"Finally!" Noam said, as he finished a final edit of the story he had been working on for weeks. He had poured the full measure of his erotic imagination into his creation, inspired by lust and self- pleasure as he wrote. It had been difficult work, crafting his phrases to provide maximum sexual excitement for his readers, and he smiled to imagine the sweet masturbation he sincerely hoped his work would lead to. It afforded him great satisfaction to be able to excite and give pleasure to other men who enjoyed the same kinds of wicked fantasies that aroused him.

Logging into his favorite story site, "Stroking Over Lolitas", he sent off his latest literary baby: "The Gift of Tongues: how little

Missy found the perfect birthday present for naughty Uncle Tim", by

Noam de Plume. When the upload was complete, he repaired to bed, and resolved to be patient while waiting for responses to his newest offering. He fell asleep while pretending to be Uncle Tim...

Some time later, elsewhere in the world, a man named John came upon

"The Gift of Tongues." The title excited him, and his heart beat rapidly as he downloaded the story. He began to read and his excitement grew, as did his erection, which he stroked and fondled gently, imagining little Missy's touch. Every sentence stirred him, every erotic image deepened his arousal, and he masturbated with sweet abandon until, having held out quivering on the edge to the very end, he exploded in orgasmic bliss at the very moment when Missy brought lucky Uncle Tim to the same point of release with her clever, naughty mouth.

"Oh my God!" gasped John. Overwhelmed with pleasure and gratitude, he immediately penned (well, typed, actually) a response to the author, detailing the excitement and pleasure he had derived from his work. It was only fair to do so, he felt, and he sensed intuitively that the writer might share somehow in his own pleasure and arousal. He hoped so, at any rate, and he hoped, too, that a correspondence might arise between them – and in fact such a correspondence did develop, one mutually exciting and enjoyable to both parties.

In another part of the world, Bubba downloaded the same story. "Oh yeah!" he said upon reading the title; and, taking another swig of beer and wiping the fried chicken grease off his hands onto his shirt, he began to jerk off, rapidly and mechanically. He came before he was half through - he could jerk a lot faster than he could read. When he was done he looked at the invitation to send a response to the author, at the bottom of the page. He squinted and scowled, confused. "Fuck that!" he belched, and reached for another beer.

In yet another place, Jerry downloaded the same story after having skimmed through a dozen or so others. He began to scan it quickly.

"Huh!" he said. "No bra size! The hell with that." And without even reaching for his zipper he was off to download another. He barely noticed the request for a response for the author, who, it was pointed out, was not paid for his work. "Sucker!" Jerry sneered to himself.