She reached for the fountain pen on his bedside table, opened it, wrote on his shoulder.
She dropped the pen as he kissed her.
Sorted out once again, she said, “Victor, don't you remembering saying that you always thought a writer was someone who dropped everything to write down an idea? How you would be honoured if I wrote a note on you while we were making love?”
“Yes ... well … it better be a successful novel!”