An Erotic Writer’s Mutterings

The blank screen. It’s ominous.

It mocks me with the promise of possibilities that are always so difficult to measure up to. But perhaps, it teases as well.

By it’s very pristine virtue, it begs me to dance my fingers along the keyboard, filling it up with creation. word by word, line by line, my creation grows, an ecstatic musing brought to life by the simple act of letting my fevered dreams splash uncensored across the page. And the cursor – such a rigid and unbending line, blinking as it pauses, waiting for me to continue.

It wants this just as much as I do. Perhaps more.

Together, we can bring shortness of breath, dizziness – the racing of a pulse, the shifting of legs and a flush to the skin. When we work in tandem and the story flows, we can send gooseflesh along the arms of the reader or a zip of electricity to that hot spot that sends warmth to all those delicious and complex nerve endings that wind in wobbling patterns throughout the body.

Reaction and feedback is what we live for, so give it to us, else we whither and die unfulfilled.

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