Writer’s Block by ReclaimingLostTime
Delve into 'Writer's Block,' an erotic sex story that explores passion, creativity, and desire. Follow the enticing journey of a struggling writer who discovers inspiration in unexpected places. Experience steamy encounters and tantalizing twists that will ignite your imagination. Perfect for fans of romance and sensual storytelling!<br/>
I still wasn’t wholly convinced this was the right thing to do. On the face of it, it had to be, I needed a break that much was evident, but my whole work ethic screamed at me to get my head down and work through it. I was an author with two successful novels behind me but the third had come to a shuddering halt.
I’d started writing in my early forties, initially just some short stories for a website called Literotica, and yes, they were erotic short stories. I enjoyed writing them and it seemed that people enjoyed reading them and so my interest was born. Then when I’d been made redundant a few years later I’d decided to use my redundancy money to support myself while I wrote my first novel. That was when my wife left me, ostensibly because she thought I was making a big mistake, throwing away what had been a great life working in the City for what was just a dream.
Actually I think she missed the status that came with being a top Banker’s wife, the dinners, the opera and ballet excursions. Anyway it didn’t take her long to shack up with one of my former colleagues and so I was on my own. The kids had left home so it wasn’t hugely upsetting, and I had enough money to get by for a while.
The first novel went very well, a thriller based on fraud in the City, something that perhaps had been bubbling underneath for a while, the words just flowed from my pen, well word processor, and the first publisher I approached snapped it up. I made a huge amount of money from it, even by the standards of my previous life, not enough to retire on unfortunately, but it was the critical acclaim that drove me to write the second.
That was more of a struggle, and whilst it did enjoy some success, I suspect a lot of that was from repeat readers from my first book looking for more of the same. I put in the same mix, likeable characters with an underlying theme of sex taken from my earlier scribblings and although the critical acclaim wasn’t really there, it did bring in a steady income.
The third book, well that was a different story, literally. I had the basic plot mapped out, the characters, but the words wouldn’t come. I hated re-writing bits and couldn’t bring myself to start again, but something wasn’t working.
So here I was, lying on a secluded beach in South Wales, soaking up the early summer sun, trying just to let my mind go blank. That was the solution, everyone told me. Forget about the book, just relax and it will come. A friend had recommended the cottage I was staying in, a small semi-detached building, wooden clapboard exterior, small windows, low ceilings with a charming courtyard garden. It was pretty much in the middle of nowhere, only fifteen minutes’ walk from a secluded sandy cove, with plenty of scope for long walks on the hills surrounding it. It had the benefit of being well off the beaten track, even my SatNav had struggled to find it and I really, really hoped it would work, otherwise I was back to the daily grind.
In truth I had come to love my existence as an author, being able to work when the fancy took me, an idea or shape would form and I’d be off, hammering away at the keyboard, losing myself for hours on end, days even as my creative juices took flight. I’d considered leaving my laptop at home, but I worried that it might all come back in the middle of one night and I’d have forgotten it by morning, so it sat forlornly on a table at the cottage, waiting for the wheels to start turning again.
I’d arrived the day before, unloaded the car and put away the week’s worth of groceries I’d brought with me, even the on-line supermarkets didn’t deliver to this remote location, and had gone for a walk to explore. The cottage next to mine didn’t seem occupied and I looked forward to several days of solitude. So that was how I found myself lying on a beach, with only a few sunbathers and some gulls to keep me company. It was peaceful and I tried to let my mind drift, but it kept coming stubbornly back to the book, desperately trying to find a way out of the cul-de-sac my muse had driven me into. Perhaps I’d got it wrong, I should have gone to Ibiza, lost myself in noise and hub-hub, but that wasn’t really me.
My reverie was interrupted by a voice, “This looks like a nice sport, let’s sit here.” I lifted my head and opened my eyes sufficiently to see a pair of middle aged ladies standing about ten yards from me, carrying several bags. At least they weren’t accompanied by half a dozen rambunctious children, but even so my idyll had been disturbed. To be fair they didn’t make a lot of noise as they settled down, spreading a large mat out on the sand, and all I could hear was the low murmur of them chatting away.
They peeled off their clothes revealing one piece swimsuits, and I was surprised that although about my age, they had quite shapely bodies, full but not huge breasts and well-formed long legs. I thought about myself, I’d kept trim by swimming and a little running, but I wasn’t a gym rat, no-one was going to kick sand in my face, but equally I was not going to turn any heads either.
I relaxed again and must have dozed off as when I came to, they had gone, their things were still there, but there was no sign of them. Off on a walk or a swim I thought, there was nothing else to do anyway, so I settled back and resumed doing nothing. Through the haze of drowsiness came more voices and I squinted through half shut eyes to see they had returned, both of them with wet hair and bodies, clearly back from a swim.
They picked up towels and began to dry themselves, rubbing their hair briskly then the rest of their bodies. I’d always been an avid people watcher and as they were down sun from me, I could indulge my passion without them thinking I was staring at them. Both of them slipped the straps from their costumes off their shoulders then wrapped their towels round them and proceeded to wriggle their tops down. This really captured my attention, I didn’t consider myself a pervert, let alone voyeur, but being a normal red-blooded male, the naked female from had always held a fascination for me, and I wondered if I was going to see anything as they changed.
Both were going through the contortions of trying to keep a towel decently round them whilst pulling a tee shirt over their head, no bras I noticed, and then suddenly one of the towels dropped to the floor and before she could pull her top down, there before me was a pair of breasts tipped by small hard nipples. It was only a flash, but the image seared onto my brain and then it was gone, replaced by a fully clothed upper body although with two very prominent bumps.
She looked around, but I lay still and hoped she could not see my half opened eyes still watching her. The towel was once more wrapped around her waist and she began to wriggle her swimsuit right off. It appeared below the towel and was kicked away as she dried herself between her legs, my mind going into overdrive at the thought of the naked pussy beneath the cloth.