Muted clicking filled the sunroom. Mike typed away on the battered Chromebook, crafting with brevity.
Amber wandered over, her hands curled around a cup of steaming coffee.
"Whatcha doing?" she asked, "Writing porn?"
Mike nodded, never taking his eyes off the screen.
"You usually look happy when you do it, or at least kinda horny. You don't seem like that now," she observed.
"Good stories with only 750 words are hard," Mike replied.
Amber placed her mug on the counter and pulled the rolling chair around to make Mike face her. She straddled him.
"750 words sounds like a school project for an 8th grade. It can't be that hard."
"It's not long enough to tell a compelling story," Mike replied, "I don't have much space to work with. It's like doing a good commercial in 30 seconds. Every word counts."
"What's the theme?" she asked. Mike didn't have one. "Oooh, tell them I'm Asian! Do a racial one."
"I think it's more popular to have a black man and a white woman. It's not my thing and I don't know if I could do a good story, not that I'm judging people who like it."
"What if I was into it?" Amber asked, wrinkling her nose in merriment.
"We can talk about it. Do you really want to fuck a black guy?" Mike asked.
"No. I want YOU to fuck a black guy," she said. Mike looked confused and Amber kept it together a record six seconds. Her face blossomed into a grin and she burst out laughing, rocking in his lap. She felt him respond to her body's motion and she rocked again, gently this time. She slowed the pace down and deliberately teased him, adding a bit of pressure to excite him.
"Now we're getting somewhere," she said, "But I guess we cross gay stories off the list."
She thought about it. "What do you actually write?"
Mike shrugged, "I like exhibitionism and public nudity, some other stuff. I don't have a single focus and I do different categories."
"List them," Amber said. Mike went through the list. She considered each one and nodded for him to go to the next.
