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Lothringia's Blog

The Hunter Is Now The Hunted!
Posted:Jan 9, 2019 8:37 am
Last Updated:Jan 14, 2019 3:34 pm

Quoting Bob "Unlike others who dont like comments to the contrary, I accept all. Thank you."

Then why am I not allowed to post comments on your regular C&P's .

As I said before, many times, you are a very prolific writer....of blog titles.

Ahem,,, downright is one word Blobby and say is spelled like this - say, not like this - same.

The word don't looks much better when its apostrophe is put in place and it passes the grammar cops too.

The hunter is now the hunted indeed!

New York and Toronto
Posted:May 6, 2017 12:19 pm
Last Updated:Jan 12, 2019 1:28 am

Maudie and I will be visiting New York for a week beginning next Thursday, May 11. On the way we will have an eighteen hour stopover in Toronto, arriving at 2:45pm on Wednesday May 10 and departing the next morning at 9am. That will allow us ample time to spend several hours in the city centre on Wednesday afternoon and evening, possibly until as late as midnight if necessary.

There are two female SFF members in particular that live in, or close to, Toronto and we would delighted to meet one or both of them for a cup of coffee, or something stronger if preferred, and a nice friendly chat.

We will also be willing to meet any SFF members we know that live in or close to NYC if they get in touch to make arrangements.
For the Attention of Parisdreamer
Posted:Jan 14, 2016 4:09 pm
Last Updated:Feb 7, 2016 1:53 pm

Hi Vonnie, If you type the word 'Bushwhacked' into the search box on the right of the main blog page it will bring up a complete list of all the blogs in which that word appeared. The very last one on the list is the one you want and a lot of the original comments are still there.
For Kittycat99 - Harry Hedgy R.I.P.
Posted:Sep 10, 2015 3:21 pm
Last Updated:Jan 12, 2019 1:00 pm

Last week, one day after the tenth anniversary of originally posting it, I reposted my first ever blog at SFF, My First Ever Blog Repost and Kitty expressed the view that she would like to see more blogs of a similar nature so here is one more such blog for her to read. Messrs Hurke and Bare removed the ' wooden overcoat ' containing Harry's mortal remains, I stood in deep and silent reflection. My guilt at having alluded to Harold as a lazy, spineless, no good layabout, was tempered by the inescapable conclusion, that while what I had said to the deceased was decidedly unflattering, it was, beyond any reasonable doubt, veritably veritable.

As I watched that tragic scenario unfold in front of my beady little eyes, a rather complex thought suddenly struck me, " In which position shall we lay Harold to rest ? " At first, I panicked ! Of all the knowledge I'd managed to glean from my little prickly friend over the years, I had, unforgivably, I must admit, omitted to engage him in discussion, as to the etiquette and conventions of rodent internment.

Aghast at this most glaring of omissions on my part, I immediately turned to Mr Hurke and said "Tell me Mr Bare, what's the normal resting pose for dearly departed hedgies ?"

"That's something I not be quite sure of, Mr President, Sir. It all depends on the individual case; most of the bereaved opt for spines up, belly down, and that's the more conventional method, in my own experience of course; while others, for reasons quite unfathomable to me, select what many in the trade, my good self and Mr Bare included, refer to as the topsy turvy position for the corpse.

"That's spines down and belly up. Most undignified, Sir, in my humble opinion, if I may be permitted to say so ?"

"I see" I articulated eloquently, before continuing, " and tell me if you will Mr Bare, have you or your esteemed colleague ever had the experience of interring a rodent of the hedgehog variety, in the perpendicular ?"

At this juncture, Bare's face turned a most unusual and lighter shade of pale, for upon taking receipt of this inquiry, he had clearly been estranged from his composure. In an effort to alleviate his obvious distress, I proffered the poor soul a glass of water.

"Thank you, Sir " he ashen facely proffered, by way of a response. "that is surely most kind of you, but" he continued " I would be slightly more partial to a nip of Irish whiskey if the good Sir has possession of such a commodity under his roof, on such an inauspicious occasion as this ?" Then he continued to continue by adding that "a liberal amount of Scottish Highland Spring Water would enhance the the properties of the requested liquor,Sir."

Anxious to fulfil such a reasonable request I immediately beckoned to my factotum, Slinger, and barked the following order, " Fetch that bottle of whiskey that I keep next to my bed and dispense two generous measures to Messrs Hurke and Bare, oh, and dilute them with water from the nearest bathroom."

As Slinger departed to retrieve the booze, I turned to Bare and said "Mr Hurke, I've made up my mind, we'll put Harold to rest in an upright stance."

"Very good, Mr President, " he replied. " if that's what you desire. Your wish, Good Sir, is our command, but I do fear that you might be making a grave mistake."

"Good that's that settled then ", I retorted, ignoring the last sentence. " I now have some urgent state business to attend to, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I'll take my leave"

"Certainly, Mr President, Sir ". uttered Hurke or Bare, I was never quite sure which of them was which.

"Would" either Burke or Hare went on " the good Sir be wanting a pillow supplied for the esteemed recently departed to rest his head upon ? "

I freely admit that I hadn't considered that option either and I was slightly taken aback by that utterance emanating from whichever of them it was.

"Hmm, hmm " I mused before declaring, " I'll have to think about that one. I'll let you know in the morning what I've decided, I'll have to sleep on it first."

Then I returned to my study in the ovoid office and with not a little trepidation, I picked up the red phone on my desk and dialed the number. "Hello, is that you Frank? " I inquired,

"It is indeed, Sir. I'm most saddened to hear about the passing of Secretary Hedgy. Is there anything I can do to help alleviate your suffering as you navigate your way through this most distressing period?"

"As a matter of fact there is, General " I replied, then continued, "I need you to get over here to the Green House, forthwith and without delay. I have information to impart to you of the most urgent order. Get over as quickly as you can and prepare yourself for a shock. I'll be waiting patiently for you in the egg room.
1 comment
My First Ever Blog - Repost
Posted:Sep 6, 2015 3:52 pm
Last Updated:Jan 12, 2019 1:11 pm

Ten years ago yesterday I posted my first ever blog at SFF and this is a tweaked update of it.

I woke up this morning but Harry, my favourite hedgehog, didn't, because he was dead.

It was a shattering blow to receive before I'd even gotten my eyes opened properly. I can tell you, without fear of contradiction, that it was a very sad and traumatic experience to see cuddly Harry Hedgy lying there on his little bed in a state of permanently suspended animation.

At first, I thought the lazy little bugger was just having a lie-in, because we'd had a good few drinks last night and Harry was never a good one at holding his liquor. "Get up you lazy, spineless, no good, layabout" I yelled. "We have a lot of work to do today and it's about time you did it."

Naturally, Harry didn't respond to my gentle prompting, how could the little creature? He was as dead as that proverbial door nail.

In hopeful desperation, I looked closely to see if he had borrowed my earplugs again without asking me; but clearly, he hadn't.

Last night, at 9pm northern sub standard time, very disturbing word had gotten to us that a new family of slugs had arrived in our back garden, as ill-eagle asylum seekers, under force of arms, and had already began to construct a six bedroom house and a multi-storied car park for themselves, and Harry Hedgy and me had held an emergency summit late into the night and early morning, at the conclusion of which, it was unanimously agreed by the entire cabinet - in their absence - that this belligerent and dastardly intrusion upon our sedate and serene lifestyle could not be tolerated for one second longer than necessary by any government in the world, least of all a benevolent and peace loving one like mine. So to that end we immediately declared 'All out war' against the encroaching slimebolic military force.

As the nation's president, upon first receiving the relevant communique from my generals, I had immediately contacted my Minister for Homeland Security, the aforementioned Harry Hedgy, and quickly filled him in on the developing situation which was fluid and still gathering pace. Then, having brought him up to speed rapidly, I said "Harry, This is a crisis the like of which we've never encountered before" Harry nodded, as if to say "Too true Mr President, too true.&quot.

Then, I solemnly uttered the following proclamation via my mouth: " If we don't act quickly and decisively and with iron-fisted will and determination and resolve to meet this critical development squarely and full smack head on, we could soon find ourselves faced with a catastrophe of gargantuan proportions the like of which this sovereign and vibrant state has not witnessed in living memory, or the future - well so far anyway."

Then I drew a short breath of air into the middle of my lungs and continued thus:

"If this outrageous incursion is not quickly nipped in the bud the entire economy of Backgardenland could be thrown, headlong, into a recession, the likes of which, no nation could be expected to recover from, in less than two or three weeks. Therefore, as Commander-in Chief of the armed forces of this proud and verdant nation, I hereby assign to you and your General Staff the onerous task of enacting the appropriate measures required to combat this emergency with nothing short of ruthless and unstinting determination and thoroughness.

"I want you to understand that no expense need, or ought to be spared, pursuant to measures calculated to rid ourselves of this menace that now finds itself unwelcomely ensconced in our midst, otherwise no blade of grass will be left uneaten by this barbaric and slippery horde.

"But remember this", I cautioned, wisely, "If you should fail in your mission, certain malevolent forces within this state, may try to take advantage of the worsening situation and attempt a medicinal coup. Ergo, I feel it is imperative that a state of emergency be declared, across the entire garden, without vacillation, delay or further ado.

"Harry," I continued solemnly "the fate of every flower, every shrub and every humble blade of grass in this proud garden nation is relying on you and your fellow warriors to eradicate this nefarious threat as quickly as is inhumanly and animally possible. Therefore I delegate to you and your vaunted staff the onerous task of ridding the nation of this insidious threat against our peace loving citizens; I want you to be fully cognizant of the alarming fact that the future of every plant in the land, is resting in your formidable spines and so I say to you and your brave men, get out there in the field and 'EAT THEM ALIVE!'."
Looking for Greyfox
Posted:Aug 18, 2015 12:52 pm
Last Updated:May 7, 2017 1:04 pm

It's ten years today since I became a member of SFF and I felt that the occasion warranted a short mention. I used to love this site until the unrelenting hypocrisy and rampant double standards disillusioned me and finally drove me away to such an extent that I rarely visit the site anymore, let alone contribute to it.

There is another purpose for this post - Maudie and I will be spending two weeks in Sydney, Australia in January (7-21) and we are hoping to make contact with the former Australian based male member that used the handle, Greyfox. If anyone has any information that could help us to establish contact with him we will be very grateful to receive it.

I send hugs and warm vibes to Bruja on the occasion of the fourth anniversary of Mac's passing.
There's No People Like Our People
Posted:Jan 2, 2015 11:08 am
Last Updated:Oct 20, 2016 5:33 pm

Back in the halcyon days of 2007 when there was much more camaraderie and very little acrimony at SFF I wrote and posted this parody of a well known song that reflected the feelings of a lot of members at this site. Shortly after that the song was reposted by a privileged third party that had missed seeing it on its debut. I have provided links to show the reaction to both of those posts.

There's No People Like Our People !

There's no site that's like our site
It's like no site that I know
Many things about it are revealing
Do I post a pic or lie down low
Shall I show my legs they're so appealing
When I've decided I'll let you know

There's no people like our people
We share when we are low
Be you from Ontario UK or Maine
By spending just two cents we all gain
I've got friends all over even one in Spain
Let's all go with the flow

There's Bebo, and FB and others besides
All places we've looked in but never stayed
What we're looking for don’t exist on those sites
We only found it when in here we strayed

There's no bloggers like our bloggers
They write straight from their hearts
Embarrassment is cast aside no need with friends
To tell big porkies or push your end
We're all in this together as through life we wend
So come all let it show

The point that I'm making is for all of us
A testament that woes can be reduced
With others to lean on
Your troubles are halved
And happiness more easily seduced

This is our site we love our site
The best you'll ever find
SFF we love you despite all your ills
You've helped us climb up some real big hills
We're here for the duration
Send the boss the bill
Let's all get up and Go
And get on with the show.

The grammatical irregularity in the title is a result of poetic licence.

There's No People Like Our People

[post 66258]
Unlucky Thirteen - Hellholes
Posted:Nov 25, 2014 10:33 am
Last Updated:May 7, 2017 3:22 pm
On Thursday morning I will be flying to Tel Aviv in Israel and that will be the 38th country, spread over four continents, that I will have visited in the last four years. Maudie was with me on about half of those trips and a son or daughter accompanied me on four others and the rest were all solo journeys, just like the imminent visit to Israel will be.

I have visited four former Soviet Republics, including Ukraine, where I was in the second largest city of Lviv the day before the killing started last February and I have been to four constituent states of the former Yugoslavia.

Thirteen of those countries were visited on day trips from neighbouring states and I have paid return visits to approximately half of 38 those countries. I have seen a lot of very famous and very beautiful places and, conversely, I have been in some of the worst hellholes ever known to mankind.

I have visited the site of the former KGB HQ in Vilnius, Lithuania, and been inside the prison, within its walls, where hundreds of men and women drew their last breaths either at the hands of the Soviet despots or their Nazi counterparts that occupied the building with equal terror before them. I have seen the the exterior of former KGB HQ in Warsaw, Tallinn, Potsdam, Budapest and the old Stasi (East German Secret Police) Headquarters in Berlin.

I have been in five Nazi concentration camps and, needless to say, they were the most gruesome locations of all. Those camps were Auschwitz 1 and Auschwitz 2 - Birkenau; Majdanek and Stutthof which are all in Poland and Sachsenhausen which is in Germany and only about twenty miles from Berlin. It was there that the infamous slogan 'Arbeit macht frei' (work makes (you) free) was first displayed on a metal sign over the front gate before being replicated in similar fashion at many other death camps including Auschwitz..

All those despicable and horrendous locations are cost free to visit and virtually free of supervision and a person can wander around them without hassle or restriction for hours and hours if so desired. The day to day suffering of those poor souls that were consigned to the death camps doesn't bear thinking about and the people that were sent to their deaths straight away upon arrival at them were perhaps the least unfortunate among them.

I have also visited two major war cemeteries, St. Symphorien Military Cemetery near the town of Mons in Belgium - where the British Army fought its first and last battles of the Great War - which contains the graves of 334 Commonwealth servicemen and 284 German soldiers from World War One.

I also visited the World War Two American Cemetery in Luxembourg which contains the graves of 5,075 men of the US Army that were mostly killed during the Battle of the Bulge in December 1944, including that of General George Patton, and one female army nurse.

I have also visited five different Holocaust Museums and I dare say that I will be visiting another one very soon during my upcoming trip. I will post one picture of each location that I have mentioned in this post. I may post another blog after my Israeli trip if I can find time to get around to it.

I almost forgot to mention that I also visited a Soviet Army WW2 Cemetery in Warsaw and a 1991 Bosnian War Cemetery in the City of Mostar.


The Mayor and the Hooker
Posted:Oct 8, 2014 9:13 am
Last Updated:Nov 13, 2018 2:26 pm

The Town Mayor

When Gaston was just a young lad of 16½ winters he got a job as a delivery boy at a brothel in a small town in France called the Riviera. It was a long way from a lot of other places but quite close to one or two other locations that were somewhere nearby in a similar region. It was a seaside area and certain parts of the sea often came right in as far as the shore and made the sand all wet and gooey.

Gaston's brief in his new and exciting career was a simple and straightforward one ; run errands; deliver messages and fix broken beds. But from that humble beginning, thanks in part to his handsome appearance and magnificently imposing physique, he quickly rose through the ranks to ultimately attain the most sought after position for any self-respecting red blooded man working in a high class bordello to aspire to - Quality Control Officer.

One day in the middle of August 1863, or it could even have been the day before that, Gaston was seated on a chair sitting down when he was approached by one of the 'cast' members. She was a rather plain, but beautiful looking girl named Grizelda. She had been born almost exactly nine hours after her parents had been married six weeks earlier.

Grizelda had endured a very difficult and boring life. She'd had a very strict upbringing and as a teenager she was forbidden to play with other girls and boys and particularly, in certain circumstances, with herself.

Her father and mother were both alcoholics and two of her uncles on her mother's side, were always trying to fondle her nascent and ripening breasts and lure her into their beds to have their wicked way with her without either of them ever having the wherewithal to spring for such a titillating privilege.

Grizelda hated life on the farm and often considered running away from her own home in search of a real home in the country. One Christmas Day toward the end of December 1876, Grizelda finally upped and did the business that she'd long threatened to do.

While her mother and father were soundly asleep after drinking the house dry, the young maiden slipped out the back door and twisted her ankle, but her injury did not deter her from carrying on with her mission to liberate herself and gain access to a carefree life of pleasure and happiness in the nation's capital. She had gone just a few hundred miles down the road when she came across a broken down stagecoach, an 1861 dodgy convertible. The driver was trying to change a tyre but he didn't appear to have a jack.

When he'd fixed the flat tyre and filled the coach with helium gas he turned to Grizelda who had been sat squat on the ground watching his every move."Is there anything I can do for you my pretty young lady?" he kindly inquired.

"I would like a free ride to Gay Paree" replied the lass, politely.

"I'm not going in that direction" said the coachman, "but I can take you to the nearest town where you can get an express stagecoach bus to Paris."

"It's no use" said Grizzy, "I dont have any money, but if you give me the bus fare and a few bob for a meal I shall sleep with you" she offered, innocently.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not very sleepy right now." responded the driver, shaking his head vigorously, from left to right, as we would look at him from behind.

"Is there anywhere around here where I might capitalise from the purveyance of my favour?" Grizelda ventured.

"There is a little whorehouse about two miles from here but it's a lot further than that" he told her.

"How can a place be further than it is? I don't quite understand you." said a slightly perplexed, Grizzy

"Look " said the driver, "my name is Pierre Lothringia, I come from a long and very well respected line of buffoons with a proud heritage and you're not supposed to understand us.

"The day that we Lothies start making proper sense will be the day that we will become nonentities and then slowly wither and die. It has been foretold by none other than the great Nostradamus his own self, that one day a day will arrive on which will come forth a great, great nephew of mine, named Billy Lothringia.

"He will be a man of great wisdom and health. He will take many wives and love them all with all his hearts and the sole soul that God will allocate to him. He will be a man of vision; a great explorer; he will chart the new lands in the west and unravel and solve the fabled mysteries of the Orient and the East Germans swimmers.

"He will visit the new world of the upper Americas and help solve the puzzle of a trillion missing socks."

When the driver finally stopped talking for a couple of seconds to draw breath he noticed that Grizelda had his coach.

"Goddamn it" he cussed breathlessly to himself as there was no one else to talk to. Then, just as luck would have it, he began to feel sleepy.

Grizelda pulled the coach into the middle of the town square and then, completely exhausted, she stopped for a rest. It was a glorious day and the Sun shone down brightly, battling all the while, with isolated clusters of shade for control of the atmospheric conditions.

As Grizzy relaxed after her arduous journey she was approached, by what transpired, as her first ever paying customer - the mayor of the town, whose name was Jean-Paul de-Rapiste, casually sidled his way alongside her and addressed her thus:

"Bon Jove, Mademoiselle. are you in distress?"

"I would certainly hope so," she replied "It's the only one I have; otherwise I would be naked from the hair down as I am not wearing any knickers or even a brassiere."

"Ha, ha, ha," laughed the dignitary. "No my dear child, I didn't say this dress, I said distress."

"No matter, it'll cost you five hundred francs for the basic works or one thousand francs for the de-luxe model." blurted the bluffing lassie, who had no real idea of the going rates for that sort of thing and feared underpricing herself.

"Sacre Bleu!" cried the lecher, "You are indeed a dear child. A very dear child indeed." "I'm still a virgin and you know what they say about virgins in all those steamy novels that will be published after D.H.Lawrence wins his case in the Courts of British Justice"

"No, I'm not familiar with British justice," claimed the bechained one, "What is it they will be saying?"

"They will be saying that the first slice will always be the dearest."

"The Mayor put his left hand in his pocket then pulled it back out after rubbing it vigorously against his lower front genitals for a long moment, then enunciated the following in fluent French, "My child you are a comely wench and if you should come lie with me the Lady Mayoress shall be most grateful as she can't stand the sight of me and will go to almost any lengths to avoid not getting a headache these days."

"I want the money up front" demanded Grizzy, who then queried, "Are you going for the regular or the de Luxe model?"

"What do I get if I cough up for regular?" he asked inquiringly.

"All the usual routine stuff but no second helpings and no fancy positions."

"That sounds like my wife talking, have you by any chance met her?" asked the Mayor.

"The only person I've met since I arrived in this minor conurbation not ten minutes and twenty-five seconds ago is thine own self, your Lordship."

"Would you have any objection to sallying on across to my office in the Rue de la Ware" propositioned the propositioner, "I have a feather bed in a back room there and we could cavort to our hearts' content without fear or favour of being interrupted or cottoned on to, as they would say in the deep south of the United American States."

"I'd rather do it in the carriage," opined the lass, "You see the last time I entered a back room with a feather bed in it I was rather lucky to emerge with my precious flower intact, because my Uncle Samuel was a randy old devil, but with not a brass penny or a red cent to his name, that he could offer me as perk."

"I see." said the undignified dignitary, who then continued, "I've always said it, my dear girl, penury can cause tremendous hardships like that, for a man. If its the carriage you want, then the carriage it shall be."

As Grizelda and her inaugural client climbed aboard the ostensibly horse drawn contraption, the blazing Sun decided to call it a day and withdrew beyond the off white clouds that were now scattering almost the entire village with precipitation of a very damp variety.

to be continued...

Copyright © Billy Kennedy 2005
1 comment
Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered
Posted:Oct 3, 2014 11:47 am
Last Updated:Oct 20, 2016 5:56 pm

When Grizelda was released from the hospital after having eight stitches inserted in a cut just below her left foot, she caught a passing cab and headed straight back to the luxury apartment that she sometimes shared overnight with her sugar daddy lover, Don Miguel Les Cajones.

Don Miguel was a formerly handsome, but still filthy rich, devil of the old school. He was renowned throughout the French capital for his extravagance with pretty women, often considerably younger than himself and, if the truth be told, mostly just girls rather than women, and he was also well noted for his high regard and generous patronage of all things mundane.

Although he was now rapidly approaching his eightieth consecutive birthday, he didn't feel a day older than he actually was and his eye for a comely wench had not diminished one iota. He loved to party long into the night and at many prestigious social gatherings he was often one of the first men on the floor, even though sometimes it was mostly on his back from having taken too much drink, because although Don Miguel really liked to have a few drinks, he loved to have a lot of drinks even more - and besides, he didn't believe in wasting energy on his feet on the dance floor that could be better spent in more intimate pursuits later on with pretty young girls like the aforementioned Grizzy.

He had originally met Grizzy for the first, and several subsequent times, at a dress rehearsal for his 79th birthday party, which had been scheduled at random, but he had not felt any special feelings toward her on that occasion. Then one night while he was lying in bed awake he fell asleep, and they woke up alongside each other the next morning, naked, whence he began to really feel something for her, all over.

He had then made Grizelda an offer that either she she couldn't or wouldn't refuse - take your pick - she would, he assured her, receive US$500 every time she came to visit him at the luxury apartment, plus a bonus of $1,000 dollars every time he came. Grizzy was overjoyed by this lucrative arrangement and thenceforth made a point of visiting Don Miguel at least every day, ostensibly, she always claimed, to thank him for his boundless generosity and test his energy levels.

Grizelda was a very personable and gregarious young slip of a broad and she got on famously with most of Don Miguel's friends and relatives, indeed far too famously, according to some outspoken wags of the day, especially with the males, and more especially with his three sons and nine grandsons, from previous liaisons. Word on the street was that they all loved her as much as their patriarch and some said that they all loved her even more and much longer than him.

One day while Grizelda was taking a hot naked shower, there came a strange knock upon her door. This sudden wooden sound startled Grizelda, who hadn't been expecting any strange knocks that day and she quickly rushed from the warm, cascading torrent of the bland transparent liquid and hurriedly dried herself pronto, then, using a towel to cover her magnificently curvaceous curves - it was a big towel - she opened the door by turning the knob, only to be confronted with the unmistakable presence of one Mirabelle de la 42nd Street whom she'd never laid eyes on before.

“Hello my pretty Angel" said the unmistakable one.

“Who are you ?" asked Grizzy “I'm sure that I don’t know you from Adam or even Eve."

“Allow me to introduce myself" said Grizelda’s unexpected caller, “I am Ms Mirabelle de la 42nd Street, but my friends call me Mire, for short."

“Why have you called upon me at this godly hour ?" asked a clearly bothered, but not yet bewildered or bewitched, Grizzy.

“I have just slain your ex-boyfriend Joe de Smith in a duel, and I was hoping that you might accompany me to his funeral on the morrow?" crowed the masculine maiden.

“Oh my poor, poor Joe de" cried the bothered beauty, who was now also bewildered.

“He was not poor, he was filthy rich" advanced the plain one, plainly.

Grizzy then broke down amid a torrent of tears and flung herself to the floor with her belly, lying on the surface, underneath and parallel to her back.

Then, after observing a barely respectable interval of grief tolerance, Mire gently picked Grizzy up and roughly planted a big smacker on her luscious lips. Grizelda was so unappalled by this unconventional behaviour that a small, but clearly detectable smile, worked its way, meanderingly, onto her exquisite facial features - the young beauty was now quite clearly bewitched, but the bothered and bewildered emotions were beginning to what extent remains to be seen.

To be c

Copyright © Billy Kennedy 2006

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