Home of The Naughty Stories Series
M.T. Sands grew up in southern England. She ran away from school when she was sixteen and lost her virtue in a field in Burgundy, under the vines of Clos de Tart, to a mystical and long-haired young German who claimed to be able to divine the kabbalah from a rather weathered notebook which had H. H. inscribed in fading, gold leaf on the cover. For several days she followed him on her bicycle until she ate some Pierre che Rire cheese and realized she was being an absolute fool. Thereafter her career began.
The little fishing port of Sinus on the Sorrento coast still retains its Roman roots, but as no one has ever found any ruins there, it has never earned the mark of a tourist destination. Up a winding track, some several kilometres from Sinus is the Rustico. The Rustico is an old converted farmhouse, shaded …
As part of my Business Enterprise Allowance I was doing a day course in bookkeeping (not dependent upon obtaining the remittance, but I thought what could be more useful for a lady of enterprise). The lady who was conducting the course whose name was Nancy and possibly Williams was wearing a rather lovely pencil skirt, …
My earliest memories of cricket take me back to when I was at school. Unusually for a girls’ school we had a cricket team. One of the girls’ fathers, known to us as Roopey, had been a county player. Roopey was our sponsor and also our coach. Most of the time we played other local …
As a rule, I rather enjoy watching the cricket. I have always thought it a nice way to spend a summer afternoon. You can chat with friends, spice up a cucumber sandwich with a drink, and if you so choose, get merry. The ground was situated behind the Forelock Arms where the two marquee tents …
In the small cafes and bars along the Riviera they called him the Immigrant’s Friend, or simply the Helper. People often said of Pushkin that he was fearless, but the truth was of course that he lived in fear. It was fear that drove him on to take such extraordinary risks. And paranoia. Pushkin’s story …
I cannot imagine you as Felicia,” he said. “You’re Cleo.” “Are you always in the habit of redefining your female companions?” “If you must know, it’s your hair. Your hair is far more Cleo than Felicia.” She laughed. “Now you’re being silly.” “Sorry it’s a little bugbear of mine,” he said. “Underneath it all, however, …
The civil rights lawyer Diego Martino is often thought of as a dynamic and charismatic figure. He is always busy and pressed for time. “Time waits for no one,” he says. “One must not waste a moment of the day.” And yet Diego has a secret that perhaps only a handful of his closest friends …
“You will do as you’re told.” “No, I won’t.” Punishments sometimes stick in the memory in odd ways, as it did for Sylvia with the locked cupboard. When her mother finally opened the cupboard and burst into tears, Sylvia had been filled with a sense of power. Sylvia had only been five years old, but, …
When Angus went on his summer holidays, it usually took about three days before he began to pine for his home in Scotland. He loved the Mediterranean with its warm evenings, whispering pine trees and golden sands. He adored the terraces, the pink wine and the grilled fish. But it was not home. In fact, …
When Shona arrived in Paris in the early eighties, she set herself up as a teacher of mandarin. Being young and inexperienced, she advertised herself on the university notice boards as Madam Li. In time Madam Li’s would become a successful school, but in those early days, Shona lived very much hand to mouth, travelling …