<?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>Nude on Gromet's Plaza Archive</title><link>/tags/nude/</link><description>Recent content in Nude on Gromet's Plaza Archive</description><generator>Hugo</generator><language>en-us</language><lastBuildDate>Sat, 30 May 2026 20:13:47 +0000</lastBuildDate><atom:link href="/tags/nude/index.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title>Long Beach, Short Walk</title><link>/stories/2019/11/24/long-beach-short-walk/</link><pubDate>Sun, 24 Nov 2019 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/2019/11/24/long-beach-short-walk/</guid><description>&lt;h3 id="chapter-1"&gt;Chapter 1&lt;/h3&gt;
&lt;p&gt;The plan was to walk the entire length of the beach. Doesn’t sound much put like that, but this beach was over a thousand miles long. It had only two small hamlets at each end and nothing in-between. I had also planned to do it naked. Inland was dry scrub and not much water for several hundred miles. Not a place to get lost in.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I had arrived at Point Hard by boat. There is only one a week which brought in the few supplies that were needed and took out the canned fish that that they made. The village was small and old, with only about thirty or so buildings. A wooden general store that doubled as a pub, snack bar and any thing else that was needed. The rest were just wooden shacks for peoples homes.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item><item><title>The Art of Silk Surrender 13</title><link>/stories/2017/05/06/the-art-of-silk-surrender-13/</link><pubDate>Sat, 06 May 2017 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/2017/05/06/the-art-of-silk-surrender-13/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;(story continues from &lt;a href="artofsilksurrender12.html"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The Art of Silk Surrender 12&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt;)&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The Art of Silk Surrender- Part 13&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I lay under the smooth, satin sheeting draped over my naked, hogtied body, and tried to isolate the voices I was hearing in the art studio around me. As I strained through the extra padding of the layers of cloth which were both gagging and blindfolding me, I found a hunger for any clue to the identities of the students, and realized that this moment was providing me more chances than ever before: there was actual talking in my presence! Usually, during the class time, the only voice speaking was Joanna’s as she directed the students to draw me or explore my helplessness before them. At times stern and commanding, at other times soft, nurturing and soothingly erotic, the force of her range of personality dominated my experience of sound completely, from the moment of the first tie until my release after the end of each session.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item><item><title>The Lake House</title><link>/stories/2015/04/10/the-lake-house/</link><pubDate>Fri, 10 Apr 2015 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/2015/04/10/the-lake-house/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;Joan arrived at the lake house after a two hour drive. They have been meeting out here without Ken&amp;rsquo;s wife knowing for almost two years The dark haired woman smiled at the thought. She did notice the absence of his car. Digging out her cell phone Joan sent him a text.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&amp;ldquo;I&amp;rsquo;m here&amp;rdquo;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;The reply came a minute later.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&amp;ldquo;I&amp;rsquo;m in town. Be there soon. Go inside.&amp;rdquo;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Smiling Joan went into the lake house. She had been meeting Ken out here once a month for the last year or so. His wife never came out here so it was really safe for them to meet. Entering the &amp;ldquo;Play Room&amp;rdquo; as they called it Joan saw several things laid out for her on the bed. The bed was a youth bed, slightly shorter in length and a bit wider than a twin. It was made of metal with solid bed posts just the right size for handcuffs. There was one set of handcuffs attached to each bed post and she knew from experience that they would hold her securely with very little wiggle room.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item><item><title>What Was I Thinking</title><link>/stories/2011/08/13/what-was-i-thinking/</link><pubDate>Sat, 13 Aug 2011 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/2011/08/13/what-was-i-thinking/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;It was mid July and I had some vacation time to use, so I took a few days off. My wife and I both work at professional jobs and often have trouble scheduling our together, although we do manage a couple of weeks in the mountains or at the beach. This time my wife was out of town for a few days on business and I had the house to myself.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item><item><title>Game Day</title><link>/stories/2011/08/12/game-day/</link><pubDate>Fri, 12 Aug 2011 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/2011/08/12/game-day/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;Amy gave the ribs a stir, put the lid back on the crock pot, and checked her apron. There were no spots., which was a good thing since the apron was for decoration, not effectiveness. She put the finishing touches to the crab dip, gave it a stir and a taste, nodded. She set the bowl on the tray and headed into the den.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&amp;ldquo;How&amp;rsquo;s it coming?&amp;rdquo;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&amp;ldquo;Almost done, Sir.&amp;rdquo;&lt;/p&gt;</description></item><item><title>Julies Best Time</title><link>/stories/2011/07/10/julies-best-time/</link><pubDate>Sun, 10 Jul 2011 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/2011/07/10/julies-best-time/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;It was a dark night, the dumpster was on the corner, it had a very sinister look to it tonight, and Julie was very horny, she knew everything about that corner, and had been inside the dumpster before. Before getting inside, there is a gate, a wooden gate surrounding the dumpster, with picket fencing inside of chain fence. It’s attached to the restaurant in the back parking lot. A lock on the door prevents midnight dumpers from getting in. They bag most of their trash, and it mostly small boxes, bags and food remains. The enclosure is rather large, this one has a compactor attached to it, but it is broken, never used.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item><item><title>Everything going Wright and Rosie in undiscovered Borneo Part 3</title><link>/stories/2011/04/26/everything-going-wright-and-rosie-in-undiscovered-borneo-part-3/</link><pubDate>Tue, 26 Apr 2011 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/2011/04/26/everything-going-wright-and-rosie-in-undiscovered-borneo-part-3/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;(story continues from &lt;a href="everythingsgoingwright2.html"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Everything going Wright and Rosie in undiscovered Borneo Part 2&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt;)&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Part Three&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;The first tsunami wave almost killed Rosie Wright&amp;hellip; the second saved her life.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;She’d just finished storing the latest offerings from the natives when the girl realised she could not hear the waves outside the cave as usual. The normal swish&amp;hellip; roar&amp;hellip; swish and roar that Rosie had listened to for weeks on end had suddenly stopped, and it puzzled her. From her time as one of Oxford’s premier biologist-explorers Miss Wright knew this island wasn’t in a tidal area.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item><item><title>Tiny Troubles</title><link>/stories/2011/03/31/tiny-troubles/</link><pubDate>Thu, 31 Mar 2011 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/2011/03/31/tiny-troubles/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;Sean smiled to himself as he screwed the last bolt tightly onto his latest attempt at an invention, though he was an aspiring actor, he also favoured himself as a creative inventor though so far all he had done is almost burn down the house a few times. He was 22 years old with longish brown hair and a slim figure, he lived with his Girlfriend Lizzie, who was a Professional dancer at the local theatres, she even taught dance in a school twice a week. Lizzie was a very pretty girl, 21 years old with a beautiful figure and long brown hair.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item><item><title>Bondage Barbie Deluxe 2</title><link>/stories/2011/03/10/bondage-barbie-deluxe-2/</link><pubDate>Thu, 10 Mar 2011 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/2011/03/10/bondage-barbie-deluxe-2/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;story continued from &lt;a href="bondagebarbiedeluxe.html"&gt;part one&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Part Two&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Don came down into his toy room and found me wandering around, wearing only the thin cotton shift and freshly bathed. I felt even more naked than I did before, probably because Don was dressed to go out and I obviously wasn&amp;rsquo;t. He said he still wanted to know how I found out about the toy room, and I was obligated to tell him about the hidden letter in the Barbie box. I didn&amp;rsquo;t go into the painful details, but he said that it made alot of sense. It seemed like the existence of the letter explained more than one thing that was bothering Don.
My ass was still too sore to play with, but the rest of me wanted Don, especially if he could get me back to the pain / pleasure overlap that I experienced for the first time in my life. Don could see the look in my eye and answered my unasked question. First he said that I wore him out the other day, and as much as he would like to play with me some more he needed to rest. The second thing was that it was Sunday night, and he had to take me home. When he saw the bewildered look on my face he said that without windows, or a clock, or any other of the many ways we keep track of time, it was possible to loose hours down here. And he also told me I slept alot after our time together!
Don said he would take me home now, and I asked him to take me to Ken&amp;rsquo;s instead. I followed him into the elevator and with the turn of a key the door behind us closed and another opened in front of us both symbolically, and literally. He walked toward his Aston Martin and opened the passenger side door for me. Inside I found his black trench coat so I could cover myself up. The cotton shift I was wearing was thin and inappropriate for public, and besides it was raining heavily at the time. The leather seats felt cold on my naked ass, but I loved the car.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item><item><title>Bondage Barbie Deluxe</title><link>/stories/2011/01/01/bondage-barbie-deluxe/</link><pubDate>Sat, 01 Jan 2011 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/2011/01/01/bondage-barbie-deluxe/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;(story continues from &lt;a href="bondagebarbiedeluxe.html"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Bondage Barbie Deluxe&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt;)&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Part Two&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Don came down into his toy room and found me wandering around, wearing only the thin cotton shift and freshly bathed. I felt even more naked than I did before, probably because Don was dressed to go out and I obviously wasn&amp;rsquo;t. He said he still wanted to know how I found out about the toy room, and I was obligated to tell him about the hidden letter in the Barbie box. I didn&amp;rsquo;t go into the painful details, but he said that it made alot of sense. It seemed like the existence of the letter explained more than one thing that was bothering Don.
My ass was still too sore to play with, but the rest of me wanted Don, especially if he could get me back to the pain / pleasure overlap that I experienced for the first time in my life. Don could see the look in my eye and answered my unasked question. First he said that I wore him out the other day, and as much as he would like to play with me some more he needed to rest. The second thing was that it was Sunday night, and he had to take me home. When he saw the bewildered look on my face he said that without windows, or a clock, or any other of the many ways we keep track of time, it was possible to loose hours down here. And he also told me I slept alot after our time together!
Don said he would take me home now, and I asked him to take me to Ken&amp;rsquo;s instead. I followed him into the elevator and with the turn of a key the door behind us closed and another opened in front of us both symbolically, and literally. He walked toward his Aston Martin and opened the passenger side door for me. Inside I found his black trench coat so I could cover myself up. The cotton shift I was wearing was thin and inappropriate for public, and besides it was raining heavily at the time. The leather seats felt cold on my naked ass, but I loved the car.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item><item><title>Jessica Darling Chapter 22: Heather Goes Nuts!</title><link>/stories/2010/07/30/jessica-darling-chapter-22-heather-goes-nuts/</link><pubDate>Fri, 30 Jul 2010 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/2010/07/30/jessica-darling-chapter-22-heather-goes-nuts/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;LEGAL NOTICE: This is purely a work of fiction. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
continued from &lt;a href="jessica_darling21.html"&gt;chapter 21&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Chapter 22: Heather Goes Nuts!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Sure enough, turning the corner Jessica spotted Heather semi-submerged in a large tub of what appeared to be peanut butter. The only part of her visible above the surface was her head with her hair bundled up and pinned like a topknot. Jessica could tell Heather was conscious given the slow, side-to-side movements that her friend&amp;rsquo;s head made; indicating some form of motion was being hidden underneath the substance.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item><item><title>Jessica Darling Chapter 21: Let's Make a Deal</title><link>/stories/2010/06/10/jessica-darling-chapter-21-lets-make-a-deal/</link><pubDate>Thu, 10 Jun 2010 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/2010/06/10/jessica-darling-chapter-21-lets-make-a-deal/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;LEGAL NOTICE: This is purely a work of fiction. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
continued from &lt;a href="jessica_darling20.html"&gt;chapter 20&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Chapter 21: Let&amp;rsquo;s Make a Deal&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&amp;ldquo;Mistress?&amp;rdquo; The question broke Jessica&amp;rsquo;s reminiscing, returning her to reality, pulling her back from the short mental retreat she had taken and reminding her of what remained to be accomplished.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&amp;ldquo;Just admiring the view Ava&amp;hellip;” Jessica returned as she boxed up her daydreaming and filed it away for another rainy day.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item><item><title>Desert Run</title><link>/stories/2009/11/28/desert-run/</link><pubDate>Sat, 28 Nov 2009 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/2009/11/28/desert-run/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;The Plaza is looking for some stories, so I thought people might enjoy hearing about an event that occurred to me when I was a young woman. First, I’ll set the stage.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I was living in Tucson and had had several boyfriends by this time in my life. I was reveling in the blossoming of the sensuous and erotic in my world. As my partners and I discovered the wonders of nature, I felt quite satisfied yet knew there was more beyond the basically vanilla sex life I had been exploring. I had (still have) a fertile imagination and, ever since I was quite young, had found my fantasies wandering to dark places. But without any positive role models, I felt these were unhealthy aspirations for such a liberated back-to-nature girl to have. So I kept them to myself - my little secret.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item><item><title>Surprised by the Garbage Woman</title><link>/stories/2009/10/09/surprised-by-the-garbage-woman/</link><pubDate>Fri, 09 Oct 2009 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/2009/10/09/surprised-by-the-garbage-woman/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;As I am walking to the garbage room beneath my townhouse complex, I
wonder what mysteries await for me. I reach for the door, but a
young woman emerges with a smirk on her face. She is startled by my appearance &amp;hellip; no shirt, sweatpants, and no shoes or socks. After
all, I didn&amp;rsquo;t need to go outside to get here, and I was ready for bed. I enter the odorous room, as I look back to see she has quickly
vanished. The door slams behind me as usual, yet this time seems to
have wedged itself shut pretty good.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item><item><title>Teen Selfbondage</title><link>/stories/2008/09/05/teen-selfbondage/</link><pubDate>Fri, 05 Sep 2008 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/2008/09/05/teen-selfbondage/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;A long time ago, back when I was a teenager, I started experimenting with bondage. Not that I knew what it was at the time, back then there was no internet to bring us together, and the small town I grew up in was part of America&amp;rsquo;s heartland. Still, the fascination of being tied up still took hold, and was fueled by the easy access I had to that most common of bondage devices, handcuffs. My Dad was a cop, still is as a matter of fact, and I used to sneak his spare set of handcuffs away and use them on myself, imagining all kinds of bondage adventures.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item><item><title>Caught</title><link>/stories/2006/11/21/caught/</link><pubDate>Tue, 21 Nov 2006 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/2006/11/21/caught/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;Hi, my name is Don. I&amp;rsquo;ve been into bondage (pun
intended) since I was thirteen and at a boy&amp;rsquo;s two week summer camp, but
that&amp;rsquo;s another story. I live with my wife Jane and eighteen year old
daughter, Janie, who is in her second year of college. We have a four
bedroom house, one of which has been converted to a den with two couches and
a TV. There is a swimming pool in our back yard which is surrounded by a six
foot fence on all sides. Nudity is not an issue in our house and you are
likely to find any one of us running around in the altogether at any time.
Jane is a little more reserved than Janie or me. In fact, on warm summer
weekends, I usually shed my clothes on Friday when I get home from work and
don&amp;rsquo;t put them back on until Monday morning. Janie almost never wears
clothes after her bath in the evening until the next morning.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item><item><title>Everything going Wright and Rosie in undiscovered Borneo</title><link>/stories/1/01/01/everything-going-wright-and-rosie-in-undiscovered-borneo/</link><pubDate>Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/1/01/01/everything-going-wright-and-rosie-in-undiscovered-borneo/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;Rosita Wright almost felt like Lara Croft when she finally found the jungle green starting to thin out and she could hear the waves nearby. After so many days it seemed of battling past hordes of creepy crawlies that tried to go where not required the young woman appeared to be close to the end of her goal. Examining this remote island off Borneo’s northern coast that apparently nobody from the West had ever visited. Quite why this could be Rosie, as she’d always preferred during college didn’t know. All the pilot who’d dropped her off a month ago said was he’d assumed it was because the place was much smaller than the islands in the main part of the chain, only about 40 square miles. Those teemed with the wildlife that kept all the naturalists agog with wonder, so this place, last in the line and much further out had been forgotten about until now.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item><item><title>Everything going Wright and Rosie in undiscovered Borneo Part 2</title><link>/stories/1/01/01/everything-going-wright-and-rosie-in-undiscovered-borneo-part-2/</link><pubDate>Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/1/01/01/everything-going-wright-and-rosie-in-undiscovered-borneo-part-2/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;(story continues from &lt;a href="everythingsgoingwright.html"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Everything going Wright and Rosie in undiscovered Borneo&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt;)&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Part Two&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Rosie Wright groaned when she heard the Albatross approaching on its regular visit. Knowing that in a few hours time she’d be confronted by the man who’d made love to her, given her a lovely dress to wear&amp;hellip;then betrayed her.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Having the girl marched at spear point to the top of the island then locking her in the cage that had been her home for the last few months.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item><item><title>Part 19: How I Met an Arabian Wife As narrated</title><link>/stories/1/01/01/part-19-how-i-met-an-arabian-wife-as-narrated/</link><pubDate>Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/1/01/01/part-19-how-i-met-an-arabian-wife-as-narrated/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;(story continues from &lt;a href="my_odyssey18.html"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Part 18 - The Wedding Ceremony … As narrated&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt;)_&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;_Continues from &lt;a href="my_odyssey18.html"&gt;part 18&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;My Odyssey&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;As narrated by Anne-Marie Killamajiian,&lt;/strong&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;Wife of Ahmed, of the House of Mustaffa, the Diamond Merchant&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Warning: This story involves bondage, consensual sex, domination, coercion, sex changes, sexual slavery, rape, and other jiggery-pokery. It is entirely fictional, and is intended as entertainment for adults only. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or to any location or activity is purely coincidental. Names have been changed to protect the innocent. (As if anybody ever is!)&lt;/p&gt;</description></item><item><title>Part 20: How Anne’s Story Began As narrated</title><link>/stories/1/01/01/part-20-how-annes-story-began-as-narrated/</link><pubDate>Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/1/01/01/part-20-how-annes-story-began-as-narrated/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;(story continues from &lt;a href="my_odyssey19.html"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Part 19: How I Met an Arabian Wife As narrated&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt;)_&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;_Continues from &lt;a href="my_odyssey19.html"&gt;part 19&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;My Odyssey&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;As narrated by Anne-Marie Killamajiian,&lt;/strong&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;Wife of Ahmed, of the House of Mustaffa, the Diamond Merchant&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Warning:  This story involves bondage, consensual sex, domination, coercion, sex changes, sexual slavery, rape, and other jiggery-pokery.  It is entirely fictional, and is intended as entertainment for adults only.  Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or to any location or activity is purely coincidental.  Names have been changed to protect the innocent.  (As if anybody ever is!)&lt;/p&gt;</description></item><item><title>Sally’s Christmas Break</title><link>/stories/1/01/01/sallys-christmas-break/</link><pubDate>Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/1/01/01/sallys-christmas-break/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;CityWolf IV: Sally&amp;rsquo;s Christmas Break&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Sally was high and horney. She had been smoking pot all day, waiting
around, watching TV with nothing to do. She was a sophomore in college
and it was Christmas break. Last year she had gone to Florida, but this
year she did not have the money. She certainly did not want to go home
so she thought that she would hang around campus. She did not realize just
how dead it would be, however. Hardly anyone was around.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item><item><title>The Art of Silk Surrender</title><link>/stories/1/01/01/the-art-of-silk-surrender/</link><pubDate>Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/1/01/01/the-art-of-silk-surrender/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;My name is Danny, and I thought it would be fun to tell you about the first time I was ever shown how much pleasure a young man can have being introduced into the world of sensual bondage.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Let me tell you a bit about myself.  I just recently graduated from college.  I am almost 6’2” tall, but can only be described as skinny.  I have worked out to the point of total exhaustion for years, but simply am not able to bulk up.  I keep my light brown hair well below my shoulders, and have a very light beard which I keep neatly trimmed.  I confess this is to give a bit of maturity to my face, since I still far too easily am mistaken for a middling teenager.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item><item><title>The Art of Silk Surrender 12</title><link>/stories/1/01/01/the-art-of-silk-surrender-12/</link><pubDate>Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/1/01/01/the-art-of-silk-surrender-12/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;(story continues from &lt;a href="artofsilksurrender11.html"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The Art of Silk Surrender 11&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt;)&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The Art of Silk Surrender- Part 12&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;My parents got home fine, and they, of course, fell in love with Aurora almost as quickly as I did.  We were embraced as a couple as if we had been together for decades.  It was such a comfortable family time, we both actually forgot what we had been through the past five days.  The four of us had a fun, relaxing meal, and then took a quick, naked dip in the pool to take advantage of the last few remaining days of weather conducive to such things.  At last, Aurora and I said our goodbyes and bundled our bags into the trunk of Sue’s car, and headed home.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item><item><title>The Survey</title><link>/stories/1/01/01/the-survey/</link><pubDate>Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/1/01/01/the-survey/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;“I’m sorry but I’m not interested in participating in your program any more. I’ve told you this several times and would like you to stop contacting me. Goodbye.”&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;My wife hung up the phone and turned to me. “I can’t believe those people. I’ve told them four times in the past year that I don’t want to do their survey and they still keep trying”. She’d signed up to take part in a five year study about lifestyle changes in high school graduates. It was supposed to follow the participants through college and into their first job. Instead it had continued for over ten years and didn’t seem like it was going to end. She was contacted twice a year to schedule a visit for a two hour session in which they asked the same series of questions about family, career, hobbies and other more personal things.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item></channel></rss>