I knew I had to have him to moment I answered the door to his knock and he stood there, all stubble and scruff, all manly man.

“I’ve come to service your boiler love,” he said, a line straight out of a porn film. I might have been immune to his rugged charms had I not just spent the morning writing my latest romantic tale of sex and seduction. But my characters were so real to me, the situations I created so vivid in my imagination, the physical effect was as intense as if I was right there. In fact, I couldn’t finish a story without having to satisfy myself, since i didn’t have a husband or boyfriend to take care of my desire. I always made myself wait though, until after my characters had been satisfied too – so my own desire, my own desperate melting need, would translate into the story I was writing.

That’s exactly where I’d been when he’d knocked on the door – coming to the climax of the scene, moist and sticky between the legs, aching to be touched. I’d been five minutes away from fetching my faithful friend to bring me to my own climax as I re-read the scene – as was my routine upon finishing every new sexy tale. So then I found myself staring at this beautiful man, my heart racing, my body crying out to be touched, wondering if he’d been sent as some kind of divine intervention to see to my every need.
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