Your husband is out of town and he hasn't fucked you in months. You can't even remember the last time you did something , especially sexually. You pour yourself a glass of wine, slip into something comfortable and put on your favorite . You look out the and realize how much time has passed since you've moved here, since you've been married, since you've been single... You miss it. So, casually, you check . There's no in it, you're just shopping and your husband certainly doesn't act like he cares anyway. But slowly, as you read through each ad, each man wants the same things, sound the same way, act like they're what you're missing out on and they all remind you of him. Selfish, , old, normal. You shut the computer. By now you're drink is finished and you feel tipsy, but in the way that you start feeling frisky. The lights are hazier, but only a little, and the urge to touch your pussy follows every thought you have. You're all you need. You pour yourself another glass and return to the living room. On the couch you sprawl out, stretching your toes and feeling the upholstery on your skin. As you sip, your hand reaches down, trailing past your breasts and into your panties. With wine on your tongue, you slowly massage your clit, nice and slow, being delicate but firm with every motion. You begin to think about what you want, what you really, really want. You think about how fun it was to be younger, to be in college, to be a professional. You think about having a casual hookup, about being fucked like there's no tomorrow and not because you feel like you have to. You remember what cock feels like. How soft it is to hold, and how hard it feels. How sex can last for hours, and how it feels to be held again. You think of the pool boy you had this summer, how firm his body was. How you could always see his erection through his trunks. You think of the way he looked at you as he left, as if something else should happen but nothing ever did. You think about what it'd be like to take him into the tool shed and fuck his brains out on the lawn chair you keep for guests. You think about that big, wanting cock filling your pussy as you lower yourself on it. One hand on your ass, the other holding your head. And then you feel it. You feel him. You cum. You remember where you are. You finish the rest of your wine. You giggle to yourself as the next song comes on. You're eye catches your laptop on the coffee table. Curiosity gets the better of you... You open the laptop. You search again. You find this ad and you debate whether or not you should answer. You should... I wanting real sex.
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