Chapter 1
#2 of Cross-Love
It was one of those nights again, when I lock myself up in my room, trying to come up with ideas for a play or a script. Only recently, I took to this very bad habit of staying up to odd hours into the night, like until three or four in the morning. This was certainly very unhealthy and I was aware of it -- it always seem to leave me tired and grumpy and disengaged from this world. My circadian rhythm was no doubt put out of tempo. Not just that, my sex life has also deteriorated and that I no longer seemed to be interested in having those lustful and hungry sex like that in the past (especially after she exposed my porn stash). This was all because I was allocated the position as a script director in my entertainment-based company. Anyways, around me was a sea of crushed, torn or vandalized pieces of paper and they were mostly filled with incoherent ideas about either romance or some suspense plot. But this was my first time being a script director, so I'll need some getting used to. I scribbled and scribbled, forcing myself to pump out ideas fit for production, fit for showcase, fit for the public. As time passed, from twelve, to one, two -- ugh -- I grew more and more disconcerted, frustrated at my already all juiced-up brain. Then, my sharp shepherd ears sieved out some movements in the bed. Click. The warm, cozy glow of the light flooded the room and I squinted in response.
"Still awake?" She snorted out a question.
"Yeah, trying to get the script going," I sighed, eyes already weary and bleary at all the scribbles and doodles.
"Man, you gotta rest, You're gon' get burnt out after this. Then, who'll be my ready-for-action sex buddy?" She sat, with hands preening her waterproof fur.
I blushed slightly, and my bulge is already growing, poking out of my loose home pants (I don't have the habit of wearing underwear at home with people that I'm familiar with). She was certainly sensitive towards my apparent arousal and she waddled over, with a naughty smirk that says, "I've gotcha now, haven't I?". She gently placed her hand onto my ever-sensitive bulge and caressed it through the rough fabric of my jeans. God, I swear, getting an erection in jeans is almost like torture. After some fondling, I grew even harder and my member strained against the so tight jeans. Finally, I have had enough of this trap and loosened up the hook and the fly of my jeans.
"Ooh, tempted already? Thought ya got some script writing to do?" She teased, purposefully and playfully.
I rolled my eyes and heaved out an answer, "Fine. You've won this round, okay?"
"So what do you wanna do?"
Ride you like a fucking horse. I smiled, and whispered with a tint of lust in my voice, "Wir werden sehen."
"What? Oh stop it with your German!" She punched my lightly in the deltoids and then, with a confused face, she asked, "What does it mean?"