And our brains, suddenly starved for sensory input and something to do, turns inwards and in the space of seconds, minutes, hours or days creates whol... new worlds for us, and us alone, to roam and explore."John is not a big thinker, unless wondering whether or not it's possible to make omelet without breaking any eggs counts as big thoughts, but John had a feeling about the words that haunted him. The feeling lived in his guts somewhere, though it had yet to pay any rent. And that feeling told. Thiscontinued until the late 2000s when I began to realize I was heading fora dead end. My little story was now more than 400 kilobytes in length,with substantial portions still unwritten; and, what was worse, I wasuncertain of how it should end. I had grown increasingly dissatisfiedwith it and knew I would have to rewrite it almost entirely before itcould ever be published. In addition to all this, I had started to feelthat the passage of time had made references to Buffy the Vampire. It smeared precum across my pale flesh as she trembled. I grinned at her and threw my left leg high up into the air, resting my ankle on her shoulder in a display of my limberness. My pussy lips stretched wide apart, the tip of her dick nudging against my entrance.I impaled my cunt down her shaft.A great sigh of delight went through the watching faerie nobles. Their bodies shifted. Hands found pussies and cocks, stroking and rubbing as I sank my snatch down that amazing shaft. My toes flexed. “Oh, come here, cutie,” my mother purred as I took my glass, the liquid inside cool “Let’s just go over here and get out of the way.”I felt my mother’s desire for the girl. So I flared the girl’s desire for my mother. It was simple to do. The girl gasped and didn’t resist, clutching the tray to herself. Pyrriah smiled and then whispered into my mother’s ear.“Thank you,” mouthed my mother.I winked back at her.As the tailor measured me, his busty wife wrote down the numbers. Her eyes were locked.