This Is the Modern World
Copyright© 2012 by Maxicue
Introduction
Fantasy Sex Story: Introduction - Snake and his angels begin his Tales describing his transformation into his present guise. They tell of his pursuit and destruction of an old skin that threatens proof of his immortality. I enjoy immersing myself in his tales as well as in a couple more of his incredibly beautiful angels.
Caution: This Fantasy Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Ma/ft Fa/Fa Fa/ft Ma/Ma Mult Consensual NonConsensual Lesbian Heterosexual Hermaphrodite First Oral Sex Anal Sex Prostitution
A Note and/or an Apology
Okay, you've gotten through the introductory first book (at least you should have since it's necessary to understanding the rest—none of the books are stand-alone). I suppose I could have written this before you made the plunge, but it wasn't quite relevant yet. I realize this is a rather massive undertaking for me, encompassing several threads of history that cover millennia, not to mention interweaving them with a contemporary tale.
First of all the historical fiction. It's weird to think that a work of such fantastical concepts--a couple of eternal travelers of mysterious and unknown origin and their immortal angels and mortal minions—could suffer from a lack of historical credibility. In a way I wish I could do the Gulliver's Travels thing or the alien world sci-fi thing and totally invent various times and places whole cloth. Unfortunately that's not the route I took. I will try to not be too overtly anachronistic in my attempt at recreating history, but at the same time I can't be expected to be completely accurate either. Wikipedia will help with details, a definite plus in our World Wide Web world, but further depth I have to admit isn't in the cards. They don't pay me enough for the research. (In fact I'm not paid at all.) I won't purposely screw up the accuracy, but please forgive me if I do. And I hope any blatant incongruities don't distract from your reading.
Secondly, as critics of previous works of mine have noted, I'm not good at accents. Conversations seem to have similar style no matter who the converser might be or where or when he or she comes from. I'm definitely no Mark Twain in conveying the vernacular. I guess the suspension of disbelief is similar to watching a bunch of actors in togas speaking the Queen's English. Blame my beginnings as a poet exploring the juxtaposition of words to generate beauty for my particular idiosyncratic use of language which I use to attempt an aesthetically pleasing quality perhaps only found in my own head but hopefully not. But that's not here nor there. I just hope again that it doesn't distract.