Watching by J.L. Ostle
I can’t help but groan out into the room with frustration.
I have lost my touch.
I look at the screen, the book I’m writing almost finished. I just need to fill in the sex scenes and my mind has gone blank.
I have written over ten books and my hot scenes are starting to sound similar, I don’t want my readers to skim over what I write. I want them to feel every emotion, every pull, I want them to feel the connection between the characters.
My fingers hover over the keyboard and nothing.
Fuck my life.
I lean back in my chair, pressing save and turning off my laptop. I need a break.
Maybe I have been single for too long. It has almost been a year since I last had sex and it wasn’t even that mind blowing. Definitely nothing like what I write in my stories.
Maybe I have created too much expectation on what sex should be.
I just need a good fuck, but there is no one in my life I know that will give that to me.
A good fuck that it is.
I have close friends who are guys but even though they may see me as something more than a friend, I don’t see them the same way. They are like family to me.
Well, not family exactly as I know once I have a few drinks in me I sometimes end up kissing them, but I couldn’t sleep with them.
Just imagining them on top me gives me shivers.
It’s weird.
I walk to the kitchen filling up the kettle when I hear my phone ringing, I jog towards my desk picking it up, smiling at the name being shown before answering it.
“Finished the book yet?” My best friend Hannah asks me. I plump myself in my chair and dramatically groan. “I take that as a no then.” She laughs.
“Maybe in this book I just skip the hot scenes. Not all my books need to have sex in it.” I know saying the words out loud that I wouldn’t do it.
I can’t publish a book if I know it’s not at its best. I want sex in this book, there’s too much build up for there not to be. If I want it, I know the readers will also.
“Your books always have sex in them. You know we all crave the good girl and bad boy getting it on, and when it happens, its panty dropping good.”
“Panty dropping good?” I laugh.
“Just saying.” We both chuckle.
“I may have lost my mojo.” I rub my forehead.
“I think you need a good night out. Go get ready, I will come and get you in an hour.”
“What about my book?”
“Are you going to finish it tonight?” She asks me. I look to my closed laptop and know that I won’t. “See, so go get sexy.” She hangs up before I have a chance to answer her. I head to my room grabbing a couple of towels then head to the bathroom.
I look into the mirror, seeing my long light brown hair tied up in a messy bun on top of my head. Purple bags under my eyes, my cheeks flushed.
God, I look like shit.
It’s the joys of being an author. Once you start a book, you care less about your appearance, sleep, and food until you know the story is done and dusted.
I love writing. I never thought I would be writing as a career but I am. I am living the dream. But when I do finish a book I take four weeks to myself to say goodbye to my characters and to relax. To start looking after myself once again and watching a ton of Netflix, before the next lot of characters start arguing with me in my head.
Grabbing a quick shower, blow-drying my hair, I go to my closest deciding on an outfit. This is where I turn into a real girly girl. I try on half my clothes before I stick to one that I feel good in. I decide on black skinny jeans and a black boob-tube top that has sequins on the sides.
I wear neutral makeup and when I do look in the mirror again, I smile at the transformation. I love makeup, especially concealer, the bags that were under my eyes are now hidden.
I don’t look like a member of the walking dead anymore.
I am putting on my black suede ankle boots when I hear a knock on the door.
I open it up to see Hannah posing against the doorframe, showing off her light blue dress that makes your eyes go straight to her cleavage. “What do you think?” She waves her hand down her body. I look from her long blonde highlighted hair, down to her curvaceous body.
“Gorgeous,” I tell her, running back in grabbing my bag, phone, and keys.
“You look great too. Let’s hurry, the cab is waiting.” She links her arm through mine. We walk down the path to the cab, climbing in. We get dropped off in the city centre, heading to the first bar.
We smile to the bouncers who smile back. Hannah and I have been going out since we were seventeen, yes, we went out underage, who didn’t? As we are thirty now, you can imagine that we know nearly everyone who works at the places we love to go.
Walking to the busy bar, I give the place a quick look round before facing the bartenders waiting to get served.
“Should we get cocktail pitchers?” Hannah asks me.
“Of course. One each?” She nods smiling at me.
I place our orders and we watch it getting made. I love watching them make our drinks, it looks like something out of the movie with Tom Cruise in it. After we pay we head outside grabbing a table. It's only seven in the evening but it’s already starting to get busy. Least the sun is still out.
I take a sip of my mojito, it tastes so good. It doesn’t even taste like alcohol, that’s why I always get it. It’s so refreshing and I drink it like it’s juice.