Sunrise found him already at his laptop, clicking through a half dozen Word documents, trying to decide: A draft of a new novel. Notes for that novel. A new short story. An old, unfinished short story. An eBook that needed to be converted to paperback. A draft of an old unfinished novel. He sighed out his frustration.
The doors were open, and from the next room he heard his bed creak softly and then again as she stirred and came awake. Just the sound of her excited him, made him smile to himself.
Then he heard her sigh, soft and long, and in his mind’s eye he saw her sitting up in bed, stretching away sleep and dreams. That she was awake excited him.
She always excited him.
He clicked through the documents again, trying to decide. He wanted to do everything at once. And he wanted to do something new, always. That was the curse of the Gemini.
From the bedroom came the sound of a drawer sliding open and then closing, a soft thump.
He looked at his laptop screen, at the open documents. He remembered that he hadn’t had coffee yet. Maybe coffee would help. The caffeine jolt might clear his head and allow him to focus on one thing.
There was a movement at the corner of his eye. He looked around and saw her standing outside the door, smiling in at him. She was wearing one of his wife beaters and a pair of his boxers. His wife beater was stretched out in a new and beautiful way. The too-large waist of his boxers slipped down her hips, and she tugged them back up. She winked at him and then turned and padded away, leaving him yearning.
Yearning and distracted now.
She knew him well, better than anyone. For him, while Victoria’s Secret or Fredrick’s of Hollywood was nice on occasion, what inspired him most was simplicity. Simple was sexy.
He clicked on the eBook and considered it. It needed to be converted to paperback format. But that was technical work, not creativity. He needed to create, yearned to create. But he couldn’t decide.
He was still trying to decide when she came back. This time she came in, and placed a mug of coffee and a pastry on his desk. He watched his boxers almost slide down her hips, and felt heartbreaking disappointment when she caught them in the nick of time. She smiled down at him and said, “Focus.”
He looked back at the computer screen. He tried to focus. But she was there. She pushed all other thoughts away.
She moved behind his chair, out of sight, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders from behind. Then she nibbled on his ear; gave it a flick of her tongue. His new excitement had nothing to do with writing.
“No,” she breathed, “Focus.”
She reached past him, and he felt her plump breast slide over his arm. She grasped the mouse, clicked, and pulled up the unfinished new short story.
“This one,” she cooed. Her breath against his ear was warm and tingling. “Sip your coffee and nibble your pastry and finish this one. Finish it today and I’ll make you feel sooooo satisfied.”
She straightened up, taking her lips and her warm breath and plump breast away, and walked to the door. She paused there, with her back to him, and lifted the wife beater over her head. As she tossed it away, his boxers slipped off her hips and down her legs and settled around her feet. She stepped out of them, smiled over her shoulder at him and said, “Hurry.”
Then she was gone.
He heard the bed creak in the other room, could even hear her pull the covers over her nakedness as she prepared to wait for him.
Excited now, he attacked his keyboard. He wrote swiftly and with ease because he was anxious to be finished, and anxious to be satisfied.
28 October 2011