Through My Years With Ruby Moon-Houldson

Advocate Joan Price Provides Senior Erotica...

c. 1800-1803 (Photo credit: Wikipedia ) "You are so beautiful! Your hair is shining. You have a beautiful figure! You feel so good in my arms! I missed you so much! I love you to no end! Let's make love right now!" "Just like a typical guy years younger, Max is always ready to go before I am. "I am so horny," he whispers hoarsely into my ear. I smile, enjoying his eagerness... "I want to kiss you all over," he mumbles into my neck as his hands begin to roam... "There's something I want to do, and I hope you will allow me." he begins, rather formally... "I want to kiss you all over and lick your vagina!" "I gasp, feigning shock. "I'll let you as long as you do it as long and as thoroughly as you did last week." "We did it last week?" ~~~ Ageless Erotica Edited by Joan Price I met Joan on line a number of years ago when she was writing a book. Finding her name in my files, I we

The Harbinger - Continued Reading... Have you become Interested?

Nuriel Kaplan has convinced the individual to whom he is pitching his book... and she is willing to listen... “All right, Nouriel. Tell me about your mystery.” “It’s not my mystery. It’s much bigger than me. You have no idea how big, or what it involves.” “And what does it involve?” “Everything. It involves everything, and it explains everything…everything that’s happened, that’s happening, and everything that’s going to happen.” “What do you mean?” “Behind September 11…” “How could an ancient mystery possibly have anything to do with September 11?” “An ancient mystery behind everything from 9/11 to the economy…to the housing boom…to the war in Iraq…to the collapse of Wall Street. Everything in precise detail.” And it’s not only a mystery, it’s a message, an alarm.” “An alarm?” she asked. “An alarm of what?” “Of warning.” “To whom?” “America.” “Why?” “When you hear it,” he said, “you’ll understand why.” ~~~ OK, how good are you at listening to information, s

A Biker's Funeral from the Novel, Running With Wild Blood By Gerrie Ferris Finger

I’m easily amused. Lake circled the rental car around Palms Garden Cemetery. A spiked, wrought iron fence kept the dead in, otherwise, who knew? They might run out and vote. I didn’t say that to Lake for fear of an unappreciative groan. At the white stone gates, at intervals , the uniformed cop held up a hand to allow other boulevard traffic to flow past the line of bikes and cars waiting to enter the city of the dead. My skin started to hum. The voltage in the atmosphere was amped to the max despite the fanning palms doing their damndest to make this day a celebration of the dead. “Don’t anyone light a match,” Lake said. Riley "Big Red" O'Rourke We weaved and shouldered our way through throngs of bikers, some startled at seeing three people not wearing cut, sleeveless denim, or leather, or visible tattoos— until they caught the badges. They growled and spit, then went back to their conversations. Lots of fucks and fuckers bein

Just My Personal Opinion, Of Course...

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