Routine

Carla arrived home late from work. It was another lonely Friday night spent at the office. To unwind, she pulled a bottle of wine from the chiller and pulled the corkscrew from the drawer. She decided this night, like most nights, a glass was unnecessary, and kicked off her heels as she made her way to her over-sized, overstuffed couch.

She set the bottle and corkscrew on the end table and carefully pushed the buttons of her jacket through the sewn holes. She repeated her actions with her blouse, letting the mother of pearl buttons slip gently through her fingers. This was her foreplay every night; there was something to the sight of the buttons disappearing into the silk slits that sent her mind to another place. She removed the jacket but let the silk top remain as she plopped, none too lady-like, onto the couch.

Carla lived alone, with no prospects of finding a lover to bring into her tiny apartment. She used her space as one large bedroom, scattering clothes, hair ties, and makeup all over the apartment. On the end table, underneath the dim table lamp, stayed her vibrator, alongside the remotes. She pushed a few buttons to turn on the television and cable and grabbed her vibrator, trusty Mr. Buzzy. The hard plastic was cold from sitting out in the chill air all day, so Carla carefully cradled it alongside her breasts in her bra to warm. She then picked up the corkscrew and the bottle of wine and set about the rest of her nightly routine.

The tip of the corkscrew touched gently to the soft cork. Carla's tongue rested ever so slightly against her bottom lip, anticipation whetting her appetite. As with the buttons of her blouse, the sight of the cork being manipulated out of the neck of the bottle set off a spark inside her soul. The way it had to be coaxed from the glass reminded her of the way a man's fingers once played deep inside her own walls of flesh. The audible 'pop' clenched her stomach and the smell of fruit tightened her nipples.

It never mattered what the television flashed into the room; Carla was in her own world and watched the colorful glow on the walls as she drank her wine and idly hiked up her skirt. The ankle length black fabric climbed up and over her knees, over her thighs, and finally rested against her hips. The wine flushed her skin everywhere it was exposed, cooled only by her fingers tracing up to her panties. The satin was wet to the touch; Mr. Buzzy liked her that way.

Carla took a long pull from the wine bottle and set it on the table. She gently pushed the edges of her blouse aside, exposing her ample bosom shelved inside white lace cups. Her fingers, chilled from the wine and cool air in the room, played with the top of the fabric, softly working the cloth out and down, over her hardened nipples. The bright fabric on the dark skin fed her desire, adding to the wetness awaiting the arrival of her battery-powered friend. She carefully pressed the straps down over her shoulders and lifted her breasts out, resting them on little lace hammocks. Her vibrator escaped and rolled down her belly. The warmed plastic came to a rest on the couch, pressed against against her thigh. Carla gasped; Mr. Buzzy was in an exceptionally eager mood this evening!

With one hand, Carla traced the path of the roll down her stomach, over her bunched skirt, and stopped on the soaked satin. With her other hand, she picked up the vibrator and twisted the end control on. The sound of her date added a gush of wetness to the thin fabric in her hand. She carefully worked her fingers under the panties and pulled them aside, shocking her skin with the cold apartment air. The vibrator slipped easily across her slicked skin, teasing her exposed folds. Carla closed her eyes and let her hands take control, in her mind, allowing Mr. Buzzy to do as he wished.

The hand gripping her panties released the cloth and traveled back up to her breasts to cup and pinch her nipples in turn. The hand with the vibrator, now under the pressure of the satin, slipped lower, pressing the buzzing plastic into her waiting depth. Her first orgasm hit as her thumb found her clit. Her entire body convulsed on the couch, her eyes popped open, and the colors of a romantic comedy bouncing around the walls filtered through the haze to her brain. A few pumps of her vibrating friend and pinches across her nipples brought forth the next one.

For an hour, Carla slouched on the couch, bringing herself to orgasm while watching the television glow. Like every Friday night, she only stopped when the batteries died. She remained on the couch, listlessly pumping the dead vibrator through the mess of wetness, which pooled beneath her, ruining her skirt and adding to the stain on the couch. Her mind had long since shut off, leaving her in a near catatonic state, watching the lights play on the wall.

Eventually she will fall asleep, her fingers still wrapped around a nipple or half buried with the vibrator. Saturday morning she will wake, devastated to have ruined another outfit, and fall even more depressed at her lack of a sex life. More wine will be bought, more skirts will fill her closet, and more batteries will breathe life back into her date. Her weekly routine will continue so long as she has deadlines that need to be met, deadlines decreed by global corporations, deadlines that keep her from having a social life.