Solo/leigh
                                       Leigh
                                    Leigh's Story
            She was humming as she changed the sheets from the smooth percale she liked
             to the fuzzy flannel he preferred.  She imagined what she would do to him
                   tonight, and her humming grew quieter until finally it ceased.
                First she would undress him, slowly, slowly, kissing him softly as each
            bit of flesh became visible.  "To keep it from getting cold," she would say
            teasingly.  They'd done this before -- he would say, "No fear of that!" and
              they would laugh together as she began to stroke his skin with her warm
                                               hands.
                Then she would push him slowly back until he fell onto the bed and she
            would take his penis into her hand.  By now he would be fully erect, and it
               would jump as she touched it.  They would laugh again at this familiar
                                            occurrence.
                 Next she would begin to lick him with little, teasing cat-laps at his
               skin, all over him, from his collarbones to his toes, but avoiding his
             crotch.  She would roll him over and lap at his back, covering every inch
                        of his skin, and then she would suck at his toes...
                  The phone rang, shattering the intimate silence.  She picked it up.
               "Hello?  Oh, hi!  I was just thinking about you!  When are you getting
              here?  Oh.  Oh, I see.  Yes.  Yes.  Bye, then."  He wasn't coming after
             all.  Again.  She was momentarily disappointed, but then she began to get
                                               angry.
               "Who needs you anyway?" she demanded of the walls in a quiet but intense
             voice.  "Damn you!"  She was already wet and wanting from her imaginings.
                 She went downstairs to put away the wine she had gotten out for him.
            She seldom drank wine herself; she disliked the taste.  She paused, looking
               at the bottle.  It was almost empty.  "Am I sex-starved, or what?" she
              asked herself, as she noted the phallic shape of the bottle's neck.  She
             picked up the bottle and one of her two crystal wineglasses and took them
                         up to her bedroom and set them on the nightstand.
                She sat on the edge of the bed and poured a little wine into her glass,
             admiring the way the clear liquid turned gold in the lamplight.  First she
             sipped at it; then deciding that tonight she liked the flavor, she took a
             heartier swallow and finished it.  She judged the amount of wine remaining
             in the bottle -- a little over a glassful.  She poured half a glass, then
                             decided against pouring in the remainder.
                  She slipped off her loose silk nightshirt, the only garment she was
             wearing, and shivered a little as cooler air brushed her skin.  She took a
            swig from the bottle, and then deliberately dribbled a few drops across her
            breasts.  Her nipples began to pucker from the chill of the liquid. Leaning
                over, she licked the droplets off herself.  Her nipples grew harder.
                Liking the sensation, she did it again.  A little more wine came out of
               the bottle this time, and it trickled down her front.  The white wine
            blended into the pale gold and peach tones of her skin.  She set the bottle
              down again, and spread the wine across her abdomen with her fingertips.
                Again she licked the wine off her nipples, and then off her fingers,
               sucking them a bit.  It felt good, and she sucked some more.  Then she
             leaned over and sucked her nipples; first one, and then the other, raising
             the breasts with her hands and pointing the nipples up so she could reach
            them.

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  They tasted of the wine and of something else; she wasn't sure what.
                She reached for the wine and dribbled it over her breasts again, enough
            this time to trickle all the way down to where the hair grew.  It tickled a
             little as it seeped around the hairs.  The wine was almost gone now.  She
              capped the bottle.  She smoothed the wine across her abdomen again, and
                   trailed her fingers down into the dark hair between her legs.
               She noted how pale her skin was where it hadn't been exposed to sunlight
             in such a long time -- she hadn't sunbathed in years.  Her fingers teased
               at the hairs, feeling a little like the wine trickling there had, but
                  different.  Her skin was growing warmer, and her breath quicker.
                She found the slit with her fingers, brushing up and down it to open it
               without pulling the hair.  She teased for a moment at the edge of her
              vagina, then moved upward to where her clitoris was standing up wanting
                                             attention.
                 She wet her fingers in her wineglass, then went back to her clitoris.
             She circled around it, not touching, several times before finally drawing
               one finger across it.  Then she slipped two fingers down to her vagina
               again and dipped into it.  She was still wet from before, and she was
                getting wetter.  She drew some of the moisture up to just below her
               clitoris, stroking up and back, up and back, never quite touching, but
                                         teasing, teasing.
                 She wet her fingers in the wine again, and drew them up the inside of
              her thighs to where they joined her body.  She stroked there gently for
              several minutes, getting more sensation with each stroke until she could
            hardly bear it.  Then she slipped her fingers into her vagina.  It was hot,
            and so wet and ready and wanting!  She smoothed the walls with her fingers,
                 only wanting more, and then she reached for the wine bottle again.
                She set it against her crotch and slid it across the hair.  By now she
              was so ready that the hair was no barrier to those lips; they had opened
                enough that the bottle was soon sliding across bare wet flesh.  She
            shivered a little; the bottle was cold, but it did nothing to cool the fire
              now raging in her blood.  She raised her hands to her breasts again and
             rubbed over the still-hard nipples, leaving the wine bottle pressing into
                                            her crotch.
                Then she rose up onto her knees and, carefully positioning the bottle,
             slid down onto it as she squeezed her breasts with her hands.  Her breath
             caught in her throat.  Oh, how good it felt to have something inside her!
              She raised her body up and slid down the bottle's neck again and again,
             faster and faster.  Her hands moved faster and faster across her breasts,
             rubbing and rubbing the nipples, harder and harder until the pleasure was
            almost a pain.  Her breath came faster and faster in gasps that tore at her
             throat, until finally with a moan that seemed to last forever, she came in
                       a wave of wet heat that warmed the still cold bottle.
               She collapsed onto her side then, and slowly her raspy breathing slowed.
            She pulled the wine bottle out of herself then, and unscrewed the cap.  She
             put it to her dry lips and swigged at the wine that was left, tasting her
                                    own juices as well as wine.
                She smiled, licking her lips.  "Who needs you anyway?" she said again.
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