Appetite Stories

˗ˏˋ ꜱʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʙᴀᴄᴋꜱᴛᴀɢᴇ, ʜᴇ ᴘʟᴀʏꜱ ᴏɴꜱᴛᴀɢᴇ 'ˎ˗ ʏ/ɴ ɪꜱ ᴀ ꜰᴀꜱʜɪᴏɴ ᴅᴇꜱɪɢɴᴇʀ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴛʀʏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ᴜᴘ ᴡɪᴛʜ 𝟴𝟬ꜱ ʀᴏᴄᴋ ᴄʜᴀᴏꜱ, ʙʀᴏᴋᴇɴ ᴢɪᴘᴘᴇʀꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ᴠᴇʀʏ ꜱᴛᴜᴘɪᴅ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ - ꜱʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴀ ᴅᴇꜱɪɢɴᴇʀ, ɴᴏᴛ ᴀ ʙᴀʙʏꜱɪᴛᴛᴇʀ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴀᴘᴘᴀʀᴇɴᴛʟʏ ꜱʜᴇ ʜᴀꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ʙᴏᴛʜ ᴏɴ ᴛᴏᴜʀ.

hot and sexy poems all the ladies love :)

"𝘪 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘦" ... It's not an unusual occasion for the boys of Hollywood's most dangerous band to bring home a new girl every night. Grab one that'll wait until the show's done, take her home, kiss her goodbye in the morning and never see her again. Rosie Rivers hasn't seen Axl since her childhood, but he definitely isn't the same Bill Bailey that would steal her Barbie dolls. Some things were changing, definitely not Axl's attitude or Duff's excessive drinking, but some things.

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I forcibly still my jittery self, there was no reason for panic at this particular moment, though my heart-rate said otherwise. Joss jeered towards me, portraying annoyance to my social-anxiety. "Are you listening?" His tone guttural and raw, preferably due to lack of proper sleep this week. I knew how that felt but luckily for him it was only momentarily. Mine had year's etched under the belt. "I'm your anchor, frost." He advised. Why couldn't Joss just have overslept today and i could've stayed indoors where it's safe and sound, secluded rather than about to experience a mental breakdown that will naturally draw unwanted attention to oneself. Yet stability of the mind was far from any of the minor capabilities i possessed. So i huffed and puffed, stood halfway off the diners ancient chair before spasming violently onto cold tiles, then fainting.

Advanced Appetite Canada

Written as part of the rewards for the people who donated toward the kickstarter for my first novel - ONE MAN AND HIS DOGMA. This is one of the short stories written around a title provided by a sponsor. I fell asleep on a train home from seeing Neil Gaiman and Amanda Palmer in London, and I swear I saw a man walking in his pyjamas on the track next to our window... Maybe I was still dreaming... Maybe I wasn't... This is a what-if, captured in that hazy between world that exists in the grey between sleep and wakefulness. Dedicated To Kate Vassalos Who gave me the title and her inspirational support. With love and thanks.