Lisa visited a writer friend of hers. She’d never been to his place. When he asked if she’d like the grand tour, she said of course she would, especially where he worked. “I was hoping you’d be more interested in the bedroom,” he said, and Lisa laughed. He led her to his office, a fairly simple room: desk, chair, a soft carpet, a large plant with prehistoric looking leaves in an art deco vase next to the desk, a poster of an ocean liner on the wall, lots of light. She noticed all the books on the bookshelf portion of the desk, some fiction, some theoretical physics, some art, and on the desk surface a manual typewriter with a blank page in the carriage.

“Old fashioned typewriter,” Lisa commented.

He nodded. “I write old-fashioned stories. Also the electricity fails from time to time. Also, if inspiration strikes, I don’t want to have to wait to put in a fresh sheet of paper.”

“Makes sense,” Lisa said. “And your cute little clock seems to be stuck at—not sure what time that is.”

“Right,” he said. “An imaginary time. Don’t like deadlines. Spurs the imagination to be in a timelessness.”

Within the bookcase portion of the desk, to either side, stood identical statues of ancient cats. “Bookend cats?” Lisa asked.

“Perhaps,” he said, “though I think they’re more interested in the bird than in the books.”

Lisa noted the large bird statue at the center top of the desk. “Impressive,” she said.

“It’s my mynah bird,” he said. “Keeps those cats on their toes.”

“I’ll bet,” Lisa said, her hand going to the back of the chair. “So this is where you sit when you write your masterpieces.” She swiveled the chair. “Oh my, the seat does look well-worn.”

“A little scruffy,” he admitted.

“A lot scruffy,” Lisa said. “Have you ever thought about—”

“Never!” he declared. “This chair and me go back a long long way. Replacing it would be like replacing my...”

“Yes?” Lisa was quite curious what sort of simile the writer would come up with.

“Grandmother?” he offered.

Lisa laughed. “That’s not what you were going to say.”

“What was I going to say?”

Lisa paused a moment. “You were going to say that replacing the chair would be like replacing your cock.”

The writer blushed.

“I was right, wasn’t I?”

“Do you think I need a new cock?”

“Why don’t we see how the old one is holding up. Tell me, have you ever fucked on this chair?”

The writer took a deep breath. “Not in real life,” he said.

“Should we give it a try?”

“We should,” the writer said.

“One thing, I’m not sitting on that chair.”

“Of course not. I’ll sit on my trustworthy old chair, and you can sit on me.”

“On your trustworthy old cock.”

“Yes.”

“Perfect.”

And the fuck was almost perfect. Lisa sat on her writer friend’s lap, his cock deep inside her cunt, and rocked the chair up and back. She mewled and the chair squeaked. The stimulation was unusual and arousing. She came several times before her friend flooded her. The force of his climax coaxed a yowl from Lisa’s throat and another come from her cunt. The chair slammed backward against the desk. Something crashed.

“You okay?” Lisa asked.

“I think so,” he answered.

Lisa rocked forward, fresh fuck juice streaming from her cunt. On her feet, she turned. “I don’t see—oh no!”

“What is it?”

“Your bird.”

“What about it?”

“It didn’t fly.”

They inspected the damage. The shattered bird was likely a goner, but the typewriter seemed to have survived. “Ah me,” he sighed.

“Maybe you could write a story about it?” Lisa suggested. “On the plus side, we know that your cock worked.”

He sighed again.

“Right,” Lisa said, “So I guess you can keep your cock and your trusty old chair. Except...”

“Except what?”

“It’s got a lot of cum on it.”

“Drenched,” he said. “I’ll put that in the story too. I don’t know if I can replace the bird, but I suppose it is time for a new chair. Goodbye old partner.”

After letting her friend have a few moments of silence in respect for his bird and his chair, Lisa said, “Now I think it’s time for you to show me your bedroom.”

The sheets, Lisa was pleased to find, were fresh and new, though by the next morning they’d need a good wash.