The Spinning Arrow
I'm forty-four years old and I still own a wooden spinning arrow from a drinking game.
Longtime reader from Texas, writing stories when the day job quiets down, in a voice that is literate with dry humor. Expect Exhibitionist & Voyeur, Group Sex, and Loving Wives with grown-up characters (60s), specific places, and the long con. Always happy to hear from readers who enjoy a real plot alongside the heat. Ranked by how many readers finish them. Some are free to read in full; the rest open with a free preview.
Get a note when The Autumn Epilogue publishes something new.
I'm forty-four years old and I still own a wooden spinning arrow from a drinking game.
The flight into Salamanca had been delayed twice, once for weather over the Bay of Biscay and once for a paperwork problem nobody would…
The moving truck sat dead in the gravel lot, hood up, when we pulled in.
We have been sitting in the Dallas/Fort Worth lounge for about forty minutes when the board flips our flight from "Delayed" to "Delayed"…
The last hour of a night shift is the worst hour of any job, and I've got proof.
The passenger seat of my car has been empty for three months now, and I still catch myself looking at it like it owes me an apology, which…
I've never understood people who skip reunions out of spite, because spite is a terrible reason to miss free shrimp and a live band.
Happy anniversary, my ass, I thought, as Anya pulled me through the studio door into darkness.