Romance

Nov 18, 2009
Donald just keeps getting sexier.  Sexier and sexier and sexier.  And while people told me this would happen, told me that I would want to rip his clothes off and ravage him because he made gorilla noises at our baby, I →MORE...

Donald and I are both locals.  He grew up fifteen minutes away, in this house and that house and the other house over there.  His earliest memory is standing on the front lawn a stone’s throw from here, wearing little cowboy →MORE...

Sep 26, 2009
“I hope that someday soon we can brainwash the baby into falling asleep a little earlier,” the wife said to her husband, “because I would really like a little alone time with you.” What the wife said: I need some snuggling →MORE...

Jun 23, 2009
When I met Donald, he was sitting down at a table.  He was all legs and arms and long fingers.  He was stirring a coffee.  Ugh, I thought.  I hate coffee.  I wore a dress that day.  “That’s what I remember,” →MORE...

Donald proposed to me on a Friday evening.  We were living together in a teensy weensy apartment in a very bad part of town.  I am not exaggerating the size of the apartment, by the way.  I’ll bet you couldn’t stuff →MORE...