“Thanks to Sammi Scott, aka Titsy McYarn, the Cute at the Heart of the Abyss for her help and valuable critique. Bounteous thanks to Kevin for his incredibly thorough critiquing and voluminous notes. Thanks to Sensual Curves for her help in proofreading.

Thanks to my wife for handling the editing duties on this chapter.

After you’ve read this, if you have any inclination at all to comment, please do so, either by email or on the comment board… The best way for me to grow and improve as an author is to hear from the people who read my work. (more…)

Mitchell inhaled deeply as he entered the apartment. Sandalwood and cigarette smoke swept into his stuffy nose. He sniffled and wiped a damp red towel across his face. Cold conditioned air engulfed him, sending chills down his body. What warmth there was in his wet shorts fled immediately. They went almost frigid, and he felt his genitals retreat accordingly. He shut the door behind him, toweling himself vigorously in an attempt to raise his body temperature. It was always a shock going from the cool apartment, to the sultry heat outside, to the soothing pool, back into the heat, and back into the AC. It was a wonder he hadn’t gotten sick yet from the morning dips he’d been enjoying since moving in with Nina last weekend. (more…)

Frank breathed deep, taking in the smell of the ice. He loved it, so crisp and clean, freshly zambonied ice had a smell all its own. Frank hadn’t been on the ice in nearly 15 years, until Ron had found out that he used to play goalie for St. Martin’s. Like most people in Minnesota, Ron and Frank both played hockey as kids. Ron had never stopped playing, but Frank had quit after college, mainly due to his ex wife. The next thing Frank new, Ron was insisting that he start playing with his over 35 group. Frank had protested but had lost the battle. He even went so far as to insist that he use his alimony check to buy Frank new gear. The goalie pads he wore were certainly lighter than he remembered from college, but they were brand new and stiff. (more…)

“Author’s note: the following story is purely a work of fiction and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental. The author wishes to express his gratitude to Angel Love for her editing to make this a better story.”

*

I stood on the ground at the bottom of three steps leading to the long, wide veranda of the main ranch house and called, “Hallo, the house!”

I had noted the run-down condition of the house as well as the buildings around back … a barn and a lean-to that probably served as a bunkhouse. Either this was a poor hardscrabble rancher or he didn’t care how his place looked. Either way, I figured there wasn’t much chance of getting a job but I was getting kind of desperate now. I still had some money but if I didn’t find a job for the winter, the money wouldn’t last long. (more…)

My name’s Ellie – and I’m a slut.

Well, I must be – if you look in a dictionary, it describes me just right. Well, some of the time anyway. Most of the time, the dictionary is wrong about me. But then, every now and again, I get a deep aching in the base of my belly, an aching that reaches up to my breasts and down to my pussy, an aching that makes my nipples hard and my breasts and pussy tingle, an aching that will only go away if I behave like the slut I really am.

So when the aching comes, I book a holiday – and I ease that ache. (more…)

Our flight home was as uneventful as our Sunday night. We were both so exhausted from the events of the previous two evenings that we slept on the plane for the entire flight and then went right to sleep when we got home.

At work on Monday, it was hard to concentrate because my mind kept drifting back to the weekend. Dee called me during the afternoon to tell me Sean had called. They arranged for her first shoot to be next Thursday morning, which meant she would fly out to LA Wednesday night and meet up with me since I would be in San Diego for work on Wednesday. Sean had given her the name of a doctor in our town that could do the blood work necessary and that we’d need to allow for 48 hours for the results, which she had to have with her next Thursday. (more…)

“I’m writing a series of accounts about my life in England; mainly true accounts, with just a little embellishing here and there. They’re about my sex life to be precise, but then what other type of life is written about on Lit?

A biography I suppose, but a short one and an unfinished one. Is it arrogant for a, nearly, twenty one year old to write a bio? Probably, but then, hey, what the hell, I want to tell my short story so let’s see just how many want to read it.

How many want to read about how I lost my virginity when I was eighteen, had an affair with a thirty something man just after that and how since then I’ve been strongly attracted to older men. About my time at university, learning about girls and how male lecturers ignore the no fraternising with female students rule. How I became a photographic model, part-time and my conflict over what goes on in the studio when there’s just the model and the cameraman there. (more…)