Excerpt: Fringe Moon

I was battling to write, so I thought I would do this "throw away" short story to get the creativity flowing... picked erotica off the top of my head and ended up with this...

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Writer's Block

"This is crap!" In his mind's eye he grabbed the crispy prestige paper and ripped it from the roller of the old type writer. In reality he pressed Alt A and tabbed the delete key.
"What's wrong sweety?" His wife asked as she walked into the bedroom with a steaming cup of strong black coffee.
"Once the novel is going," he growled, "it will flow, but I just can't get the frigging thing started."
"Why," she set the cup down on the bedside table, "what's the problem?"
"In my mind I know the bit just after the start the start, I really know the middle and the ending is a doozy, but the first few pages - paragraphs are just not coming out as I am planning them!"
She knew him well enough to know that whenever he leant his head back and scrunched up his face, it wouldn't be too long before the nausea would start. It was nerves that boiled up inside of him, affecting his hernia and then spinning him out. Walking around the bed she settled carefully onto her side of the bed, reaching over to gently stroke his forehead.
"It's okay," she knew he felt that these were just words trying to calm him down, but it was hard for her to think of what else to do or say. They had taken a big gamble with John resigning so that they could write his novel. Financially they would be fine for about a year, eighteen months at a stretch, yet she could still see that after a month that the pressure of starting off on his great novel was stressing him out for more than his job that he hated used to.
"Would it help if you told me about the story-line?" She knew that it wouldn't because he had already told her about the entire story when he had proposed the concept of taking time off work to write the novel.
"Thanks babe," he murmured, "but you probably know the story as well as I do. I think that I am trying just too hard, you know focusing on it so much that by the time I get the words down on the screen, it's seeming stale already."
"Well," she said, "you need to find a way not to think about it for a while and then let the writing happen."
"Yeah, thought about that, but we don't have the spare cash for us to take a few weeks leave in the islands."
"Islands," she snorted, "I was thinking more like gardening or shopping or something like that."
He laughed, opening his eyes and turning to look at her. "The last time I did any garden work you complained that I pulled out more flowers than weeds."
"That's true," she groaned inwardly at the memory of her beautiful flowers wilting in the garden waste bin. "What about a massage?"
"You know I am always keen on a massage," he snapped the lid on the laptop, "but I can't promise that I will actually not think of the novel while you're relaxing my skin."
"Okay," she said, "I have it... a hot bath and then a massage and then I will watch those soapies that I saved on disc while you spend the night writing. How does that sound?"
"Fine, he said, "sounds awesome."
She could hear in his voice that he didn't sound too confident of her plan.

The lavender wafted through the steam in the small bathroom. Their house was a small two bedroom lock wood, probably too small if they ever decided to start a family, but spacious enough for just the two of them. Aside from the master bedroom, the remaining spare room had been turned into a sewing room for Jill's thriving dress making business. It didn't afford them a luxurious lifestyle but it definitely helped keep the proverbial wolf from the door while the lived off John's inheritance.
It was her secret dream that one day, in the not too distant future, John would be able to receive enough money from his novel so that they could look to extend on the house. A larger bedroom, sunken lounge and a bathroom where the toilet wasn't in the same room as the bath or overhanging shower-head. It would be even brilliant to work out a way to enlarge the existing bathroom so that they could fit a bath that could handle the two of them. John's tall frame and her own - in his words - sexy huggable body.
"What's that smell?" John walked into the bathroom with a glass of wine for each of them.
"The natural smell of relaxants," she smiled, accepting her cold glass of wine, "once the bath is full, you will feel it seeping into to your pores and relaxing you."
"Okay," he said, "if that's what you think."
"Think," she turned, put her glass down on the edge of the basin and pulled him closer, "babe, that's what I know."
Moving her hands up, she started to unbutton his shirt. A smile crossed her face as she slipped the shirt off his shoulders and let it drop to the floor.
"What you smiling about?"
"Nothing, but I figured that if you get to relax in a nice smelly bath, then I should get to have some nice smells too."
"Huh?"
"You talk too much," she lowered herself down to her knees, fumbling at his belt clasp before pulling the belt through the hoops from around his waist. The metal button from his denims bit into her thumb pad as she popped it free, the zip gliding down. As expected he was commando, his underwear still folded neatly in the scotch drawers.
There were a few smells that she really loved, the first was the Eau de Parfum she had been buying him ever since she had first met him and the second was his own natural smells. She had dated guys before who seemed to ooze the worst kinds of odours from their pours, yet John had a natural smell that was comfortable to be around. It was one of the first smells that she loved to sense in the mornings and the last she wanted to absorb before going to sleep. It was for this reason that she slept cuddled into John's side at night.
As the metal zip followed it's track down, she moved her face into his stomach. The smell was there, natural, intoxicating. From experience, she carefully glided the denim over his sexy arse and bundled the pants around his ankles. Still with her closed eyes, she felt the soft stubble of his recently trimmed pubic hairs against her cheeks. His cock was rigid, pressed up under her chin. Using her the tip of her tongue, she slowly moved down the length of the shaft until she could feel the skin of his balls. Opening her mouth she turned her head so that the teeth pressed against the throbbing hard on and slowly moved up the shaft.
"Oh shit," his voice husky, "that feels good."
She knew, she loved the feeling of his cock in her mouth, although she couldn't do some of the things that they had seen in the porn movies they had watched when they first started dating, like swallowing, but she definitely loved the feeling of giving him a blow job.
As the reaction ran through her body, she could feel her breasts tightening, as the muscles in her stomach. The moistness between her legs was building, she could feel it on her feet and shins.
She stopped, pulling her mouth off him, looking down at the floor.
"What...?"
"Oh crap," she screamed as she looked at the lino floor, "the water!"

Behind her she could hear the water running over the edge of the bath and falling onto the floor. It wasn't her heart that she had heard, but the bath over flowing! Turning to reach across to switch the tap off, she lost her balance and fell back into John's legs.
"Shi...," he shouted.
Behind her she heard the thud of him falling back, caught off balance from her weight against him and the trousers wrapped around the bottom of his legs. A part of his body hit against her wine glass send it flying into the basin before shattering into a couple of pieces.
Leaning forward she quickly turned the tap as she turned to look at John. He was leaning against the basin, his right hand cupped into his chest. It didn't take her long to realise what had happened, as he had clawed the air to regain his balance, he had knocked the wine glass into the basin. Probably immediately after the glass had shattered in the rim of the basin, his hand had probably reached down looking for something to grip onto to regain his balance.
The broken glass hadn't offered much assistance and looking up at him she could see the stem of the wine glass protruding from the palm of his hand. The shock still registering on his face. Slowly his face changing to pain.
She could feel the tears swelling in her eyes, she had hoped to give him some distraction from his writing, a soothing alternative, instead she had forgotten the water and now there was a stem of the wine glass protruding from the palm of his hand. Dropping down onto her calves as the tears flowed freely, she could already see that his writing was going to be restricted from the stitches and bandages that he would be wearing.