I live in Moscow with my family, and I just turned eighteen. My parents are strict, the kind who say no dating, no boys, and absolutely no sex before marriage. They watch me like hawks, so I’ve never had a boyfriend, never even held hands with a guy. The only time I ever kissed anyone was once with my best friend, just to practice, because I was curious what it felt like. That was it. No one has ever seen me naked except my mom when I was little. All my friends talk about sex , how good it feels, the things they do with their boyfriends. I listen quietly and pretend I understand, but inside I’m burning with curiosity. I want to know what it’s like. I want to feel it for myself. That’s why, one afternoon when my parents thought I was at a study group, I took the metro downtown to an erotic studio I found online. I told myself it was just to ask questions, but deep down I knew I might go further. The place didn’t feel like a casting room at all. It was a spacious apartment with high ceilings, soft natural light coming through big windows, modern furniture, and plants in the corners. There was a comfortable sofa, a coffee table, and cameras set up discreetly so they almost blended in. It felt more like someone’s living room than a studio, which somehow made it less intimidating. The producer was a calm woman who spoke softly, probably to make me less scared. I sat on the sofa, hands folded tight in my lap, barely able to look at her. She asked basic questions: like how is it that I am still a virgin, why I was there. My voice came out so quiet she had to lean in to hear me. I said I was a virgin, that I’d never been with anyone, that I wanted to try this. She nodded like it was normal. Then she asked me to undress. My heart was pounding so hard I thought I might faint. I stood up slowly, fingers shaking as I pulling down my dress, then when I thought that-that was enough she asked me to remove my bra and panties. I kept my eyes on the floor the whole time. I felt the air on my skin, knew the cameras were rolling, knew she was watching. I’ve never felt so exposed in my life. My cheeks were on fire. She had me sit again, then stand and turn slowly so they could film my body from every angle. I stayed quiet, answering only when she asked direct questions. My voice was barely a whisper. She could tell I was nervous; anyone could; but she didn’t push too hard. After the photos, she asked if I was comfortable touching myself on camera. I hesitated for a long time, then nodded. I didn’t know if I could, but I wanted to prove something to myself. I sat back on the sofa, legs apart, and started slowly. At first my hand felt clumsy, like it didn’t belong to me. I was still tense, still shy, but little by little the warmth started building. I closed my eyes so I wouldn’t have to see the producer or the cameras. I focused on the feeling, the way my friends had described it. My breathing got deeper. My fingers moved faster. I don’t know how long it took, but suddenly everything tightened and then released in a rush. The orgasm hit me hard, stronger than anything I’d felt alone in my room. My whole body shook, and I couldn’t hold back my orgasm. When it was over, I opened my eyes. The producer smiled kindly and said I did great. I got dressed quickly, still quiet, but something inside me had shifted. I wasn’t as scared anymore. I knew I would come back. I wanted more. I wanted to finally know what it feels like with someone else. And next time, I wouldn’t be alone.