The Forward had been easy to write – essentially just a statement about my writing career to date and how the stories selected for the anthology were received by the public and by critics both then and now. Two new tales had been crafted for the anthology, and my editor was highly impressed with both.
The Afterword, however, was proving to be quite a stressful chore, especially since I was up against a deadline. My editor was insisting that I send him the Afterword no later than the start of business the following day, yet I was uncertain as to what to say in the Afterword.
My beautiful young wife Anna, always wanting to be helpful whether or not she was officially in her slave role, knelt beneath the desk, her hands upon my thighs, her mouth surrounding my erection as her tongue ensured my continued arousal. I tried to draw inspiration from her expert actions, a scenario which had resulted in about a dozen short tales inspired by her sexual service to me, but this time, however, no ideas came to mind.
Always extremely perceptive and perhaps even as empathic as Commander Deanna Troi, Anna allowed me to slip from her mouth and looked up at me through her curtain of raven-colored strands, her eyes announcing her observation even before she spoke: “Still no worthy ideas yet, huh?”
I reached down and gingerly stroked the back of her head, sighing with resignation. “It’s already nearly midnight, but ulus escort I just don’t know what would be a fitting way to end the anthology,” I admitted. “For once, I may need to admit defeat.”
“No. That’s not like you.” She kissed the tip of my manhood, her eyes never leaving mine. “What about explaining the inspiration for some of the stories? I’m sure many readers would find that interesting.”
“It doesn’t seem right,” I replied sadly, closing my eyes and leaning back in the chair.
“What about a short discussion of the plausibility of your stories, especially the futuristic sci-fi stories? I’m sure many readers would be interested in the plausibility of the tentacle sex stories or the plant rape stories.”
I shook my head. “I want the Afterword to be something which will have the readers eagerly anticipating another anthology, which will almost certainly come within a few years.”
“Just like you will almost certainly cum within a few hours?” Anna quipped with an audible smile.
My eyes opened, and a smile quickly spread across my lips. It was not what I was looking for; it was unexpected, and that was the beauty of the idea.
Hopefully, you the readers have enjoyed this anthology of my writings. Many readers have written to me and to my editor and publisher expressing both praise and concern over my chosen subject matters within the field of yenimahalle escort erotic writing, and they have in large part influenced the selection of the stories for this anthology. To those who have written, whether to praise or to criticize, I can only say, “Thank you.”
What those letters and e-mails have not been able to accomplish, however, is help me to write this Afterword. I have spent nearly a full week attempting to find just the right way to end this collection of fantastic erotica. Writing an Afterword may not seem like such a daunting task, but given the unusual nature of these stories – tentacle sex, alien sexual experimentation, plant rape, magical anatomical enhancements, and the like – I specifically wanted to find a unique way to end this anthology of implausible erotic tales.
Yet, the uniqueness of this Afterword comes from the mundaneness of what is taking place as I write.
I am sitting naked at my desk, my fingers typing rapidly with Microsoft Word throwing fits at my numerous misspellings and words it simply considers wrong, such as “mundaneness.” The reason I am sitting naked at my desk and typing so rapidly is because my beautiful young wife kneels underneath the desk, between my legs, working expertly, further honing her unequalled fellatio skills. Further, she has challenged me: The sooner I finish this Afterword, the sooner she will make me volley my white-hot love down her throat.
Yet, I wonder if I really do want to finish the Afterword quite so soon. Her mouth is so warm, so velvetly wet, so small that her lips naturally form a perfect seal around my invading anatomy. Every time I glance from the screen and down at her, her large, expressive, loving hazel eyes peer up at me from behind the curtain of raven-colored strands. To see her pink-painted lips stretched so obscenely, to hear and feel her soft hums of enjoyment, to sense the love emanating from her in tangible waves as her fingernails scratch lightly upon me, it is all nearly enough to make me hold her head still and pour my love down her throat right now.
Nonetheless, I am waiting – we are waiting – for this Afterword to be finished. This is quite a writing challenge, as well as a challenge of willpower. This is a stereotypical male fantasy come true, yet I am unable to focus entirely upon it if I am to write an Afterword worthy of this anthology.
Interestingly, this is without a doubt the most normal, most plausible “story” imprinted upon these many pages. Perhaps it is thus most fitting that this “story” is the last to appear in this anthology.
With that in mind, may this Afterword become an afterthought which stays in the mind of the reader and lurks in the subconscious, ready to sprout forth at an unexpected moment, its existence known only to others by an enigmatic smile to rival that of the Mona Lisa.
However, it is with a not-so-subtle smile that I end this Afterword, already with inspiration for a new tale in my mind thanks to the writing challenge I hereby complete.