Other Adult Fiction

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112 articles in category Other Adult Fiction / Subscribe

Wwith only dark glasses and a scarf to disguise her, she quickly scurried through the side door of her hotel. Always careful enough each year to follow different streets, she darted off only after she was positively certain that no one was watching her. She was even cautious enough each year to start from a different hotel as well.

She would stride down different streets that were usually teeming with tourists. Like a busy bee bouncing from flower to flower, she would dive in and out of little shops, while at the same time cleverly changing her appearance from time to time, by adding different scarves or sunglasses, or sometimes even changing her dress. Always looking over her shoulder she insured that no one was following her. Her moves were well co-ordinated: quickly through front doors and out back ones leading to allies and side streets, as she skillfully made her serpentine route towards the docks.

This year would not be different, as she started off with a taxi down Victoria Street followed by a brisk walk through St. Thomas Circle and on to the market streets of St. Crois that were sweltering in the tropical heat. Always stopping to look behind to be sure that no one was following, she quickly disappeared in an out of shops and back door of restaurants. After many hours of this, and only when she was absolutely certain that no one was trailing her, would she even attempt to approach the docks.

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Iit is lonely out here on the range! There is no one to talk to except my horse, and the cactus. The ramrod of the 4d Ranch sent me out here to gather up strays that might have wandered off from the herd.

The boss and his family were going to lose the 4d if something wasn’t done quickly. I had found a few doggies, but that wasn’t enough to help save the ranch and, to make matters worse, the boss’s son had become a drunkard. Every night he would go to Zeke’s bar in town, and drink all of his father’s money away. If anyone said anything to him, he would want to fight. Most of the time he would win but when it looked like he wouldn’t, he would draw his gun. Luckily he didn’t shoot anybody, but often he came close to it.

He would come home to the ranch and stumble in the door; call his sister names and demand that she fix him something to eat. After he ate, he would lay on the sofa, in the parlor, and fall asleep. He would always tell his little sister: “Ever since Ma died, you have been Pa’s favorite, he is gonna leave you everything, but not if I can help it.” He muttered this while he was passing out.

What his pa and sister didn’t know was that he had made a deal with Zeke. They would gather up some rustlers, and have them rustle the herd of the 4d. Zeke would sell the rustled cattle and split the money with Ben, Zeke’s son. In the end, Zeke would buy the 4d Ranch and give Ben enough acres to start a ranch of his own. Continue Reading →

Hhe didn’t want to make the drive to the ranch but I had begged him to do it just one more time. Thane sat stiff and straight, his left arm near the window and his right arm on the wheel. I wasn’t sure if I should talk or just listen to the radio station; 99.3 FM, I believe. Suddenly I wished I hadn’t suggested going to the ranch because Thane hated it. He complained about not having electricity, he hated the dust and the ranch made his allergies worse.

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Prologue to Jacob Evans
Jjacob Evans is a completed collection of thirty-seven short stories. This unique collection begins with the birth of Jacob Evans and ends with his death. Individually, everything from heart-warming (romance/spiritual) to bone-chilling (suspense/macabre), can be found – each standing firmly on its own. Collectively, however, these thirty-seven glimpses of life become a simple story of one man’s journey, with all the complexities that make such a trip worthwhile. The collection is woven by the history of reappearing characters please allow me to introduce Jacob Evans.

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Wwhen I first saw him, he was dressed in a fancy green-turquoise coat with white rims and this  wild, sensual look in his deep blue eyes. He moved with elegance and strength: almost dancing, smooth like a panther. I could not take my eyes of him – he hypnotized me. Sometimes I try to copy him but fail childishly. He is so unique. Not only are his looks stunning, but also: his voice, his smile and his stillness. I love everything about him. He is so unpredictable: never boring, yet sincere and true to the bottom of his heart.

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Sshe was sure she had seen him somewhere before, but where? The inquisitive mind of Rose turned to admiration as she watched him propel his lithe body in and out of the traffic with the same gracefulness, as a snake would do over the wet earth.

She watched his manly stride along the busy town footpath and followed in hot pursuit, always keeping a discreet distance between them. If he knew that he was being followed, she was not prepared to confront him with a sensible explanation and a – ‘Haven’t I met you before’ – approach had been outdone, the world over. Suddenly the bustling throng of shoppers had petered out and his manly gait had now become apparent to Rose.

A car pulled up beside her and the driver requested directions, which took up more time than Rose wanted to give. When she looked up, the stranger had disappeared from view and a kind of panic pervaded her whole being. I’ve lost him – oh what if I’ve lost him? She started to doubt herself and wondered if the whole episode was just a dream.

He couldn’t  have gone down a side street because in this stretch of the area there wasn’t one. Relief came to her rescue as logic told her that he must be in one of the shops. Slowly she moved along from one shop to the next gazing with intense care through the plate glass windows pretending to be on a shopping spree.

The newsagents was given special care and so was the tobacconists but none showed her the figure of the stranger. Undaunted but disappointed she didn’t despair and glanced through the near-misted window of the local café. Her heart leaped with delight as she saw him stood at the counter awaiting his order. His arms moved gracefully through the air as he appeared to be explaining something to the counter girl and the smile on the girl’s face brought a tinge of jealousy to Rose. Continue Reading →

Webster defines happiness as being, “a state of well-being and contentment.” Webster continues his definition by stating it has something to do with a pleasurable satisfaction.

I have to admit for most of my life I have been told the best measure of the success in life is to equate how happy I am. I don’t think I am alone because most of my family and friends are in a perpetual hunt for happiness.

But, I have to ask myself if it has always been this way? I would assume our original ancestors who lived in caves defined happiness as a day they were not squished by a giant lizard; or I should say bird. A day of happiness would be a time when they weren’t hungry. The idea of happiness probably didn’t occur to them because they were more interested in survival. Continue Reading →

Yyoung men of 20 years of age should not have many burdens placed upon them. Biologically they are distracted by far greater urges and their thought process is greatly affected. The insurance industry knows this and charges a premium for young men in this age group.

I was once 20 years of age, a lifetime ago it seems and I proved the Insurance industry assessment correct. I was a college student and had to seek employment to fund my higher purpose. My lifelong friend suggested security work, as it would not tax our energies, and what job could be easier? This was before licenses were required. I wonder if our security careers had any impact on that sensible law.

We went to Pers-Eval Security in Huntington, Long Island, a since closed firm: I also wonder about our impact on that, as well. We filled out applications that consisted of name, address, and shirt and pant size. The office consisted of 2 women, Phyllis and Carmen, the latter being the subordinate. Both were divorced, and were “Older” women, they dressed in what I call Deer Park couture: something peculiar to Long Island.

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Ssitting there, his knees under him, he stared off blankly into the air. The orderly that was his daily routine came in, stuffed two pills in his mouth and poured a tiny bit of water down his throat.

The reflex of the water going in made him swallow the pills as it had done a thousand times in his three years at the sanitarium. The judge had ordered him there, until they could figure out why he was the way he was.

Outside he was a vegetable but inside was totally different. He stared down the distant hall, the hall that led to his mind.

It was eternal and on either side of it were two great walls. On each of the two great walls, sporadically spaced, were doors, thousands of doors. More doors than he had explanations for, and all of the doors were closed.

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Iimust have looked stunned as the woman at the checkout counter at Hannaford’s tried to explain to me the economics of potato chips. She was trying to explain why a bag of Lay’s potato chips were on sale for $1.99 while a bag of FritoLay potato chips were not on sale and would cost me $3.49.

She continued by telling me that if I wanted a bag of Frito potato chips I would only have to pay $2.29 because they were also on sale but if I wanted a bag of Frito Ruffles potato chips, that would be the regular price of $3.99. After a couple of minutes my wife snapped her fingers in front of me because I was starting to drift into a trance. I just couldn’t understand how bags of what are essentially the same product, made by the same company, could have so many different prices. FritoLay makes Fritos, Lay’s and Ruffles and many other similar products – but they all are potato chips.

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