<?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>Rubbere on Gromet's Plaza Archive</title><link>/authors/rubbere/</link><description>Recent content in Rubbere on Gromet's Plaza Archive</description><generator>Hugo</generator><language>en-us</language><atom:link href="/authors/rubbere/index.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title>Club 10</title><link>/stories/1/01/01/club-10/</link><pubDate>Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/1/01/01/club-10/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;I grasped the knob on the glossy black
door. The anonymous alley entrance to the club on the other side had no sign, no
name, no hint of its existence. My heart was pounding as anxiety welled up
inside my body and replaced the roaring desire for sex that had been there
earlier in the day. Now I was nervous, my hands cold and clammy, and I felt
extremely heavy, exhausted, and not quite sure I had the ability to finally go
through with what we had discussed so many times. But I would not allow myself
to turn back. I couldn’t return to my apartment knowing I would regret not
doing this. &lt;/p&gt;</description></item></channel></rss>