My fingers flutter against the keyboard, the rhythm soothing as it helps me to pull things – ideas into creation. An enticing phrase here, a playful double entendre there, it’s all part of the art.
I can tell that I’m getting into the scene because I can almost feel a warm puff of breath by my ear, gentle fingers caressing my shoulder, soft lips pressing against my skin. The phantasmal touches become stronger as the story flows and I can almost feel fingers brushing along the pale hair on my arms. They move down to rest on my hand, helping to guide the scene in a surprising direction; one I never see coming.
I’m almost used to you now, my ghostly muse.
My pulse jumps as I feel teeth gently scrape against the side of my neck and a rush goes up my spine as I suppress a moan, stopping for a moment to try to reorient on the story.
With a shaky hand, I begin typing again, breathing a little heavier now. I can never quite decide if it’s irritating or irresistible, the way you tease. A few uninterrupted moments pass, then a light brushing of fingers against a nipple causes me to shiver. It’s followed by a pinch that takes my breath away. Something brushes against that oh so sensitive spot back behind my right ear, and all my words fall out of my head, forgotten.
With a chuckle that I’m not entirely certain that I’ve really heard, you’re gone. I try to bring you back by writing something full of heat and promising slickness, but the moment’s over. I notice it lasted a little longer this time. I sigh, then smile, falling back into the story easily now. I don’t know if you’re real, or if my subconscious is really good at this headfuck.
If you’re part of me, I just need to find a way to bring it out more often – when I’m ready to play.
I’ll figure it out eventually, cheeky bastard. Then we’ll see.