thenovelette.com Writing Contest » Men

Bactrim For Sale

webmaster — Tue, 10 Mar 2009 17:43:57 +0000

by Frank Joussen

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How to Wind Down

webmaster — Sun, 31 Aug 2008 20:30:45 +0000

by Cindy Helmling

Friday night, and my man and I are out for a little relaxation. The bartender tucks his head in a nod as we enter his saloon. Bar stools swivel our way, their occupants welcoming us as friends, although we've never been here before. Everyone looks tired, maybe it's been a long week or maybe we are the first fresh faces they've seen in a while. We crowd past the requisite pool table, a booth or two, an alcove for the band and up to the long bar. I slide on to the only vacant stool and order our beers. The bartender hands me two sweaty, amber bottles. I press mine against the back of my neck before taking a long swallow. An icy beer on a hot night is just what I need. We're here to check out the band and listen to Billy, the drummer, and an old pal. Billy sees us and comes over. "Hey, everyone, this is my friend, Gina, from back in the old, old days, and her husband. What's your name again, man? Band's on break, but we'll be starting back up in a few." A couple is seated at a table. "Hi, how are you? I'm Jackie and this is Lyle. How's it goin'?" Her summer shift, a flimsy, filmy little dress is short, flirty, cheap, but just the way to keep cool on this sweltering summer evening. The bandana hiding her hair keeps her disguised and ageless. Her long, thin arms and shapely legs shimmer with a light sheen. A song erupts from the jukebox, something modern, but with a beat, not that new, screaming, rage rock. Jackie is up in no time dancing alone. She exaggerates her movements and from the corner of her eye spies to see who checks her out. We all do. She dances in the aisle, grazing a guy with her ass as he passes through on his way to the bathroom. "Its okay honey," she tells him, as if he accosted her. She smirks a little once he's by her. Her easy laugh and staccato outbursts entertain us. Is she always so boisterous or is this, too, part of her disguise? Maybe she is also cutting loose after a hard week. Lyle gets up to dance the next one with her but she drops to a seat. My drummer friend slides over to me and asks if I want to step out back with him and enjoy some weed. I glance at my man to make sure he's okay with it. He nods and the drummer and I slip out the side door. Jackie follows us with a knowing look. She flirts with the drummer, doing what I'd love to do. She grabs at his t-shirt for fun and pulls it part way up. He's proud to show off his buff form. I love his titties and his smooth, hard chest. Later, after she and I have smoked, it's his turn. Sharp gusts of wind make it hard for him to get a light. He huddles in the corner where the wooden patio fence meets the wall to get out of the draft. His back is to us and he's wearing shorts. She bends down and runs her hands up his calves, and part way up his thighs. "Um, um I like that," she says. I do too. He turns, and they kiss deeply. I feel myself get wet just watching them. I embrace them both pressing myself against the drummer, then Jackie. I kiss him and turn to kiss Jackie with my mouth open. My tongue finds hers. It is warm, hot, and soft. I break from their embrace, breathless. "We could do that, you know", the drummer whispers. I sag against the cinderblock wall. I shake my head and stare at them with deep, conflicted longing. We go inside and the band begins to play. I sit down next to my man and give him a peck, embarrassed that he can taste the weed on my lips, but not at all embarrassed about my enjoyment with Jackie and the drummer.

Faithful Dobbin

webmaster — Sun, 31 Aug 2008 20:25:49 +0000

by Gill Laverick

“He’s here again, “my Mother used to yell up the stairs “William Dobbin has come for you” But it was a few years until I read Vanity Fair and so the reference was lost on me. It was a classic scenario, the hero handsome but arrogant, attended by his honourable but plain companion. “You’d better bring your crash helmet; he is on his trusty steed” “Isn’t it great” I would say to him “That we can be friends like this, a man and a woman, without sex rearing its ugly head? I feel that I can tell you anything. Best friends forever” and handsome but arrogant was so convinced of his alpha male status that he would leave us alone for hours, days, weeks at a time, secure in the knowledge that his stunning good looks would keep me on a short leash, and it did, at first. But there are more things to keep the world turning than a man with a pretty face and a prettier turn of phrase. “He doesn’t treat you right” he would say to me “you let him walk all over you” and although it was true, it was one of those things that couldn’t be helped, we would all have to learn to live with it. When the motorbike hit the side of the car everything slowed right down. It was quiet too, although the people looked like they were yelling the words were indistinguishable. But I heard him; he said “Where is she? Is she alright?” As they lifted him onto the stretcher and hauled him into the ambulance he said “Where is she? Is she alright?” and as they took him off to fix him up “Where is she?......” I wondered about the nature of friendship and thought about loyalty. And when handsome but arrogant said “I can’t speak now, I’m busy, you’ll have to call again tomorrow” I thought about the men with pretty faces and a prettier turn of phrase and the others who have to get by using other means. Necessity is the mother of invention after all. When they met again he said, clearly nervous, from his hospital bed “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it, it wasn’t my fault” afraid perhaps of repercussions or the display of anger he would have felt, but there was no need for his concerns. Handsome but arrogant replied, puzzled that I could be viewed as precious by someone, by anyone “That’s alright” he smiled “It was an accident, accidents happen”. Although when he smiled, it was because he was secure in the knowledge that accidents didn’t happen to him. And the kaleidoscope turns and there is a moment of clarity. Handsome but arrogant, so wrapped up in his own world, a lifetime of orbiting, occasionally allowed a crumb from his table, a pat on the head. Or the alternative, an earthy relationship, sweaty, rooted in friendship, respect, love but mostly laughter - and how we do laugh “How did we ever think that we could be friends, a man and a woman, without sex rearing its ugly head?” And still after decades I feel that I can tell you anything. Best friends forever. “I knew he would get you in the end” Mother said “– Faithful Dobbin always does”

Letting Love Rule

webmaster — Sun, 31 Aug 2008 20:18:41 +0000

by Katie Greenaway

The comfort of his arms around me has lead me to believe that I am in an actual relationship. It was the walk along the river Arno that helped me come to this conclusion. The limited Italian was spoken perhaps because we were enjoying each others company walking hand in hand, arm hooked around his elbow, hand grazing his lips with a kiss so pure and sincere. Alas my love life has never been so fulfilled with caring words and hand holding. High school consisted of boyfriends that were only of the friendly kind. I grew up with boys all around me, I was either always playing soccer or climbing trees with them. College brought more guy friends and more infatuations rather than loves. Boyfriends were never my concentration in my life up until I grew into my love of Italy. Italy gave me something nothing ever could. Hope for the impossible to manifest in my life. However small, large, round, or wide, it always comes to life in bel paese. The guidance of the heart really brings a sense of security to the new found faith in life and what it has to offer. As I lie with this man, I notice how comfortable I am. I have never been so lucky to have found such a close and personal bel uomo(beautiful man). It all started, my love for Italy, back in 2002 while studying in University. I found my passion in the way life moves here. The pace, look, welcoming atmosphere of this city gave me a sense of hope for love. The love I have been carrying around with me all these years. Although Florentines are said to be a closed off bunch, I never felt more welcome as the first day I walked down these bumpy cobblestones. I felt I was able to be the vulnerable girl I always thought I couldn't be around the opposite sex. My eyes were open to a new world where women were not taken for granted but were appreciated as delicate beings. Well the ones that were actually Italian treated me in this way. My friends from home would ask what is so wrong with American guys that you prefer the Latin descent? Simply put. There is a light that switches on when I hear of an Italian in the room. Perhaps it is my ancestors bleeding through my veins; the heritage I almost forgot about. I have never felt the way I feel when I am with him. It is funny how within a moment something or someone can pop into your life and all your thoughts are completely changed about life. The perception I had of Italians at first consisted of what I heard from friends before leaving. Oh and of course from my grandmother, born in Farneta south of the city Modena, Italy. "Watch out, they could be married or engaged." I took that into account, finding a few bad eggs along the way. Once I found my first Florentine friends, it became very easy to find my home on these Renaissance streets. The buildings, the bridges, the art, the architecture. My soul was awaken to these sights. To the life. To the sounds. To the comfortable atmosphere that I must have known years before. How can this be? I had a thought as he said to me this morning, 'I really like to look into your blue eyes', I am completely in awe of him. Yes. This particular relationship has been going on for short time, however what a way to start out such a beautiful relationship. I want to point out that this is my first real relationship in my 27 year old life. I have been in and out of feeling the love I thought I could call "real love", alas I never knew it could be like this. I am not one to fall easily, it rarely happened in the past 6 years of traveling to Italy. I learned to let go, and let love rule, as Lenny Kravitz would say. Once the walls fall, begins the ever so slowly letting go of the pride you once held onto so strongly, and then there you are, loving yourself as well as letting a plus one into your inner circle. How does it feel?

She Waits

webmaster — Wed, 27 Aug 2008 22:16:31 +0000

by Jeanne Fitzpatrick

An accidental meeting brought us together. Like nothing I had experienced before, that one look from you and I was undone. The best way I can describe it is hungry, like you wanted me so bad you could have eaten me alive right there. Those sexy eyes and your smile, they way you cocked your head "just so" as if to get a better peek at me, yes, you had me before "hello". Maybe I should have known right then. In retrospect I imagine you had practiced that look in the mirror since you were ten. While usually my love grows slowly, this was different. A bolt of lightning, a white hot flash, intense and searing. In fact I may have skipped right over love directly into obsession. So that when you professed that you were "madly in love" with me, I knew it was true. Now tears slide down my cheeks as I peel off the old worn boxer shorts that I wear to sleep each night, the ones you left behind. I know all of the words to your favorite song by heart, it plays in a continuous loop in my head, even in sleep. It's the only music I've listened to since you've gone. I wonder where you are and why you left. Your parting note said that you had to leave for a while, but you would be back. You said that you would be in touch so that we could discuss our future. You said you would call "later". After a month, well 35 days to be exact, I am still wondering what you meant by later, later this year, later this lifetime. In the afterlife? And I find myself still praying for this mystical phone call. What on earth is wrong with me? What will it take for me to let you go? Why did you let me go? So many questions left unanswered. I carry my cell phone as if my very existence depends on it. The phone usually tethered to my hip, but never more than an arms length away: it has become my life source. I check the ringer for the one hundredth time today, just to make sure it is loud enough to hear. I double check my text messages again, could I have missed it when I went into the shower? Not likely as the useless phone sits idly and silent on the side of my sink. I consider the vast possibilities. Perhaps you've been in a tragic accident or maybe you just lost my phone number. It could be that they have no phone service wherever you are, surely that's the answer I muse as I drive by your mother's house looking for your car. There is much truth in the saying that love hurts. I am slowly moving on, even though I still wonder about you. I ask myself if I would do it again, knowing it would come to this, and the answer is yes! Resoundingly YES! I think I have learned that you have to take love when it comes along. I console myself with the belief that in your own way for that brief span of time, you did love me. Sometimes now I leave the phone in the house while I run out to work on my garden. I have even been bold enough to leave it in the car when I go into the supermarket. I consider this to be progress on my part. Yes, I still wait and wonder and hope as I sing to myself the lyrics of a favorite song, "My baby's gone with the wind…train roll on."

Sylvia, Who I Miss

webmaster — Wed, 27 Aug 2008 22:10:12 +0000

by Sarah (Sensibly Sassy)

So this is going to be a hard/depressing entry. Don't read if you don't feel like "going there" with me. But I have to do this so here it goes: When I was about ten I met Sylvia. She was my dance instructor. She was everything I had hoped that growing up would bring me: She was exuberant, friendly and loved by everyone that knew her. She had the coolest clothes, a cute boyfriend and was talented beyond belief. She was the youngest in her family and took me under her wing-I was the younger sister she wanted to guide and she was the older sister I so badly wanted to be like. Even though we had a good 8 year age gap, we had so much that made us truly close, regardless of the difference in age. She would take me to the movies, shopping and give me tips to improve my dancing. But then a couple years into our friendship, the girl who had everything got cancer. It spread rapidly and within months Sylvia went from big eyes and an even bigger smile, to losing her hair and unable to keep weight on. Her illness didn't make our friendship skip a beat. I didn't flinch when she showed me her bald head although she told me she was scared of how I might react, I tried to make life as normal as I could for her even though I was only 13 and there really wasn't much I could do. I would sit in bed with her and watch tv and try on her wigs to make her laugh, I bought her girly beenies so that she would have something to wear around the house instead of her scratchy wig. My mom would have her over our house during the day while her parents worked. My mom would buy her whatever food she wanted, even the most random request of a bagel dog. Sylvia tried so hard to make life as normal as possible, she would do ballet stretches in her hospital room, but of course she would also have her weak moments. I returned from school one day and she was sitting on my couch watching Montel Williams. Montel had a psychic on and she was taking call in questions. Sylvia turned to me and said "hand me the phone I am going to call her." I just stood there and looked at her with questioning eyes and then she said "I have to ask her if I am going to die from this cancer." I told her that she wasn't going to die, and not to be silly. But when I turned around to hang up the phone I realized I had no idea. One day Sylvia came to watch me in one of my dance classes. When I saw her I stopped dancing to come sit with her. The look on her face was priceless. She asked me why on earth I wasn't dancing and I told her I wanted to sit with her. At this moment she told me something that would stick with me forever. She said "I used to be able to dance as much as I wanted, then one day it was taken away from me, now I couldn't dance if I tried my hardest. You can still do the things that I can't, don't for a second take that for granted, do the things you want to right now because you might not have another chance to do it-do the things I can't." Sylvia lost her battle with cancer on on November 25, 1998. When I found out I fell to the floor, no words, barely any air, I just slumped. At the wake, the night before her funeral I felt she was there. When I was crying and nani (my grandma) gave me tissues they were the tissues with Vicks vapor rub in them-they were meant for colds-so when I brought them to my eye they stung incredibly bad-I could see Sylvia laughing hysterically at that. Today would have been Sylvia's 31st Birthday. Her death is probably the reason for a lot of my "issues" but her life is probably a reason for a lot of my successes. I would not trade a moment with her if I had to do it again. Even the painful parts, she made even the worst of times memorable. I miss her more than you would think, after all it's almost been ten years, in fact I am pretty sure I think about her everyday. Late one night, about a month ago, I googled her name, I wanted something to connect me to her life again. But there was nothing. I had nothing left but what's in my mind. So now by writing this people will stumble upon it, accidentaly or on purpose and know she existed at one point and made a very big impact to some very lucky people.

Men … Gotta Love ‘Em

webmaster — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 19:35:21 +0000

by Sandra Rea

What’s that old saying? Can’t live with them … can’t live with them. No, that’s not right. Can’t live without ’em. Yes, that’s it. However, you can try. As a newly divorced woman, I have a lot to say about men. I don’t want to be a man basher, but they make it so darned easy. Probably goes back to the ol’ left brain-right brain thing. Women use both sides simultaneously at all times; men use one side at a time. Period. That’s it. So when we ask them, “What are you thinking,” and they say, “Nothing,” they’re telling the truth. Or they might be really deep thinkers. In either case, never ask that question, ladies, and you will be safe. Recently, I asked the man I’m dating what he was thinking. He was sitting on the edge of the bed contemplating something … or maybe nothing at all. I couldn’t leave it alone. I had to ask. I really had hoped that he would say, “Nothing.” I could have accepted that answer. I’d been married for 16 years. “Nothing” is a great answer. With “Nothing” we can both move forward with our day. No harm; no foul. “I’m thinking about the universe and the meaning of life,” my man said. “And how unfair everything is…” It went on from there to a diatribe of the inequities of life, the Bible and the meaning thereof, the actual universe and what our future as a species holds. This went on for a good 35 minutes, and there was no real conversation taking place, just emotional one-sided venting that ended with, “Well, you asked.” All I could do was sit and listen, mouth open. He ws right, after all. I had asked him what was on his mind. It won’t happen again. I almost did it again the other day, but I was reminded of that morning and shut my mouth. Whatever was up there in his head could stay up there. I know he wanted to talk, but uh, uh. If I want to learn about the universe, I’ll tune into the Discovery Channel. As for the Bible, well… we all have our interpretations. I’m open to anyone’s opinion, but they have to be open to mine, which brings us to another point about men that I would like someone to explain to me. Why is it that men think their points of view are always right, regardless of the proof at hand that says otherwise? Is it the penis that gives men the answers? Personally, I think it’s the penis that blocks the blood flow to the brain, causing men to have the wrong viewpoints. Or perhaps makes it a longer trip for information to make it to the brain for processing. If I had a dime – make it a dollar – for every time my ex husband told me I was wrong, disagreed with me about whatever we were discussing only to come back later to tell me I was right after all I’d have a fat bank account. That happened a lot. What took me back was how he could make me doubt my own point of view, which I knew was correct. My answer was right. My way of thinking was right on. Yet, we would debate and he’d get me to doubt my information. My own weakness really. Just when I’d swing to my ex’s vote, he would change his to mine. It was an amazing thing to see, and I’m sorry, men. It isn’t just my ex. A lot of you are very opinionated about a lot of things, especially about how other people – we women, for example – should live and conduct our lives. What’s funny is that you penis-bearing individuals who espouse so much knowledge are many times those who should be last on the list to give advice to anyone about their lives. To you I say Get Your Life Together Before Telling Me How To Fix Mine. As many women, I am working on improvements to mine every day of my life. Oh, and I can track my progress. That said, even with all their odd habits, I still enjoy the heck out of men. I like listening to them communicate with each other, try to communicate with us, punch each other in the arm, etc. They are good for many things in life, but that’s a topic for another day. I’ll leave it to your imagination as to which male talents top my list. Their ability to lift heavy objects in one. That pesky body part I mentioned previously is another. On that note, I’ll sign off. I have to get ready for my next case study, who is due here in the next hour or so. But, shhhh… don’t tell him he’s being studied. It’s never good to let them know! One needs to study the beast in his natural habitat.

In Search Of

webmaster — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 18:22:28 +0000

by Adam Jeffries

I had a husband, an actor, who only played Haspburg Kings. Can you imagine being that typecast and sticking with it anyway? Well, that was Fred, Freddie to me, Friedrich to his agents and it suited him; he was Canadian, which would explain some, but probably not everything. In life he resembled a large, vague ostrich; but give him a powdered wig and oh baby, step back; he became a radiant version of himself, there's no explaining some things. My outsides, unfortunately, accurately represent my insides. I'm a Jack Russell Terrier inside and out: tiny little legs hold up an enormous head, hyper alert to all the wrong things. While preparing for the squirrel attack, the big one, I let my Haspburg King slip away. Next in my ill concieved, ill executed search for a father, or a Monarch, or whatever, I found a Grandee, in Spain, who resembled nothing so much as a walking stick. I can't tell you exactly what a Grandee is, but in this one case,it means annoying. Shuttered against the sun, he slowly, carefully categorized the Royal Family, by sexual preference. He did this everyday even though --as you might imagine--the preferences remained pretty much the same. A brief example of such wit: You know those Bourbons! He would be lisp that fashionable lisp that makes even the most strapping man sound syphlitic: They ride horses and they fuck, only they don't ride horses that much anymore. Then he would chortle, oh the good times we had! Some people have hobbies, they play golf, they play bridge, but it's no good I don't like games; either there is love or there is no love. Finally, I tried ice cream; that helped. And now here I am, older; and what have I learned? The line between happy and desperate is far, far narrower than I ever would have suspected. But mostly I know that I'm still in search of; it never ends.

The Couple

webmaster — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 18:13:07 +0000

by Adam Jeffries

The Middle A night on the couch, I didn't expect that. There was NO hidden intention in my getting up to read a book.. Of course you took it as a personal insult, as if it was a maneuver of course you had to blame me for the situation, of course you had make this about my ineptitude. You said I had unpredictable moods. Have you considered that I might just be a consequence of being a complete person (I remember you once said I was the most complete person you had met). I agree with you completely, my moods do not always match yours: isn't that normal? Why is this surprising to you? Anyway…as far as I am concerned, being stimulated by you outweighs your antagonism . This is all new to me, in a very strange way I feel like I am in love for the first time, but I like it, I like the process, I like being in it with you and I like the potential outcome it seems to have. I am ready to deal with impatience. The Beginning It started as a game. After sex and before sleep my mind drifted from one thought to the next until I stop on one and said it aloud, `Tell me something about your mother. He thinks all talking in bed is foreplay. Well, just because it's usually true does not mean it's always true. `` Just one story. `` I say, `` Something good she did --or something bad.`` I touch his ribcage, it`s indented. Everyone's ribcage is indented of course--but his is more than most. He rolls closer and --seemingly without trying-- makes himself fit. I have no idea how he does that. After a life-time of one too many arms I am happy, let's just leave it at that. He whispers, `Which one you want to be--the good one or the bad one? Who says you need to have things in common? II He's built like a Boxer--—the dog not the profession --although he looks like that also. His face is watchful, protective and a little sad. The actual word is doleful. He looks doleful. I don't say doleful because he won't know what it means. And I don't want him to feel bad about that. Actually, aside from sex and take-out food choices, I don't know much about him III I'm a professor of English. He works in support—what used to be called Janitorial. He fixes things; he has good hands. I`m not sure if he can read, but then again neither can my students. I assign books and they rent the movies and no, it does not count. The whole point of imagination is actually having one. He loves me-- I think--he just doesn't know it yet. IV The next time it's not a random thought, `Tell me about your dad. Is that manlier? Can you talk about your dad?` He props himself up, puts a pillow behind his head and says, `Why don't you tell me a story about your mother." He looks like an enormous six years old who's waiting for a story. Who am I to disappoint him? The End On the subway this morning I saw an ad for The School of Practical Philosophy. The subtitle reads: Who am I? What am I doing here? How can I be happy? Apparently the classes teach happiness--a bargain I'd say. The car was also full of people: a young, young, a way too young boy wearing a big Versace Belt Buckle. He kept touching himself—his hair, his lips, other parts also. He kept looking at himself in the reflection. Other people looked at him also. Next to him was a woman , mid sixties, (I hate knowing things like this, I wish everyone over thirty were still a blur of old.) This woman had soft skin, she seemed kind. No one looked at her. Losing love is the hardest part. I forget how to live inside my own life--I become a tourist with a guide book, I only know certain expressions: Excuse me please, but does anyone have a needle and thread? It appears that I'm in pieces.

Open Letter to Hubby

webmaster — Tue, 10 Mar 2009 17:43:57 +0000

by Frank Joussen

“Something special for sure,” Mike confirmed, “something especially ugly!”

His last thought in that apartment was that he had probably crushed her against the wall when he had opened that door. Then he ran away from another hairy affair with deeper roots.

How to Wind Down

webmaster — Sun, 31 Aug 2008 20:30:45 +0000

by Cindy Helmling

Faithful Dobbin

webmaster — Sun, 31 Aug 2008 20:25:49 +0000

by Gill Laverick

Letting Love Rule

webmaster — Sun, 31 Aug 2008 20:18:41 +0000

by Katie Greenaway

She Waits

webmaster — Wed, 27 Aug 2008 22:16:31 +0000

by Jeanne Fitzpatrick

Sylvia, Who I Miss

webmaster — Wed, 27 Aug 2008 22:10:12 +0000

by Sarah (Sensibly Sassy)

Men … Gotta Love ‘Em

webmaster — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 19:35:21 +0000

by Sandra Rea

In Search Of

webmaster — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 18:22:28 +0000

by Adam Jeffries

The Couple

webmaster — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 18:13:07 +0000

by Adam Jeffries

Open Letter to Hubby

webmaster — Tue, 10 Mar 2009 17:43:57 +0000

by Frank Joussen

“Something special for sure,” Mike confirmed, “something especially ugly!”

His last thought in that apartment was that he had probably crushed her against the wall when he had opened that door. Then he ran away from another hairy affair with deeper roots.

thenovelette.com Writing Contest » Men

webmaster — Tue, 10 Mar 2009 17:43:57 +0000

by Frank Joussen

“Something special for sure,” Mike confirmed, “something especially ugly!”

His last thought in that apartment was that he had probably crushed her against the wall when he had opened that door. Then he ran away from another hairy affair with deeper roots.

How to Wind Down

webmaster — Sun, 31 Aug 2008 20:30:45 +0000

by Cindy Helmling

Faithful Dobbin

webmaster — Sun, 31 Aug 2008 20:25:49 +0000

by Gill Laverick

Letting Love Rule

webmaster — Sun, 31 Aug 2008 20:18:41 +0000

by Katie Greenaway

She Waits

webmaster — Wed, 27 Aug 2008 22:16:31 +0000

by Jeanne Fitzpatrick

Sylvia, Who I Miss

webmaster — Wed, 27 Aug 2008 22:10:12 +0000

by Sarah (Sensibly Sassy)

Men … Gotta Love ‘Em

webmaster — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 19:35:21 +0000

by Sandra Rea

In Search Of

webmaster — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 18:22:28 +0000

by Adam Jeffries

The Couple

webmaster — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 18:13:07 +0000

by Adam Jeffries

Open Letter to Hubby

webmaster — Sun, 31 Aug 2008 20:30:45 +0000

by Cindy Helmling

thenovelette.com Writing Contest » Men

webmaster — Tue, 10 Mar 2009 17:43:57 +0000

by Frank Joussen

“Something special for sure,” Mike confirmed, “something especially ugly!”

His last thought in that apartment was that he had probably crushed her against the wall when he had opened that door. Then he ran away from another hairy affair with deeper roots.

How to Wind Down

webmaster — Sun, 31 Aug 2008 20:30:45 +0000

by Cindy Helmling

Faithful Dobbin

webmaster — Sun, 31 Aug 2008 20:25:49 +0000

by Gill Laverick

Letting Love Rule

webmaster — Sun, 31 Aug 2008 20:18:41 +0000

by Katie Greenaway

She Waits

webmaster — Wed, 27 Aug 2008 22:16:31 +0000

by Jeanne Fitzpatrick

Sylvia, Who I Miss

webmaster — Wed, 27 Aug 2008 22:10:12 +0000

by Sarah (Sensibly Sassy)

Men … Gotta Love ‘Em

webmaster — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 19:35:21 +0000

by Sandra Rea

In Search Of

webmaster — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 18:22:28 +0000

by Adam Jeffries

The Couple

webmaster — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 18:13:07 +0000

by Adam Jeffries

Open Letter to Hubby

webmaster — Sun, 31 Aug 2008 20:25:49 +0000

by Gill Laverick

thenovelette.com Writing Contest » Men

webmaster — Tue, 10 Mar 2009 17:43:57 +0000

by Frank Joussen

“Something special for sure,” Mike confirmed, “something especially ugly!”

His last thought in that apartment was that he had probably crushed her against the wall when he had opened that door. Then he ran away from another hairy affair with deeper roots.

How to Wind Down

webmaster — Sun, 31 Aug 2008 20:30:45 +0000

by Cindy Helmling

Faithful Dobbin

webmaster — Sun, 31 Aug 2008 20:25:49 +0000

by Gill Laverick

Letting Love Rule

webmaster — Sun, 31 Aug 2008 20:18:41 +0000

by Katie Greenaway

She Waits

webmaster — Wed, 27 Aug 2008 22:16:31 +0000

by Jeanne Fitzpatrick

Sylvia, Who I Miss

webmaster — Wed, 27 Aug 2008 22:10:12 +0000

by Sarah (Sensibly Sassy)

Men … Gotta Love ‘Em

webmaster — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 19:35:21 +0000

by Sandra Rea

In Search Of

webmaster — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 18:22:28 +0000

by Adam Jeffries

The Couple

webmaster — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 18:13:07 +0000

by Adam Jeffries

Open Letter to Hubby

webmaster — Sun, 31 Aug 2008 20:18:41 +0000

by Katie Greenaway

thenovelette.com Writing Contest » Men

webmaster — Tue, 10 Mar 2009 17:43:57 +0000

by Frank Joussen

“Something special for sure,” Mike confirmed, “something especially ugly!”

His last thought in that apartment was that he had probably crushed her against the wall when he had opened that door. Then he ran away from another hairy affair with deeper roots.

How to Wind Down

webmaster — Sun, 31 Aug 2008 20:30:45 +0000

by Cindy Helmling

Faithful Dobbin

webmaster — Sun, 31 Aug 2008 20:25:49 +0000

by Gill Laverick

Letting Love Rule

webmaster — Sun, 31 Aug 2008 20:18:41 +0000

by Katie Greenaway

She Waits

webmaster — Wed, 27 Aug 2008 22:16:31 +0000

by Jeanne Fitzpatrick

Sylvia, Who I Miss

webmaster — Wed, 27 Aug 2008 22:10:12 +0000

by Sarah (Sensibly Sassy)

Men … Gotta Love ‘Em

webmaster — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 19:35:21 +0000

by Sandra Rea

In Search Of

webmaster — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 18:22:28 +0000

by Adam Jeffries

The Couple

webmaster — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 18:13:07 +0000

by Adam Jeffries

Open Letter to Hubby

webmaster — Wed, 27 Aug 2008 22:16:31 +0000

by Jeanne Fitzpatrick

thenovelette.com Writing Contest » Men

webmaster — Tue, 10 Mar 2009 17:43:57 +0000

by Frank Joussen

“Something special for sure,” Mike confirmed, “something especially ugly!”

His last thought in that apartment was that he had probably crushed her against the wall when he had opened that door. Then he ran away from another hairy affair with deeper roots.

How to Wind Down

webmaster — Sun, 31 Aug 2008 20:30:45 +0000

by Cindy Helmling

Faithful Dobbin

webmaster — Sun, 31 Aug 2008 20:25:49 +0000

by Gill Laverick

Letting Love Rule

webmaster — Sun, 31 Aug 2008 20:18:41 +0000

by Katie Greenaway

She Waits

webmaster — Wed, 27 Aug 2008 22:16:31 +0000

by Jeanne Fitzpatrick

Sylvia, Who I Miss

webmaster — Wed, 27 Aug 2008 22:10:12 +0000

by Sarah (Sensibly Sassy)

Men … Gotta Love ‘Em

webmaster — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 19:35:21 +0000

by Sandra Rea

In Search Of

webmaster — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 18:22:28 +0000

by Adam Jeffries

The Couple

webmaster — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 18:13:07 +0000

by Adam Jeffries

Open Letter to Hubby

webmaster — Wed, 27 Aug 2008 22:10:12 +0000

by Sarah (Sensibly Sassy)

thenovelette.com Writing Contest » Men

webmaster — Tue, 10 Mar 2009 17:43:57 +0000

by Frank Joussen

“Something special for sure,” Mike confirmed, “something especially ugly!”

His last thought in that apartment was that he had probably crushed her against the wall when he had opened that door. Then he ran away from another hairy affair with deeper roots.

How to Wind Down

webmaster — Sun, 31 Aug 2008 20:30:45 +0000

by Cindy Helmling

Faithful Dobbin

webmaster — Sun, 31 Aug 2008 20:25:49 +0000

by Gill Laverick

Letting Love Rule

webmaster — Sun, 31 Aug 2008 20:18:41 +0000

by Katie Greenaway

She Waits

webmaster — Wed, 27 Aug 2008 22:16:31 +0000

by Jeanne Fitzpatrick

Sylvia, Who I Miss

webmaster — Wed, 27 Aug 2008 22:10:12 +0000

by Sarah (Sensibly Sassy)

Men … Gotta Love ‘Em

webmaster — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 19:35:21 +0000

by Sandra Rea

In Search Of

webmaster — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 18:22:28 +0000

by Adam Jeffries

The Couple

webmaster — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 18:13:07 +0000

by Adam Jeffries

Open Letter to Hubby

webmaster — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 19:35:21 +0000

by Sandra Rea

thenovelette.com Writing Contest » Men

webmaster — Tue, 10 Mar 2009 17:43:57 +0000

by Frank Joussen

“Something special for sure,” Mike confirmed, “something especially ugly!”

His last thought in that apartment was that he had probably crushed her against the wall when he had opened that door. Then he ran away from another hairy affair with deeper roots.

How to Wind Down

webmaster — Sun, 31 Aug 2008 20:30:45 +0000

by Cindy Helmling

Faithful Dobbin

webmaster — Sun, 31 Aug 2008 20:25:49 +0000

by Gill Laverick

Letting Love Rule

webmaster — Sun, 31 Aug 2008 20:18:41 +0000

by Katie Greenaway

She Waits

webmaster — Wed, 27 Aug 2008 22:16:31 +0000

by Jeanne Fitzpatrick

Sylvia, Who I Miss

webmaster — Wed, 27 Aug 2008 22:10:12 +0000

by Sarah (Sensibly Sassy)

Men … Gotta Love ‘Em

webmaster — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 19:35:21 +0000

by Sandra Rea

In Search Of

webmaster — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 18:22:28 +0000

by Adam Jeffries

The Couple

webmaster — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 18:13:07 +0000

by Adam Jeffries

Open Letter to Hubby

webmaster — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 18:22:28 +0000

by Adam Jeffries

thenovelette.com Writing Contest » Men

webmaster — Tue, 10 Mar 2009 17:43:57 +0000

by Frank Joussen

“Something special for sure,” Mike confirmed, “something especially ugly!”

His last thought in that apartment was that he had probably crushed her against the wall when he had opened that door. Then he ran away from another hairy affair with deeper roots.

How to Wind Down

webmaster — Sun, 31 Aug 2008 20:30:45 +0000

by Cindy Helmling

Faithful Dobbin

webmaster — Sun, 31 Aug 2008 20:25:49 +0000

by Gill Laverick

Letting Love Rule

webmaster — Sun, 31 Aug 2008 20:18:41 +0000

by Katie Greenaway

She Waits

webmaster — Wed, 27 Aug 2008 22:16:31 +0000

by Jeanne Fitzpatrick

Sylvia, Who I Miss

webmaster — Wed, 27 Aug 2008 22:10:12 +0000

by Sarah (Sensibly Sassy)

Men … Gotta Love ‘Em

webmaster — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 19:35:21 +0000

by Sandra Rea

In Search Of

webmaster — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 18:22:28 +0000

by Adam Jeffries

The Couple

webmaster — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 18:13:07 +0000

by Adam Jeffries

Open Letter to Hubby

webmaster — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 18:13:07 +0000

by Adam Jeffries

thenovelette.com Writing Contest » Men

webmaster — Tue, 10 Mar 2009 17:43:57 +0000

by Frank Joussen

“Something special for sure,” Mike confirmed, “something especially ugly!”

His last thought in that apartment was that he had probably crushed her against the wall when he had opened that door. Then he ran away from another hairy affair with deeper roots.