Betty's Busy Fingers

Friday night, and Betty left work to drive to her apartment. She had plans for the evening and for the weekend and expected to enjoy herself, although she would not be seeing anybody, at least not a real person. After finishing her leftover spaghetti, warmed in the microwave and washed down by a glass of red wine, Betty went to her computer and got online. She had a date with Literotica, and hoped to find a new story by her favorite author. The author might be a man, she thought, because he wrote that he was a man, but Betty always felt very comfortable, as if she were talking to her sister, or reading a hot, sexy letter from a girlfriend. She suspected that the writer might be a woman who wrote as if she were a man, but all Betty really cared about and wanted to do was get herself off while reading. What she really wanted, although she realized it was foolish, was to be all of the women in the stories. "George Boxlicker, I wish you were licking my box," she thought, even though she knew he was a fictitious character.

After she got to Literotica, Betty went to the story index. Instead of wading through the long list of authors' names, she knew a shortcut. Click on Sci Fi