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Who needed the bastard? Who needed any of them? The son of a bitch wants me to fuck me at a moments notice, but when I need him, where is he? Yeah, right there, watching David Letterman or Jay Leno. Watching football on a Sunday afternoon or a Monday night, and now, damn it, on Thursdays. He's watching something any night of the week, anytime of the year. Baseball, basketball, even goddamn ice hockey, which he doesn't know a thing about. "Honey, are you coming to bed?" "Right after the top ten list," he said without looking up. I'm standing there, still wearing my pearl necklace, still wearing my yellow silk blouse, but it's open all the way down the front now. No bra, no skirt, no panties. Just black stockings just over the knees. My pussy bush so visible. If he's only look up. Damn, is he dead. "Honey?" "What?" He glanced at me. He finally fucking glanced at me. He even held the look for a while, but he looked back at the screen and continued listening to the dumb jokes while he ignored me. Fuck him, fuck it all. I've got me. My lover of last resort, my best lover. I went into the bedroom and looked at myself in the mirror. Maybe it's my breasts, maybe they're not big enough for him. But, damn, can't he see the nipples. They are so fucking hard. He's got to know what that means. My face, I'm pretty. Some men think I'm beautiful, gorgeous. Most men think I'm at least attractive. My lips are sensuous. I mean he knows what they can do, and he knows about the tongue. Even the way my throat can drive him wild when it grabs on to the head of his cock. I brought my fingers up the front of my body, stroking them through the middle, then over my breast. I gently touched the nipple. Oh, it was so deliciously sensitive. I looked into own my own eyes the entire time as if I were another person. My tongue moved over my lips now, wanting that tongue on my tongue, but satisfied that it was just the sensitive touch of my tongue against my own lips. It was me, making love to me, my lover. I glanced into the mirror and looked behind me. In the living room, his eyes were still locked on the goddamn TV set. Also in the mirror, I saw our bed, fluffy white pillows, white cotton under sheets, but with silk cover sheets. I have no idea how I ever got the bastard to sleep on silk sheets. Oh yeah, I remember. I convinced him they were warm once your body heat kicked in. In those early days, the bastard had so much body heat he drove me insane. Not like now. Now he was as cold as a rock. I turned my back to the mirror and looked at my own hard ass. He had fucked it only once, and drove me screaming first in pain then in magnificent ecstasy. I loved it, I loved it, I wanted it again and again and again and again, and I told him so. But he just said it was too messy and we never did it again. I looked at the bed. I loved that bed, and I loved making love in it. Yes. In our early days, we made love two or three times a night. Now I was lucky if it if was once or twice a week. I sat on the edge of the bed and stoked my body. Oh, I was so keyed, I was so ready! "Honey?" I called. "Just a little while." I sighed, disappointed, but my disappointment turned to anger. Fuck him, I'll fuck me, I thought and I lay back on the pillows. Oh, I am such a lovely lady, such a horny bitch. I put four into my mouth and curled them into a tube as if they were a cock. I sucked and I licked, but it wasn't the same. I eased my fingers away from my lips, and down the front of my body and over my breast. I squeezed my nipple with all four fingers and my thumb. It felt so good, but that was not the heart of my pleasure. The heart was farther down, between my legs and inside my body. I dragged my fingers away from my beast, over my stomach. My nails trailing down through my pubic hairs. Then I turned my hand and I tickled my pubic bush, teasing myself. At the instant my middle finger touched the crack, my pussy blossomed like a flower in stop-action photography. My middle fingers stroked my clit. Oh, yes. My clit. Oh, God yes. Gentle, easy strokes. My juices oozed, then they poured, dripping down to the sheets. Pleasure rippled, not just through my pussy, but through my ass and up my spine. Oh, goddamn that felt good! It was me loving me. Not by him, not by them, not by anybody--just me. The pleasure at my pussy rippled up my spine and affected my brain. My head went numb with the pleasure of me loving me, and I was loving it. Me, my best lover, me. I would never leave me. I would always be here for me. Oh, yesssss. .
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