Lahat ng Kabanata ng Steamy Dreams : Kabanata 591 - Kabanata 600

General Khorokov was good-looking in a rugged, almost grim Eastern European way. The handsome middle-aged leader was Belgestani. Belgestan, a practically forgotten mountainous and landlocked ex-Soviet republic, was now a nation torn apart by civil war. At least seven rebel groups and what remained of the decimated government now vied for power. Men died to take a village, or a few city blocks, and from an outsider's point of view, what was it all for? But General 'Khoro' happened to be a true believer, and he inspired those same beliefs in his men. Many of them came from areas of severe poverty, of starvation, and these were men who had little to lose...men who were only too happy to rally around a charismatic man with the promise of a plan.General Khoro was that and much more. He happened to be one of the more ambitious of the warlords attempting to carve up the country, and tonight he had much to be thankful for. His forces had just captured the capitol of Kransk. His reasons to ce

I sat there on the cool back leather couch watching TV. My stepmother had been nagging my father to get rid of this couch for a couple years now. He always resorted to the answer that it's "too comfortable" to throw away. He was right. It was really comfortable.I always came over to their apartment on weekends for a couple hours or so, just for a visit, but mainly just to catch up on the HBO shows I missed. I never bothered or really cared to pay for all those cable stations and they did, so why not take advantage of it. After all, nothing is else going on during this lazy winter Sunday.She was across the room on the large overstuffed chair, sprawled out with a laptop on her stomach checking her email. She was wearing those small post grunge jean shorts again; with rips in the pockets and various other places that revealed a little bit of skin to get your imagination going. Her small white t-shirt wrapped around her breasts and rode up her back a little as she slouched comfortably.

My mom, Desiree, is half-black and half-white. Her skin is silky smooth and the color is a magnificent mahogany. She is the shapeliest woman I know. She has a sweet full ass, a slim waist and all natural 36C breasts that stand firm and full. I have seen her in so many states of dress and undress. She always wears thongs and is so proud of her ass that she shows it off as much as she can get away with it. She has no problem being naked or near naked in front of me. And I am always wowed at the sight of her body. I am so happy that mine will look like hers. Her eyes are gray and her smile is a perfect ten. Her hair is straight, thick, and jet black. Her physical appearance, her character and her love are the most perfect in the world.She never really knew my dad. He was a one night stand when she was 18 in high school and left town the next day for the army. He was killed in the first few days of the war in Afghanistan.What she knew was that my dad was white, six-foot-four, and, when

The next Thursday, six days later, I returned home and saw Jenola's next letter. I raced inside with it, but first sat down at my computer and lit a joint, so I could read her letter while fucked up. Her letter read:Big wow to you, too, Steven! What you said about all the feelings being mutual is so right. It's amazing, I've only gotten two letters from you and I can already see how different you are from my two exes. That gives us a much better chance to last together. We are definitely on the same page!Yes, I played basketball for my school team. When I was on the 8th grade team, I led the team in points and rebounds, but unfortunately I started smoking the next Summer. That hurt my play and I ended up getting benched on the 9th grade team, and then I got kicked off the team when I was arrested for shoplifting. After that, I stopped working out and got fat. So instead of getting a basketball scholarship, I moved in with my boyfriend after we graduated and I got pregnant with Britn

Chapter 2: Unspoken Lines The following week began like any other, but Clara felt the difference before she could name it. It showed up in the way she checked the time more often than usual toward the end of the school day. In the way her eyes drifted, almost unconsciously, toward the gate outside the classroom windows. In the quiet anticipation she refused to acknowledge. This is ridiculous, she told herself as she arranged her lesson notes. Yet, when the final bell rang, her pulse quickened slightly. Children poured out of the classroom in a rush of laughter and chatter. Clara remained at her desk, pretending to organize papers she had already sorted twice. “Miss Evans?” She looked up. Lily stood there, her backpack slung over one shoulder, her expression bright but hesitant. “Yes, Lily?” “My dad is here early again,” she said. “He asked if… if you had a minute.” Clara’s fingers stilled on the edge of her desk. A minute. It was such a simple request. “Alright,” she said