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Quote by Scott McGoldrick

“If you can't tell from my rap lyrics already, yes I am a feminist. And when I'm saying "hoe" or "bitch" I am actually referring to men. ...That sounded bad, in someway. But at the end of the day, I'm sick of rappers using "bitches" and "hoes" as terms towards women. Feminists are NOT a hate group. Feminists are not all female. Nor has it got an anti-male agenda. It's about equality! I've had a weird, special bond with women since I was a kid. And it's just a shame really that I'm gay.”

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Scott McGoldrick

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“From "Not For Ourselves Alone:" In Elizabeth Cady Stanton’s time: Women were barred by custom from the pulpit and professions Those who spoke in public were thought indecent Married women were prohibited from owning or inheriting property: in fact, wives were the property of their husbands, who were entitled by law to her wages and her body. Women were prohibited from signing contracts Women had no right to their children or even their clothing in a divorce Women were not allowed to serve on juries and most were considered incompetent to testify. Women were not allowed to VOTE.”

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“Before you go . . .” “Yes?” “I want to see you.” No. You don’t.” “I do.” She grinned. “I promise not to judge.” “It’s not your judging that concerns me. All humans judge. we don’t look like the other centaurs. We’re predators. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to scare me or seduce me.” She shrugged. “Whatever. I want to see.” Are you all right?” she finally asked when the silence went on and on. She wasn’t sure he was going to answer until he said, “I’m fine. Just . . . thinking about your response.” Caid shook his head, took several steps back. “I’m . . . I’m . . . walking away from you now.” “Will your sister show me?” “Stop talking to me,” he ordered as he walked away. “And stop staring at my ass.” “Just wondering how it looks with four legs.” He stopped. Faced her. “What?” “You know,” she admitted, “that sounded less . . . strange, in my head.” “Did it? Really?”

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“I'm showered and now wearing the dress Caro brought over---a peacock-blue chiffon number from this season's Madeleine Bouchard collection. Again, it's like it's made for me---a perfect fit. When I enter the kitchen, Charles is still in a foul mood, barking out orders to the staff. "Charles," I say. "Can you tone down the anger in your voice? We're all working together. Aren't we?" "We are," says Charles, looking up and taking in my presence. His hands fly to his heart. "Whoa, ooh-la-la. You look amazing. That shade of blue really brings out the color in your eyes.”

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“If Reggie had any idea of the horny-tinged-with-WTF confusion swirling through me, he showed no sign of it. He was staring as unabashedly at me as I was at him. Though I think his reasons for gaping at me were different. His eyes were all but glued to my dress's low neckline, and to the just-this-side-of-indecent way it hugged my curves. His gaze moved up to my face and then slid down, down, down, before landing, and staying, on my ass. How long had it been since a man had openly stared at me like this? Like I was someone he found desirable. Like I was something he wanted. I needed to tell him to knock it off, but I couldn't. It was wrong, he was a stranger, but it felt incredible, the way he was looking at me.”

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“He wasn't wearing a shirt. Alert, alert! August Hodges was not wearing a shirt. Her greedy eyes inhaled the wall of delicious flesh that defined his magnificent back. Muscles rippled in perfect synchronized motions as he lifted his arm. Scrumptious, delicious brown skin her lips and tongue longed to taste. Dampness instantly settled between her legs. She must have made a whimper full of intense hunger, or maybe he just sensed he was no longer alone--- and she was going to go with the second, less embarrassing option--- because he turned. Holy fuck! The front was better than the back. He was a professional athlete who took his fitness seriously (even though he owned a cupcake shop franchise), so she shouldn't be shocked by how fucking good he looked. But it was one thing to be intellectually aware of something and another to be confronted with it up close and personal. A quick perusal registered an eight-pack. A trail of hair bisected his abs and led to... She jerked her eyes upward. His eyebrows lifted. "Sloane?" His tone was amused. No doubt her tongue was hanging out her mouth like a dog eagerly tracking the bowl of water its parent carried. Dignity. She needed to find it, and soon. She lifted a hand as he reached for the teal Sugar Blitz polo on his desk. Let a mocking, flirty smile spread across her lips. "Please stop on my behalf." He shot her a look. "I do so appreciate being treated like a piece of meat." The finest, rarest cut of beef. Filet mignon.”

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