He stares at the blank page—his typewriter silent. The sunlit field full of poppies where he sits should inspire, but the words won’t come today.
Then she appears. Her red hair and red dress evoke the flowers around her. She’s stunning and smiling so sultrily.
No words. She bares her breasts, drops his pants, lifts her skirt, and she rides him. She sways like the poppies in a mesmerizing dance of lust. It’s pure heavenly bliss. She comes with a squeal, and he groans as he fills her.
A final kiss and she’s gone.
His typewriter is no longer silent.
