It was late again and he was sitting at his desk trying to think of what to write next and which way he wanted the story line to go. He wanted to get this one just right. It was a big deal for him, his 200th story. He needed the proper inspiration and it needed to be great. So he put his headphones on and leaned back in his chair.
His hand went through his black hair, rubbing is scalp, then bringing it back down to rub his chin. He closed his eyes and sighed.
That’s when he felt her hand rubbing his groin up and down – oh so softly – through his black boxers. He always preferred to dress with the bare minimum when writing. It helped him relax. It was comfortable and less restricting while sitting in his work chair.
He wasn’t expecting her tonight, of all nights. He was on a deadline and he needed to get this done. He could feel the tension in his muscles and thought, I need to relax. When I’m relaxing, the words just write themselves.
So he decided to welcome the soft touch and his head stayed pressed down on the head rest. The vibrating sound of the cello kept playing in his ears and his eyes stayed closed.