This book, improbable as it is, would have been impossible without the help, care, feeding, and receptivity of various experts, friends, experts who became friends, friends who became expert at one thing or another, and the various benefits each and all provided. To everyone involved or engaged, even those with little or no knowledge of the project at hand, I extend my heartfelt thanks.
Amanuenses, transcribers, keyboardists, and researchers—angels all, with a remarked taste for, and devotion to, scholarship, and a stirring attention to detail—collectively constituted the great, chuffing engine behind this little train that not only could, but did.
Zoe K., who gave unstintingly of her wet and remarkably tight cunt, when this author’s turgidity extended beyond prose, exacted a much-needed and welcome release; her heart-shaped ass, and the valentine dip at the top of her bottom, as she bent over this writer’s desk, and took what became a habitual a tergo fucking, cannot be overvalued.
Professor C., from the Classical Studies department at a prestigious university she would prefer I not name, and one of her teaching assistants (a petite, flexible redhead), kindly read early outlines of the manuscript; they provided valuable insights and, after a long boozy lunch, a three-way that culminated in an ardent and stirring snowballing of my cum that was so memorable, so erotically formidable, that I was compelled to enlist their help on several subsequent occasions, each of which yielded delightful variations on the first, and certainly improved the accuracy of the final manuscript. They were astute; they loved to fuck—an indispensable pairing.
Personal assistant Janet L., small of stature and ample of bosom, was Swiss-watch reliable when it came to smoothing the pathways toward a day of productive composition—making sure, as she said, that I did not experience any episodes of “writer’s cock”—on her knees and at the ready to relieve me of my morning loads.
Her cheerful and avid unbelting of my dressing gown, her careful attention to head, shaft, and full balls, her unfeigned delight when her finishing strokes brought forth that blissful spasm, those warm ropes that she always took on, and massaged over, her buoyant breasts, were inestimable.
Both Lacey J. and Angela B. provided yeoman’s work when it came to interpreting my hand-written edits and retyping pages, as well as sharing responsibility for sucking me off when such service became essential. Their attention to detail was laudable and matched only by their enthusiasm for swallowing semen—mine, to be precise: sometimes two, three ejaculations a day. They maintained a playful rivalry, tallying their respective number of loads, until things got a little too competitive. I, as well as the next writer, would have found it delightful to be fellated all day, but there were still deadlines to meet.