Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Not Enough, by Medea (medeafk@hotmail.com)

   This is not enough, she thought.  Not enough to keep me here at all.  So
she left him, her boyfriend of two years, moved from Kansas to Chicago, and
tried to start over.  But starting over is never easy, and meeting new
people is slow.  For a few months, she thought she saw him in the midst of
crowds, at the grocery store, at the mall.  She found a job in accounts
receivable, in a small office of friendly, boring people, and let the petty
concerns to day-to-day life distract her for a while.

   This was not enough, either, but it would do for a while.

   She let herself work late, built up her reputation as a solid employee,
let six months slide by.  And then one Saturday she woke up after sleeping
in 'til mid-morning, and knew what she had to do.  It was time to have a
social life again.

   She went shopping.  She bought sexy black underwear, somewhat
impractical strappy black heels, and a dress that was low-cut and
form-fitting to a point that would make her friends back in Kansas blush.
She had her nails done, her hair cut, and then she went home to relax for a
while.

   Nine PM saw her entering a club the local weekly papers called 'trendy',
'stylish', and 'the place all the coolest Gen-Xers will want to be seen'.
She entered the crowds with the best show of confidence she could muster,
making her way to the bar, then finding a place nearby to sip, watch, and
be seen.

   She made eye contact with men from across the room, smiling in a way she
hoped was flirtatious.  When her drink was finished, she danced, sometimes
with others, sometimes alone, enjoying the opportunity to do as she
pleased. After a while, one tall, handsome man she had been dancing with
asked if she might want to head somewhere more private.  And even as she
savored the smell and warmth of his body, she declined, almost
apologetically.  When the song ended, she found a place to sit down again,
and think about why.

   In her head, she imagined all of the men in the room with pants open,
cocks stiffly poking out, stroking themselves as women watched on, then
knelt to lick and suck.  All this sexual energy in the room, but what was
it worth?  She laughed at the absurdity of it all, of thinking casual sex
and the affection of mere strangers could sate a deeper desire, for
something that felt like touch but pushed far below the surface.  She let
the men return to dancing, once again fully dressed, and started home for a
long, hot bath, and the pleasures of her own fingers.