To smell your sweet honey as it drips, and to once again play my fiddle through heavens gate. I imagine my fiddle playing in and out of you, coated in...your sweet honey.I wish to feel your legs squeeze tightly around my middle, and your fingers dig into the tense muscles of my back. To hear your soft moans growing as your short shoves come to a peak. Finally, to taste and feel your sweet lips on mine before sleep takes us once again.Eternally yours,Wendell*October 28th, 1860My Dearest Wendell,I. " Hmm. Right. You know how big Australia is. How long it takes to fly there when we go to visit your Grandmum and Granddad?" And Jacky and the nungungi, too." Yes. Well, long ago. Before there were any airplanes or cars or phones, different groups of people didn't know about other groups' stories. They didn't know how people in the north explained things; nor people in the south; nor folks in the Red Centre. But each group worked out a different explanation for how things came to be. Because. More

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