Ruth looked at the keys in front of her.

She had always wanted to write but had never actually sat down to do it. Life was always on the run, it seemed, as she ran from one event to another for the kids. Then, the rest of her time was spent on Hugh’s arm as eye candy at work functions, distracting the competition with her batting eyelashes so he could sign better deals.

The cursor on the writing screen blinked and mocked her with its lazy delay. It had been rare that the cursor had been called on to produce anything further than this.

This weekend, however, was different. All three boys were at hockey camp for and Hugh was on a week-long business trip to Dublin. Her time was all for me and hers to enjoy. She was ready to torture that cursor and make it jump.

It was Saturday noon. Ruth still sat in her navy lace negligée staring at the screen. Her black hair was barely shoulder length when free, but was held in a tight ponytail at the moment. A glass of red wine stood at attention beside the keyboard.

The desktop held two screens in a v-shape, connected with a hinge between them. On one screen was Ruth’s e-reader with her copy of “Maggie Goes to Town” waiting for her to peruse. On the other screen was a new blogging site, BlogOne.

The site had the name Zephyr Writes as its header. The name had come from Ruth reading about the warm winds that blew off the Rocky Mountains and warmed the City of Denver…a long way away from Ruth, and a name that Ruth believed no one would connect to her.

The first piece on the blog already had a title, “Review of ‘Maggie Goes to Town'”. Not very exciting, but for a first post it would need to be generic. The bigger issue would be to find a style to write it in that was unique.

Her green eyes began exploring the story, and her right hand cooperated with mouse clicks to flip between pages. At two hundred words, her left hand raised the wine glass for a good solid swallow of the red liquid. Replacing the glass, it dropped from the desk to her thigh. At five hundred words, that same hand pushed beneath the skirt of the negligée and began its own exploration. At seven hundred words, imagination took her to the bed of this Maggie-woman, and her own fingers mimicked what Maggie was experiencing with the cock of Mister Jones pounding into her.

Two hours later, Ruth shifted back in her chair exhausted. Blinking, she glanced out the office window at the tall leafless tree that resided in the backyard. Her breath came in heaves as she tried to remind herself that she had not just fucked six men and two women in the last two hours…all of whom were soap opera-type gorgeous people. Yet she felt well fucked.

Her eyes dropped to her glistening left hand. A tissue was pulled to wipe it off before that hand joined its comrade, hovering over the keyboard. Ruth began to type…

The characters are somewhat shallow, but the sex is deep…

Three hundred of her own words later, she finished with:

I give this book eight out of a ten possible orgasms. Now, dear reader, I think I need a cigarette.

A quick check of spelling and grammar were completed before she hit to post button. The social media accounts Ruth had created that were attached to Zephyr Writes had only a few bot followers so far…so nothing happened. Her message had been placed in the computer and had been tossed out into the waves of surf to see if anyone found them.

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