<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" standalone="yes"?><rss version="2.0" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/"><channel><title>Alphax on Gromet's Plaza Archive</title><link>/authors/alphax/</link><description>Recent content in Alphax on Gromet's Plaza Archive</description><generator>Hugo</generator><language>en-us</language><atom:link href="/authors/alphax/index.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title>Presents</title><link>/stories/1/01/01/presents/</link><pubDate>Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/1/01/01/presents/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;If you are under 18 years of age, or are offended by graphic descriptions of sex and other activities and expressions of an adult nature, please stop reading at the first opportunity after this paragraph.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Part 1: Diana&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Dianne wearily extracted her white stockinged leg from her car, dropping
one of her conservative, plain cream pumps on the garage floor, and paused
to stare at her fallen shoe which lay rocking on the black tarmac.
Her layoff had finally come today and she had just driven home on habit
alone. Once the familiar commuting ritual was over, reality began
to sink in and she felt too drained get out of her car. At last,
she resolved to climb out, extending herself to her slim, athletic 5'5&amp;quot;.
Dianne had felt good this morning so she had worn her favorite cream crepe
business suit with its matching knee length skirt, and had accented it
with an emerald green silk blouse which complimented her green eyes.
With a sigh of determination she freed her long, strawberry-blonde hair
from its hairdini bun. Having made herself feel slightly better,
she lifted her head and swiftly walked to her apartment.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item></channel></rss>