Seated at the head of the table, he’d often look over the faces of his writers room with pride and satisfaction. This was all he ever wanted for so damn long. But, in this moment, all he wanted was his wife.
No, not “wanted”. He was far beyond “want”, and “need”, and “desire”, and the like. Anguish. That was the word. The replayed fantasies, the too frequent trips to the restroom, the lost moments in meetings and conversations, the pants-tenting thoughts, the throbbing. Each one an everyday hazard of being away from that beautiful face of hers, but, today, right fucking now, he anguished for her. He could feel every bit of what he was missing by being here. The bickering between writers that had overtaken the room… compared to the thought of her nails digging into his back.
Unable to resolve their differences on their own, the writers turned to him for resolution. Tempted to admit he hadn’t been listening and unload on them the deviance that had taken precedence, he instead urged them all to “sleep on it” and dismissed the room early. He waited for them all to leave to spare them his forthright erection, but there would be no further delay between him and the woman he desperately needed to fill up. Read more »