The title - Stone Age

Vampires, and werewolves, describe both the seductive power of sexuality and the monstrous way we have been taught to perceive it g-suite cardinal manchester. Mermaids similarly play on lust - in this case, the lust of sailors at sea, desperate to find women. Mermaids are beautiful but forever inaccessible and unknowable, a living metaphor for the feminine mystique.

Ogres are my favorite demi-human transformation. In Shrek, Princess Fiona becomes an Ogre as a way of teaching a lesson about beauty, love and acceptance.

Some demi-human stories utilize do not have an explicit transformation scene g-suite in oldham. For example, the story "Cindi" relies on the character (and the audience) realizing the true nature of the demi-human rather than actually showing them changing.

In the Demi-Human section of my stories, you'll find two demi-human tales: one about ogres and the other about mermaids. I'm going to be adding another ogre-related story soon, the result of a very long and detailed story swap. It's been the product of many months of work.

In the meantime, here is a short story that I recently finished. It contains some transformation elements but they are not the focus cardinal manchester. I wrote it for a prompt that read only "love between rocks." The title - Stone Age.

He was right

He showed up to my hotel room door in a gold F150, and yellow roses that I am sure he got at the Piggly Wiggly.

His dirty eyes smiled when he asked, “is you ready or not?” The hand not holding the roses, was in his pocket.

I smile and wink, “are you?”

“Yes, ma’am” he says.

I didn’t think he really was, none of them ever are. He apologizes about not having an air conditioner and that the radio only played one AM station. He was listening to the news on it, but he could turn it off if I’d like. I just shrugged.

“Now, ain’t that some shit.” He pointed to the radio. “you heard about that there story?”

“No. Not really.” I lied.

“Some dude’s going around killing other dudes.” he said.

“oh really? some dude.” I admire my own tits as I speak.

“Yea.” he said. “Prolly, some stupid faggot killing other pussier faggots.” he turned the radio off. “I’ll tell you what, ain’t no faggot ever going to kill me.”

I smile, and place my hand on his knee. He was right, no faggot would kill him.

“Why do you suppose somebody would want to do that anyway? Kill faggots and all.”

I smile and look at that place where the earth meets the sky. It was painted pink. “Every Nero needs a scapegoat.” I smiled.