growled back at Clive when he tried to sneak a shrimp. He flounced to the corner and glared at me from under a chair.
I watched Barefoot Contessa, which usual y cheered me up. Tonight she made French onion soup and took it to the beach for lunch with her
husband, Jeffrey. Normal y watching the two of them made me al warm and fuzzy inside. They were so cute. Tonight they made me nauseous. I
wanted to be sitting on the beach in South Hampton, wrapped in a blanket and eating soup with Jeffrey. Wel , not Jeffrey per se, but a Jeffrey
equivalent. My own Jeffrey.
Fucking Jeffrey. Fucking Barefoot Contessa. Fucking lonely takeout.
When it was late enough that I could justify going to bed and putting this terrible day behind me, I dragged my sad-sack self back to my
bedroom. I went to get my pjs, and realized I hadn’t done any laundry. Dammit. I dug around in my jammies drawer, looking for something, anything.
I had plenty of sexy little numbers, from back in the day when O and I were on the same page.
I grumbled and fumed and final y pul ed out a pink baby dol nightie. It was fril y and sweet, and while I used to love to sleep in beautiful lingerie, I
currently hated it. It was a physical reminder of my missing O. Although, it had been a while since I’d attempted to contact her. Maybe tonight would
be the night. I was certainly tense. No one could use the release more than me.
I shooshed Clive out and closed the door. No one needed to see this.
I turned on some INXS, since tonight I needed al the help I could get. Michael Hutchence always got me close. I climbed into bed, arranged the
pil ows behind me, and slipped between the sheets. In the tiny nightie, my bare legs slid along the cool cotton. There’s nothing like the feeling of
freshly shaved legs on high-thread-count sheets. Maybe this was a good idea after al . I closed my eyes and tried to slow my breathing. The last few
times I’d attempted to find the O, I was so thoroughly frustrated that by the end I was near tears.
Tonight I began with the usual fantasy roundup. I started with a little Catalano, al owing my hands to slip under the bottom of my nightie and
come up to my breasts. As I thought of Jordan Catalano/Jared Leto kissing Angela Chase in the basement of the school, I imagined it was me. I felt
his kisses thick and heavy on my lips, and it became his hands sliding up my skin toward my nipples. As my/Jordan’s fingers began to massage, I
felt that familiar tug low in my tummy, getting warm al over.
With my eyes stil closed, the image changed to Jason Bourne/Matt Damon attacking my skin. With the two of us on the run from the
government, only our physical connection kept us alive. My/Jason’s fingers trailed lightly down my bel y, sliding inside my matching panties. I could
feel it working. My touch was waking something, stirring something inside. I gasped when I felt how ready I was for Jason, and for Jordan.
Jesus. The thought of the two of them together, working to bring back the O made me actual y twitch. I moaned and went for the big guns.
I went Clooney. Flashes of Clooney came to me as my fingers teased and twirled, twisted and taunted. Danny Ocean…George from Facts Of
Life…
And then, I went for it.
Dr. Ross. Third season of ER, after the Caesar haircut had been rectified. Mmmm…I moaned and groaned. It was working. I was actual y
getting real y turned on. For the first time in months, my brain and the rest of me seemed to be in tune. I rol ed onto my side, hand between my legs
as I saw Dr. Ross kneeling before me. He licked his lips and asked me when was the last time anyone had made me scream.
You have no idea. Make me scream, Dr. Ross.
Behind tightly closed eyes, I saw him lean toward me, his mouth getting closer and closer. He gently pressed my knees farther apart, placing
kisses on the inside of each thigh. I could actual y feel his breath on my legs, which made me shiver.
His mouth opened, and that perfect Clooney tongue flickered out to taste me.
Thump.
“Oh, God.”
Thump thump.
“Oh, God.”
No. No. No!
“Simon…mmm —” giggle.
I couldn’t believe it. Even Dr. Ross looked confused.
“So —” giggle “— fucking —” giggle “— good…hahahaha!”
I groaned as I felt Dr. Ross leaving me. I was wet, I was frustrated, and now Clooney thought someone was laughing at him. He began to back
away…
No, don’t leave me, Dr Ross. Not you!
“That’s it! That’s it! Oh…oh…hahahahaha!”
The wal s began to shake, and the bed-thumping began.
That’s it. Giggle this, bitch…
I scrambled to my feet, the Catalano and the Bourne and the ever-loving Clooney fading away in wisps of testosterone-laden smoke. I threw