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Familiarity grew comfortable and gave way to conversation as we observed the ebb and flow of tavern life. One Friday night the stars governing our relationship aligned like the bars on a slot machine. One of these stud-muffins is going home with me," she chuckled with a little shiver and scanned the bar for targets of opportunity. What a curious blend of emotions for a virtual stranger. Most of the men in the tavern looked like drop-outs from Blubber Buddies or some such weight watching group. "Compliments of the house," Our curious barkeep did a visual inventory of his own as he set a beautifully mixed and handcrafted White Russian in front of Darlene.

Heads turned as Darlene strutted into the tavern in a blur of legs, cleavage, and the predatory smile of a fox. Her mini-dress must have been a belt in a previous life, and her tissue thin blouse was unbuttoned down to her navel. "That's a nice outfit you are almost wearing," I did a double take when she hopped up on the barstool next to mine. " I nodded as I filed that image into my long-term memory vault. She took a small sip and savored it like a gourmet, "Perfect! Darlene hopped down from her seat, and like Alexander the Great, set out to conquer the known world. She was the Alpha-Fox loose in the hen house, radiating sexual availability like a neon sign in the night.

A retired Vietnam Veteran becomes the accidental prisoner of an all-woman survivalist community hidden deep in the Rocky Mountains.

The Society of Sisters at Liberty Mountain has chosen to live in a world without men.

They have killed in the past, and are willing to kill again to keep their home a secret.

An extraordinary post-apocalyptic adventure unlike any you've read before.

Mapmakers tended to hide the most critical information in the smallest print known to man. Darlene and I moved in together to save money when my landlord evicted me from my apartment for nonpayment of rent. She played the part of May at the youthful age of 35 years.

I fulfilled the role of December at the tender age of 60-mumble.

She sparkled like a diamond in a coal bin and scared the shit out of the men she approached. As Darlene studied me, her dark look of frustration gradually brightened, and her eyes sparkled as her grim expression transformed into the predatory smile of a fox. I answered by placing my hand on her knee and mirrored her journey of exploration. Neither of us cared to invest the necessary time to search for the perfect partner, so we settled for close enough for right now.Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is too weird for words and 100% purely coincidental.Chapter 1 I stuffed my last cardboard box of personal belongings into the cargo hold of my girlfriend's Toyota Rav4, jumped into the passenger seat, and waited while she fussed over a map with directions to our new home. She flipped her shoulder length hair out of her eyes for the umpteenth time and squinted to read the tiny print. " She put the Rav into drive, and we started on our way. Darlene was a smart, feisty petite brown-haired woman, just under five feet five inches tall, with small breasts, shoulder length hair, and a freckled baby face. We met at a local tavern where we developed an unlikely May-December relationship.Our bartender presented her with another complimentary White Russian as his sacrifice to the Gods of Wishful Thinking. A few moments later, our generous drink master returned with three tall White Russians. Still waters run deep, and it didn't end well. " "A twofer is the first and last time something happens. Why the fuck would I want to be named after a stagnant pond? Everyone needs a hobby and sex was her diversion from work."One is for you and the other two are honor guards for the dead soldiers," he pointed to the two empty glasses. "Okay Dennis, that was a twofer," the book she was reading sailed across the room, missing my head by less than an inch. " Her smile was a weird combo of mischief and annoyance. She collected orgasms like some folks collected postage stamps.

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