<?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>AlienF+-M on Gromet's Plaza Archive</title><link>/tags/alienf-m/</link><description>Recent content in AlienF+-M on Gromet's Plaza Archive</description><generator>Hugo</generator><language>en-us</language><atom:link href="/tags/alienf-m/index.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title>The Ship</title><link>/stories/1/01/01/the-ship/</link><pubDate>Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/1/01/01/the-ship/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;THE
SHIP&lt;/strong&gt;
by
No-one&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;1: The Orb&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Bob wasn&amp;rsquo;t exactly sure why he was here in the first place. Maybe it
was that he got sick of listening to that inner voice that kept telling
him that he needed to get out in the world and experience things that had
held his fascination for so long. Or maybe it was that he was sick of being
home every night fantasizing about being dominated by beautiful women wearing
shiny leather, rubber and/or latex. Bob was from a small town originally.
He had moved to the big city for a job that was interchangeable with a
thousand other jobs in the big city. He was a drone, 8 to 5 in a grey little
cubicle in a monolithic tower of steel and glass. Soul-draining wasn&amp;rsquo;t
even the half of it. To make matters worse, when he was able to find someone
to ask out, the chance of finding a mate interested in becoming his mistress
was very remote. The end result was always the same: they denounced him
as a pervert and told him to hit the bricks.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item></channel></rss>