This started up the tears again, and Laura wept all the rest of the way home. She picked up her usual uninteresting mail and trudged wearily upstairs, tired from her depression.

Laura unpacked her briefcase and put the teapot on to boil, in order to have a cup of tea before she began marking her papers. She moved slowly and with great effort. Nothing seemed worth doing any more.

As she marked her papers, Laura sighed and a tear dropped on one paper, smudging it. She put the work away only half-done. With a sigh she realized that it was time to get ready for her birthday dinner with her sister and brother-in-law that evening.

I need a man. I want someone to make love to me.

Laura wept again and desperately wiped her eyes with a cold washcloth, trying to get the swelling down.

I'll look like hell tonight. But what difference does it make, anyway? No one ever looks at me.

As she bathed, Laura examined her body closely, wondering why no man had ever desired it, had ever wanted to fuck her. It was slim and firm. She had medium-sized, lovely tits, a tiny waist and swelling hips.

If I were a man, I'd want a body like that, she mused. My tits would be even bigger if some man were sucking on them all the time.

She felt like crying again but resisted it for her swollen eyes' sake. She sniffed, blew her nose and resumed her study of her body. Laura's eyes traveled to her box, covered with curly auburn hair.

Laura dreamed about the unused cunt that lay hidden behind its furry curtain.

Never been used. Wasting away. It's so wet and ready for fucking! What a waste!

Laura stared at her firm, pointy boobs and she began to stroke the bumpy brown nipples. She shivered at the touch.

She had not played with her own body for years. Laura had tried to masturbate for the first time when she was about twenty-eight years old. She had worked on her tits and cunt for hours that day. She could still remember the anguish of sexual frustration, rubbing away at her insides only to give up in despair. All that she had accomplished with her diddling that day was to rouse her lonely body even more – to wish an excitement and a fulfillment that she was unable to provide for herself.