Steven George no longer wished to slay a dragon. Still, the path lay directly before him, up the side of the smoking mountain. Neither the donkey nor ...he gypsy stirred as Steven started up the path. He carried nothing with him but his hat. The path wound as it rose from the desert floor and soon, Steven George was looking out across a marshy land where in the distance there ran a ribbon of water. On the far side of the water lay a village where people lived peaceful, happy lives because they. ” My dad was standing at the stove facing away from me when I enter the kitchen. He was wearing a black wife beater tank top with plaid red and black pajama pants that fit him perfectly. Though the smell of bacon is what dragged me down the stairs to begin with, it was the outline of his perfect ass in his pajama bottoms that really made my mouth water, along with other parts of my body. “Good morning,” my dad began as he turned around to face me. The look on his face once he caught sight of me. More

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