...are the only readable thing in the London Book Review.
But by gosh aren't they readable!
I have no idea if my advert will attract a mate, but I’m very drunk and don’t especially care at this moment. Woman, 43. Aylesbury.
box no. 16/04
The sweet smell of apples in the orchard carried on the warm, gentle breeze. A hushed moan, the curtains swish softly. Slowly my breasts come into focus. The goat bleats. The shackles tighten. And then the chanting starts again. Scary woman, 52, looking for a very specific type of ‘perfect Sunday’.
box no. 16/08
I dream of the day when I can make love to you all (red-haired women to 25) with reckless abandon. Man, 72.
box no. 16/11