#1990s cologne

[y2kbeautyandother2000sstuff]

Bonne Bell Peach Blossom and Berry Blossom Cologne Spritzer Tester

1990s

Found on Ebay, user numiandphil

[goshyesvintageads]

Coty Inc, 1990

[germanpostwarmodern]

Deutsches Sport- und Olympiamuseum (1999) in Cologne, Germany, by Walter von Lom

[thatwritererinoriordan]

'90s cologne-inspired candles

[affiches-concerts]

Madonna, Cologne, Germany, 1990.

[ohsalome]

Ivan and Phoebe by Oksana Lutsyshyna

Ivan and Phoebe is a novel about a revolution of consciousness triggered by very different events, both global and personal. This is a book about the choices we make, even if we decide to just go with the flow of life. It is about cruelty, guilt, love, passion – about many things, and most importantly, about Ukraine of the recent past, despite or because of which it has become what it is today.

The story told in Oksana Lutsyshyna’s novel Ivan and Phoebe is set during a critical period – the 1990s. In the three decades that have passed since gaining independence, Ukraine has experienced many socio-political, economic, and cultural changes that have yet to be fully expressed. The Revolution of Dignity in 2014 marked a pivotal moment in the country’s history, as it signaled a shift towards European integration and a strong desire to distance itself from Moscow. Prior to this, Ukrainian culture had remained overshadowed by Russian influence, struggled to compete for an audience and was consequently constrained in exploring vital issues.

77 days of February. Living and dying in Ukraine

"77 Days," is a compelling anthology by contributors to Reporters, a Ukrainian platform for longform journalism. The book, published in English as both an e-book and an audiobook by Scribe Originals.

"77 Days'' offers a tapestry of styles and experiences from over a dozen contributors, making it a complex work to define. It includes narratives about those who stayed put as the Russians advanced, and the horror they encountered, like Zoya Kramchenko’s defiant "Kherson is Ukraine," Vira Kuryko’s somber "Ten Days in Chernihiv," and Inna Adruh’s wry "I Can’t Leave – I’ve Got Twenty Cats." The collection also explores the ordeal of fleeing, as in Kateryna Babkina’s stark "Surviving Teleportation '' and "There Were Four People There. Only the Mother Survived." 

It also highlights tales of Ukrainians who created safe havens amidst the turmoil, such as Olga Omelyanchuk’s "Hippo and the Team," about zookeepers safeguarding animals in an occupied private zoo near Kyiv, and one of Paplauskaite’s three pieces, "Les Kurbas Theater Military Hostel," depicting an historic Lviv theater turned shelter for the displaced, including the writer/editor herself.

In the Eye of the Storm. Modernism in Ukraine 1900’s – 1930’s

This book was inspired by the exhibition of the same name that took place in Madrid, at the Museo Nacional Thyssen-Bornemisza, and is currently at the Museum Ludwig, located in Cologne, Germany. 

Rather than being a traditional catalogue, the publishers and authors took a more ambitious approach. Rather than merely publishing several texts and works from the exhibition, they choose to showcase the history of the Ukrainian avant-garde in its entirety – from the first avant-garde exhibition in Kyiv to the eventual destruction of works and their relegation to the "special funds" of museums, where they were hidden from public view.

These texts explain Ukrainian context to those who may have just learned about the distinction between Ukrainian and Russian art. Those "similarities" are also a product of colonization. It was achieved not only through the physical elimination of artists or Russification – artists were also often forced to emigrate abroad for political or personal reasons. Under the totalitarian regime, discussing or remembering these artists was forbidden. Archives and cultural property were also destroyed or taken to Russia.

"The Yellow Butterfly" by Oleksandr Shatokhin 

"The Yellow Butterfly" is poised to become another prominent Ukrainian book on the themes of war and hope. It has been listed among the top 100 best picture books of 2023, according to the international art platform dPICTUS.

The book was crafted amidst the ongoing invasion. Oleksandr and his family witnessed columns of occupiers, destroyed buildings, and charred civilian cars. Shatokhin describes the book’s creation as a form of therapy, a way to cope with the horrors. "During this time my vision became clearer about what I wanted to create – a silent book about hope, victory, the transition from darkness to light, something symbolic," he explains.

Although "The Yellow Butterfly" is a wordless book, today its message resonates with readers across the globe.

A Crash Course in Molotov Cocktails by Halyna Kruk

A Crash Course in Molotov Cocktails is a bilingual poetry book (Ukrainian and English) about war, written between 2013 and 2022, based on Halyna’s experience as an author, volunteer, wife of a military man and witness to conflict. 

The Ukrainian-speaking audience is well-acquainted with Halyna Kruk – a poet, prose author and literature historian. Kruk is increasingly active on the international stage, with her poetry featured in numerous anthologies across various languages, including Italian, French, Swedish, Norwegian, Portuguese, Spanish, Polish, English, German, Lithuanian, Georgian and Vietnamese. 

For an English-speaking audience, her poetry unveils a realm of intense and delicate experiences, both in the midst of disaster and in the anticipation of it. The poems are succinct, direct, and highly specific, often depicting real-life events and individuals engaged in combat, mourning, and upholding their right to freedom.

[spiralinghours]

“I’ll Be Seeing You” (1/?)

Fandom: Saw franchise

Characters/Pairing: Mark Hoffman x Peter Strahm

Rating: PG-13? (for this installment at least)

Tags/Warnings: mild violence/blood mention, allusions to Strahm being a chubby chaser, and good ol’ 1990’s internalized homophobia

Summary: The Jigsaw case wasn’t the first time Hoffman and Strahm met. When they were tasked on an assignment in 1992 they got to know each other, but the lines between professional and personal started to blur…

Author’s Notes: Sorry if the grammar and wording is off, may go in and tighten it at some point.

2006

The creeping feeling was there, all the way on the ride from their field office up to the tip of the stairwell leading into the scene the Metropolitan PD was checking out. Peter Strahm knew he would be on the case. He just wasn’t sure how long it would be until they crossed paths.

And then there it was.

Perez was halfway through stating her title before Strahm even noticed who she was addressing.

“Detective Hoffman?”

God, he was just Officer Hoffman back then. Before. It was weird seeing him out of the starched, black uniform.

There was some chatter about Allison Kerry being their liaison and the information she had provided, but it bounced off Strahm, who was not at all absorbing the words. He just kept staring. ‘Fuck. This guy.’ Or more like Fuck this guy!

Strahm’s eyes scrunched and narrowed as he gave an annoyed exhale, which was saying a lot as his disposition was in a perpetual state of fixed glaring—wrinkles under his tear ducts crinkling and cutting across to his cheekbones. The surrounding officers milling about were probably wondering why he was leering, what his problem was. Perez, after all, had introduced themselves so courteously.

Detective Mark Hoffman’s face, meanwhile, had an equally curious slant. His eyes rolled up and down Peter’s physique, awestruck and indiscreet about it. He quickly resumed some semblance of a dignified, unfazed stance.

Despite taking in the physical differences that hadn’t quite sunken in (Hoffman’s field vest wasn’t quite covering all if his chubbier midsection the way it once did, and his hair was pushed to one side like a typical desk jockey), all Strahm’s vision could muster was a screen of the past overlaying the current space.

He remembered that night in front of the tavern…

AUGUST 1992

It started as a celebratory night with the majority of the precinct reveling at the nearby tavern—a regular spot for most of their off-the-clock activity. On this evening they were giving the metaphorical sigh of relief over closing the case on a killer that had been plaguing the city and surrounding areas for little over a year.

The FBI had been brought in, assigning a handful of agents from the nearest field location to assist in the efforts. One of them was Peter Strahm, all of 28-years-old and green in Bureau. It was only evident in his appearance—on-edge demeanor, mullet slick in the front but slightly unruly in back, button up a little long on the arms—that he was new. It was his intense cold gaze and to-the-point tactics that got him taken seriously and carried him far. Far enough to earn his shots at the Metropolitan law enforcement’s party.

Most of those wince-inducing whiskey shots were taken while glancing curiously across the bar at Officer Mark Hoffman. Marcus, the front desk’s woman had often doted on him with a little smile. Deservedly so, Strahm agreed. Mark’s brand of handsome was a blank smoldering model in a cologne ad. A tanned, blue-eyed shyness in some kind of sporting backdrop in a department store. But when his features were pried with a stupid joke or some out of pocket comment by a senior figure, he cackled a silly laugh, prominent nose scrunched, crooked, gapped smile on display.

It made Peter sigh, which sent him into a mild fit over feeling like a school girl.

Mark was only a couple of years younger than Peter, but had a good few years in the force on his side, which was what paired them up most times on the case. It meant hours turning into days in casing out places, taking turns driving from diner to drive thru just to stay awake with bland coffee. Some nights got more interesting than others, but each day they were tasked together was a new canvas.

Now that they were at the end of the line, Peter would resume business as usual at his office, maybe even have time to go back to Nevada for a while. Which seemed nice, except… something felt left undone. Unsaid.

He pushed his emptied tumbler to the edge of the bar and casually glided over to Mark’s barstool.

“Smoke?” he offered.

Mark’s glassy eyes did a little up-down over Peter’s taller form before sliding off to the back hallway that lead to the parking lot.

“Hey,” Mark paused, stopping their tracks in front of the restroom door. “I appreciate the help you’ve brought on the case.”

“Oh, knock it off,” Peter chuckled with a heavy-browed eye roll. “We did all the thank you’s already. We’re getting drunk now.”

“Yeah, okay,” Mark shot back, working his lips into a sassy curl. “I was just trying to be nice.” He craned his head slightly forward, more as a punctuation to his rising sarcasm.

But Peter wasn’t laughing anymore. His face had dropped into something else, eyes dark and fluttering. Mark’s brows knitted into a mixture of intrigue and confusion, not breaking his stare.

Bam, bam, bam. One thing after another. Strahm occupied one palm against Hoffman’s chest, and the other clenching his uniform tie in his fist. With the motion their faces collided, some teeth cutting against lips and tongues. It pushed them into the restroom behind them, so blurred and intense that no one else had noticed.

Against the sticky floor tiles within, Mark tumbled onto his butt, gaze still transfixed with confusion on Peter. He darted out and into the lot before Peter could even offer him a hand up.

Outside in the dewey summer, Strahm darted after Hoffman, calling out “Hey! HEY!”

Mark ceased his stamping off and settled into place, squared up like a statue. “I’m not a fuckin’ queer.” His Jersey

drawl dripped out, lazy but threatening. Though on the defense, his words spilled out like a plea. Please, don’t tell the guys at the station. Don’t get me kicked off the force. Please don’t find me disgusting.

“Neither am I!” Peter lied without quite realizing. “Not that it matters. Just… I dunno. I like this. I like you.”

When Mark wouldn’t respond to the acknowledgment out loud, blue eyes drifting off sharp in the velvet shade of night, Peter pressed on.

“We kissed.”

“No, you kissed me!” Mark spat, face screwing up in a betraying twist. He was blushing. No, fuming. Peter knew exactly what he was masking. Because this wasn’t their first encounter of that sort.

“Fine. You know what? Fuck you. Try not to bite the curb when you’re drunkenly getting back to your patrol car. Fucking lush.” ‘You can’t even kiss me without getting drunk,’ Peter wanted to follow up with. But he had turned, resisting a glance back, only remembering the times before. Those times were a long different: alone in the car, behind a motel, at a gas pump somewhere deserted…

He didn’t want to leave Mark behind. He wanted a next time. Another time to see his goofy smile, his puppy-ish eyes.

It wasn’t meant to be.

Uncoordinated scuttling—rubber soles on crumbling tar—echoed in the lot. “Hey, don’t talk to me like that,” Mark called behind, anger cracking through his tone, deep from in his chest.

Peter tilted his glare so slightly over his shoulder, instantly meeting a dull, radiating impact.

Mark wrung his fist out as it recoiled from Peter’s cheek: minimally bruised, but marked with a ghastly-bright splatter across his knuckles. “That’s what you get,” he choked out.

Without a beat, Strahm was on him, writhing somewhat weakly over the officer on the pavement while still reeling from the punch. He tried throwing all the force he could behind rapid hits, but missed or occasionally caught some awkward angle on Mark.

In a blind reach, Mark went to grab whatever he could to regain some stability, hoping to dig his fingers into Peter’s shoulders. Instead his fingernails caught tacky, humid flesh with a hard impact, raking down a thin trail of blood.

“Fuuuuck!” Peter rasped, pausing to dab the pads of his fingers along a cut on his orbital bone. Thick red seeped alongside his nose, down his cheek.

Mark could feel his own face desperately tense with regret.

The last thing he would ever see of Peter Strahm was the visage of him sat atop his thighs and a tightly wound fist heading between his eyes.

2006

Peter pressed his fingertips down on the raised scar tissue just below his eye. It throbbed maliciously as he took every step through the precinct halls, watched every tiny movement Mark made as he lead them around.

Perez had remained close at Peter’s side through their whole investigative venture so far. But she had to take a call from Erickson before entering into the file room where Hoffman was going to set them up to work. It was fine. Apparently Officer Rigg was in there reviewing footage anyway. Hoffman and Strahm could just wait for the call to end and the room to clear as Rigg wrapped up with the interrogation tape.

Peter released a cartoonishly impatient sigh and pressed his stiff back against the wall.

That was enough.

“You suck on a lemon or something? This whole time you’ve been scowling like I fucking pissed in your coffee.” Hoffman grit his teeth like a junkyard dog, the first time he’d let himself slip with the absence of Perez beside them.

“You’re such a thick-skulled fuck.”

“Oh yeah? That’s rich coming from someone hittin’ the slopes too hard.”

“Wow, very harsh, Detective Bimbo.” Strahm was taken aback by his own sass.

Mark leaned in. “You know, you got real old and bitter. You look like you been chewin’ on nails.”

“You got old and fat.” Peter couldn’t say that it didn’t look appealing on Mark, though. The cockiness was very much still there, but slightly humbled by the rounded edges and layers of cushioning that had expanded his width.

Peter wanted to picture it was a result of comforting, indulgent cooking: a smile spreading on Mark’s idiotic lips at the person across the table from him—the person who had cooked for him. But he knew that wasn’t the case. Even in being strangers for over a decade, Strahm was aware of what had happened to Angelina—the story spread through the news. Hoffman’s appearance wasn’t just extra weight from night after night of spiraling binge drinking, followed by quelling the hunger with takeout; It was a sunken quality to his eyes, a void just under the lids, the line over his brows. He looked hollow behind his own face, which creased with laughter years ago.

‘I could’ve—’ Peter started with himself, quickly cutting it off. No. Whatever he was about to tell himself was a delusion. It wouldn’t matter, especially not once this case was done with.

“You know,” Mark mused on with that purr-like bass to his voice, “I get it. You’re just cranky. Take a nap, sweetheart.” He cupped a thick hand to the scarred side of Peter’s face, grazing a fat thumb over the deeply pink line.

The body reacted before the rest of Peter could catch up, leaning into the touch, but only slightly. Internally he was on the brink of mewing like a starved cat. No no no. NO. He slapped Mark’s hand away.

The flat clacking of Lindsey’s shoes resounded through the hall, subconsciously signaling for the two to behave. They straightened up, but not before Mark leaned into Peter’s ear for a final remark.

“Drinks this week, Special Agent Strahm?”

Peter sneered. The answer wasn’t no.

[leo-fie]

The sheer state of the German left right now...

Seriously, if I wouldn't see it, I would not believe it. And I'm only seeing the small sample on Mastodon.

Antizionism, critique of Israel, suppost for Palestine get's thrown in with antisemitism so much that's it's basically impossible to figure out what's going on anymore.

Examples from Mastodon:

This picture shows a pro-palestine demonstration, we see people, palestinian flags and two signs reading "freedom for palestine" and "stop the israeli massacres in palestine". The left research network RABA writes: "After the attempted genocide of Jews with thousands of victims by the barbarous Hamas, the palestinian community Bonn and Cologne shows their ideological and personal closeness to the Hamas war. Replaying antisemitic, djihadi propaganda: transparent victim blaming"

Did they see the same picture as me? Do they know more than me? Or do they think any support of palestine is antisemitic by default?

This account called "punch a nazi" is in solidarity with Israel and against antisemitism. Thereby implying that anyone against Israel is antisemitic.

Same account saying: "The antisemitism bubbling to the surface all over the world right now is nothing less than disgusting. Openly disguised as "critique of Israel" or between the lines. Against all antisemitism!"

So no critique of Israel allowed ever? But no one is above criticism, especially not governments. Or do we make an exception for Israel?

Amadeu Antonio Foundation is a widely respected antiracist, antifascist group founded in the memory of a man murdered by nazis in 1990, Amadeu Antionio Kiowa. Here they say as part of a thread for teachers: "The antisemitism refering to Israel is to be differentiated from critique at Israeli government policy, a big challenge for teachers. With the practical handout teachers can react to slogans like "With the policy Israel is doing, I can understand why someone wouldn't like jews" or "Israel is an apartheid state" and catch insecurities and emotions."

Now, if you ask me, the first slogan is clearly antisemitic, the second is just true. How is that differenciating anything?

taz is a left leaning daily newspaper, basically the only one with any reach in Germany. It's staunchly zionist. While it is also showing the plight of the palestinian people, it is also joining in the chorus of other newspapers comparing Israel to Ukraine and therefore Hamas to Putin's Russia. This reads: The German peoples' demostration of solidarity with Israel are poor compared to the war in Ukraine. The actual test is still pending." The headline reads: Pro-Israel-Demonstrations: We don't care"

Same newspaper: "Dozens chant "free Palestine", a schoolground conflict get's political - but there are also other, quieter voices. A week in Neukölln (a neighborhood in Berlin)" With the headline: "Near-East-Conflict in Berlin: Symbol Sonennallee (a street)"

What's wrong with "free Palestine"? Does the palestinian people not have a right to self determination?

Rote Flora is an autonomous center in Hamburg since 1989. They fly a banner reading "Killing Jews is not fighting for freedom! We are in solidarity with all humans in Israel and all jews in the world. You are not alone." Someone posted this picture with the caption: Rote Flora stabil. which is kinda like saying it's based.

Examples end.

This is what I get from left and left leaning groups. Our public broadcast is of course zionist af, but to the point where American news like CNN are nuanced in comparasion.

The conflation of antisemitism and antizionism is just off the charts. I already lost one account for pointing out that these are different things, so I have to mute everything lest I blow up at any of these.

How can anyone look at the situation of the palestinian people and come away with anything but antizionism? That's why we have the term. Who but left and left leaning folks can look at this though a materialist lens? Isn't that our thing?

[captainknell]

*BOOK REPORT*

The Black Room at Longwood: Napoleon's Exile in Saint Helena by Jean-Paul Kauffman

I knew going in, from the summary, that this book wasn't just about Napoleon. It was the story of the author's journey to St. Helena to learn about Napoleon and his captivity. It was a pleasant change of pace.

The author is a journalist, and the book reads somewhat like a news article. His descriptions of people and places are shrewd; he is stating facts, not trying to please anyone.

Sometimes it is hard to follow as there are not always clear breaks between present day (1993, I believe), Napoleon's time, and other times in his experience that the author is remembering, such as visiting battlefields. It all makes sense though, in like a train of thought sort of way.

A feature that I really liked in this book, was that at the beginning of each chapter (which were sorted into the days of the author's trip) were these little key words, summarizing what happens within the chapter. Almost like tags on Tumblr. Here's the first one, as an example:

Throughout the whole story, the author is trying to conjure up "the ghosts" of the house. He is not searching for literal ghosts, but more like a memory trapped and repeated in time. He is also very focused on scents. The damp, mildew of Longwood, the "tropical rot" of St. Helena, and Napoleon's Eau de Cologne.

He meets many people on the island who all give him different perspectives of what it is like there. What it's like on Napoleon's prison without walls. What it's like to live somewhere so remote, cut off from modern life.

I definitely recommend it as I think it is a good look into not only the past at St. Helena, but the present (or, at least as far as the 1990s). It is a very interesting story and unfortunately, it makes me want to travel there even more than I already did.

[dashalbrundezimmer]

höninger weg // köln zollstock

somewhat hidden on höninger weg in cologne, the wilhelm hammes marmorwerk, now naturstein hammes, was located until 1990. a beautifully designed selection of products still adorns the façade of the front building to this day.

etwas versteckt auf dem höninger weg in köln befand sich bis 1990 das marmorwerk wilhelm hammes jetzt naturstein hammes. eine schön gestaltete produktauswahl schmückt noch heute die fassade des vorderhauses.

[y2kbeautyandother2000sstuff]

Bonne Bell Tangerine Dream, Vanilla Blossom and Tropical Blossom Smackers All Over Spray Cologne

1993

Found on Ebay, seller lindleywest

[90s-shitbox]

TTE TOYOTA TEAM EUROPE

TOYOTA TEAM EUROPE (TTE) was Toyota's motorsport division responsible for the company's participation in various racing events, particularly in rallying. Established in the 1970s and based in Cologne, Germany, TTE achieved significant success in the World Rally Championship (WRC), securing multiple titles in the 1990s with cars like the Toyota Celica and the Toyota Corolla. The team eventually evolved into Toyota Motorsport GmbH (TMG), continuing to support Toyota's participation in a broader range of motorsport disciplines, including endurance racing and Formula One.

[l0sercat]

Shredder x reader

Guys I fucking love Shredder so much, I'm very disappointed that there is very little romantic content about him 😭 So I guess I gotta write it myself 🙏🏻 I've watched most of the TMNT stuff, but one of my fav version is the 1990 so this one will be about that version but feel free to imagine this as any version of him you like. Also I'm not sure if Saki is his first name, but I did write it like it was! Also did not proofread lol

CW: NSFW MDNI, Reader clothes are described but it's literally just shorts and a shirt, Shredder is possessive and controlling, there is plot before the porn, rough sex, he is mean and manhandles you:( Pronouns are gender neutral but reader does have a vag!

You were lounging around the hideout, watching the many boys run around and play. You grew bored of watching them fight so you decided to see if you could join a game or something. Saki was currently busy with some unfinished business. So you didn't want to bother him, he lets you have freedom to roam around as long as you don't venture out the hideout without him.

You were currently in some shorts and a old baggy band t shirt with sock and slides. Saki prefers if you wear something more nice, but you couldn't care less. You liked to wear what was comfy, you walked up to a table with some guys and saw they were playing cards. "Can I join?" You asked and they looked up at you. They knew who you were everybody did, Saki made sure that everyone knew to never disrespect you. They looked at each other and then back at you.

You grew impatient with their silence and you rolled your eyes. "I get it I'm not wanted fuck" you walked away flipping them off, you put your hands in your pockets and walked around. Everyone was smart enough to show you respect, but it seems they were nervous to interact with you because of how Shredder was possesive of you. It was annoying, you craved to interact with someone who wasn't Saki for once. You loved truly you did, but you missed hanging out with your friends without him looming over your shoulder. Making you leave when he got bored or you having to watch what you say around him.

You tried to convince to let you go without him and he contemplated it before deciding no. He said it was too danger because he had many enemies. You then told him to send one of his foot members to be a bodyguard and stand outside or something. He then proceeded to lecture you that even though they are strong they can't protect you like he can. You tried bringing it up many times but he kept shutting you down. You learned to leave it alone, he's too paranoid and controlling to be reasoned with.

A thought popped in you head causing you to smirk. He was busy right now, nobody would notice if you left right now. You'd only be gone for an hour or two. You slip back in like you were never gone!

------

You snuck back into the hideout, you just got back hanging out with your friends and smoking weed. You probably smelt like it, you internally cursed yourself for being dumb. Saki will definitely know you went out, unless you spray cologne or perfume on!

You walk towards your shared room, not even noticing that the hideout was quiet and practically empty. You grab your perfume/cologne and spray it all over you hoping to cover the smell. All of a sudden a hand is slammed on the dresser right next to you, making you jump in surprise.

"Where have you been? Do you know how long I've been looking for you? How many men I sent out to search for you?!" You gulped and slowly friends around to face him. "Um I went out.." No point in lying you just wouldn't tell the full truth. "And doing what? You know what I don't care to hear your excuses, you disobeyed me!" He grabbed your arm and threw you on the bed.

You yelped in surprise as your back hits the bed harshly. You knew where this was going, heat pooled between your legs seeing him so mad. His hat was discarded on the table and he practically ripped off his clothes. Shedding them on the floor with no care leaving him in nothing. You quicky tore off your clothes, leaving you bare as well. You made the mistake of not doing so last time leaving them to be torn to shreds.

He stood at the edge of the bed and motioned for you. You obeyed, you already knew what he wanted. You looked up at him and he placed his hand in your hair and gripped harshly. "Go on you already know what I want" You looked back at his hard cock that was twitching in your face. You bit you lip, it was so pretty, the way the veins ran along it and how it was flushed at the tip. You opened you mouth and licked a stripe up the base to the tip.

Saki let out a groan, your lips kissed everywhere on his base and then you placed a soft kiss on his tip. You wrapped you lips around it and slowly took his in. You slowly took him in your mouth inch by inch, sucking and bobbing your head. Saki closed his eyes and let out a moan "Your taking me so eagerly and well, by the end of the night you will be reminded of who you belong too!"

He panted harder the closer he was to orgasming. He grit his teeth, the lewd sounds you were making made him lose control. He let out a deep growl and he felt himself grip your hair tighter, slightly pulling on it, making you moan around him. He fucked your face and you took it, occasionally gagging when he hit the back of your throat. He soon quickly came down your throat with a loud deep moan. Your face forced to be flushed against his groin and swallow every last drop of his warm sticky seed. Not that you minded.

He pulled you off of him and pushed you on your back. He grabbed your legs and pulled them over his shoulders, without any warning he quickly shoved himself inside you. You both moaned at the same time, you gripped his forearms as he started to thrust into you. "Fuckk Saki~" you whined as he bullied his cock onto you. He looked at you and smirked "Don't tell me your already going dumb from my cock? I just started" His smirk grew into a grin seeing you underneath him, red in the face and mouth slightly agape. He leaned down and pressed his lips to yours, kissing you roughly. You accepted the sloppy kiss, he slipped his tongue in and dominated your mouth. His thrusts were hard and rough, he pounded into you the tip of his cock hitting your cervix. You weren't worried if you were bruised afterwards, just as long as he kept hitting that spot. You both separated from the kiss and he went down to attack your neck.

He kissed along your soft skin and then bit down with no warning. You moaned at the feeling of him assaulting your neck with his teeth. He licked the bite marks, tasting your blood on his tongue and he groaned at the taste. He picked up his pace and fucked you faster and harder, one hand slipping down to play with your clit. The other to grip the bed "Say who you belong to, scream my name let everyone know that only I can make you feel this way!"

You wanted to laugh at his possessiveness, but you didn't want him to stop so you obliged. "Fuck! Ahh I belong to you, I belong to you Saki!~ mmm haaa" You moaned loudly satisfying his needs, he groaned and with another thrust came inside you. His seed shooting inside you and filling up your womb. You gasped and your body shook as you orgasmed, your nails raked against his biceps. He let out a grunt and buried his head in your neck, his breath hot and heavy.

After a minute he pulled away and looked at you, with a content smile. "Round two?" He placed a hand on your stomach, his cock twitched inside you making you squirm. You looked up at him with a smile and moved your legs to wrap around his waist to hold him in place "Round two"

[girlactionfigure]

The Brave Headmaster: Dr. Erich Klibansky

He saved five entire classes.

Dr. Erich Klibansky was the headmaster of a Jewish high school in Germany who saved dozens of his students by teaching them English and arranging for them to join the Kindertransport to safety in Great Britain.

Born in Frankfurt to a religious family in 1900, Erich was an exceptional student who studied history, German literature and Romanian languages at university. He married Meta David and together they moved to Breslau, where they both taught at Jewish schools. Their son Hans-Rafael was born in 1928, and the next year the family moved to Cologne, where they had two more sons, Alexander and Michael. Erich became headmaster at the Yavne Jewish gymnasium (high school) in Cologne. It was the only Jewish high school in that part of Germany, the Rhineland. Yavne was a co-ed school teaching both Jewish and secular subjects. His wife Meta also worked at Yavne teaching English. The family found a spacious apartment in Volksgartenstrasse, a desirable part of town.

Erich – known to his students as Dr. Klibansky – was immediately popular with students and staff at the school. They appreciated his warm manner and personal interest in every student, as well as his strong leadership at a difficult time.

Germany was in a severe economic crisis, and as a private school Yavne didn’t get any subsidy from the state. Erich’s job as headmaster became focused on fundraising. Motivated to ensure that any Jewish student in Cologne could get a good education despite financial hardship, Erich successfully raised money to keep the school open. As his reputation grew, young Jews started coming to Yavneh from outside Cologne and soon the newcomers made up a quarter of the student body.

As the Nazis came to power in the 1930’s the situation grew grim for Jews in Germany. In 1937 the Klibansky family was forced out of their nice apartment in Volksgartenstrasse and relocated to a tiny flat in a squalid slum. After the Kristallnacht pogrom in November 1938, it became clear there was no future for Jews in Germany. At this point, Erich’s mission as headmaster of Yavne changed. Previously, the school was focused on training the students for exams and university but now the only important thing was survival. He heard about the Kindertransport, an organized rescue effort bringing Jewish children from Nazi-controlled areas to safety in England. Erich determined to get his students on the Kindertransport, and in fact hoped to relocate the entire school to England.

He re-focused the school curriculum to provide intensive English-language instruction for all students in preparation for their escape. Erich reached out to prominent Jews in London and got support for his plan to move Yavne high school to England. The Central British Council for Refugees arranged for the students to stay in a college dormitory.

By summer 1939, Erich was able to send five entire classes of students – a total of 130 people – on the Kindertransport to England. His plan was to get all the students out and then join them in England with his family. However everything came to a halt when war broke out in 1939. The borders were sealed, as was the fate of the Klibansky family and those students who hadn’t left yet. Erich, his wife and three young sons managed to hide from the Nazis until July 1942, when they were arrested and transported to an unknown location. On July 25, the family of five was shot in a wooded area in Belarus and, dying, dumped in a prepared pit.

The brave headmaster’s story has been largely forgotten, but in 1990 a square in Cologne where Yavne high school used to be was dedicated to him and renamed the Erich Klibansky Platz.

For saving the lives of 130 Jewish students, we honor Erich Klibansky as this week’s Thursday Hero.

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Shirley Verrett (May 31, 1931 – November 5, 2010) was an operatic mezzo-soprano who successfully transitioned into soprano roles, i.e. soprano sfogato. She enjoyed great fame from the late 1960s through the 1990s, well-known for singing the works of Verdi and Donizetti.

She made her operatic debut in Britten’s The Rape of Lucretia. She made her New York City Opera debut as Irina in Kurt Weill’s Lost in the Stars. She made her European debut in Cologne, Germany in Nicolas Nabokov’s Rasputins Tod. She received critical acclaim for her Carmen in Spoleto and repeated the role at the Bolshoi Theatre and the NY City Opera. She first appeared at the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden as Ulrica in Un ballo in maschera. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence