Just My Personal Opinion, Of Course...

"Sadly, most men are obsessed with self-gratification. While this may have been acceptable in former times, Today's Dynamic Woman has no patience for a man bent on pleasing himself..." How High Should I Jump? The Satirical Guide to Pleasing   Today's Woman By R. Milton Quibner, HE.R.S "Her greatest power, and her critical beauty,  comes from her mouth, and yet I haven't the reserves  to stand longer under her illustrative bray. Would that I  was a younger, stronger man, how truly learned would I be." --Scribbling Aristoxenus "I can't relate the joys I've experienced, waiting at my desk while my wife and her partners recreate, knowing the event is proceeding according to her/their desires. Hearing explosions of ecstasy emanating from my bedroom never ceases to bring a tear to my eye. Many's the time I've paused in my note-taking to soak in the sounds of satisfaction from her happy partnering... "I, to

"I ceased to believe in angels when I was three years old; when the evil from which my mother so valiantly tried to protect me came and took her, plunging me headlong into madness. Evil I know your name. And it has always been Father. Three times I thought I’d broken the bond for good. Three times I was captured and dragged screaming defiantly back into hell. This time there would be no escape. There was nowhere to run. It was sure to end in death.  "The fight had finally been knocked out of me by the time I was twenty-five. My father was all-powerful. His name rang through the halls of justice when an undesirable need arose to service the dark pleasures of those same men. I was his daughter, and I was not immune.’ My short life had been written in blood. I could smell cigarette smoke and stale beer and heard the sound of raucous laughter as I lie there drugged and fighting to maintain consciousness.  “This is some cold-blooded shit. She must have something big on the old

" Pushing herself backwards, away from the face pressed close to hers, Louise replied only with a prim: I bed your pardon?" "She noticed he was carrying some kind of bagel in his hand. With eyes peering between hat and scarf, the half-hidden face repeated the question, impatiently: "I said: when do you think it's going to start?" "Louise uncomfortable being so close to the strange, furtive face in the gathering early evening gloom, voiced another question in an uneasy voice: "What are you talking about? "His answer was a gruff, peremptory: "Always questions; can't get a straight answer nowadays. Listen, if you really don't know anything, then you'd better be careful..." Guess that's why U.S. cops stick to doughnuts! Muffin Man* Stephan Collina I think I've read enough fiction by now that I sometimes resent authors that I know could do better but seemingly goes, instead, for what

http://www.nbclosangeles.com/the-scene/events/ Like-the-Little-DevilAngel-on-Your-Shoulder-But-Sexier.html "The angel perfected Its form in an out-of-order ladies' room. Busty, very busty--It sensed that George adored a good rack. Wide-hipped, broad-shouldered. About forty pounds overweight, which made It petite relative to George. Beautiful red lipstick on big, voluptuous lips. Long, red hair that tumbled down in luxurious curls. Studying Itself in the mirror, the angel worried that It was too attractive--George had to believe he stood a chance with the woman. It tangled Its hair and added a stain to Its white blouse and a greasy sheen to Its forehead and nose. "The angel next arranged that Gat 5, where George was waiting, become more fragrant, more peaceful, altogether more pleasant than any other gate. Soon all the seats were full except for the one next to George, which looked alternately rickety, torn, and covered with sticky soda until the angel sat down there.

Upstairs in the casino's darkened security center,  agent Glenda Bixler and her team had been  watching Talanov on a TV monitor. Bixler was  the CIA's European Chief of Operations.  With her was agent Donna Pilgrim and  Spanish interpreter, Paul Franco.  In front of them were other monitors  connected  to feeds from various cameras  located   in the foyer, corridors, and throughout the hotel and casino. The room was filled with the quiet hum of  electronic equipment.      "Did you see the way he looked up  at us just then?" Bixler said.  "It's as if he knows we're watching."     A women's rowing champion from  Dartmouth who majored in European history,  the blond-haired Bixler was a competitive  woman of twenty-nine who spoke fluent  Russian and German. Her hair was  cut in a classic bob and she was dressed in  a dark blue slack suit and white shirt. An identification badge was clipped to her lapel. ~~~ Yesterday, I added a carousel at the to

I don't do it often--maybe two or three times since I've been reviewing books! That's not bad, is it? I had just finished reading Who Killed Love? and decided I loved this guy! Throughout the book he talked about being older than the woman he was in love with... So I figured that he wouldn't mind an older woman falling for him! Hey! Fair is Fair! Just this week I had picked Richard Boone--you know, the guy who played Paladin-- to play an actor taking the part of being an author... Well, when I checked out this picture, up and close, I decided verrrry definitely that Don wouldn't need anybody to play the part! Right?? Now, here's how Don won my heart... First, he sent a personal thank you note to me when his book came. I've never received a thank-you personalized note from any other man... Second, he signed the book... Now, those are just two things that got my professional attention... But then, I started to read.... You se

"At that moment, Eve was lying naked on David’s bed,   stoned nearly to unconsciousness.   Beside her, David, equally naked and completely unconscious, snored and drooled.   By the bed, the dishes from last night’s meal were covered with a black and heaving layer of ants, feasting on the congealed fat and scraps of food.   Two tumblers were near the plates. One had tipped over and spilled the last of the whisky that had once filled it on the sheepskin rug.   The other was half-filled with urine, having been as far as David had managed to stagger when he felt the need. Damp yellowish stains in the fur around it gave testimony of the unsteadiness of his hand when he tried to aim the flow.   Their discarded clothes were scattered around the room along with those discarded on earlier occasions.   The room stank of rotting food and unwashed clothes and bodies. They’d scarcely left it for a week.  "David had returned home to Lujeri Estate from his school in England ten days