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heyheydidjaknow · 2 days ago

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Two in a row! We’re back in business! We aren’t going for three in a row but I do want to at least acknowledge that Dazai exists if we’re doing the bsd thing now.

Kindling

You were supposed to be fun.

He remembered the day he met you in that coffee shop. He had an hour to kill before a meeting. The shop was dead— the local schools had not been let out yet— and you stood behind the counter, eyes flickering from the clock on the wall above the door to the textbook in front of you. He had never been there before. He never had much reason to bother around largely residential areas before then. He had never seen you before. But you were nice to look at, so he approached the counter.

He liked the look you gave him. Cold, annoyed, almost indignant, desperate in the overblown way students often are: it took you a moment to remember your manners. You must have been new in town. “How may I help you?”

“One black coffee, please.” He smiled politely.

You straightened yourself up, not bothering to hide the way your gaze flitted between him, your book, the clock. “How much sugar?”

He blinked. “I said—“

“You’re not a black coffee drinker,” you answered dismissively, clearly distracted. “I’ve served three guys today already who asked for black coffee and then asked for cream and sugar and— no offense, guy— I’m so not in the mood to waste more of my time.” You picked a pencil from between the pages of your book, grabbing a notepad from your apron. “So, how much sugar, and how much cream?”

“Do you know who I am?”

You paused at that, giving him a once over. “No,” you said. “Should I?”

He stuck his hands in his pockets, an easy smile crossing his bandaged face. “No,” he replied. “You shouldn’t.”

You tapped your foot against the ground. “Fascinating. So—“

“May I ask you a question?” He nodded at the book. “How come you’re studying so hard at this time of day? It’s not midterm season already, is it?”

You looked down at the floor. “No.” Your brow furrowed. “Why is this your business, exactly?”

“It’s not.” He shrugged. “I’m just curious.”

You swallowed. “Huh.” Regret. “I’m sorry for snapping at you; I’m in a bit of a rush to get this stuff done.”

“What sort of stuff?”

You held the pencil between your forefinger and thumb, rolling it back and forth between them. “I’m helping a friend with a project. I owe him one, and he’s in a different time zone so my part is due in a couple hours.”

He went on his toes, peering over the register to read the textbook’s text. “Forensic pathology,” he noted. “Is your friend a criminologist?”

You shook your head. “A writer,” you explained. “He needs a comprehensive explanation of how corpses rot, and I’m the only one he knows with an understanding of that sort of thing.” You pursed your lips. “What he doesn’t know is that I’m taking this class as an elective and that I also have no idea how a corpse rots. But I can’t tell him that, because then I’d be letting him down, and he’s put so much trust in me and helped me so many times—“

He stopped you. “That’s all?” He held his hands behind his back. “Well, that’s simple enough. Most anyone downtown can tell you that.” His smile brightened. “How about we make a deal? If you pay for my drink and promise that this won’t take…” He looked back at the clock. It was an hour off. He wondered if you knew. “If you promise it won’t take longer than forty-five minutes, I can give you all the grisly details of human decomposition, with added notes accounting for weather, location, and time of day.”

The look of hesitant relief on your face brought him a sense of satisfaction he had not felt in a long time. You took a deep breath. “Sir,” you nodded, “you have yourself a deal.”

“Call me Osamu.”

You were easy. That was what first drew him to you. You had no reason to lie to him, so you did not. You had no reason to respect him, so you treated him like anyone else. The two of you— at least on the slice-of-life flavored stage the two of you played on— were equals, which he appreciated. Not many people offered him that luxury. The ones who did tended to disappear in the night for one reason or another, but you had no reason to, so you did not. Your problems were largely emotional. You stayed out of trouble. You were consistent. You were simple.

More important than your being simple, however, was the fact that you thought of him as a liar.

He remembered the conversation well. It was a Thursday. He had a couple hours before he was scheduled to help his newest apprentice train. The coffee shop was as slow as it always was and you, as always, stood behind it with a casual dismissiveness that would have gotten you beaten were you in different company. You had been in town long enough to know of the mafia— about a month— but had not yet accepted all of the stories you heard as true. You were recounting one of those stories to him, weight leaned against the counter as you described an incident regarding a teenager with phantom black limbs that could, without his so much as lifting a finger, murder a building’s worth of people in an instant.

“It’s bullshit, obviously.” You took a sip from your water. “I don’t get what they’re trying to prove; if they wanted to scare me, they’d come up with a half-decent lie.”

He did not have to smile around you— to you, he was nobody— but he did regardless. You were fun. “I know him,” he said. “I tutor him.”

You scoffed. “Yeah? What do you tutor him in?”

“Martial arts.” He took a sip from his coffee, which was thoroughly diluted with copious amounts of sugar and cream. You were right; it was bitter. “He’s not very good. He keeps trying to think of himself as a hand-to-hand combatant when he’s much more suited for support and has such a large inferiority complex that he loses all sense of strategy in exchange for a slavish need to validate his existence. In other words, he is close to useless.”

And, of course, you groaned tiredly. “Why are you encouraging them?” you asked. “You already know I know it’s bullshit; what kick do you get out of me already knowing?”

“I’m not lying,” he insisted, knowing you would not believe him. “I’ve been with him on hits before; a couple months ago, we killed thirty people in cold blood.”

And you laughed half-heartedly— as you should; to any regular person who did not know about how many bodies they had hidden, these claims were beyond ridiculous— and said, “Well, I knew the man that trained you, and I know he has a small dick, so what do you think of that?”

“I’m just glad to know he isn’t a pedophile.”

“Shut up and drink your coffee.”

He wondered what you thought of him sometimes. For the first week or so, you asked him questions, but you learned quickly that he was never going to give you satisfactory answers. You probably thought he was an ass, but you still talked to him like you would a peer, so he kept showing up. You must have thought he was a dick. He was sure that he was by your standards.

Once, on a Sunday, he had to attend a funeral. He had some time to kill before, so he walked into the coffee shop, clad in clothes nicer than what was typical, and ordered.

You looked him over. “You got a date?”

“No,” he replied, cheerful. “I have a funeral in an hour.”

You set his cup in front of him. “Oh. For someone you know?”

“My boss,” he explained. “He died the other day so we’re doing a service.”

“Oh.” Your brow furrowed, sympathy making way for confusion. “I’m… I’m sorry, but did you like him?”

He shrugged. “He was alright.”

“How long were you under him?”

He considered it. “A couple years?”

“Oh.” You nodded. “So enough time for your nonchalance to be weird. Cool.”

He rolled his eyes. “Well, it’s not as if he were my father.” He leaned back in his seat. “He was bound to get shot eventually; I’m just surprised it took this long.”

“He was what?”

“Shot,” he repeated. “In his sleep.”

You lowered your voice, looking around the cafe like someone would come out to shoot the two of you. “What,” you mumbled, “like an assassination?”

He nodded, looking around courteously. “Exactly. But it’s alright; they won’t stick around too long, I’m sure.”

“How come?”

He leaned his head on his hand. “I don’t imagine whoever did it could get very far out of the city. People are upset that he’s dead; I’m sure someone will lash out.”

You crossed your arms, swallowing thickly. “You know most people don’t speak so casually about people getting shot or whatever.”

“Well,” he shrugged again, “it happens often enough. It’s not like being formal is going to bring him back from the dead; who cares?”

“Don’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Aren’t you…?” You searched for the right word. “… I don’t know, shaken? He was a coworker, wasn’t he?”

He took a sip from his coffee. “Yeah.”

“So, isn’t his death a bit shocking?”

“Not really.” He snapped his fingers. “Oh, actually, that’s a lie. It means I’m in line for a promotion, and I thought I’d have to wait for him to die of a heart attack for it, so I’m happy about that.”

You cradled your head in your hands. “I don’t think you get my meaning,” you insisted. “Do you not feel anything for his death?”

He set the mug down, meeting your eyes. “No,” he repeated. “I don’t.”

Your questions were simple. “Why?”

“Because,” he answered, “His death was inevitable and his life’s impact on mine was nearly nonexistent. All he did was give me orders; why would I care if he died?

You stared at him, meeting his cold, bottomless eyes with ones aflame with passion. “You sound like a serial killer,” you said.

His smile was as vacant as the rest of him. “I feel like one.”

You were fun until you were not. If asked to identify when your relationship— acquaintanceship, friendship, whatever you called it— stopped being fun, he would point to an otherwise inconspicuous Monday morning three weeks after the funeral. The two of you were splitting a cinnamon roll. It was your break and you got a discount and you had no desire to eat a whole one. You were talking about something silly— a friend of yours had broken up with your other friend— when you had stopped in the middle of a sentence to look out the window, seemingly distracted by something. Witnessing this development, he turned to look out the window too, only to see that the scene outside— an overcast sky, street populated by people rushing on their way to work— had not, in fact, changed since he last looked out the window. “What are you looking at?” he asked.

Your words were soft, eyes transfixed on the window. “I need to buy a decent camera,” you murmured. “Or write. Or paint.”

“You want to take a picture?” He looked out the window again. The scene was still the same. “Of what?”

“Leave me alone, Osamu.”

“I’m not messing with you,” he said. “I just have no idea what you could possibly be looking at.”

“Sure you aren’t.” You gestured with your fork, not looking in his direction. “You have a reputation. I refuse to indulge you in something you’ll clown on me for.”

He sighed. “You are being so over dramatic.”

You shot him a glare. “I told you my friend’s boyfriend got stabbed last week and you said, and I quote, ‘I wish I could say the same.’”

“Yeah, but that was a joke.”

“Jokes are supposed to be funny.”

He crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair. “It’s not my fault you have a lame sense of humor,” he protested. “Why won’t you tell me?”

You peeled your attention from the window. “You wanna know what I think?” You gave him a cold smile. “I think you’re so neurotically obsessed with knowing everything that whatever joy you’ll get from knowing will be totally outweighed by the amount of pleasure I get at getting to make you squirm for once.” You stuck your tongue out. “You’re the nihilist. Suffer under the weight of your ideals, dipshit.”

He raised his eyebrows at you. “Do you seriously think I can’t get you to tell me? Is this the hill you want to die on?”

“What if it is?” You crossed your arms, mimicking his pose. “What if it was really emotionally impactful to me? What if it was literally nothing and I’m just fucking with you? What, are you going to torture an answer out of me?” Your smile grew. “I get why you do this now; this is fun.”

He huffed. “You’re such a child.”

“No, you’re just easy to read.” You reached for your drink, cradling it to your chest. “Lenin gave himself a heart attack when he came to power, you know; it’s not healthy to obsess like that.”

He crossed his arms. “It was a stroke,” he grumbled. “He died of a stroke.”

“See, like that. You have issues.” You crossed your legs. “ Maybe it’d be good for you not to know.” You covered your mouth as he leaned forward and adopted an all too familiar smile. “And so help me if you try and seduce me into telling you what I saw so help me I will laugh you out of the room.”

His face soured. He stared you down, and you stared back, unphased, because why would you not? The two of you were equals as far as you were concerned; this was how you treated your peers, and despite the fact that the two of you barely knew each other in any meaningful way, you knew him enough to know what the rules of the game he was trying to play were even if you did not know what it was called. “I could kill you,” he said. “I know plenty of ways to do it. I know how to make it hurt, too.”

And you, knowing you had won, replied, “You could, but you won’t. Who would serve you your coffee?”

The two of you stared each other down one last time. Finally– and mercifully, he liked to think– he looked away. “You win.” He tossed his hands up. “That’s all my cards.”

Your smile softened at the edges. “Good.” You sat up. “I’m not going to tell you what I was looking at, but I can tell you how to see it, if you want. That way you get to know but you don’t get to be all smug.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waved you off. “Because I’m not allowed to win, right?”

“If I knew you weren’t going to try and rule-lawyer me, I would just tell you.”

“I spend too much time here.”

“You said it.” You set the fork and the cup down on the table. “Close your eyes.”

He groaned. “I am so not into meditation.”

“Is that backtalk I hear?”

“No, no,” he relented, closing his eyes. “I’m with it or whatever. Now what?”

Your voice lowered. “Breathe in.”

He inhaled.

“And out.”

He exhaled.

“Now,” you continued, “what do you hear?”

“You talking to me.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“You asked.”

You huffed. “I– look, besides me, what do you hear?”

He paused, considering it. “People outside,” he said. “And the air conditioning unit. And the milk steamer.”

“Good.” He heard you sit back in your seat again. “And physically, what do you feel?”

“Isn’t this a panic attack thing?”

“Answer my question.”

He considered it. “It’s cold in here.”

Your voice was soft. He wondered how exactly this place stayed in business for how quiet it was. “What do you taste?”

“For giving someone who was just talking about flirting–”

“I have a point. What do you taste?”

He meant to say, ‘My mouth.’ What came out was, “Cinnamon and icing.”

He heard you smile. “Good. Open your eyes.”

He did, blinking at the light. You were back to looking out the window; the scene had not changed.

You nodded towards it. “Now, look and tell me what you see.”

He looked between you and the window. “A tree,” he said. “And people.”

“Look at the tree, first.”

The tree itself was, by his estimation, the same sort of tree that could be found just about anywhere in this part of town. There were fewer as the years went on, he knew– there was some government initiative to get rid of the trees on the side streets– but the tree itself was unextraordinary. “It’s dead,” he noted.

Your eyes didn’t leave the window. “It’s overcast.” You sounded a million miles away. “The light from the sun is hitting it from the other side, so the side that we’re on is dull and dark. It’s casting a shadow on the table, on your face.”

He looked down at the table. Sure enough, in the low light, cold shadows laid across the table like faint veins.

“The people,” you continued. “What do you see in them?”

He shifted his attention to the passersby. “People going to work.”

“How are they dressed?”

“Warmly.”

“What color are their clothes?”

“Dark. Are we at the point yet?”

“Almost.” You took a breath of your own. “Now, take all of those things together, and look back out the window again.”

He did.

Nothing had changed. His heart caught in his throat.

“It’s more now, isn’t it?”

He looked back at you.

You witnessed that mundane scene with the seeming awe of an acolyte before their god. It was as though you had never seen a street or a tree or the sun before, as though you would never see it again.

With a horrifying ache in his chest, he realized that he had never seen anything quite so beautiful or enviable as you in that moment. “So,” he asked again, voice tinged with an entirely unbecoming and uncharacteristic reverence, “what are you looking at?”

“I’m not looking at anything,” you replied. “I just remembered how lucky I am to be alive, here, with you.”

He wondered if you would mourn for his indifference like he would.

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smallnico · 2 days ago

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i'm literally so flattered by this. i wish i'd come up with a more thought-out argument so i could properly fight your student. i can do the counterargument now if you'd like.

i'm not scared of generative ai. i'm genuinely concerned for the impact it'll have on the neurological development of young people if they become overexposed to the instant gratification of "bringing their ideas to life" and never practice or develop the skills and labour actually associated with creating something from nothing. it means that if the ai gives you dogshit (and it will), you don't have the ability to fix it, because you're so alienated from the process of creating (writing an essay, drawing a picture, organizing a playlist, composing a song, listening to and analyzing and summarizing the art you're examining) that you don't know what isn't working or how to make it work correctly. if you don't learn how to analyze, if you don't train your brain to do these things, they don't stop needing to be done. you will be dependant on ai, or on others to do these things for you. others, you can sometimes trust, but it really helps to be able to really grok the difference between a grifter, an ignorant person, and a person who knows what they're talking about -- and again, the more you alienate yourself from the construction of their arguments, the less you are able to take them apart and see what isn't adding up. and ai is dogshit, frequently incorrect and incapable of doing the small calculus the human brain can do (if you train it to) to tell the difference between quality of sources and reliability of data, so it should never be trusted, period.

the only part of this "new technology" that i'm scared of is based on a history of ideas that i have actually studied. historically, the more we alienate ourselves from the process of labour, the less we are able to grasp it as a reality, and the more people are able to use that fact to exploit us. if you look at, say, the paper coffee cup on your desk, really look at it. where did that come from? it didn't spring fully formed from someone's imagination. someone had to design the shape of that cup, engineer it so it could contain a hot beverage and keep it hot, come up with the sleeve to make sure the drinker could actually hold it, but there's even more to it than that. someone had to make the cup. someone had to source the paper (or the compound) for the body, the material for the lid, the glue that holds it together. someone had to harvest those materials, in whichever country they were sourced, and someone had to package them and transport them to the company responsible for assembling the cup. someone designed the logo and the pattern on the outside, and someone is monitoring the machine that prints those images on the cup. someone will be responsible for picking up the waste and transporting it to a recycling plant, or to the landfill where it'll end up. let's not even start on the drink inside it. farming, harvesting, shipping, receiving, assembling, serving. it takes time to manifest something, and you are in a position of immense privilege to not have to think about where it all comes from on a regular basis. but what happens when the supply lines get shut down? what happens when there's a failure of irrigation or something in the paper mill and the glue holding the paper together doesn't work? do you know? i don't, personally. but there is someone along the line whose job it is to know, and i appreciate the work they (probably aren't paid enough to) do so that i can grab a coffee on my way into my own work. i have to appreciate it because i know that if the process goes wrong somewhere, i have no fucking idea what to do about the problem.

but i'm not pretending to know. i'm not applying for a job at the papermill to work for pennies instead of someone who does know the perfect chemical makeup of coffee cup cardboard because i can order a ton of coffee cups online from amazon in bulk. that's why generative ai offends me. the work that goes into creating art and writing still has to be done, because all generative ai knows how to do is steal, and it doesn't steal like an artist. artists look at the works of others and think, oh, i see how they did that, i want to try doing that, and then they can, because they learned how to appreciate the process. they've actually worked, and practiced, and spent time engaging with the process step by step to create something they find pleasing. generative ai looks at art and spits out a copy by comparing one image to another and assuming based on Uncredited Data that sometimes, pictures have hands in them, and hands sort of look like this. and the computer doesn't have a goddamn clue how many fingers the hand has, or how to translate that data into a visual. you know what does? the human brain. you know what you can do instead of bemoaning that you, a high school junior, can't produce a rembrandt on your first try? you can actually try drawing something.

you can actually try to turn your ideas into a drawing. you can do research into how to make it look the way you want it to. who knows? you might actually have fun doing it. because the creative process can be fun! it isn't for everyone, but unless you actually sit down and try, you won't find out, and if it's not for you, you'll never grasp on that physical experiential level that the creative process is actually a lot of fucking work, and we should respect artists for being able to sit down and do it so we don't have to, same as we respect the farmers who grow our food or the plant workers who mix the slurry that becomes our coffee cup cardboard.

i'm not scared of spotify for pushing ai bullshit down my throat. more than anything, i'm kind of offended, because i do put a lot of work into my playlists, and i have a lot of fun doing it, because i like listening to music and analyzing lyrics and relating the themes of songs to my little characters. i took it so personally because i Want to be involved in the process. i'm paying spotify a lot of my real adult money to have access to music and the tools i can use to entertain this pastime of mine, and it's kind of fucked up that they're raising their monthly fee to fund a tool that makes me, the user of their product, motivated to use their product less. insulting, even. why should i pay more for a computer to do a worse job than me at Having Fun? making a playlist isn't even that fucking hard.

i'm just tired. stuff takes work to make. it takes care and time and effort to create something from nothing, and a lot of the time, the process is necessary to make the thing good, because it forces you to take the time you need to spot and fix mistakes. i hope by now that it's self-explanatory why i don't want an entire society run by a dipshit program that doesn't know how to do what it's doing and doesn't know how to solve the problems it creates faster than human hands could ever manage, and i hope the dipshit machine and the grifters who push it are inextricable from each other in the minds of anyone who's read this whole post. i don't want them to run society either, because they Know that generative ai sucks and can't do anything right, and they're still trying to tack it on to everything to devalue the labour of artists and make a quick buck for themselves.

the best quote i've ever seen about generative ai is "why should i bother reading something nobody bothered to write".

we are a social species. alienation from labour alienates us from each other, from our communities, and makes us feel alone. when we're alone, we're vulnerable down to our core psychology, and there are a lot of people out there who know better who want to take advantage of vulnerable people to manipulate society at large. they want to make money off of your suffering. they want to reduce you to a number for their own convenience so they can use the One Life You Have On Earth to play their own personal tycoon game and get a slightly higher score. they want you to spend less time having fun, creating art, spending time with your family, thinking about what they're Doing to you, so you don't ruin their good time. i'm not scared because it's new, i'm pissed because it's the same old late capitalist shit i've already been dealing with, and i'm sick of seeing it everywhere because it stands a very real chance of turning everyone's brains to even more detached-from-reality mush than late-stage capitalism already has already.

And, on top of all of that, spotify's algorithm sucks shit already, so why on earth would i want it to make my playlists for me. the other day i saw it put zombie by the cranberries on a halloween playlist. she doesn't know dickety shit about my ideas or vibes or anything. so

no, spotify, i don't want to use ai to "turn my ideas into playlists". i already fucking do that with my brain and hands and i do it for fun. what, should i get ai to pet my cat for me? to play my silly games for me? to spend time with my beautiful wife for me? how about i rend you asunder

#loquor #seems ironic considering how i started the post but i'm really not looking to fight with anyone about this #i'm just worried for people. i'm worried for myself #long post

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shredsandpatches · 6 months ago

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I keep meaning to do another set of these only with academic tweets, but I think the academic tweets would be funnier with pics of the Marlowe version and I am too lazy to make screencaps (the vast majority of images out there are gifs and idk how to paste things on gifs).

Anyway, here's one that definitely works better in the Goetheverse.

#the goetheverse encompasses the operatic versions that are based on him which is nearly all of them #hot faust summer #la damnation de faust #look i get WHY mad scientist stories use faust as a template #there's a lot to say about that especially in the marlowe version #I taught a course on science fiction in grad school and had doctor faustus as the first thing on the syllabus #(my students did not appreciate this at all)#i still stand by faust being fundamentally a mad humanist 😉

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lady-dulcinea · 6 months ago

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Jessica De Gouw as Mina Murray from the 2013 NBC series Dracula

#For those who do not know: this show is NOT in ANY WAY loyal to the source material #Once again Dracula is depicted as 'tormented' and 'sexy' and now also a 'genius'#(Aaaaarrrrggghhh)#but it's not exclusive to him! Everyone gets their own character assassination.#And what they did to Lucy... I have no words #The one silver lining I managed to find was that Mina is given things to do other than pine for an awful man #She's Van Helsing's student - which is already a premisse taken directly from my dreams!#I hope some day a good series does this so I can forget about this trashfire #And... I mean #the day I don't appreciate Mina cutting up a body just assume I'm dead #Seeing her happy with her accomplishments and proving all the men wrong made me smile #It was the one thing keeping me up from the coma everything else put me through #Wilhelmina Murray #Mina Murray #Mina Harker #Jessica De Gouw #Dracula (2013)#NBC Dracula #Dracula #May 9th #Dracula Daily #Dracula Daily 2024

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crowempress · 2 months ago

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FAMILIES IN NEED OF FUNDS 🍉

Here are some fundraisers that have reached out to me in the past few days. Please boost and if you are able to donate, please send even a few dollars to one of the campaigns below. Small contributions from many people will make change!

Some of these are not yet vetted, but are very likely legitimate, please boost in hopes we can get these families vetted so their campaigns can pick up more traction!

Basic Necessities for Ola's Family to Live $42,772 USD / $50,000 Fundraiser Post (Vetted, Line 205)

Help Mohammed and his Family Escape War $4,034 USD / $35,000, Fundraiser Post (In process of being vetted, digital footprint is legitimate)

Help Najah Provide for her Children 965 € / 80,000 €, Fundraiser Post (Not yet vetted, but reverse image search is clear and donations are protected)

Help Evacuate Abod's Family 25 € / 49,200 € Fundraiser Post (Not yet vetted, but reverse image search appears to be clean and donations are protected)

Provide Medical and Basic Needs for Mohammed 297 € / 10.000 € Fundraiser Post (Not yet vetted, reverse image search clear, and donations protected)

Help Khalid's Sisters Escape Homelessness $1,440 USD / $15,000 Fundraiser Post (Vetted)

Help Ali Evacuate His Family €613 / €70,000 Fundraiser Post (Not yet vetted, reverse image search is clear, and donations are protected)

Help Hazem's Family Escape War €5,424 / €50,000 Fundraiser Post (Vetted)

#free palestine #save palestine #palestine fundraiser #i did what research i could for those that havent been verified yet. please correct me if necessary #just keep in mind i am not palestinian and cannot verify any of these myself #thank you to everyone who reached out. i promise i read everyones story and message and i hope with all my heart this will bring some help #i thought making this into one would have the best shot of gaining some traction #ill try and keep updated on the verification status myself but do feel free to tell me any updates!#i will do my very best but I am a struggling student who works atm. so all help is appreciated!

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gunclemarkrb · 1 day ago

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I have always enjoyed my very, very good boys, my favorites, when they would visit often. Especially this BOY, or young man.

MY BOYS and I, their DOC, always felt completely comfortable being nude together.

I'm a NUDIST in my private residence, my home, and on its very private property.

So, for me and every guest, especially my boys, to be comfortable in my home,

My only mandatory rule is that every guest MUST ALSO BE COMPLETELY NAKED.

NO EXCEPTIONS

Which made me appreciate them even more. They also had no issue with STEVE (and his enormous dangling flaccid 🍆)

as he walked thru the house, although they did take notice of his monster,

BC, I saw their 👀, they would quite literally stare with their eyes "bugging" out, whenever they saw him.

AS DID I, even though I'VE SEEN IT A THOUSAND TIMES and have had the pleasure of orally massaging STEVE'S ("BIG DADDY" to me),

big extra, extra thick 🍄🍆🍒. I ALWAYS ENJOYED how his thick flaccid 🍆 and huge 🍒 were always dangling and bounced around as he walked.

It always made me rock hard and OOZING PRECUMM more than usual ...

... another reason why leather furniture was the best choice to furnish my home with.

The boys were almost always swimming in the heated pool, out back. Even tho they had access to the college's pool (when not in use by the swim and dive teams)

When they would come inside, they would usually lay on the carpeted floor, as it was quite plush and sometimes on their towels too.

They often walked around the house sporting rock-hard, erections, but we, STEVE and I, did sometimes as well.

And to every boy (student), it was just as natural as could be. After all, DOC and STEVE showered with the boys.

Besides, boys (18+), guys, and men were always naked in every male locker room on earth.

There never seemed to be any sexual tension. However, after they got up to get themselves a beverage, later in the evening,

instead of laying back on the floor, MY BOYS, they would always cuddle up to ME and STEVE while we laid on 2 of the 3 leather sofas. ...

It was very natural and never sexual for us to cuddle with our boys, those who visited us in my private home till late, and spent the night ...

STEVE, enjoyed cuddles, as did I, especially with the boys.

I've Trusted STEVE WITH MY LIFE, for about 8 years, as well with all my boys's lives.

(and my husband's life, (RIP), as he was my husband's caretaker as well as chief of security, and a licensed massage professional), as I ran the resort, and everything that encompassed.

I understand that certain individuals in society would immediately believe this wasn't normal.

But if ur intelligent and it doesn't take much,

(common sense definitely doesn't grow in everyone's garden)

and not a bigot nor racist nor judgemental as it pertains to certain lifestyles and the LGBTQ+ community - one would realize it is completely normal and natural.

Being a nudist has nothing to do with sex or anything sexual and 💯% legal.

and I've lived that lifestyle for a few decades. It's completely the norm for us and our boys, as they are all GAY too.

This boy, MATTY, now a sophemore (and 20 yrs. old), has a deep connection to me. I've known him since he was a freshman. He's now in his 2nd year.

He's had a "demented and disturbing" home life with his family, especially his Dad and oldest brother.

I believe he looks up to me as a "father figure" (not like his dad).

I'm apparently the closest thing "to a normal father" he's ever had, to being a father, or rather a father figure, like his childhood friends and their dads.

His Mom and Uncle have been his strength, thru copious amounts of therapy for many years growing up thru his teen years.

His doctors, Mom and her brother, Matty's uncle, believe he can accomplish 4 years at college. At least the academics.

However, he may need to be at the college longer than 4 years.

The board, myself, and Matty's entire support team agreed to discuss that when the time comes, 4 years from now.

He did not come to our college for atheletics. A first for our college. He is here because (as i was told, he needed therapy, advice, and a nurturing life while being at a more controlled location).

His situation was brought to my attention by several personal associates (one in particular).

Saying they had a unique situation with a particular boy who suffered from child abuse beginning a decade ago,

at the hands of his own Dad and older brother, 6 years Matty's senior. (as it lasted half his life). see ***

So I brought it up with the DEAN and the entire BOARD, which I was one of the BOARD.

I was honored that my fellow professional medical circle, all personal friends as well,

also mostly GAY men + women, with some str8 doctors)

said I was not only the most qualified, but I was the only person who could help this boy, in their professional and personal opinions.

*** as he was tortured by his Dad and eldest brother. As the abuse started bc Matty, at age 8, told his family that he was Gay.

During the video conference, the BOARD mentioned they had previously been notified of the situation,

by Matty's doctors and his Mom and his uncle.

They also said they agreed 💯, that if anyone could successfully mentor Matty, that they too believed it was ME.

Also, telling Matty's support circle of doctors, his Mom, and his uncle that they fully supported me to do this task, but I, DOC, had to make my own decision on the matter.

I made it abundantly clear, how honored I was at (all involved), and everyone's professional and personal decisions, for me to be "Matty's Miracle Mentor," as one doctor put it .

He would attend the college without any atheletic training as it was more about Matty's well-being.

I immediately accepted this challenge and said Thank you to allow me to help save this boy's life" In any and every way possible.

I asked if the family had the financial resources to send him here.

The BOARD and the DEAN, also a board member, said the college waived ALL tuition costs. Every penny.

It was about saving a boy's life, so he could live "as a normal a life as possible,"

and it took literally seconds for a UNANIMOUS decision by the BOARD, pending your answer to accomplish this task.

DOC, you need to know one more thing ... We spoke with every student enrolled at the college, without you being aware, and they all agreed that you were Matty's only hope.

We are extremely proud of everything you have accomplished as well as everything re: ALL YOU DO, to mentor our students, since ur short employment with us

Morale at this school is at an all-time high that we never imagined.

We also need you to know you have more support from every student as well, and they will help Matty in any way they can, without mentioning anything to Matty.

Every student LOVES and RESPECTS you more than you could ever have imagined, and they are all out in the QUAD awaiting ur decision.

So when u leave the office, you may need to make a speech.

continued... see Matty part 2

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