1. Island Fever 4: Paradise - Chapter 06


    Date: 3/31/2016, Categories: Diary, Female/Female, Male/Female, Romance, Author: JeremyDCP, Rating: 94.4, Source: sexstories.com

    mortified beyond any and all reason. It still appeared as if she just saw a ghost. What exactly was going through Pamela's mind at this particular moment in time? I really had no idea. She just sat there, literally frozen, with a blank, empty stare. Thus, Kristanna offered her hand to Pamela and simply said, "Let's go home." [The End of "Island Fever: Eternity", Chapter 2] -------------------------------------------------- (Now, I hand the pen over to Pamela. All of the following is written by her. She is going to explain what happened later that day, and the following morning - something I chose not to do when originally writing the story). -*- Monday, December 5, 2013 -*- -*- Nottingham, Maryland -*- Written by: Pamela I had a good shower cry. Ugly, hard and stinging, even though I did not get soap in my eyes. It was brutal. When the water heater gave out, I finally dried off, slipped on a tank-top and sleep pants and poured a glass (actually a vat) of orange juice before heading into my bedroom. I would have preferred something much stronger to drink, but it probably would not have been the best idea since I was just released from the hospital hours ago after a massive scare involving my heart. Frowning, I looked around the bedroom and sighed. I had lived in this penthouse apartment for nearly a decade now, the exorbitant rent and other expenses associated with having a place this nice never really an issue for me. It was worth it. This bedroom lent several memories to ...
    me. Watching old movies, reading countless books... and hours of reflection. The closet doors were sliding, full-length mirrors trimmed in brass. How many times had I stood in front of my own reflection and just contemplated my life and the events which led me to where I am in the present time? I did it again, walking over to the mirrored door, but quickly rolling it open and searching the floor for the plastic container I used to store what was once on the bookshelves. Spotting the box, I slid to the floor and took a deep drink of orange juice. I wished it was wine, or something stronger, before setting its glass on the nearby nightstand. I wanted to find my old high school yearbook. As I dug through pieces of my life packed into a bin, I refused to let the nostalgia get to me. They were things from my bookshelves, that is all. Not _me_. A tiara from homecoming, a framed picture of me in my cheerleading uniform, a dried corsage from prom, the program from the Miss Teen Maryland pageant... they were distant, ancient memories of a girl who, quite simply, no longer existed. She was long gone. I had no one to blame for that but myself. Oh, I may have took home $4,000 to $5,000 in cash per week from my job which allowed a penthouse such as this, but at what other cost? Being an exotic dancer for the past 12 years had burned and scarred me to what I felt was the point of no return. The endless putdowns and insults from nameless, faceless customers, the constant reminder that, as the ...
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