Hello again. Thank you to all my readers. It is somehow heart-warming to realise that even those who don't like my writing are nevertheless finding this saga irresistible. And to those who do like my stories, my special thanks for your appreciation, your continuing support and encouragement. I know this style of writing is not for everyone, but I write for t...
My name is Mary Virginia Rosenthal. I live in the town of Ottawa, Province of Ontario, in Canada's Capital region. I'm five-foot-eleven, kind of chubby but still pretty, with reddish brown hair, light bronze skin and pale brown eyes. My family is a veritable blend of ethnicities. My grandfather Hansel Rosenthal was a Jew from the Heidelberg region of Germany...
"Okay, girls. I see that you all have finished. It is now your turn. Gentlemen, please exchange places with your groomer." The men get up and move so the women can sit down. Some men wipe the seat before the woman sits. I take Alden's place in the chair. I hope he's as good to me as I was to him. "Gentlemen, you will groom the women in the fashion they ha...
Looking back on it, the whole thing seems highly unlikely but, what can I say, it happened. I was at our country place for the weekend because it was time to do spring planting in my beloved garden. My wife, Jane, couldn't drive out with me because she had a weekend meeting. Nevertheless, getting the tomato plants and the corn seed in the ground as early as...
Written in Loving Memory of a Generous Lady * * * * * A warning to the reader. If you are looking for huge cocks, long shapely legs, full swelling bosoms, mountainous climaxes and the like, do not read on. It began at a twenty first-birthday party back in the 1950s. I was about twenty-one or twenty-two at the time, and had just finished my apprenticeship...
(In the 1950s it was Coopers Jockey Y Fronts that were the fashion statement in male underwear. Goggle, and explore what I mean. They were high waisted. They did not sit on the man's hips but rode higher than the navel. A big Y shaped opening on the front was their hallmark. Elastic kept the legs tight- until they got old and worn and the elastic became infi...
It looked like a stereotypical 1950's housewife's dress, petticoat and everything except for the bra. Pearl hated bras, and she'd be damned if she was going to wear a 1950s bra. They were fine for the time period, especially considering the technology they had, but Pearl couldn't be paid to wear one. That's how much she hated them. A thin camisole was a suit...
Magic exists in all sorts of forms and creatures hidden throughout our world. These are the stories of those who find it. A spell book that actually works? Fairies in the garden? A strange shimmer in the mirror? The possibilities are endless.What's next? The Housewife in the Garden Loose in the Library Night Falls on a Midwestern Town What's next? The Ho...
I sat in the corner of the hotel bar and ordered a beer. I considered something a little stronger but decided against it. I wanted a clear head. I looked past the bartender into the mirrored wall. I adjusted the collar of my shirt a little and checked the cuffs. I was wearing dress shoes and formal trousers with a dark shirt and jacket. My nicest belt, a th...
She was my first lover, a good friend and an excellent teacher. She was also about 20 years older than me. She was our high school English teacher and yearbook adviser and I was a gawky, bookish, somewhat nerdy 18-year-old. It was the nerdy 1950s. She was divorced, no children and no great beauty, rather thin and bony, but she had a warm smile, a friendly at...