For most of us, erotic literature presents an avenue of escape from the mundane banality of the waking world. With but little more than the click of a mouse or typing a few keywords into a search engine, one can safely indulge in their most titillating, perhaps even taboo fantasies for a half an hour or so, finding a source of relief and enjoyment without anyone to judge you. But... for some, this is not enough. For some, by whatever cruel twist of fate, logging onto Literotica serves as a gateway into the world of the weird and frightening, a gateway into... the
other
dimension.
Please join us, won't you.
*Cue dramatic, but totally not copyrighted theme music so we don't have to pay any royalties*
"Greetings viewers," says a generic narrator, who bears only a passing resemblance to the late Rod Serling, "Tonight's story takes us to the fertile mind of one of the many talented, hard working and, truth be told, underpaid volunteer writers on Literotica."
He pauses for dramatic effect.
"And I do mean
fertile
," he continues, "For tonight's author has what you might call something of a thing for the pregnant ladies."
Our intrepid narrator is interrupted by a raucous cry of laughter from the audience...
Wait a minute! Did I actually write in a laugh track for this story? I'm seriously going to cut that out, because it just doesn't fit with the mood of the story. Just gotta go back and rewrite that part... Screw it, I'm just going to re-write the entire damned story!
Trying to ignore the omniscient first person narrator that I inexplicably wrote into my apartment in my vain attempt at a 'Twilight Zone' parody, I highlight everything that I just wrote and hit the 'delete' key. He slowly fades away, back into my perverted little imagination. Heh. At least he didn't scream or anything.
But this is Literotica, and the readers probably don't care about my parodies of decades old cult T.V. shows, no matter how funny or witty I think they are. They come here expecting hot, steamy sex stories. I figure that I may as well indulge them. Besides, I could use a little relief myself, so looking down at my keyboard, I simply type: 'And then a woman appeared in his apartment.'
And like magic, she did.
I look her naked body over approvingly. Not bad if I do say so myself, but perhaps she could use some more descriptors to flesh her out a bit. She's a redhead, I decide, with her hair cut in a short little bob, and like that, her hair changes to match my writing. The, as of yet still nameless, redhead simply smiles at me.
Hmmm... I'm still not satisfied though. Rather than try and develop her character or personality, I think I should focus on her ethnicity, preferably giving her some highly improbable admixture that one is unlikely to ever encounter in real life. After weighing the options, I decide that she should be a quarter Latina, a quarter Arab, a quarter Indian (East Indian that is), and a quarter white. As soon as I type that in, she takes on a nice café latte colored skin tone and gets some nice curves, especially on that sexy ass of hers.
"Oh yeah," I say as I get up and slap her on the ass, "Now that's what I'm talking about! Nice, big and firm!"
She just giggles, so I go back and type in that she has a big ass, just to emphasize that fact, as if the readers couldn't tell after reading it a couple times each paragraph. Unfortunately, I've misjudged my abilities here, and my imaginary lover's ass swells to comically large proportions. I was aiming for Jennifer Lopez size or better, not cartoon character. Before she can say anything, I hit delete a couple times, and her posterior shrinks back down to a more manageable size. Still big, mind you, but not quite big enough to strain the reader's suspension of disbelief.
