So here I am again. Cold, lonely, desperately tired.

Somehow the room seems completely different without him. Darker, colder, larger even. As if the walls had been moved out a couple of feet.

The bed that had always been too small, and the cause of many arguments, now seemed far too big. The expanse of sheets and blankets too much to cope with. I lay right in the middle, flat on my back, the blankets pushed down either side of me, like a vaguely defined burial mound on the dark bed.

Oh shit, now I'm thinking about death again. I'll never get to sleep like this. Maybe if I think about when he was still here... I never got near the middle of the bed then. He'd push me aside with that cold butt of his, giggling like a girl, thinking it was so funny. And I'd laugh too, and push him back, but he always won. I didn't mind really.

We both slept naked, and the feel of his butt was always arousing. God we did it a lot. All of it. Tender, gentle lovemaking, his touch sensitive but firm, our mutual caresses binding our souls. And fucking. Wild animal stuff. Frenzied coupling like wanton goats. Quickies almost anywhere, with him worrying whether I managed an orgasm, me frequently hoping I hadn't screamed too loud.

I loved it all. He could get me wet without even being there. I'd be sitting at my desk at work, preparing yet another set of damn papers, and I'd remember how he had licked me the night before, his tongue darting fast between my legs, resting for just the right amount of time, creeping closer like a snake, finally pouncing on me, flicking the tip of it right on the spot, my hips thrusting in the air, my knees pinning his shoulders as I shuddered to a climax, drenched in sweat, my pussy, well that's what he called it, clamped tightly as I convulsed happily. Then I'd need to phone him, and remind him how I had felt. By then my panties were drenched, and my legs shaking. Sometimes I'd go and take care of it in the ladies, and have to try not to scream again. Other times I'd be too busy, and I'd have to stay like that until I got home, and then demand a repeat performance. He never declined. Mind you, neither did I.

You know, just thinking about all that, I'm getting kinda warm now. And a little damp too. I know my fingers aren't as good as his tongue, but still... Oh, that's more than a little damp down there. I wonder if I could put two fingers... Mmmm... that's not bad. Not like his cock, but not bad. His penis wasn't especially huge, but it was always able to work wonders inside me. It was something to do with the speed, or angle or whatever. I never cared how, just that it worked. My fingers aren't doing so bed either, slowly pumping in and out of there. God, that feels really nice. It's all hot and slippery. It's been a while, I suppose. Too long, I realise.