04-02-2012, 06:17 AM | #1201 |
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April 2
PADUANS The pussy willows bloom looking much like crested poultry. The coldest part of my heart is fighting to thaw in this early spring. Weather is not of the mind to be rushed. Neither my hopes nor the changing calendar can persuade the warmth into the May mornings. It’s May for me, too, no longer the early sobriety of January. The years have marched on; I wait for the delivery of my returning brains. Long term sobriety has begun but I am still beset with the chill of fragility. I desire dignity and find myself strutting like a fowl with blooming plumage, addled and gawky. “Don’t worry,” says my sponsor, “the pussy willow is in no way less for showing itself in the rawness of growth.” Listen to the sounds of your life. * Unfettered “The difference between a demand and a request is apparent to everyone.” A drunk once said this and I hold it to my heart. I can not be bullied or swindled into a corner; neither will I allow you to put a rope around my neck like a wayward calf. I obey because it works for me and if you teach me that you are untrustworthy or careless I will obey you no longer, this doesn’t make me less obedient it just takes you out of the lead. Sometimes I hold the reins and most times they are in the hands of God, but never shall my reins be in the hands of another, this is what I drank over and this is what I could drink over again. No one person is my salvation and I cannot allow anyone to be my demise. If you consume me like a drink, I will kill you as surely as any drug.
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04-03-2012, 06:23 AM | #1202 |
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April 3
ACCEPTANCE, ACTION, CHANGE Acceptance equals action. Without action, acceptance is a death sentence. Action puts me in the hands of my Higher Power; inaction puts me at the mercy of others, or worse, self-justification. For acceptance to glow with life, it must be moving. Action equals change. Action without change is repetition. The moon does not change. It orbits flat on its face, forever dark on one side and a mere reflection on the other. Change sparks possibilities in mundane endeavor. Change equals acceptance. Change without acceptance is a walk off a cliff. For change to endure, agreement is necessary. A one-sided argument is fascism and fraudulence. The heart of change is acceptance, beating the blood of hope to the extremities. Whether we circle the heavens or the bowl depends on the cohesion of acceptance, action and change. Listen to new music, sing old music. * Give Me a Goose Any Day The geese breaking wind resistance, the close ones, the far ones, the ones behind trumpeting this is the gang who gets me sober and keeps me that way. Maybe you think that God is not a flock of geese, but it has been my experience and the honking and the mess are part of it all. I spend my days making sure I am one of them. Sometimes I am even in the lead, which may seem like a place of honor and prestige, but is actually a lot of hard work. Sometime I am the cheering squawker who makes my encouragement heard. Other times I am the one waddling around leaving an untidiness behind me. All of this just makes me part of the flock. I am especially fond of my nest mates though they are often the ones I chase and bluster at the most. I feel a sense of identity and pride when I see any goose flying high and I know that because we don’t do it alone we are able to do it together.
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04-04-2012, 04:26 AM | #1203 |
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April 4
THE SCULPTOR I'm stuck in a block; my sponsor chips away at me. I struggle to hold still. With surgical precision, she cuts through the debris with which I have surrounded myself. After my sponsor frees my hand and arm, she places a hammer in my open fingers. When the other arm and hand are rescued, she places a chisel in that hand. This is how, before my head showed above the surface, I began to help in my own restoration. I am the sculptor the program has made me. Recovery has taught me I can be anything if I keep chipping away at the things that hold me hostage. As time travels on, I am a new shape with each turn through the steps and have an ever-lustrous finish with every application of the traditions. Everything has its own intelligence and you do, too. * Please Sir Gratitude is a thing which collects and solidifies, it’s pink and I can walk around on it. Some days it is a broad highway and other times a winding spindling track. Ever present if I am mindful gratitude roots out pests and pestilence while planting a garden beyond my dreams. Gratitude is like handholding it warms and strengthens me, k keeps me connected to real life and reassures me that I am not alone. Many days I find a way to make a face and pout, plundering the rich rewards of sobriety for the thin gruel of discontent, Poke me with a stick on these days and remind me who I am, for I am never Oliver even if I feel a little twist.
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04-05-2012, 04:34 AM | #1204 |
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April 5
STOP TALKING “Try to stop talking when people stop listening,” said my sponsor. “And try not to take it personally.” “Why is that?” I query. “Most individuals can’t handle much of anything real. Try as they may, they are unable to listen to anyone speaking the truth. Tell them a story; you can hold their attention all day. Sprinkle bits of honesty into the tale and you still will keep your audience. But strafe them with bullets of the truth and they will run for cover.” “I’ve seen it happen. I never knew what made them scurry, but I have seen them sprint away.” “It’s a coping mechanism. If you try to turn their heart too quickly, they’re afraid it will stop beating.” “Why is it you never worry about that with me? You tell me the facts whether I want to hear it or not.” “I can tell you because you take step 3.” Color a page using only three crayons. * Fearing Fearlessness How many times have I given the credit to night blind fear, credit due the brave persistent child? How many times have I blamed the willing diligent pursuer when the fault was the backstabbing delay of mistrust? I resist the onset of freedom. Fear was my oldest familiar and I put from my mind that it was my jailer, captor; Kidnapped me from my cradle and kept me locked from God’s fine intentions. Fearlessness sounds debilitating to my crippled ears, Organs who hear well the disclaimers and are deaf to the claims. I am the producer of bile and addicted to dread, Endorphins wear white hats and win the day once this yellow belly is put to bed.
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04-06-2012, 08:30 AM | #1205 |
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April 6
MORE Sometimes people get more than they can handle. The evidence of this is their insanity or death. God is not the actuary of heaven, managing tragedy the way my loan officer manages my debt load. The victim blamers run to the ‘lack of faith’ accusation. I have to keep my hands tightly on the wheel of life or risk strangling the parrots who chirp outlandish claims but tries to make it sound like help. I have to live with what I experience as real and be sober today. I will have to leave the measure of ‘more’ to time out of mind. Lift your feet and let the chaos pass underneath * Two Things That Should Be One The difference between my will and God’s will is that God actually likes me all the time, never looks to punish and would rather that I don’t settle for less than what is best for me. The difference between God’s will and my will Is that left to my own devices I would run in a perpetual circle and dig a trough. I would never ask for help and would refuse if it were offered. I would take on misguidedness as a mantle and wear it to my wake. Often my will and God’s will are miles apart, but they needn’t be. God is the president of my fan club; I just need to start attending the meetings.
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04-07-2012, 07:32 AM | #1206 |
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April 7
ARABIAN DAYS There are days I feel like Scheherazade and could spin a thousand tales. Other days I feel my brain grab for its satchel and exit my ear. I find it hard to be a hospitable host to all of me, but when I stretch or strain my elbow or knee I think, “oh well, they go out, they go out,” but if my brain runs off and leaves me I am in a serious mess. I try to be a lover of my mind for when I don’t I grow small in my heart. I scent the mental bath water and light the little lights; I sing sweet songs. I wait for response. I smile broadly to hear the quick report of Rimsky-Korsakov. Don’t transpose your feelings. * Out on Your Front Porch “If you want what we have,” said my sponsor, “you will have to follow somebody and lead somebody and do a few other things.” “I have to follow somebody, that shouldn’t be too hard,” I mumble. “In order to follow it helps if you stop looking at the ground, lift you gaze,” her retort. I raised my chin until I met her eyes. “Better,” said she. “I follow you?” I ask. “Me, yes, if I have what you want, follow others if I don’t,” she said. “Okay and lead somebody, how do I do that?” I ask. “It’s attraction, Sweetie, be attractive, show your smile and your smarts, But most of all show that you’re sober, because that is always your best asset. And no matter what anybody tells you about the allure of bad girls, nobody can resist a good set of assets”
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04-08-2012, 06:16 AM | #1207 |
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April 8
CONSERVATION OF LOVE Love does not diminish. It recycles like the rain, ever in transition and transmission. Love is not salvationary or redemptive. Nor do I believe it to be the currency of Godliness. Love is an element like cobalt or gold, it has weight and substance. Love is the coinage of responsibility not a door out of consequences. Love, true love, inspires right action, never cowardice or disrespect. In this strange amelioration, standing in the wings of realism, love is love no longer. Love is the standard I have to bear, not the canopy I stand beneath. In the frozen center, love cannot endure the pressure of misinformation, and melts with friction, floods with irresponsibility. Love, like money, admiration and sex, has its place and must not have expectation of being more than it is. With that said, Love is peerless, to be treasured, protected and shared. Run away with your heart but bring your mind. * Up and Down: Round and Round Like the wheel on my spinning wheel I pump up and down on the treadle and the wheel spins round and round, The roving twists in my hand and yarn is made. Really all I do is tap my foot and gently hold on, pulling occasionally. It is a small part I play in this production at least it feels small almost unnecessary, but with a clear mind I see that without me it doesn’t get done. I am essential yet still just a foot-tapper and hanger-on neither of these is prestigious yet the whole fabric depends on my mundane actions. I take great comfort knowing that allover there are foot-tappers and hangers-on keeping safe this way of life Sometimes keeping it safe just through sheer repetition. And if you ask, “Is that Unity or Recovery or Service?” All I can say is “Yes, yes it is.”
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04-09-2012, 05:57 AM | #1208 |
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April 9
FINE PRINT I can scrawl the wall with everything I know. I can fill my books, chapter and verse, with pure and honest hope, but let me begin the precision of language and watch. My once open face becomes tight; my free associations peek regularly around each corner. Neatly painted lines are a trap with teeth laid bare. Serrations of careful craft sever my umbilical and God floats off untethered. Truth returns when I am shouting my prayers. Scrupulous observance never advances my sails. I must meet life with an open hand. The devil may not be in the details but be sure to check the fine print. Open one eye and wink at the possibilities. * Stumbling Under the Tenth Step When I’ve been outside of my mind it is so hard to tell when I’ve come home again. The landmarks take on such distortion in memory that the facts seem bloated or anorexic as I turn my face from side to side. Old journals remind me of old journeys and perhaps there are accurate landmarks mentioned but how can I know for sure that these too are not just the ravings of a mind gone mad. Real or imagined I must take the daily count and try to keep the score in favor of the actual. I don’t always know that I’ve fallen until I inventory the dirt on my face, but better that I face the dirt than live the delusion of a mole.
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04-10-2012, 05:27 AM | #1209 |
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April 10
FEELING TEMPLES I failed to appreciate the initial onslaught of feelings. I spent much time trying to capture them, lock them away, or in some other way submarine them. This only had the effect of retarding my recovery. I had to reframe my thinking. I had to start with simple calisthenics, embrace and celebrate. As my emotional health began to take shape, I started the foundations for tiny shrines, each with its own theme. Happiness had a party going on until all hours. With grief, there seemed to be a constant internment in progress, body or no. Fear showed an IMAX film of the realities of life on earth, and curiosity had an endless library plus a DSL line. Making myself a willing and frequent visitor to these contrasting places created in me wholeness and peace. Never again do I have to trudge the two dimensional desert of my monochromatic former life. Write love letters with your favorite pen. * The Key You See The key you see is letting you accept me. Oh, how I hide from that, run from that, flee from that. I must be in control of what you think of me. I curtain off the view of me I don’t wish to share with you. Add to that the unusual choices of what I hide. I will strip down with all the lights blazing long before I would let you see me drop the ball, be confused, misunderstand. What I truly fail to realize is that in the process of trying to hide my faux pas and fumbles; what I show you is my controlling ass. Backside bare I moon you with my freak show trying to hide my humanity. Your compassion and tolerant waiting for me to calm down and open my eyes is the key I fail to see about you.
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04-11-2012, 06:29 AM | #1210 |
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April 11
BIRDS & BEES Birds and bees can get me drunk. I have to watch the amount of envy which pours through me as I watch their wondrous bliss. When others make a bee-line to the hive, I must head to a meeting and save myself despair if my spiritual condition is not sound. When other couples are weaving their nests, I have to be careful not to weave my way back to the bar. The mating dance is so sweet and seductive; I have to make sure I don’t end up doing the two step. For as much as I hate to admit it, if steps one and twelve where enough to keep me sober, the rest would not have needed to be written. Pad barefoot through intention. * Neither Frog nor Fish I was falling and my Higher Power caught me in a net called AA, all of which was a pretty neat trick, But the strangest consequence of this is now I somehow think it shouldn’t be possible for me to drown. Defying gravity 24 hours at a time doesn’t make me aquatic or even amphibious for that matter. I still have all the corollary restrictions of anyone who is me. I still need sleep and water, food and warmth just like a mere mortal. How silly I am. I dodge a bullet and suddenly I think I am waterproof.
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04-12-2012, 06:00 AM | #1211 |
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April 12
WHIP I have been to the meeting where they play 'whip', the meeting where the members are gotten in line. The tempo increases constantly in an attempt to flick each other off into the land of shame and slips and less-than. This game is invisible to the participants, though the stress on their bodies is surely felt. Spectators often misunderstand the meaning of the activity and wrongly interpret it as strength training and endurance building. I think of it as a backward step, throwing me to my initial desire for a drink; living in other peoples skewed lines sent me running for a bottle. These same lines, placed around me in sobriety, will measure me up for a box. Turn your plants and your mind so every aspect has an opportunity to get some sun. * Who to Ask “You ask good questions and you ask the right people,” said my sponsor. “I ask questions because I need answers,” my reply. “Do you know how many people need answers and never ask?” she quipped. “I ask my friends, no stroke of genius there,” I continue. “You ask your playmates, you ask the people you trust enough to have fun with. You don’t realize how clever that is. You know lots of folks who work hard and you could ask your questions of these But instead you save them for those diligent ones who still know how to play and that, Sweetie Pie is proof that you are no dummy.”
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04-13-2012, 07:10 AM | #1212 |
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April 13
WILLING PIECRUST I lay the crust of my will over the pie plate of God’s will for me. I must have the willingness to trim off the excesses. I hesitate; I worked hard to roll it out. I know from past experience, when hot issues come up, these tags and hangings-on burn and drop sometimes ruining the flavor and appearance of the whole. It is easier to cut loose the things outside God-given intent. I get the pie in its entirety when I crimp and bend to the shape of my life. Hope is free, so spread it around. * Chickens and Eggs Who is more sober the early riser or the long-timer? How do we get here and what does it mean. It all starts with a day, which is good because this is more than we had hoped for, sometimes more than we could do. Then it moved into an ever escalating game of can you beat this, each day an improvement over what had been accomplished the day before. For years the standard bearer is the pain or relief of the very first in this string, orbs of 24, yet here stands the question, “Is the essence the last pearl you touch or the total of the strand, which makes it real?” I don’t know for sure. Sobriety is like light; is light made up of waves or is it made up of particles and the answer is invariably yes, for it is. And what you need and how you look at it seems to make the determination, scientific method or no The watched is affected by the watcher and vice versa. The end is a day round and imperfect as any and what is strung between the beginning and the end is what you’ve made of it.
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04-14-2012, 06:30 AM | #1213 |
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April 14
THE PLAYGROUND Getting my ass kicked in the playground of my mind was once a daily event. Now, it is a far off memory. I absent myself from the jungle gym the same way I absent myself from bars---places set with traps and schemes I am no longer attracted to. Bullies and ego trips can’t draw me toward the fence. Dares and double-dares are such ancient devices I can’t even find the trigger they used to pull. Trouble doesn’t know my new name, my sober name; I don’t answer to the old one. I hate to admit the isolation of my school yard days, but no one I knew back then will keep me on the road to the future. So, I leave the ball in their court and wish them well. Expectations are lovely as long as you leave off the outcomes. * Not Fur but Fin You can’t delay the river, I’ve tried, all it does is distort. I block the flow and swamp ensues, mighty oaks waist deep in water. The current is strong and I fear being swept away, not realizing I was born to swim. Dreading the swim back for spawn I try to stay too close to my origins, never make it to open water, never to live the life I was intended for. I’ve heard it said, “Don’t push the river it flows by itself,” but I can’t stall it either.
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04-15-2012, 06:21 AM | #1214 |
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April 15
TRAP DOOR The trap door of my mind opens occasionally and I find myself acting out things better left to conversation. When I leave too many things unsaid, the pressure builds and the door opens. My thoughts connect with my body minus the benefit of my brain, not to mention the brain of my sponsor. I can ill afford the consequences of these open door exhibitions and I am obligated to spend much time scrambling up the hills my outlandishness slid down. Thinking, speaking and contemplating, the prerequisites of action, must be done frequently or my mind’s sink, piled with my dirty dishes, will flood the counter top, then leave dishes crashing to the floor. Even if I can’t keep everything caught up, at least I can leave things soaking. I can start notes or little chats so I am not weighting the latch. I can prevent the coupling of impulse and exploit. All I have to do is stick out my tongue. Release your emotions from captivity. * Like an Elf Working in an Empty Tree The chairs in the loft are empty, but I still hear the choir sing. The bottle though it’s empty, still sometimes calls my name. Though front pocket is empty and there is rolled up empty sleeve, still the nicotine haunts my dreams. On this empty road I travel, I still long for company. The stillness is not all that’s empty, but I run to fill that spot. Chaos is like a tapeworm it eats me from the inside, but in the meantime I still believe it’s filling me.
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04-16-2012, 06:26 AM | #1215 |
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April 16
NAPPING Too often, I have lifted the edge of the lawn in an attempt to join the worms for a bit of a dirt nap. Or I crawled into a self-constructed cave to bear my feelings and hibernate from life. The times I sprint with the deer, jumping the fences in hopes of escaping the wolves, these are all the times when I forget who I am. I forget to ask direction, fail to make a meeting. Seeing those of my ilk puts my feet on the ground, focuses my perspective on just what sort of creature I am. I can’t always follow my instincts when I don’t know who I am. I can’t see myself until I stand next to you. Relax one toe at a time. * In Training Like a faithful dog that was hard to train, patience is a thing hoped for yet peevish during the breaking in. Stanch companionability is hard won, but worth the cost of acquisition. And what is the price I truly paid in the end; whatever I gave in the pursuit of patience was a cheap babysitter and kept me from far worse reformation. For what would I do in this late day and age as a tempest torn toddler, no bottle to sooth my woes and bothers. Strictly speaking this is a world ill suited to the edgy intolerant masses and only seems to fit those who can mark time and bend.
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04-17-2012, 06:30 AM | #1216 |
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April 17
LUCK Luck, transposed for gratitude, makes a mockery of grief and loss. If you are lucky, what does that make me? The forgotten? The orphan of fate? If what I lost and what it cost me is just a lack of fortune, then why do right? What is sea level? I may deserve all the sweetness in the world but what explains the pain? I’ve heard that life’s not fair and laughed at the underestimation of the claim. If pain is the touchstone of growth and you are lucky and I’m hurt, does that make you short? And what is the point of growing tall? Blow kisses to stars which look familiar. * Ground Floor Step 10 is the place where the doors slide open and I discover I am out of the basement. I have to pay close attention to where my feet are; it is so easy to stumble here in the light of day. Obvious limitations and universally accepted interpretations are pried from installation and put on trial. Never is it acceptable to allow my alcoholic thinking to make decisions for my sober life. The road to my door must be kept clear so I can get out to do my part and so God can come home to me.
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Clicking on these dragon eggs will take you to my new erotic novella: Dragon Bait .........Hope you enjoy it! ________________________________________________ Please take a look at my work Click on flashing smilie to see my website To look at my Daddy/girl erotica book Click on pompom girl to see Elbows on the Table, Palms Flat |
04-18-2012, 04:33 AM | #1217 |
Practically Lives Here
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Daddy's good girl Join Date: Nov 2009
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April 18
CLAW MARKS There is a brackish river whose current changes direction twice a day. Its bed is well washed on every side. It begs the question: which way is downhill? There are times I struggle uphill in both directions. There are times I slip from every slope. What was up is often down. Judgment of topography requires distance. Scaling the surface takes tenacity. I plan on leaving my mark as I go, life’s residue staining my fingertips. Design caution signs for your emotions. * What I Take from Laban’s House If I have the audacity to have a problem I must provide the instantaneous solution or be the cause of world-wide panic. Additionally it is the height of rudeness to have open-ended dilemma. It makes the gods uncomfortable, makes them shift in their seats and wish me away. I prevent banishment by either being problem free or solution-full When the answers are not to their liking I exile myself saving them the inconvenience and me the embarrassment. It is never good to implode the household deities, you never know when you might need one for historic perspective or a door stop.
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Clicking on these dragon eggs will take you to my new erotic novella: Dragon Bait .........Hope you enjoy it! ________________________________________________ Please take a look at my work Click on flashing smilie to see my website To look at my Daddy/girl erotica book Click on pompom girl to see Elbows on the Table, Palms Flat |
04-19-2012, 06:21 AM | #1218 |
Practically Lives Here
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Daddy's good girl Join Date: Nov 2009
Location: Jersey
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Thanked 12,325 Times in 5,198 Posts
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April 19
DROWNING NAKED Bare and exposed, I laid myself on the altar of my home group. With AA as my only Source, I emptied the contents of my soul and bore the mantle of overexposure. But vultures lurked in many rooms. I was safely guided, by persons of my gender, to the more secluded and effective place of transmission. I thrust myself into the arms and mind of my sponsor. She escorted me up the steps with the door closed and taught me how and when it could be prudently opened. AA is a power greater than me. So is the ocean. Precaution needs to be taken when wading in. Care must be exercised as to how much to bare. Wrap your intentions in wool to keep them warm and in gold to keep them untarnished. * Bound The reason the sleeves of my disease wrap around and tie in the back is so that I will struggle with change. Alcoholism is my straightjacket and my goal is that ‘loose garment life’ I’ve heard so much about. The sweat I work up from railing against my confining existence causes petulance, frothing and enervated, Defeat is the landing on which I collapse, acceptance a flight of steps away. My ailment leads me to believe I have nothing to hold onto as I adjust. Though this isn’t true, the fact remains that this is still a process of letting go.
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Clicking on these dragon eggs will take you to my new erotic novella: Dragon Bait .........Hope you enjoy it! ________________________________________________ Please take a look at my work Click on flashing smilie to see my website To look at my Daddy/girl erotica book Click on pompom girl to see Elbows on the Table, Palms Flat |
04-20-2012, 04:34 AM | #1219 |
Practically Lives Here
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Daddy's good girl Join Date: Nov 2009
Location: Jersey
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April 20
RANK I took an area level service position and my sponsor laughed herself off her chair. “What is your motivation for this?” she asked. “I want to move up through the service structure,” my reply. “Are you trying to make rank?” “Problem with that?" I ask. “Ever heard of self-fulfilling prophecy? You will become what you desire. You will become rank and you will stink. The triangle is inverted to help you clean up your act. Don’t get washed away in a tide of ego.” I put down my swim fins and removed my epaulets. Listen intently enough to hear the music of the planets spinning in your mind. * Bummed I accept change like coins slipped into a cup that sits beside me on the curb. Never did it occur to me that I look in need of pity or alms from strangers; Which is to say I don’t accept much these days, yet I do not fight it either. I keep my head down when I can no longer fend off the inevitable. I may not win control or compliance, Might not remain strong enough to fight another day, but this too is a blessing somehow. A laying down of arms. Money in my pocket makes the world a funny place to endure when I’m living in the tiny room in my head. What good news it would be if I learned to throw the windows open and let the day take me. This time it’s God that needs to wear the ear muffs and lead me through the coldness of change. On my own I just walk farther down the blind alleys and fold myself on this sidewalk in exhaustion. I don’t like the tea or the sympathy, but I don’t think I would mind if God took me in.
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Clicking on these dragon eggs will take you to my new erotic novella: Dragon Bait .........Hope you enjoy it! ________________________________________________ Please take a look at my work Click on flashing smilie to see my website To look at my Daddy/girl erotica book Click on pompom girl to see Elbows on the Table, Palms Flat |
04-21-2012, 07:02 AM | #1220 |
Practically Lives Here
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Daddy's good girl Join Date: Nov 2009
Location: Jersey
Posts: 16,642
Thanks: 2,529
Thanked 12,325 Times in 5,198 Posts
Rep Power: 21474867 |
April 21
SOLIDITY Apprehension stands in the archeological site that is my life…listening. Listening for the rumble of a cement truck to come and help solidify the shifting and tenuous nature of my existence. A wet and sloppy solution. A solution to be raked and smoothed, covered and cured. Something to build a monument on or a place to park my car. The nearby grass looks lush and green but I dare not leave apprehension alone or it spreads. I stand with it on bad days and against it on good ones. I pray for the mixer to arrive or at least the gravel spreader. I need to fill this hole so it can be a life and stop being a grave. When your emotions are at low tide, explore the shoreline for shells and trinkets. * More Better When I take a break from my idyllic life, trading up to paradise, I balk at thoughts of returning to the simply marvelous day to day I have worked so hard to attain. Self accusation floods under the door, but I whimilate it with fact. My reluctance to turn my back on a good thing is an asset which many days keeps me sober. I greedily seize every improvement and hold on for dear life. If reflections of the past even held a glimmer for me I might worry; I turn from all but the highest good. I don’t regret the past but I shall never return to it.
__________________
Clicking on these dragon eggs will take you to my new erotic novella: Dragon Bait .........Hope you enjoy it! ________________________________________________ Please take a look at my work Click on flashing smilie to see my website To look at my Daddy/girl erotica book Click on pompom girl to see Elbows on the Table, Palms Flat |
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12 step recovery, acoa, al-anon, alcoholic, alcoholics anonmyous, coda, on-line meeting |
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