She loves the afterglow….that lull, when two bodies cease the great struggle towards the “Little Death”, when the pulse quietens. Loves to explore the unfamiliar territory of his face….to go beyond his eyes, touch his still wet lips with delicate fingertips…..trace the strong planes of cheek bones, the thick dark stubbled hair around his mouth and chin, and then all along the lithe, lean, length of him….every inch. To saturate herself in the strong male scent of him….intoxicating.

Lover, traveller….seeking, finding, the lovely unknown terrain of him…..and then returning to the pull of his gaze, his strong beautiful face, and finally at rest….looking back at him, into him. Those clear blue eyes, the soul of him.

Excerpt from Breaking Taboos….an Erotic Fantasy



the MORAG & ZOE stories,
Gulpa Creek Community

The Travellers life is one of constant movement, adjusting to all and any possible conditions. As we walked our Forest trails together…Gracie always ahead, bending to pick up fallen treasures….a gum leaf, blue green, with pink and scarlet and a scattering of spots, pointed tip curling. A shining dead beetle, jewel like, poked into her pocket, rabbit tail….white furred fluffiness, the leavings of a fox kill…..a dull spent bullet…
All were lifted, examined, displayed, discussed, pocketed or discarded. Then she would suddenly turn, look at me intently….gone was Gracie….she’d morphed in the turning swish of long hair and swirling skirts, fur edged boots, into Zoe.
“have you checked all the Panniers”??? I’d say, and not missing a beat….”The horses are ready….we’ve enough mushrooms and berries for tonight’s dinner….have you got any herbs”, she’d say.
“Parsley, some wild watercress and onions, and apples I collected from the little house we passed by, this morning”, and satisfied, she’d turn again, leading the way….tossing me a further enquiry over her shoulder.
“How far now till the next Village” and I would say……”Can you see the smoke from fires, way way off in the distance”, and point, to a far away place. “Ahhh, she’d say, smiling, satisfied…..only a few more miles, and we’ll be there…..the horses and mules need resting, the lead horse’s halter needs repairing, and I’d say….”We need meat…. Have we any gemstones left to Trade”???
Patting her pocket with a shrewd little smile, she’d declare there were still a few Turquoise left to spare……then I would catch up with her, take her small hand, smiling.
“Good, we’ll buy some rabbits to cook in our pot, did you remember to sharpen your knife??? We’ll eat well tonight, Rabbit Stew, with apple and berry pie”
Swinging hands together, before she slipped away, running free, we’d talk through the serious business of buying feed for our pack animals, safely tethering them close by our fire…..did we have enough warm blankets for the colder nights???
And away she would run, hair flying out behind, skirts swirling round her slender legs, feet clad in fur trimmed boots, disappearing through the dappled light, beneath the big old Gum Trees……running towards the Village fires, towards the night….

MA© Autumn 2018
To be Continued



PATHWAYS, the MORAG & ZOE stories,
Gulpa Creek Community.

From the time that she could stand, Gracie was a born walker…..not in the ordinary sense, but as a traveller. While other kids chilled out in lounge rooms watching tv, she was out with me….exploring everything that lived around, above and on the Forest floor.
Giant Goannas, so amazingly patterned and textured they seemed to have stepped straight out of an Aboriginal Painting….with huge claws for climbing trees and long tails lashing, they were impressive beasts, but we felt no fear of them….they just were there, alongside us. During a big flood, walking on top of an irrigation channel to avoid the vast floodwaters below Gracie said….”there’s a fox in the tree”. A typical adult response from me, “no darlin, it must be a red cat”, then turning a corner….there it was, a fox, sitting about 20 feet above the ground, surveying the flocks of Chestnut Teal paddling peacefully below. The fox had run up what I called a big old female Red Gum, with great swollen bulbous base, and huge branches low enough for bold Reynard to climb.
A wondrous sight.
Years later, a neighbour who lived across the paddocks from us, asked me….as I was leaving to go back to Melbourne, “would you please show me all the pathways, before you go???”
“What pathways” I asked her.
“The ones you and Grace walk every day”.
Feeling astonished, I told her ….”there are no marked pathways…..we simply go into the forest and make our own”
Having never left the main roads the cars used between houses and to the river…..she had no concept of walking into the forest and just exploring…..I wonder if she ever did, and understand now, what was completely natural to us, was daunting to others.

Now, back to MORAG & ZOE……with our team of pack animals, four horses and two mules, we pushed on South, walking into colder weather…..always negotiating ways to get by.
Once, worrying about dwindling supplies, I, Morag, said so, “Zoe gave me a “you with little faith” look, reminding me that our third pack horse carried enough hand-woven rugs and carpets to trade for all that we needed for the coming Winter.

MA© Autumn 2018
To be continued


The MORAG & ZOE Stories….
Gulpa Creek Community

As Grace is today, so Zoe was then.
Always a practical business woman, and myself having a passion for stories of travellers, especially those who walked through the world…..we would always find a way to get by…..somehow.
I would consider the need for some quality feed for the animals, the fact that our own food supply was running low, that we were moving south into colder weather and would need appropriate clothing.
Zoe always had a solution to every problem.

(in a former life I had sold crystals and gemstones at weekend markets, Grace would often come home with more money than me, selling off Barbie dolls or My Little Horses, and with an instinct for trade I was sorely lacking….a potential buyer, scanning our stall, would be about to move on, but Gracie Rose would say….”how much will you pay, I’m willing to barter”???) and so, back to our story.

I, Morag, might be concerned about lack of goods for our necessary trading….but in a blink, Zoe would remind me that she still had some Garnets and Turquoise in her pocket…..more than enough for purchasing all that we needed…..and skipping ahead, now deep into the shade of the Forest, long hair bouncing, skirts swirling, her pocket full of imaginary gemstones….we would walk on, into our Gypsy dreaming……

MA© Autumn 2018
To be continued


Gulpa Creek Community and the MORAG & ZOE stories, mid to late 1980’s….

I had never had much time for Fantasy until Gracie worked her charms on me… on the plains beside the Cobb Highway in two beautifully converted Railway Carriages, lying side by side connected by a small bridge which crossed a shaded interior garden, quietly nestled above acres of Red Gum forest leading to the river below, our days were often spent wandering in the Forest….making our own pathways as we went.
Already clothed like a pair of Gypsies, disappearing into the shelter of the huge old trees… her urging, we would slip off our former names and identities, so very easily.
“Let’s play that game” she would say…..and without further preamble I would say “all right, who do you want to be”….it was always the same answer, but I would ask the question anyway. “Zoe” she would say…..I was always Morag.
“How much food have we left before we reach the next village”? I would ask her??? And turning, always skipping ahead of me, she would say “I still have a Turkey leg in my pocket” (we never ate Turkey), and I would tell her I had just a little Cranberry Sauce.
So, as two travellers, walking beside our team of pack animals, Horses and Mules, we would stop to eat our simple meal, discussing and planning ahead.
“How is that last Mule’s leg” I would ask, and her reply….”not good, I think he’s going lame” and my response , “there is a man I’ve heard of in the Village where we’ll camp tonight….he’s very good with animals…..we’ll stay a few days until he’s properly healed” and she would turn, nod in agreement…..then skip lightly ahead, long soft wavy hair floating around her.

MA© Autumn 2018
To be continued.


MYRTLE FORD….Communal Living, Farming versus Animal Husbandry…..and the Horror of Ineptitude!!!
Three couples, one house, 36 acres of gods own country, a spread of well fenced paddocks set low beneath a range of rolling hills.
Most of the animals were mine, and I felt fiercely protective of them….despite discussions and arguments, I wasn’t willing to share….the original idea being that we should share EVERYTHING, including ourselves!!!
I was subversive from the beginning….my sheep were raised for wool, spinning and weaving, the goats for milking, the Angoras for their amazing silky fleeces (they had suddenly become the latest thing in farming), and the cattle….well, I’ve written about the heartache of raising and selling calves, but they were a “proper” farming investment, so I agreed to one young steer being selected to stock the freezer for our extended “family”.
Inverted commas because there was unrest, dissent and chaos from the beginning.
If we’d all had the wits to seek group counselling with a psychologist first….it would never have happened, yet more often than not, disasters make for interesting reading.
Michael, who had organised the killing, decided at the last moment to spend the weekend in Melbourne, so, the rest of us, including the four children were left to it. We hadn’t met the “professional” who had agreed to arrive in the early afternoon, so, we all spent the few hours beforehand, spreading out across the farm, and calmly herding the small group of cows, calves and Big Business (our Bull) into the sheep fold…..a beautifully constructed round yard, made of timber.
Once in, the gate was partially opened, the selected steer separated from the herd, then left quietly chewing on a biscuit of prime lucerne hay. He was quite calm as the herd stayed, grazing nearby.
The original intent, was a swift bullet to the head, as the young calf ate peacefully….a quick, humane death……
MA© Autumn 2018
to be continued
# a cowboy swaggers in
# blood and gore
# murderous emotions


MYRTLEFORD….the killing….
Bow legged, wearing high leather cowboy boots and hat, jeans with a massive ornate buckled belt…rifle over his shoulder.
Oh god!!! I was expecting an experienced farmer.
From the moment he leaned in against the round yard, squinting along the rifle….we should have known what was coming…… he looked like a second rate actor in a b-grade western.
The first shot ….into a calm animal, back turned to him, less than 10 feet away, went wide….entered the calf, hurting it badly and causing it to panic. Now all was pain, horror (me, beginning to feel stomach cramps coming on), but once hit, there was nothing any of us could do, but allow this nightmare to continue (to put the poor young calf out of it’s pain AND terror)
Nineteen shots later, the inside walls of the round yard splattered with blood, the calf lay dead.
A meat hook had been made, the men hoisted the carcass up onto it, to drain….covered it with a cloth bag.
Walking back to the killing ground…..there lay the calf’s severed head, eyes glazed over, staring sightlessly at the sky, resting in a spreading pool of blood, flies already feasting.
Michael arrived back from Melbourne to a wall of silence, as everyone packed the meat, he had butchered into sections….into the freezer.
What did I do…..I ran.
I fled with a Marijuana dealing Motorcyclist , a tall, rangy, Ieatherclad blonde bushman I fell in lust with….and kept running (actually riding), all the way to Nimbin….Rainbow Country…..smoking weed, eating brown rice and tofu, living the “Peace, Love and Good Vibes” lifestyle.
What else could I possibly do???
MA© Autumn 2018


I stood watching him

The breadth of his shoulders 

His beautiful, seductive, intelligent face 

The long, lean, muscled length 

And strength of him

He was the most compelling Man I had ever seen 

Leaving me helpless 

Melting my bones 

From that very first moment 

I….. wanted…..Him.

Spring, 2019


“Once upon a time, people were formally introduced to each other…..Not these days, we just have to fend for ourselves and hope for the best”

“Well then” he said, “I am introducing myself to you now. My name is Brian and you ???”

“Ahhhh, me?  I am Maggie, like the birds….

I saw you once, I mean, really SAW you, I wanted so much to speak with you”

“And now you are…we are”, he says smiling, and shakes my hand.

Strong warmth, straightforward. No limp fish there, I think to myself….good.


“WHAT IS IS ABOUT YOUNG MEN?”, her friend asks, the next day, over coffee.

She’s considered this subject so often, the answer comes easily.

“Apart from their youth and beauty, you mean?”

and her friend, “Yes, apart from that.”

“Ok, obviously this is a sweeping generalisation, but from my own personal experience, men of my era seem, at large, to be arrogant, patronising fools….they delight in either second guessing or belittling women. It takes all the little control I have, to not simply slap them.”

She’s suddenly back in the early years of marriage, sitting across a crowded dinner table with her ex husband.  She’s telling a story, everyone is laughing….then her husband interrupts, criticises her, foolishly. Tries to rob her of this small moment of humour , saying she has exaggerated.  It’s a subtle form of public humiliation, something he seems to revel in, does often, when a guest turns to him suddenly, saying, “we don’t care if she’s downright lying…..we LOVE her stories.”  Thinking about this scene so many years later.

“Young men aren’t threatened by women, they generally really like them. They have after all, been raised by women like us, feminists. Mostly, they regard us as equals, even tho we never will be, physically.”


Taken unawares, he’s suddenly standing there….that gorgeous pirate’s, face splitting smile. I feel caught off guard, completely vulnerable. He moves close, leans in. I can smell him.

“What is it you want from me?”

I try to look away, but I can feel him, feel him waiting.

“What do you have to offer,” I say, then he shifts, uncomfortable, perhaps embarrassed, and with nothing left to lose, I hold his gaze, speak the truth.

“Listen, I don’t care about the beautiful young girl I’ve seen you with.

I really don’t care….and if I do, well, it’s already too late. It was always too late”