of my childhood. There were scary years and others scream-laugh
funny. As an adult, I still
one year in which I wore a costume my mother didn’t entirely make for me.
Nothing against my in-house designer’s imagination—all her guises were works of
provided us with tempera paints and thick brushes, along with two paper grocery
painting our “heads” on the sacks and having my mother sew a shirt
and three-legged pants large enough to house two kids.
side by side with our inside legs tied together, to find our cadence beat. And
then…the big night. Halloween.
her house for more pictures. With plastic pumpkin buckets in hand, we set off.
and tearing the pant seam. How the paper sacks stayed intact, I’ll never know.
I was crying, Kelley was screaming, her mom was laughing, and their damn dog
attacked my pumpkin bucket.
two headed, three-legged, limping monster.
her mother. She and I have
many times over the years.
settled within him after making a decision on the next step to fulfill his
ruler’s wishes. He leaned toward the radio, flipped the switch, and let the
music roll over him while he set about making coffee in the stovetop
twenty-first century was by far his favorite time to live. Natural cure
innovations abounded, and the music jammed. Nodding in time to the deep bass
thump, Kid Rock rapped out his wish to be a cowboy. Rhy tapped his toe on the
wooden floor and swung his shoulders to the steady rhythm.
discussion and bargaining, and I’m good to go.
the bedroom with bare feet. She cleared her throat. “Good morning.”
creased her face, and her hair lay mussed and wild about her shoulders. Heat
coiled low in his belly; his scrotum tightened inside his pants.
was in deep shit.
his waking mind, the plan seemed so easy. None of the sexy details were filled
in. Now, with her standing in front of him looking like she’d been tumbled hard
in the sack, all he could think of was . . . getting hard in the sack!
brown hair, liberally streaked with auburn, floated in waves over her shoulders
and cascaded down her back. He watched her like a slow motion movie. She lifted
her hands and pushed the heap away from her face, her breasts jiggling with
there.” He grabbed open the lower door of the cold box and hid behind it,
adjusting himself through his jeans. Guileless, her innocent eyes held no
condemnation for his Centaur breeding.
was born decades after the last arrow flew in hatred. Her people had committed
horrendous crimes, but he had murdered as well. He was the villain here, not
her. The proof stood right before his eyes, looking so damn beautiful—a felony
on two legs.
Thank you for hopping along! Have fun everyone!!