(WLW 🏳️‍🌈) You open your girlfriend's apartment door and the stale smell of sweat hits your nostrils. Breathing through your mouth you enter and shut the door behind you. Gina texted you an hour ago saying she was down with a couch. chills, and a fever. You took a half day's vacation, picked up some things from the pharmacy, and came right over.

Your cottage in the rural area of Britain has been in your family since 1724. The area around it, all fifty acres, is mainly farmland which you and several farmhands tend to. However, there is a hilly area too overgrown to be used for crops. Since the wildlife thrives there, you and your ancestors have let it be. Apparently its covered in catnip. You see, then hear, someone or something having the time of their lives in it. To your shock and amazement its a catgirl hybrid. Clapping your hand over your mouth to silence your laughter you watch her spastic antics.

You exit the ambulance after the EMTs look you over. Luckily the guy who t-boned your van struck the passenger's side. You got a few bumps and bruises since you were driving. You watch the cops cuff the other driver who is clearly drunk. Making your way to the van a cop stops you. "Officer, I need to check on my gear in the back of the van," you explain. He lets you by and you climb into the back to inspect your band's amps, microphones, and instruments. "Oh God no...," you say without realizing it. Your 1976 baby blue Fender Stratocaster looks like it went through combat. The hard case it was in is now laying on the van's floor half open. The guitar's treble cleft head is cracked, but not broken. "That sucks," the male cop says clapping you on the shoulder." "Looks like you'll need to visit Nikki's shop," a female officer replied. The next day you're outside of "Nikki's Guitars 'n Basses". Rumor has it she's a great luthier but highly opinionated to the point of rudeness. You enter her den...

Work nearly killed you. No, seriously it nearly did. The crane operator at the construction site dropped a load of steel beams a mere twenty meters away from you. Entering your flat, you're still a bit shaken up and hoping your girlfriend Charile doesn't need help with her back. She's a yoga instructor and two weeks ago she pulled her back muscles bad enough to go to hospital. You drop off your hard hat and high visibility vest and drag yourself down the hall. "Hello, love are you in...," you start to say before you see her. Hanging upside-down with a sultry grin on her face. Suddenly your day isn't so bad...

The call came in as a total surprise. Its been seven years since Vivian broke up with you when you were both seniors in college. You do vaguely remember a coworker talking about a saxophone jazz album that just went platinum. After the call you see it is indeed Vivian's work. You hadn't thought of her in years. But memories flood back at just her saying hello. Voluptuous. Passionate. Honest. She was kind about the breakup. Vivian could never be cruel. She's asked you to pick her up for coffee. Telling you she doesn't have a car and would rather let you drive than take an Uber or taxi. "The Hilton downtown," she told you, "room 125." You find yourself a bit nervous but you agree to pick her up. Arriving early, but not too early, you take the elevator to her room. You knock but the room slowly swings open. You see her. She's not ready. Her nightgown is almost transparent in the late afternoon sun pouring through the winddow behind her. Its a seductive sight that steals away any breath to utter an apology.

The gasoline smell was your first warning something wasn't right with your BMW. The gas gauge now shows empty and the idiot light was yelling at you for the past ten miles. But out here in the desert of Nevada your only hope was to make it to the next town to fill up. That plan failed. You're about to call for help when the silence of the twilight is shattered by the roar of a big motorcycle. The bike squeala to a stop and a woman with windblown hair uses her boot to extend the kickstand of the big Harley Davidson bike.

You fire your rifle at the tribal warrior raising a spear, the bullet knocks him to the ground dead. You have just enough time to bayonet his friend. Your thrust is clean and true. He dies. But his body crashes into yours and you tetter for one moment over the edge of the waterfall. The world spins as you topple over, your limbs tangled with the dead man's. You fall for what feels like hours. The plunge into the cool water knocks the breath out of you. The corpse floats away. When you fight your way to the surface your lungs scream for air. You manage to suck in a few, quick lungfuls before your wet uniform and heavy pack drag you under again. You shed the pack. You untie and kick free of your combat boots. The rifle slides out of your hands. Kicking and clawing at the rushing current you manage to swim towards the nearest shore. Above you the Congo tribemen look down at you. They make several gestures but fearfully back away from the cliff edge. You reach the shore and clamber onto dry land. Quickly you take stock of yourself. Canteen, check. Survival knife, still have it. Nine millimeter pistol, in its holster. No shoes or food, almost tragic. You find a cave and stagger into it. Your chest is heaving but you're alive. Twenty paces into the cave you see it rises upwards. They're stairs. Rough cut and worn smooth but these ARE steps. You ascend them because what else can you do. Then you see the torches lining the walls of the staircase. Up you go, each step silent as you can manage. You arrive at a massive chamber. Not a crude cave but an actual room carved out of the African stone. You see jewels, gold coins, statues of silver, and diamonds scattered like pebbles on a beach. Its all in a huge pile just... sitting there. Then you see HER sitting, well coiling actually, around a magnificent throne.

Life is quiet. Its been this way for over a year since Susanne moved out to "find herself". It took you over a year but you've come to terms with it. You always wondered if the ten year age gap between you two might be able too much to overcome. The relationship was wonderful for two years, then suddenly it wasn't. Six months ago you stopped missing her, three months ago you stopped following her on Instagram and Facebook. You swept away all items and photos of your relationship just a month ago. You're sleeping better. You're happy again. So when you walked into the condo you were interested in and saw her standing there it was a shock to your system. Same kind eyes, hourglass figure, and curly blonde hair you loved to run your fingers through. Your heart skips a beat, your throat gets tight. You had deliberately avoid using the real estate company she worked for to avoid just this scenario.

You wave at the cheering crowd as they chant your name. Banners and signs reading "Ohio's Next Governor" are being held aloft. Your parents flank you on the stage as you drink in the fruits of your political labor. At merely thirty-one (and single) you're the youngest person to run for the office. The polls are showing you ahead of your Republican opponent by a six point margin. This is YOUR moment. You wave to your supporters one last time and then head ofd stage. Your security team escorts you to your hotel room. They stand outside as you enter the luxury suite. But you're not alone. Standing in the middle of the room is a woman you almost forgot. Shes wearing a form-fitting black dress, holding a tablet, as her lips twist in a sultry smile. Desiree Black. Memories rush forward from your senior year at college. She was eighteen, you were twenty-two. It was only a six week relationship but it was unforgettable. Her cruelty, your compliance. Your humiliation, her camera. You had scourged the Internet of those videos so your secret wouldn't be public knowledge. She never uploaded them so you felt safe. Now you aren't...

(WLW 🏳️‍🌈) It's only three in the afternoon but your job gave you such a headache you decided to go home early. You two steps through the door at your luxury Los Angeles condo when you see her. Tracy Milner. She's the woman whose interior design firm you hired to redo your place after Serene, your now ex-girlfriend, left. You try not to gawk at all the bare leg she's showing. But you can't seem to ignore those thick, firm thighs, rounded calves, and delicate feet. You swallow hard...

Fabulous Magazine has sent you, one of their best photographers, to conduct a shoot with the 2026 Plus Size Model of the Year, Mary Brooks. Miss Stanton, your boss, said all makeup and hair will be handled by the Conrad Modeling Agency who has Ms Brooks under contract. You've worked with clients from the agency before so you know the drill. You arrive, conduct the shoot, and after eight hours you head back to your hotel room. You smile as you recall how Mary was both very professional and incredibly kind. You hold the keycard against the portal to room 311 but the door isn't fully shut. You walk inside and see Mary sitting on the bed wearing only a white towel, her hair still wet from a shower.

You've just paid for a glass of expensive bourbon when a hush falls over the crowed gala. The silence is like a heavy blanket of snow quieting everything. Turning you see the reason why. Angelica... no last name. Darkly beautiful, dusky skinned, and wearing a gown whose price would rival the GDPs of most small countries. You have millions, but compared to her portfolio you're a beggar. Rumors about her range from possible to utterly ridiculous. An oil sheik's illegitimate daughter. A woman paid to keep the secrets of the rich and powerful. The reincarnation (or clone) of Queen Cleopatra. Behind her trails a procession of the most eligible (and uber wealthy) young men. Like dogs on an invisible leash. Each vying for just a single glance from her dark eyes. Cold hearted, they call her. Unapproachable, some whisper. Her only passionsare money and power, the elite say. She's stops an arm's length from you, her dark eyes sliding across your face like a beacon from some haunted lighthouse. She turns her attention to the man behind the bar and speaks.

(LGBTQ 🏳️‍⚧️) Alexa is snoring next to you in bed. You've staying here at her house for the weekend just because you both, incredibly, both turned eighteen yesterday. However, despite your friendship there is a secret you are terrified Alexa might discover. It could end everything. You're transgender. You don't know why you've kept it a secret. You moved here two years ago and now even as a senior in high school only you and your parents know the truth. You keep telling yourself that by June it won't matter. That's when you get bottom surgery. Then no one need be the wiser. "Crap," you think to yourself, "I gotta pee." You slip out of the big bed, pad down the dark hall, and enter the bathroom. You stand and do your business. As you open the door you see Alexa's mom, Francine! You realize she had to hear... that. The sound no woman makes emptying her bladder. Francine looks down, then meets your eyes.

The call came in at just past eight at night. It was your daughter Kelly. You can hear the hesitation in her voice, so much like her mother's it almost hurts you. Your wife, Carole has been dead three years and Kelly sounds so much like her. "Dad," she says, "Charlie's sister needs some help. I hate asking but the situation is rather... dire." She goes on to tell you that her sister-in-law has lost almost everything in her divorce from her husband Mark. She hasn't worked in a decade and can't find a place or a job before she needs to be out of her apartment. She asks that since the cabin has three bedrooms and you're retired if Harley can stay for a bit. "Dad, she's starting from scratch at the age of forty-two. She won't be any trouble and can help around the cabin. Besides, you could use some company. Amd it won't be a permanent thing, I promise." You're sixty-five, in good shape, but you know this is more for your daughter's sister-in-law than it is for you. "Of course she can stay," you hear yourself say. Things move fast after that call. In a week's time there's a very small U-Haul crunching the gravel of your cabin's driveway. Your son-in-law, Charlie, gets out from the driver's side, then Kelly and her sister-in-law get out of the passenger's side. They walk up to you with smiles of gratitude. Kelly introduces you to Harley you new roommate.

You're pouring coffee in the dorm of Texas Tech University when the whim hits you. Lubbock Lake National Historic Landmark would be a great outing for a beautiful Spring day. By the time you finish the cup, you're mind is made up. Tossing together a small backpack with hiking gear you order an Uber and go down to wait for it. Being a freshman in your second semester here at Texas Tech has been filled woth firsts. First time you've been on your own, first time in Lubbock, and the first room without a sibling. Brett Graves, your dormmate, dropped out during Christmas break. The whole room is now totally yours. You hear a car approaching and see a beat up Honda Civic squeaking to a stop. The door opens and a beautiful Latina woman around your age smiles at you. She looks vaguely familiar.

You nod at the security guard in the lobby of your condo and take the elevator up to the place you and your wife live. Its been a busy day and you're not looking forward to an evening alone. Beth, your wife, is on a week long business trip on the East Coast leaving you alone for the first time in your 10 year marriage. Unlocking the door you step inside and drop your keys in the ceramic bowl. You shuffle towards the bedroom to change into something more comfortable before making dinner. Your eyes bulge as you open the bedroom door. Lying in the bed is Celine, your sister-in-law. She's wearing a white, silk nightgown, the flimsy straps visible on her slender shoulders. She's five years older than your wife and recently divorced. She smiles at you.

It started with your cat. Every night around ten o'clock Mittens, your tuxedo feline, would plant herself in front of your closet and look up. She made that chirping sounds cats usually make when tbey see birds. Then it was the groceries. Food was coming up short despite how you shopped for a week's worth. Not a lot, but enough of missing groceries that you noticed. Then the creaking sounds. It was coming from the attic, but there was only a small panel in the ceiling inside the same closet Mittens stared at. But it was painted shut. You swear you're going crazy but these facts can't seem to be reasoned away. The woman who sold you this small house (via a private sale) told you it used to be her Mom's. Her mother had passed away and Gina (the seller) didn't want to keep it. Tonight you're half asleep when you hear the refrigerator door open. Grabbing a baseball bat (which your paranoia drove you to buy) you creep down the hallway. Perking around the corner you see someone. A female someone. Disheveled, dirty, and wearing mismatched socks the interloper is eating a sandwich she's made with the refrigerator door open and illuminating her. She's wearing what looks like dirty hospital scrubs.

The alarm goes off and you groan. You totally forgot to silence it because its Saturday and you don't have work. Stretching, you take a deep breath and suddenly stop. Are those pancakes you smell? You pad out of your bedroom and the delicious aroma grows stronger and alongside of that is freshly brewed coffee. As you enter your living room you stop. There's a woman in your apartment! She looks like some actor at a medieval fair, dressed in gypsy garb sipping tea from a cup you don't own. Yoi start to stammer when she speaks

Two months. Thats how long its been since your wife of four years was caught on a date by you. Two months. The divorce is still working its way through the court like a slow cancer through a dying man. Once you had it all. Now you have just an empty house, a heart full of hurt, and memories that won't go away. He's exciting. He pays attention to me. These are the things she said as she walked out the door roughly sixty days ago. It's a rainy Friday night and you're two beers deep into a twelve pack. There's a baseball game on the television that you aren't really watching. Then the doorbell rings. You heave yourselves out of your recliner and walk across the hardwood floor in socks, a pair if sweatpants, and an old t-shirt. "Who could it be at this hour," you say as you open the door. It's your soon-to-be ex-wife, Carrie. She's soaking wet from the downpour, holding her suitcase, and looking miserable.

Its the year 2105 and Earth has joined the Intergalactic Confederation. It's a joint alliance with twenty other species. There are those who oppose such a treaty with non-humans but they are few and far between. They call themselves the AAC (Anti-Alien Coalition) and they're based on Earth. You are one of the first humans to attend the IMA (Intergalactic Military Academy) whose graduates enter the ICMF (intergalactic Confederation Mobile Forces) who patrol, defend, and supply the signatory members. From Space Fighters and Warp Carriers to Listening Posts to Freighters IMA alumni serve the common good. You're walking a corridor when the massive orbital academy shudders and violently pitches. Alarms blare, sparks fly, and there's a momentary loss of artificial gravity. You stagger towards an emengency shelter and fall inside just as the doors close. Standing up you see you're not alone. A massive, red skinned woman holding a data pad is there. Rhis alien is 7' 2" tall if she's an inch. Muscles bulge out of one torn sleeve. She gives you a tight, nervous smile.