Fuck.

It's already Sunday, isn't it? Time for me to rub the last of a good, solid weekend sleep from my eyes, stir a little to shift the covers more comfortably around me, and peer at the blinking numbers on my phone.

12:23

Damn. I slept in late. It's a good feeling, though; I don't need to so much as get out of bed to shift my laptop from its precarious perch on the edge of my nightstand and scoot back to sit up against my pillows. Some large, stuffed toy is at my left elbow, I can feel- probably one of my Pusheens, or maybe that sheep-thing I like to use as a pillow sometimes. Nothing to do for the whole day, really; there's always the possibility of just rolling back over with a flump and tugging the quilts back up onto me.

But I should write, I know. Something pretty, something cheery, something to spark joy in someone's heart. Maybe that one about a succubus I've been putting off, but that's involved. Another concept floats to mind- that cyberpunk one, but then again, that's best done as a story. Something longer, for sure; not for today.

Think, man. What sparks your erotic imagination today?

Visions swim lazily in front of me, from a warm, wet mouth descending on my length and gentle hands pushing me back onto the bed, to a slow, lazy roll of my hips under the covers with some pleasant paramour nestled in my arms.

I can't just write a prompt about wanting a slow, lazy blowjob, can I? Maybe even waking up to one reeeeeeaaaaalllllly late in the afternoon?

My fingers are getting a little slow on the typing, I can tell. Shlorp-shlorp-shlorp, I think desperately. Think of a cute girl- a cute hobbit girl, like Alfie, y'know, sucking you off while you type. That'll be good. That'll...

Somehow writing a good prompt doesn't seem quite as urgent, now. I'll pen something later; now is time for my hands to drift lazily to the warmth of my groin and the blankets to swamp me in their pillowy embrace. Maybe I'll get off, maybe I'll wake up to something nicer, but now my eyes are fluttering, and I