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Lys van kultusrolprente - Wikipedia
Overview Furry. Lesbian shifters, vampires, and witches come in all shapes and sizes. From the humblest mouse to the most ferocious cougar, from maids and their mistresses to urban vamps and the women they lick, these stories are sure to inspire chills, thrills, and delicious shivers. Product Details About the Author. About the Author Giselle Renarde is a queer Canadian, contributor to more than short story anthologies, and award-winning author of dozens of books, including Anonymous, Audrey and Lawrence, and the popular Wedding Heat series.
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When her devastated and When her devastated and distraught father locked himself away, she was left to grow into adulthood without parental guidance. When the king emerges after ten years of solitude, he is Address Book for Girls. Address Book for Girls: is a book of addresses! You can now store the contact This pocket When Josie invites her high school boyfriend Kaz to stay with her family over the When Josie invites her high school boyfriend Kaz to stay with her family over the holidays, there are a few things she doesn't anticipate: Kaz admitting he's still a virgin after all these years?
If Steve had been clever he could have stayed right there on top of things and bled a big bankroll from the businesses in a couple of years. Then he could have pulled Mama out of there and with a big bankroll he could have done anything with her, even turned her out. I tell you she was that hot for him. She had to be insane over the asshole to walk away from all that potential with only twenty-five hundred in cash. I have wished to Christ, in four penitentiaries, that the lunatic lovers had left me in Rockford with Henry when they split.
One scene in my life I can never forget and that was that morning when Mama had finished packing our clothes and Henry lost his inner fight for his pride and dignity. He fell down on his knees and bawled like a scalded child, pleading with Mama not to leave him, begging her to stay. He had welded his arms around her legs, his voice hoarse in anguish, as he whimpered his love for us.
You are sure to kill me if you do. If I have, forgive me. As the cab drove us away to the secret rendezvous with Steve sitting in his old Model T, I looked back at Henry on the porch, his chest heaving as tears rolled down his tortured face. There were too many wheels within wheels, too much hurt for me to cry.
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After a blank time and distance we got to Chicago. Steve had vanished and Mama was telling me in a drab hotel room that my real father was coming over to see us, and to remember that Steve was her cousin. When my father came through the hotel room door reeking of cologne and dressed to kill, all I could think was what Mama had told me about that morning when this tall brown-skin joker had tossed me against the wall. He took a long look at me. It was like looking in a mirror.
His deep down guilt cream puffed him and he grabbed me and squeezed me to him. When he hugged Mama, her face was toward me and stony, like back there with Henry. I have saved my money and now I really have something to offer my wife and son. I am older now, and I bitterly regret my mistakes of the past. Like a black-widow spider spinning a web around her prey, Mama put up enough resistance to make him pitch himself into a sweat then agreed to go back to him. He had thousands of dollars invested in rich clothing and linens.
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After a week, my hustler uncle brought Steve to visit us, and to case the lay out. My father bought the cousin angle and broke out his best cigars and cognac for the thieves. It was another week before they took him off. Remember, at the time I had no idea as to what really was going to happen. I would learn the shocking truth only after we got to Milwaukee. On that early evening when it happened Mama was jittery as we prepared to visit some close white friends of my father.
Too soon it was time to go home. In my lifetime I have seen many degrees of shock and surprise on the human face. His lips flapped mutely. Mama stood there in the empty house clinging to him, comforting him, sobbing with real tears flowing down her cheeks. I guess she was crying in joy because the cross had come off so beautifully. Mama missed her calling. She should have been a film actress. With only a bit part, an Oscar a season would have been a lead-pipe cinch for her. Mama told my father we would go to Indianapolis to friends until he could put another nest together.
When we got to Milwaukee by train, ninety miles away, Steve had rented a house. Those lovely things did us little good and brought no happiness. Steve, with his mania for craps, within weeks had sold everything, piece by piece, and lost it across the craps table. He was just so cruel to me. My mother had bought me a little baby cat. I loved that kitten, and this man hated animals. One day the cat, being a baby cat, did his business on the kitchen floor.
The little kitten had hidden under the sofa. He grabbed that kitten and took it downstairs where there was a concrete wall. He grabbed it by the heels. I was standing we lived on the second floor looking down at him; he took the kitten and beat its brains out against that wall. I remember, there was a park behind our house, concrete covered.
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There were some concrete steps. I sat there and I cried until I puked. I hate Mama! I hate Steve! I hate him!
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For many tortured years she would suffer her guilt. She had made that terrible decision on that long ago weekend.
I know my lousy old man deserved what happened to his goods. I know Mama got her revenge and it was sweet I am sure, but it was bitter for a kid like me to know that Mama was part of it. Perhaps if Mama had kept that burglary cross a secret from me, in some tiny way I might have been stronger to fight off that pimping disease. I was your first and only child.
I choked up, stopped talking to her beneath the silent sod, and thought about Henry lying rotten, forgotten in his grave.
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I loved him Mama, I needed him. I wish you could have seen beyond his ugly black face and loved him a little and stayed with him. Mama, I love you. I am not a lawyer as you always wanted me to be, but Mama, you have two beautiful grandchildren and another on the way, and a fine daughter-in-law who looks a lot like you when you were young. I have squared up, I work every day. How about it Mama, Iceberg Slim a square? Maybe my crying is really laughing.
About ninety days after Steve smashed my kitten Mama cast off her spell, and one gray April dawn while Steve lay in a drunken, open-mouthed stupor, Mama and I packed what we could carry and moved into a hotel room. It was complete with hot plate and downthe-hall toilet.
On August fourth, my birthday, our old friend Steve, with diabolical timing, made that event unforgettable. Since that chilly dawn in April he had searched the slum streets for his escaped dupes, thirsty for revenge.