My anklet knows when I am wet.

Sometimes I wonder if my anklet knows when I am wet. It slides higher on my leg when my thighs open, like it’s trying to mark me. My hijab stays tight, hiding the way my breath shakes when I am this turned on. Wetness feels like a pulse under my skin, begging for touch. I think about a man watching me, waiting for me to spread my legs wider. My heels stay by the door, like they are waiting for me to decide if I am leaving the house or letting someone in. Sometimes I press my hand between my legs just to feel how soaked I have become without trying. It makes me feel owned even when no one’s here. I write these things because my body wants someone to listen. If you want me to keep writing about the secrets my anklet keeps, you can support my work.