Literotica Police

The only light came from the glow of a flat-screen monitor on the laptop computer perched on a TV table in the darkened room. The little, gnome-like person sat on the narrow bed and hunched himself closer so that he could read every word of the "Loving Wives" story scrolling down his screen.

His dirty hand fondled his deflated penis in a vain attempt to bring it back to life. The dribble of semen that he had forced out of it over an hour ago was now lying dry and crusty on his flabby belly.

"Will was torn between his love for his unfaithful wife and the vision of her giving herself to his cousin," he read. "He wondered if he could ever forgive her. Was this the first time that she had strayed? Were the children his or were they fathered by unknown sperm donors who had penetrated what he thought to be solely his territory?"

"Wimp! Wimp! Wimp!" snarled the little creature as he pounded the Page Down key.

The lights of a passing truck flooded the darkened room with bright light that was filtered by the single dirty window. He could smell the diesel fumes creeping through the inoperable bathroom vent.

Clicking on the little blue "2" character at the bottom of the page, he waited for the second part of the story to appear.

"Goddamn this dial-up connection," he grunted.

He bewailed the lack of funds he needed to get a DSL but he wasn't sure the long-term stay motel he lived in had the capability even if he had the funds.

"I can't stand these wimp stories," he moaned. "Men acting like pussies with no balls."

The screen jumped and the second section waited for his review. He continued to read the words he hated as he cursed the author for writing such crap. The story line was hard to follow because he kept searching for spelling or grammatical errors with which to flog the author with his comments. He had to keep scrolling up to reread portions to keep up with the story.

He knew that if he missed any, some of the other gnomes would catch them and report the fact to the readers of Literotica. His other Anonymous fellow commentators would also be scrutinizing the Loving Wives category so they could vent their impotence on the talented writers who dared to publish their creative thoughts.

"All it takes is one misplaced comma or quotation mark," he thought with glee.

Feeling a sudden urge to pee, he struggled off the bed and walked, barefoot, over the filthy carpet into the bathroom.

"Who do they think they are?" he yelled over the sound of his urine hitting the water in the stained toilet. "Making me read this junk!"

The next page had finally come up on his monitor when he returned to his position on the edge of the bed. He was careful to sip his beer because he knew there were only three more cans left in the moldy little refrigerator standing in the corner. It was still two days until payday and he couldn't afford to buy another six-pack until then.

It was late and he knew he had to get up to go to work in the morning. He was tired but he wanted to be the first one to comment on the new stories when they popped up on the Literotica website in the middle of the night.

He remembered he had forgotten to wash his uniform shirt and his boss would be pissed off if he reported to work with the ketchup stain still on it. The Goddamn dispenser spurted it on him while he was preparing a batch of cheeseburgers for the noon rush. At least he didn't have to worry about buying food as long as he worked there.

He had already scanned the Incest/Taboo category and submitted his comments about the lack of moral turpitude exhibited by the authors who wrote about fucking their mothers and their sisters. Now it was Loving Wives time.

Returning his focus to the story on his screen he read -

"Will stood at the door to the guest room and watched as his wife of eleven years accepted his cousin's cock into her vagina. He had rushed to the door after hearing her moans when he entered the house. He thought she was being attacked but found that she was a willing participant in the debauchery taking place before his eyes."

"The bitch is not even making him use a condom. What's wrong with these authors? Haven't they ever heard of STDs or AIDS or herpes? What kind of a message are they sending?"

"Wimp, wimp, wimp," he wrote as the title of his Anonymous comment.

"I give it a big fat zero because the vile thoughts of a husband taking back his wife and the mother of his children after she fucked his relative is to much to bare. Havent' they ever thout of what culd happen if she passed a desesae on to her kids. You WIMP writers are nothing and I don't no why you write the stuff."

He clicked on "Submit" and turned off his computer.

Satisfied that he had vented his wrath on the author and sure that his criticism would be taken seriously, he lay back in his foul smelling bed. He was secure in his knowledge that there would be more free Literotica stories to hate the next night.

He also knew that his other anonymous cohorts would be sharing their malicious thoughts and he would learn some new words to include in his comments when he logged on tomorrow night.

He tried to reawaken his penis to get one more twitch of pleasure from it but his attempts only served to reopen the sore that had developed in the last few weeks.

He sent a prayer up as he fell into a restless sleep.

"I hope there will be some cuckold or interracial stories to read tomorrow. I hate those stories where wimp husbands get their rocks off being humiliated by their wives getting fucked by other men. They're sickos without any balls. Wimps, that's what they are wimps, wimps, wim ... "

He was used to the sound of the diesels at the run down truck stop next door and their noise didn't awaken him. He dreamed of the power he thought he had over those writers who had the gall to write those terrible stories that he was forced to read.

"I'm Anonymous," he muttered in his sleep. "You'll never find me."

While Anonymous slept, Literotica's authors sat at their keyboards struggling to write the perfect story. Each one of them had a dozen plots rolling around in his or her head that they were willing to share with their fans.

As a unit they each thought, "Screw the scoring, it doesn't make any difference. It's been corrupted by the gnomes and means nothing. The joy is in the emails and the comments that show appreciation of the overall effort of a writer trying to bring a slice of real life to the pages of Literotica."

Submit!