Wearing nothing but a beaded bracelet around my ankle, begging for a sultry writer… not a horny pretender.

So, if you can read the title of this post you’ve already checked off my first requirement of being able to read.

As my cat claws at my door, I’m sitting in a pitch black bedroom, sporting nothing but a beaded bracelet from an old forgotten boyfriend around my left ankle. The moon is just barely peeking through the clouds and shining some silvery light on my decency… but it is the *only* light I’m accepting tonight, with my husband downstairs and may as well be on another planet.

The drink of choice tonight as it sits idly on my nighstand in a tall glass is a Delamotte Blanc, it’s practically calling my name but too much wine spoils the chef, and I’m *cooking* tonight.

The truth is, I’m a writer, especially the erotic kind that mixes well-threaded plots with intirguing characters, dabbled about with sex scenes that mean more than two people finding themselves in the same room. I want to *know* these people before they remove their clothes, I want to get a vivid picture of the setting they’re enjoying their drinks in, as if I were a a blind woman able to see again or recounting a crime scene to a sketch artist in detail about these people and the place it all went down. Only by inserting myself in the scene can I feel *any* goosebumps at all, to say nothing of the rich vocabulary that must be used to even make me brush my hair back behind my ears.

Of course, the only way to write true passion is to expose one’s self to it completely…. hence the complete lack of clothing; my dress is laying in a heap under the bed, my panties haphazardly tossed somewhere in the corner, and I am left bare to write in the only way I know how. I get all my best writing done completely naked.

And I suppose that’s where YOU come in.

See, my husband will never truly understand this side of me; where he sees a ‘hot nude girl on the bed,’ I’m hoping there are others who see a soul laid bare to the world, searching for a creative outlet. A young maiden hoping to prove to be the muse of the fair-speaking poet who will sweep me off my feet. Yes, tonight I seek a writer whom to share my real inner passion with, an intellectual of which whom I can connect with, (FYI if you’ve never used the word ‘whom’ in your writing, you need not read further) and an experienced hand of the craft that is writing to impress me with their talents.

I am only one woman with a creative mind that never truly turns off, and while I do my best to bring my erotic ideals to paper, I wish to reach out into the cosmos for an equally talented pen that can make my naked skin feel goosebumps again…. Someone I can entrust with my fantasies and watch as they spring them to life in such gorgeously vivid detail. A true *writer*. Surely they’re out there?

So, if you’ve read this far and are aching to demonstrate your talent and commitment…. (and hopefully by the length of this post, I’ve already filtered out the frat dudes looking for pics or the amateurs looking to *roleplay* or describe something in measurements) your search has hopefully ended. All I ask is you send along an orange envelope, one boasting of your talent as a writer, your skill with a pen and your devotion to the craft. No narratives or pieces necessary, merely tell me in detail why I’ve met my kinship and I will happily read it as I sip down my 3rd glass in the dark… speak to me in eloquent wording, serenade me, make me truly believe it is your pen that will bring my fantasies to life and who knows…

the beaded bracelet may just slide off…

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/gb8pp8/wearing_nothing_but_a_beaded_bracelet_around_my