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 bad 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.

Sometimes when he knew I wouldn't get there just with his cock, he would gently caress me with his hands, running slowly decreasing circles with his thumb, getting closer all the time, as my anticipation increased. I can do that too, I suppose.

God, It's hot in here. I'll have to throw all these blankets off. That's better anyway. I have good access now. My left hand is still pumping slowly inside me, moving against my rocking hips, thrusting deep inside, and then almost out. My right thumb is applying some direct attention, circling my sensitive clitoris, moist and firm in the cold night air.

My legs are spread apart, and my knees bent as I thrust against my fingers, the pressure on my thumb changing constantly, the pace slowly increasing as I grow more engrossed in the intimate massage.

I recall how he used to gently lick my nipples when I was this close to orgasm, flick them with his tongue, gently squeeze them between his teeth. Sometimes when He was deep inside me, his nipple squeezes would be in time with his thrusts. As his cock impaled me, his teeth would squeeze more tightly, and then as he lifted his weight from me, they would gently release the pressure. Over and over, as his cock moved faster. God, my fingers are moving faster now, as I remember the way it was, and my thumb moves directly on my moist slippery button, increasing the pressure.

My whole body is entranced now, and I couldn't stop if I wanted to. As his hard penis (oh, I mean my fingers) pounds inside me, and his rough slippery tongue (alright, my thumb then) continues to caress me, I can feel my whole body tensing, my attention focusing, straining, and now I can feel the edge. That beautiful point where you know you can come, but haven't yet.

As I reach the edge, I stay for a while, my senses stretching the time out beyond reality, my mind and body totally attentive to my one need, and then push myself over. Screaming and shuddering alone on the bed, I orgasm violently, muscles clenching tight, my heart beating far too fast, covered in sweat, hips still thrusting in mock penetration, all concerns forgotten for the moment.

As the pulses through my body die down, and the strained muscles relax a little, I return my attention to my clitoris, rubbing near but not on it, slowly decreasing the speed, calming my whole body, relaxing mind and soul. Eventually I drift off to sleep, my fingers still deep inside me, my memories sharper than ever, my mind no longer frantic, my heart at peace.