Dr. Andio, Dr. Patrice, Simpson and several others worked hard through the summer months, finding many small bits and pieces of beautiful pottery, some had been sealed to protect the items inside, all of which had rotted or turned to dust over the long millennia.

One of the items was a hardened leather breastplate that had been carefully placed inside a rather large urn buried near the cave, along with what could well be bracers and greaves, gloves and a cap. The items were in remarkable condition because the urn was hidden and sealed.

Ten days had passed since the coven had cast the spell that set the first layer of protection over the new town.

Cheyenne, with help from Pavanna and Veronica, had set up the basic frames for several houses around the central square. The houses would be forty feet wide, sitting on lots slightly more than sixty feet across, the differences would be due to what people desired.

It all started a few days after Mrs. Haighton passed away in late April of last year.

Mrs. Haighton had been 74 years old at the time of her passing. She was born three days after Christmas in 1942.

I guess she'd been around to watch as the world changed in ways she may not have been able to understand, but we'll never know now. I do have to say that Mrs. Haighton was a firm but fair woman. As long as you gave her respect, respect would be returned to you.

I'm a happy crossdresser, but I'm still confused. Maybe it's just me, but why are so many of my sisters so dissatisfied with their life, and that of their sisters? Lately it seems that all I see are articles about how we must fight for our rights, demand that our wives, children pets and the general public accept us uncritically, and grant us our every wish.

Biker Bitch
By
Michele Nylons

Cassie Rivers is a closet crossdresser who is also a member of an Outlaw Motorcycle Gang. Her secret is discovered and the OMC leave her for dead in the desert. She wakes up in the custody of the FBI who make her an offer she can't refuse.

I'm confused, so this will be a very confused column. It's sort of like one of those dreams where several seemingly unrelated threads of thought combine in really odd ways and you wake up thinking "I'm not sure I want to know anyone who could dream up something like that!"

The newly promoted Major returned to her office after her lunch that day, only to find a squad moving the contents of her office. When she enquired as to why her items were being moved, she was informed that she would be based in a new office at the back of the building.

Major Garrett scratched her head for a moment, then realized that the soldier must have meant the last unused office in the administration building. That specific office was a three room suite, a reception area, the office itself and a fairly decent sized conference room.

Sloane Patterson, Stacy Patterson and Steve Patterson stood in front of the headstone. Sloane was crying and bought a handkerchief to her face to dry her eyes, as did Stacy.

Steve Patterson had never met the woman buried in the grave and his eyes remained dry.

“I never knew her but I know I owe her so much,” Stacy sobbed.

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Editor: Trismegistus Shandy

Although Sarah was nearly exhausted, she had no choice but to get up early to ensure she could get into Lyle Brinkman’s office and erase the message that Jim Bellman had left on Lyle’s answering machine.

CHAPTER 12
I recognised a couple of the faces from news reports, articles in the local press and so on. Once more, Inspector Powell’s word of choice rose up: “local”. None of these, to my best recollection, had made anything more than the local news reports, certainly not the nationals, and the consistency was there in each picture, each black eye and fat lip. The boys had been attacked from the front, or at least after they had been grabbed. Pretty boys who had ceased to be so.