My Home on Whore Island , livre ebook

4 Horsemen Publications, Inc. - Dalia Lance

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108 pages

English

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What happens when you stop looking for Mr. Right and start looking for Mr. Right Now?

A day comes in every girl's life when she tosses a few condoms in her purse, throws caution to the wind, and says, “Let’s Do This!"

Well, maybe not every girl, but when Randi Michaels finds out her boyfriend has cheated on her, she decides to turn the tables and take control.

Giving each playmate a nickname as she goes, Randi tackles her Who To Have Sex With list. From a movie theater to a steamy shower, a night club to the front seat of car, some encounters are fun, some are funny, and some never should have happened.

Ignoring society’s double standard and going against the grain, Randi learns a few things about herself, what she wants, and how to get...Mr. Right Now.

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Erotica

Fiction

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Publié par	4 Horsemen Publications, Inc.
Date de parution	26 octobre 2020
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781644500019
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	3 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0350€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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Dalia Lance

My Home on Whor e Island
Copyright © 2015 JM Paquette. All rights r eserved.

4 Horsemen Publication s, Inc.
1497 Main St. S uite 169
Dunedin, FL 34698
4horsemenpublicat ions.com
info@4horsemenpublicat ions.com
Typesetting by Battle Goddess Pro ductions
Editor: Courtenay Dodds www.CourtenayD odds.com
All rights to the work within are reserved to the author and publisher. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise, except as permitted under Section 107 or 108 of the 1976 International Copyright Act, without prior written permission except in brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Please contact either the Publisher or Author to gain per mission.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used ficti tiously.
Audiobook ISBN: 978-1-644 50-032-3
Print ISBN: 978-1-644 50-088-0
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-644 50-001-9

Dedication
To those who make the juice worth th e squeeze:
Burgy, Braid-my-Hair, Glitter, Rum py, Kendy,
Wife, Stallion, Whammi, S ideBitch &
My Forever Sidekic k: Nobbits

Ackno wledgments
T here are so many people I can thank in my life for encouraging me to actually achieve this goal. First my family, I am lucky to be surrounded by those who believe in me. To my friends, who are simply family from another gene-pool: You guys are always there when I need you and make my life that much more amazing because you are in it. To everyone in my life, thank you for always making me feel perfectly comfortable being me and of course loving me for it. To my writers group, the Ink Slingers Guild, I am nothing short of lucky to be surrounded by the best of the best. You make me want to be a better writer every day. To my grammar police, thank you for making sure I don’t have a misplaced comma. To my editor, Courtenay, you take water and make it into wine, or in my case take trash and make it classy. Thank you for always making sure I don’t fall off the path. To my publisher for simply being the one to say “I think this is a best seller”, you are Amazeballs. Finally, to the two people who remind me every day that no matter what happens, the world is a pretty perfect place: Puddlebutt and my Princ ess Peach.

1
It’ s Al l About Me
I think that it is best to start this story with an overview of the lead character. That would be me, Randi Michaels.
My parents thought I was going to be a boy due to a misread sonogram. I was to be named Randal after my grandfather. When I arrived with no man parts, and my parents hadn’t even considered a girl name, they shortened Randal and threw an ‘i’ a t the end.
It’s important that you know first and foremost that, in present day, I am not a model. The only thing about me that resembles a model-like quality is that I am six feet tall. I have been this height since I was twelve, which leant itself to an interesting middle and high school e xperience.
There isn’t a single thing wrong with a person being happy with who they are and how they look. I am proud of how I look and have no shame in fla unting it.
Confidence is a million times more important than appearance. If you spend your time thinking that you are not good enough, then that is how you will be perceived. So, my advice–realize that you are amazing and make sure everyone you meet knows it.
In the spirit of full disclosure, here are a few more of the details about what I see when I look in the mirror; I am well-endowed in the breast department, I have curves, and what I am told is an “Anna Nicole Smith Ass”, which one of my closest friends chooses to point out to me whenev er he can.
Although I wear the same size, twelve, as she did at the peak of her modeling career, I regret to tell you that I think he was speaking of her more plump years. You have to love your friends. I know I do.
Other minor details are that I am in my early thirties, I have hazel eyes, auburn hair that falls to between my shoulder blades, and light skin with small freckles. I am not a full red head or ginger, but my Irish descent shows. Did I mention my killer smile? Not to worry, I w ill later.
I think it is also a good idea for you to know where it is that I came from. I did not grow up being the popular cheerleader, or whatever stereotype would make you “the cool kid” in school. In fact, I grew up a bit of an outcast. I was a bookworm. I spent most of my youth being a nerd and hiding in school libraries. Since I was always taller than all the kids in my class until I hit high school, I tended to feel awkward in most social s ituations.
My first boyfriend was when I was starting my freshman year of high school at age fourteen. His name was Dan (or Daniel if you asked his mother). He was taller than me, had sandy blond hair that he wore spiky, brown eyes and he was on the football team. He was a junior, and since I was a freshman that was a big deal.
It is interesting when you’re younger that an age gap of a couple years is HUGE, and then in your twenties and now thirties it is more of an interesting tidbit than a defining point of a rel ationship.
Dan and I “went steady” for about three weeks. We never even kissed. I ended up breaking up with him when I found out that he was taking someone else to prom. Looking back, I think my decision to break up with a football player may have hurt instead of helped my high school career as far as popularity goes. Interesting that, even then, the merits you judge staying in a relationship for didn’t have anything to do with the relationsh ip itself.
Needless to say, I never ended up going to prom. On my twenty-eighth birthday I threw an 80’s prom-themed birthday party. A close friend decorated her house to be the Shermer High School gym (John Hughes fans will get the reference). It was the best prom I could have asked for. I was surrounded by my best friends, and I knew how to get lucky with my prom date in ways I would have never imagined as a teen.
My high school career started in a tiny town in the middle of Nowhereville Wisconsin. The total population of the town was about 2,700. The school had grades Pre-K through 12 th grade. I think my graduating class had about fifty people, which isn’t even enough to start a good riot.
Growing up in Hollywood, California made the move to that small town horrendous. We moved there, my mother said, because she wanted me to spend more time getting to know my relatives. All I can say is that a town that doesn’t even support a McDonalds is tragic.
I did make one friend during that time of adolescent torture, Beth. I met Beth because she was good friends with Missy, the unfortunate soul who was charged with showing the “new girl” around school. Since K-12 was all contained in one building, with one hallway for the high school class, I wondered what necessitated the t our guide.
Beth had ivory white skin and perfectly curly hair, which she dyed black. She wore black eyeliner and red lipstick every single day. She was the type of person who would probably look like she was sick if she didn’t have her m ake-up on.
Beth was coolest person at the school as far as I was concerned. Of course, that wasn’t the general consensus of the rest of our fifty classmates. We ended up being kindred spirits because she was also an outcast. As Beth put it one fine afternoon in detention, “I have a brain, I am sorry others r egret it.”
Beth was not meant for a town like that; she wasn’t able to have experiences someone like her needs. After all, what kind of life experiences can you have when the only “culture” is a 4H fair and a ro ller rink?
This was never more apparent to me than when I returned years later. I found she was the manager of the KFC in the next small town over. Beth told me about a novel she had written. To this day I hoped to God she was able to get it published and get the hell out of that place. There are people who are cut out for the small town life. Beth and I were not “those kind” of people.
One truth that followed me throughout my freshman year was that I was most definitely a virgin in every sense of the word. Beth was not. Neither was Missy for that matter, but they never judged me for it. I would see them at parties making friends, and I just wondered when I would find Mr. Right.
As a naive freshman, I wanted that perfect movie ending to my virginity. You know the one, where you expect the boy of your dreams to appear in your life and after a little back and forth you fall madly into a Romeo & Juliet kind of love? When you finally have sex for the first time together, and it i s perfect.
As an adult, you realize that Romeo & Juliet is just a short romance where six people died. This is possibly not the best goa l to have.
Being in a small town, where everyone knew each other, and being a weird outsider in every sense of the word, it wasn’t going to happen for me in that school or that town.
Don’t get me wrong, I had crushes. I remember a guy named PJ. I was madly in love with him for a good six months. Anyone who has a crush falls into two categories: “I am sure they know and everything I do shows it”, or “I just need the right moment and they will see I am the perfect person for them. I am their soul-mate.” I kept hoping he would see past my dorkyness and come up to me in the library, hand me a rose and ask me to the summer dance. This of course, never happened.
The closest I ever came to a dance with him was square-dancing lessons in gym class when the teacher paired us up. My hands were sweaty and clammy, and I co