen socks and your cotton panties protecting your dignity, you feel yourself sigh as you sense the smooth silicon stowed and nudging against the intimate swell of your arousal.

The opinion of others has you wrestling with the morality of this moment, and scrambling for guidance. Usually you would have to find a time when your bedroom was secure and the house silent before you would dare to play any such games, solitaire.

And even then you’d be mindful, never fully in the moment, distracted, however irrational, always some nagging semblance of your senses compromised and on guard, just in case the front door were to open, or the phone to ring.

Consciously pausing, you recognize how unusually calm you are, no sign of the concerted effort and labor typically required to reconcile your mind and body and achieve such a relaxed state as you now find yourself in.

There’s no signal, no wifi, there’s no one nearby; no neighbor, no one who might see you or hear you, no one could ever disturb or claim witness to your indulgence.

How unique this moment, when there’s no one knows you’re here, the sky blackened, moodily brewing, blustering with wind and heavy rain.

Your eyes close as you thumb the button between your thighs.