The Writer's Chair
by Mat Twassel
Copyright© 2021 by Mat Twassel
Fiction Sex Story: Lisa visits a writer friend of hers and she provides him with some story material. Illustrated.
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Heterosexual Fiction Illustrated .
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?”
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