Marina Semenova´s book The Wrong Triangle, or Geometry for Adults, is not a woman´s novel, but women will be delighted. Unusually life and truth stories of heroes, their love, pain and loneliness will make readers laugh and cry, sympathize and rejoice. Before you - an unhappy girl Lisa, a victim of a difficult childhood and despotism of her husband. An esthetic musician Herman, a romantic and a naive dreamer who does not find happiness in his family. Honest, straightforward and selflessly in love with her husband Herman Alin. Their destinies are intertwined in an amazing way, everyone tries to find their own happiness in the hecticness of everyday frustrations. Will they be able to understand their feelings - read in the novel.
As Cuckold (also known as Cucki, Cuck or Cux) is especially in the BDSM scene called a man who gains sexual pleasure in a solid partnership or love relationship through the intimate contact of his partner with other men (cheating). The cuckold may prefer dominant, voyeuristic, masochistic and / or submissive behavior. Similarly, a woman who gains sexual pleasure through the intimate contact of her male partner with other women is called a cuckqueen. When Wifesharer and his partner in sexual intercourse is not a priori an imbalance, although some Wifesharer is dominated more dominant. Sexual activity usually takes place together. During sexual intercourse, the Wifesharer forms a threesome together with a male and a partner, in some cases the Wifesharer watches and enjoys the erotic situation with or without masturbation. In some partnerships, the Wifesharer determines the woman´s sexual partner. In rare cases, the Wifesharer also accepts meeting his partner with another man without him. Wifesharer usually feel no jealousy. The man called in is either a house friend with whom the couple regularly or occasionally travels, or it is changing acquaintances to whom the couple has contact only once or a few times. Content: Cuckold Wifesharing Wifersharer Sex stories Erotic stories Erotic novel Erotic Romance uncensored English Erotic short stories
The eBook boxed set collection of Cora Carmack´s New York Times and USA Today bestselling New Adult series, including the complete novels Losing It , Faking It , and Finding It , and novella Keeping Her . Plus, never-before-been published bonus scenes from Losing It .
On a hot and sweaty farm day I didn´t expect my best friend in the world to desert me. But my dog Max had other ideas about what he wanted to do that day. So he said, clearly, ´´No.´´ Then walked away, tail high. Calling after him, I finished loading the truck with the tools and supplies we needed. I found Max was waiting for me, on the porch steps in the shade. He was grinning as he panted. Looking as if he had more to say to explain himself. I sure hoped so. Desertion was one thing. Talking out loud to me was something else... Excerpt: It was a typical hot, sultry day. I was going about getting ready to do something I didn´t want to do, but ´´had´´ to be done. I turned around to tell Max, my black and white, crossed-mix mutt, to get in our old scratched, dented, and faded red pickup truck. We had a job to do, and he liked to come with. I did the work, he supervised. That was the deal. Before I could get the words out, Max stood on his hind legs and clearly said, ´´No.´´ Then trotted off on all four. Three black, one white paw. I didn´t have time to chase after him, as the truck was out in the gravel drive, just in front of the old faded-red wood dairy barn. It had to be loaded. The job had to get done. And nothing was going to get done if it never got started. Of course I called after him a time or two, but he kept walking away around the back of the wood barn, turning a corner where an elm sprout had started a couple of years back. Out of sight, out of reach. So I turned back to my job of loading the rolls of barbed wire we´d gotten used from an auction, along with a rusted paint can filled with black nails as well as gray galvanized fencing twist clips, both aged in their storage. Some fencing pliers now also red-black from real use, having lost their shine and padded handles years back. Another red plastic coffee container with a black plastic snap lid and molded-in hand grip to supply the staples we might need. That should do it, I thought. And waited, looking over my set to see if I´d forgotten anything. Oh, yeah. I went inside and grabbed a roll of salvaged wire off an old tensile electric fence. It, too, used to be silver, but the weather had taken that away. A lot of stuff on this farm had been changed from the weather. Seldom for the better. After I was done, I paused to look it all over and see if I could think of anything else I´d need. Then remembered the steel post driver. It was new last year, and the shine hadn´t come off its gray paint yet. I also put a few 6-foot green t-bar steel posts in there, also with their rust spots and not perfectly straight anymore. That would keep me the afternoon. Then I had time to go find Max. He was sitting outside the faded gray porch, outside the faded aluminum screen door, on the faded gray wood steps, on his haunches, waiting. When I got close, he cocked his head and lifted one speckled ear, as if to say ´´Well?´´ But not with any words I could hear. I responded by first sitting next to him and scratching behind that ear. ´´Since when did you learn to talk?´´ I asked him. Max just sat there in the quasi-shade with me and kept looking out. ´´I heard you distinctly say ´No.´´´ ´´That I did.´´ said Max. ´´You don´t want to go out and keep me company fixing fence?´´ ´´Not one of the things I was looking forward to, today.´´ ´´But you know it´s gotta be done.´´ ´´Yup.´´ With that, Max started panting, a sort of wry smile his. Teasing me, I guessed... Scroll Up and Get Your Copy Now
This man had ruined his life. So he wanted payback. Found him in a chain restaurant. Back booth. Playing solitaire. ´´Maestro the Magnificent.´´ Humbug. The guy that had launched a self-help cult based on Get Rich Quick advice was now a disheveled mess. After faking his death and disappearing, it didn´t help him. Something about being cursed with eternal life. And having to ´´sleep in the bed he´d made´´ - forever. He was nearly begging to get his life ended - if anyone could. But would that actually get anyone payback? Excerpt: I couldn´t believe my luck. I had found the one man who had ruined my life. Now I was prepared to end his. Or so I thought. He was in the back of of a well-lit Denny´s practicing his card tricks while he nursed one of their bottomless cups of coffee. Probably over a dispute with his bladder. I came up to his table and asked, ´´Maestro the Magnificent?´´ He looked up and put on a practiced Snake Oil smile while he looked me over. ´´By the judge of your frown, I should say, ´Who´s asking?´´´ ´´I´m one of your audience who bought one too many tricks of yours. Tried to use your book to follow your footsteps to fame and fortune. But it only brought me grief and a hardscrabble life. And it brought me here, at last.´´ ´´So you figure to take out your pound of flesh on my hide? Stand in line.´´ That took me back. The honest, bitter sarcasm. ´´But do sit down.´´ The Maestro continued, ´´I haven´t had my dose of bitters recently, even though as you can see I´m far from the flaming success you thought I would be. The ´Special´ meal I bought will have to last me a while as it is.´´ I lowered myself onto the orange plastic padded bench. Wary of being conned once again. ´´You see,´´ he went on without pause, ´´my life hasn´t been what you think it was. You probably read the accounts of my ignominious death, being cremated mysteriously and buried at sea. That was all just to throw the legal hounds off my trail.´´ Taking another sip of coffee, he shuffled his deck once again. ´´I was tired of it all. The ranch, the dedicated assistants, bodyguards, being The Founder of that movement and all that. I´d been moving funds around for years, setting up accounts I could live on that weren´t traced to all I´d been. It wasn´t too difficult to fake my death once I´d made friends with a local coroner. Everybody likes money, particularly in cash.´´ He dealt himself a small solitaire row, one which was difficult to win in most cases. Then started solving it while he talked. ´´You were just one of millions. And I could say I´m sorry. But you wouldn´t believe it and I wouldn´t mean it. People are patsies. You and I both know that. Pushovers. Chumps. Dupes. I´ve read the books you wrote. Like you´ve read mine. You called mine fantasy. And you were right about that. ´´The point you missed is that people want to be lead down a rosy path. Their lives are miserable, and by their own choice. That was in your book. Their choice. Always. ´´You were trying to inspire them to improve their existence. And so was I. My reason was said to be make myself rich. And I succeeded in that. For what it was worth.´´ An ace turned up in the deal and he built on it with the 2 and 3 out of the visible cards. The next few rounds showed little improvement to build from... Scroll Up and Get Your Copy Now.
Of course it was a normal day. SNAFU - as usual. But no one noticed. Because it was so normal. So SNAFU. The world felt more and more programmed. Or pre-programmed. Life had become a video game, a matrix-spawn. All around me thought this was normal But no one considered that I would simply revolt. Because I found out a secret. By visiting an old used book store. One where they somehow made a living selling used books over and over. There were no monitors there, no TV. Smartphones stayed in pockets, preferably off. This store even had a local jammer installed just to make sure people didn´t interrupt other people. There, that day, I found a secret. Written in print on an actual piece of paper. It started a revolution. It pulled me out of ´´sync´´ - and so I was hunted... Excerpt: I remember that used book store where I figured out how to kill the social networks. And almost died from their revenge. One day, a nice spring day in L. A., I took some time off to visit this hole-in-the-wall bookstore. One of those that put their National Geographics and Harlequin Romances out front, so people would come in all titillated and buy the more serious stuff. (Like Lawrence´s ´´Women in Love´´, and Cleland´s ´´Fanny Hill´´, or Nabokov´s ´´Lolita.´´ All because of some native women who didn´t even know what a shirt or a bra was, let alone a sarong. Captured in beautiful Kodachrome. Other people would ignore those worn racks of books and dive right in to find some other classics that had been printed probably before they were born. Something they had been forbidden to read as children, books banned by all-knowing ´´powers-that-be´´ to keep them safe and off the road to sin. For me, it was metaphysics. The very things that couldn´t be proved or disproved. And you couldn´t make a living at doing. My job was working at a corporate office and keeping their in-house courseroom all worked up with the proper books and paperwork to make it all efficient. Kept things available on schedule for the classes to come in and everything filed every day. Cleaned up stuff, too. Neat, tidy, perfect in every way. ..... The great part about having an insignificant part to play is that you were often un-noticed. So spending time repairing your reference books or course books with tape when the bindings had split - those would keep your hands busy, but your mind would roll around and crash and collide until you probably think that you died a thousand times in an afternoon. But one idea would make a dozen out of those collisions. Which is why you had a list of things to do - a To Do list. And these were designed to get your checklist done, and designed to keep your nose clean, and everyone happy with you. But you knew your own secret. Like Thoreau, they could trap your body wherever and however they wanted. Your mind is always free to travel as it wants. The only people who go insane have somehow mistakenly tied their body to their mind. When the body is limited, the mind is limited. That´s not how the game actually works. Not really. Your mind is always free. Discovering that secret fact was the beginning of the end. Even though I didn´t know it at the time. Scroll Up and Get Your Copy Now.
Caught by a fast-moving storm, the young woman was on her own against the elements. No search party would find her in time to save her life if she stayed out in this weather. She needed shelter. Now. Trusting her photographic memory, she recalled the symbol for a mine nearby on an old map. Her feet found the trail to it in the fierce, rising wind that turned the snow into sleet, the sleet into razors against any exposed skin. At last she found a huge metal door. Slightly open. Not quite enough to get in, but drifted high with snow outside and rusted from years of disuse. Her only hope, in these last few minutes she had left before exposure took her, was to somehow squeeze in... Excerpt: Once I got inside, that was it. No second guesses. The one time dark felt better than light. The storm came in faster than expected. Being up on the side of that mountain left me exposed to the fickleness Mother Nature shows at times. While I was prepared for a lot, being buried under two feet of suffocating snow wasn´t something to live through and tell your children. Even if you wanted the morbid experience of it. Trudging on through the thick powder felt little better than mud. And bitter cold instead of soggy wet. No marsh would have a wind that sucked your life out as it screamed by. But at least it didn´t stink of rot. You only smelled and tasted sour wool across your face, covered outside in ice by moist breath from within. Some people like to say snow was a blanket. But nothing you´d ever wrap yourself in. Unless you wanted to die. The only other option was to keep moving. Moving. My feet and my staff as an extra leg. One step, then next. Move staff. Next. My memory said there was an old mine just ahead somewhere on this overgrown and slide-filled trail. All that studying of maps while they laughed at me during their endless poker games, playing through long winter waits under weather like this. But memory wasn´t something the weather could suck out of you. Its wind screamed the snow, dirt, and leaves past and dropped visibility to if´s, not when´s. At last a darker shadow and unnatural, straight crack told me I´d found it. When I pushed up against that old mine entrance, I realized my bad luck just got even worse. The heavy, red-rusted door had been propped open with a 6-inch wood log, someone´s leftover firewood. No telling how long ago it had been like that. Those hinges weathered and corroded. Moving a three-inch thick door made of heavy dark oak and ruddish-black cast iron worried me. The actual opening was big enough to drive a semi into. That made the job even harder as there wasn´t some sort of little jack-door for maintenance access. It was opening the entire huge span, or nothing. This little girl had her work cut out for her. It was either get inside or literally die trying. The wind hadn´t helped as it was pushing like some defensive lineman against everything I was trying. Squeezing through that thin 6 inch opening would have been possible in a t-shirt and jeans. I wasn´t built like some lumberjack. And the guys always commented how I was so thin I could get blown away life a leaf in the wind. But they had to close their dropped jaws when they saw this ´´leaf´´ scamper up a spotting tower faster than any of those over-built muscle-bounds could. But right now, I was also swaddled with all this insulated parka, sweaters thick and thin, insulated bib overalls, thermal long-john´s, plus my canvas rucksack with vital necessities. Nothing was coming off just to get me inside. Too damned cold for that. So it was push, squeeze, gasp, push... Scroll Up and Get Your Copy Now.
Gerald was walking through the pasture, checking cows and in the next moment was on the ground, face down. Landing as if he´d been caught by a land mine and thrown there. Except there had been no explosion, no fire or gaping hole at the spot he had been standing moments before - in a quiet, green, tall-grass field. The wind was only blowing pollen and last fall´s leaves around. No smoke or dirt or falling shrapnel. There was nothing that could have forced him to the ground like that. He turned his head and saw the cause at last. An expectant momma cow, staring at him when he looked up - worried about something. He didn´t know what that could be. Until she started talking in his mind... Excerpt: It´s just too easy, this stuff called living. Except when you get knocked down on the ground like an explosion just hit you. Gerald started picking himself off the ground, sitting up at first to get his bearings. Like having been blown off his feet in some sort of war. But it was just the butting of an expectant cow who was feeling nervous that day. Couldn´t blame her, the day was fresh, you could smell Spring in the air. Grass was greening up and lots of protein and carbs in it. Clover was peaking up over the fescue and other grasses. The yearlings were running around lower down the hill pasture, enjoying the nice weather. Literally kicking up their heels. And it was warm enough to wear only a slightly insulated duck jacket, some yellow split cowhide gloves (unlined), and an old ball cap with some seed company´s logo Gerald had picked up for cheap at a bulk sales outlet. Of course, there were the leather boots with a waffle sole for the moist ground he was now sitting on instead of walking. And that thought made him get up. Because the moisture was slowly seeping through the seat of his blue denim dungarees. Felt like a pinch as it was so cold. Winter doesn´t leave overnight, he thought. A quick glance around showed him where that momma cow was. And not far off, facing him, as if to wonder what he was going to do in response. His cedar walking staff was over to his right within reach, so he picked that up. For a few reasons. Any possible defense against that cow was one, walking steady was another. So Gerald put his left arm down on a gloved knuckle, got a knee up under him, and then scrambled the rest of the way up. The staff helped. Then he faced that cow and wondered what he´d done to spook it. Most of his cows were calm, and the high-strung ones went to auction. ´´You surprised me with that flapping scarf you are wearing.´´ A voice came to him in his head. ´´And it still scares me.´´ Gerald looked into the cow´s eyes, which were wide and showed her whites. A quick glance showed no other humans were around. And no other cattle or dogs were near. It must be her. A black-whiteface they called Old White Face. ´´Sorry.´´ Gerald told her out loud. He backed away to give her some space, so she wouldn´t feel threatened enough to charge him. Then he settled the staff against a shoulder, took off his gloves, stuffed them in a front pocket of his dark jacket, and un-knotted the scarf. Then folded the bright yellow cloth up and stuffed it in the other jacket pocket. ´´Is that better?´´ Gerald asked. ´´A bit.´´ She was moving her head from side to side to get his distance from her, and to see if anything else was going to scare her... Scroll Up and Get Your Copy Now
It rare to find a naked woman in your cabin when you come in from outside chores. But it was only a visitor who had come to see me before. She was a goddess, and dressed in gossamer. Not that I minded how she was dressed, much. But the last time she had brought a serious message for me. One that had changed my life. So what did she want this time? Excerpt: At first, I thought there was a naked woman in my cabin, reading my books. And then I realized, it was just my goddess. Come to visit again, to remind me again of what I should be doing. It was that gossamer outfit she wore. You know, the stuff made out of spider webbing. Thinner than silk and almost see-through, but tough enough to be tear-proof. ´´Well, hello there, big boy. About time you showed up.´´ She unwound herself from the desk chair she was reading in, set the book down on the desktop and slunk toward me. ´´You´ve been busy since we last had a conversation.´´ I looked her up and down with a glance and then focused on her eyes. She pouted. ´´You know I dress just the way you want me to, the way you expect. So if you don´t like this (but I can tell you do) I´ll just change into something more comfortable - for you.´´ At that she had on one of my flannel shirts, buttoned only half-way up, and some soft shorts I wore in hot weather to be able to write comfortably when I knew I wasn´t going outside. She continued moving toward me and I could tell that these two items were all she wore. At last she was close enough to put her arms around my neck, but only touching there. ´´Because I need to have your attention, but not distract you so much. This way you can look into my eyes without strain,´´ she said. Of course I could feel her heat between us, and smell the cedar and violet scent of her. ´´Well, of course. You think better when you´re stimulated - subtle does it, doesn´t it?´´ The goddess purred. ´´And what is it that you need to tell me?´´ I asked. ´´You´ve been doubting yourself. That´s not good.´´ She replied. ´´Oh, those thoughts about not having the sales I should, not having the audience or network to bring in real income from my writing?´´ ´´Yes those self-limiting thoughts of yours that only hold you back. You can hear me reminding you that the world - your world - is what you think it is. That you have to give before you can get. That faith is internally created, and you need to practice it. That belief creates fact. All these things.´´ The goddess took one hand to stroke the edge of my right ear. ´´That´s all true, but…´´ I started to explain. Now she put that finger on my lips. ´´Hush. I already know what you are going to say. And it´s just not true.´´ .... Scroll Up and Get Your Copy Now.
It all started when politicians and out-spoken celebrities and sports figures started being exposed for the stinkers they are. It all started with a science grant that created a hypcrisy scanner. Tested on terrorists, it made them disappear. Tested on only the ´´sometimes´´ hypocritical, it made them evacuate their bowels. (To say it nicely.) As the effect on military higher-ups was also disastrous, certain conctractors got their research finances cancelled - so they took the circuit and made it a free download as a ´´gag´´ gift. Small enough to put in pens and give it away - or send to someone as a ´´gift.´´ The results changed Washington and sports teams. But only those who were hypocritical. Integrity got new respect. See how it happened.... Excerpt: ...The funny thing was that there wasn´t any noise, really. Just a sort of soft pop as the hypocrite disappeared. And it didn´t get them all, just the worst two-faced and resolute propagandists out there. The people who were mostly, but not always, hypocritical just got very ill and tended to both throw up and empty their bowels at the same time. Very smelly scene. Once some of these got delivered to a government building for inspection. The results were quite interesting. Because they were in an always-on state. The battery just held the charge that the circuitry was always generating. With a fully charged unit, the chronic hypocrite would disappear. With no battery, handling the device would make them immediately foul themselves. Needless to say, there were quite a few soiled officials before they found out what was causing the disruption. Of course, they were soon labeled dangerous ordinances, and had to be packed in enormous boxes to keep people (meaning: long-time and high-ranking officials) from getting close enough to be affected. Unfortunately for them, we now get to the part of the viral effect. When some contractors found out what was happening to their higher-ups, particularly those who had disapproved their financing, the circuitry found its way into various gifts, such as flashlights, electronic picture frames, and even electric staplers. Once these were turned on, they could make fatal disappearances, but just delivered in an unplugged state to offices would make several people nauseous as they handled them. It wasn´t long before the circuit was out on the Internet as a gag toy. Integrated circuits were printed about the size of a tiny battery, with self-adhesive. It didn´t have to be hard-wired into the machine, but could be simply pasted inside the battery cover or any inconspicuous spot on or in it. Toy bears with electronic pull-string circuits became poo-poo gifts. Several versions of ´´honesty´´ testers were developed, all powered by the people themselves and ´´no batteries required.´´ Someone funded a program to get wooden pens gifted to every member of Congress and all their staffs. A month´s supply of toilet paper ran out in a week. .... And a religious TV interviewer found out that his button would affect his guests in different ways. He found that asking the person if they had ever taken money to throw a game, there wasn´t any reaction. The circuitry wouldn´t work on a bald-faced lie. But by asking pointed questions, such as ´´What they felt about people taking money to throw games?´´ That would get them leaving the interview quickly, and for obvious reasons. He later found out that he could root out sexual predators by asking how they thought people who sexually harassed others should be treated... Scroll Up and Get Your Copy Now.