A short-short story set in 1968
Below this line are exactly 750 words

Lying in bed, thinking of him. With my hands touching my bare nipples, caressing my breasts, I see him in my mind’s eye. A god in human form, tall, strong, virile, the longing burns inside. Knowing every square inch of his body, I envision him thrusting inside me.

Heart beating wildly in my chest, breathing ragged and raw, my fingers follow the lines of my lust. Lips collide, only in my mind, tongues twisting together, as I remember the first time I cupped his balls, thick and bigger than ping pongs, “Turn your head, and cough.”

The right eye, staring at me, he coughed, and I moistened.

One hand lingers on my belly, and moves back to my tit, squeezing tit, pinching my nipple, the way I desire him to do. My fingers of the other, moves down, thumb teasing my clit, wishing it were his, fingers move between lips, down, down, back up, while I continue to squeeze one boob, and frig my button.

Reminiscing about putting on the glove, snapping it, “Bend over, please.” Applying lube to the latex, rubbing hands together to warm it. I press, “Relax, please.” I press inside, index only, and add the middle finger. Going in, as far as possible, nothing amiss here. As I pull back, he squeezes. Removing them, turning them inside out, I throw them in the wastebasket.