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I've been lucky enough to have some wonderful men in my life and as a salute to you all I am writing these stories in hopes that you might recognize yourselves. We have lost touch and I have moved to a different city, but I still think about you and it makes me smile. You were great. Names have been changed where appropriate.

This is the first story and every bit of it is true. I may have told you about it if I knew you, but I hope that you were there.

I was about 20 years old when my grandfather died and I was struggling to make it through college. My mother suggested that I move in with my grandmother as it would keep her from being lonely and would save me living expenses while I went to school.

The house was in a secluded area of a major metropolitan city. It was a large granite home with many rooms and had been built by a wealthy architect in the early 1920's as a wedding gift for his daughter. The details spared nothing and it sat far in the woods unnoticed by the urban sprawl, which over time came to surround it.

Far in the back of the house was a horse stable that my grandfather had built when he bought the house in the early 1940's. At one time it had been home to two black stallions he had rescued from the race track. As a little girl, I spent hours at the stables playing with the horses and getting lost in my own time. Now, however, only the echoes of ...

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