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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.

" tilted her head back and wolfed it down in one long gulp. Darlene was in a class by herself, and that was a problem. " she leaned into me until our noses touched while her hand moved to my knee and slowly slid along the inside of my leg. It was as cliché as shit, but I couldn't help myself. She had just made me an offer I couldn't refuse. We became romantically involved as much out of laziness as out of lust.

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.

They might let us stay with them." Any group holding its own for fifteen years might be an answer to our current housing crisis, it depended on the depth of the batshit. "Okay, you've got my attention," I gave her a kiss, "Tell me everything you know. " We talked until there was no more to say, "Stay or go. Do you want to give them a try - at least for a few weeks? Living as amateur survivalists, her friends occupied an off-the-grid cabin located somewhere in the Rocky Mountains about 250 miles west of Denver.

The more I thought about it, the better it sounded.

Her second expedition of seduction ended in bewildered frustration. I usually have to beat men off with a stick," shaking her head in disgust, she demolished another White Russian. Darlene's rent check went south, along with about 25 or 30 personal checks and ATM transactions; each bad check racked up a bank charge, -30 in returned check merchant fees, and her account soon was bleeding red ink by several thousand dollars.

"Maybe you should offer to beat them off with a stick, you know, fifty shades of kinky? The certified letter ordering our eviction was the last straw.

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The voyeur and hermit in me loved the location, and I had it all to myself for several months until the day Darlene arrived. At first I was annoyed at the invasion of my secret space. Like commuters sharing an across town bus, we got used to each other's presence on the installment plan. While I enjoyed the sometimes risqué banter, I never considered Darlene as potential girlfriend material. I amused myself trying to sneak a peek down her blouse or up her skirt when I thought she wouldn't notice. She had the uncanny ability to read people like a book and play them like a deck of cards."I love this drink," she inhaled the beverage, chugging it down in one long gulp. How can anyone love a drink without taking the time to appreciate the subtle by-play of flavors? " she smiled before dispatching the last White Russian. After a few months together, the real-estate development company in which Darlene had invested fifteen years of her life went belly-up, and then her last two paychecks bounced.Thirst quenched for the moment, Darlene resumed her quest for tonight's bed partner. The rubber checks set up a cascading overdraft chain reaction.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.

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