Tree Stand

My half-sister, Liz, 21, and I, Jon, 22, same dad, different moms, grew up really close. We didn't have much growing up. Nearly had to share everything together — toys, rooms, even clothes. Liz wore most of my old clothes as I grew out of them. Our parents had us bathe together as kids because it was easier for them and then shower together after we grew out of baths to save on the water bill until we started complaining that it was too weird. Eventually, we got to shower separately. Our dad was a heavy equipment mechanic and repaired broken-down machinery on site, often at remote locations and at any time, day or night. Needless to say, he worked long hours and was not around too often. My stepmom, who I consider my mom due to my birth mom having nothing to do with me, drug problem, that's why my dad left her and could get full custody of me. She worked two jobs, one at a stable nursing home and the second as a living assistant that traveled to the homes of the elderly. So a

With a total of thirty one published works on this site what have I learned? Based upon the rankings of my stories a little, at least in terms of reader preferences—but maybe a little more too. As authors, we must rely upon the rank/score to tell us how well our works are received—it's just a fact of life. As the quality of my writing has improved, that is as the number of spelling and grammatical errors have declined, and my sentence structure has improved along with my plots, and characters, I expected a commensurate improvement in my scores relative to the works of other authors. That, by and large, proved to be a false thesis. I've found stories by other authors with far more serious grammatical problems continued to score higher in the same category at the same time as my own—I know, as I read those stories myself. Many of those stories seemingly without a plot—composed of a litany of graphic sex acts strung together. So, what gives? I think it comes down to the fact the

Meet Layla Shabazz, an African American Muslim woman living in the City of Toronto, Ontario. She's been living in the GTA for over a decade now, having moved there from her hometown of Chicago, Illinois. Six feet tall, curvy and bodacious, with dark brown skin, golden brown eyes and long dark hair stylized into a neat Afro, Layla looks much younger than her forty three years. Layla Shabazz, a Loyola University Faculty of Management alumnus and proud member of the Nation of Islam, has made her mark on the City of Toronto, Ontario. In the Canadian business sector, Layla Shabazz is a force to reckon with. The grand dame of the Black professional leagues of Toronto. When Layla Shabazz moved to the City of Toronto, Ontario, from her hometown of Chicago, Illinois, in 2011, she was blown away by the size, scope and beauty of the GTA. In many ways, the City of Toronto was for Canadians what the City of New York was for Americans. A bustling metropolis that embodied the best hopes and dre

"Dammit Scott you put my life in jeopardy here, we were making love unprotected, you could have given me anything, I trusted you. Even worse is if you gave Paul something they will want to know who he slept with, he's a minor Scott you're looking at jail time." "Yes Tom I did cheat on you while we were apart, and no I did not play safe with any of the guys I had sex with." I grabbed my phone and texted Paul telling him to go get tested as soon as possible, just in case. Darren and Billy did not say a word, Darren got up, walked over to Scott pulled him to his feet by his throat stood there his fist cocked, his other hand firmly around Scott's neck squeezing. "Go ahead Darren hit me please I deserve it, someone should hit me." Darren pushed him back down on the couch, his fist still cocked, the rage in his face and body movements showing how little respect he now had for his friend. "You stupid son of a bitch, I don't get you Scott, I

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