Walking through the woods on a brisk midnight... You were tired and came across a seemingly normal picture book of risque stories. Each of them seemed to have their own face, yet remarkably each was seemingly left blank, each person in the story on the page becoming to become a bit more like your own as your tired eyes gasped and blinked again.
In some ways, you could quite recall feeling like you could feel each story on the page. The character wandering through the storm making you feel like snow was blowing over your own face. Was it really you, or the book, or perhaps a blend? The future seemed uncertain. But you could feel that the book promised to offer a bit of risque fun.. Though you couldn't quite be sure if you would enjoy it or find yourself possessed to live out the actions of another, living a risque story where pictures of adult woodland Red riding hoods stories became interupted with quite bright red cocks that seemed a bit too big..
Traveler stories of males traveling through the shivering winters, both finding shelter, mugs of warm hot cocoa, or what seemed to be diverging pages where comfort and resort turned into pictures of them yelping as wild animals thrust and fucked their asses as they ripped through their clothes, the man's face panting as each picture on the pages slowly began to fade from a eerie, papery blank into your own... What story would you want to choose, or to re live, and experience?