My name is Carol. I am a police officer for Killeen, TX. There was a fatal shooting in my precinct and I was given the task of interviewing the neighbors. I was not happy about this, I was not in the mood to play door to door salesmen. I had not been with a woman for quite some time and the heat matched my horniness. No matter my personal problems, being a...
My name is Karina Jade Ambrose. A big and tall, red-haired and green-eyed Irishwoman living in the city of Brockton, Massachusetts. I'm a truck driver by trade. I didn't go to business school like so many of those highly educated people who find themselves unemployed these days and are praying for a government-issued Bailout. I went to Brockton Community Col...
What is reality? What is fiction? Isn't all writing ultimately autobiographical? At least, shouldn't good writing seem that way? In the end, does it matter as long as it's a good story? My wife and I made love this morning, and afterward she brought me a cup of coffee in bed. (Have I ever mentioned that she is wonderful?) While we snuggled together,...
The gravel crunches under my high heels and the sound of girls' laughter drifts down from the bedroom window as I walk up the drive. At least someone had fun tonight, I think. The night is hot and airless and I can feel the sweat beginning to bead on the small of my back under my ballgown. Surely the storm must break soon. I raise one gloved hand to mop my b...
Hi, it's Jordan again. I didn't think I'd be writing more about my life, but the most amazing thing happened to me this last year. I fell in love. If you didn't read the first part of this story, a couple of years ago my husband divorced me. He left me without anything, and I needed to pay my bills, so I went to work as an escort. I was making ends meet whe...
-14- "Betts, are you absolutely sure?" waving my empty coffee mug towards Ali for a refill. Ali had a coffee maker and fixings that she kept in her master bath, for those mornings when a trip downstairs, to make coffee, would take too long. I was on the phone to my office, with my right hand, Betsy; she had just told me that I could stay a couple of extra...
FRIDAY, DECEMBER 19, 2014 - Delia Emy Nívea Ybarra clocked out from her job at 5:05 PM on her 44th birthday. She was about to go hang out at a lesbian bar in her current city of residence, Omaha, Nebraska, but her heart wasn't fully in it. She was long burned out on driving a fork lift at a loud and dirty factory, where she'd worked for the last 17 years. Sh...
I'm standing in the cold, rainy night waiting for her. She has chosen the motel. So far, I have only had glimpses of her; seeing her at a party, a club, on the street, but somehow, she caught me once and gave me this address. It's 9pm. I'm smoking a cigarette. I enjoy the nicotine as it flows into my lungs and brain, drawing hard on it. Shadows in the night...
My bag hits the floor, smacking down on the wooden tiles, and I close the door gently behind me. I sag, with my back sliding down the door, my hands behind me, until I'm crouched as though sitting on a chair. My eyes are closed, and I'm trying desperately to calm my breathing. "Hey." I start upright, my thudding heart adding to the confusion. "Oh. Hi honey...
It's about noon already. I'm standing outside with her while she takes a fifteen minute break at her work. It's just us out here, no one else at her job smokes and you can't see the back of the building from the road. She wraps her arms loosely around my shoulders in an embrace and kisses my neck. "So have you missed me this week, Lover?" she asks in a kitt...