#The Madwoman Upstairs

[diaryoftruequotes]

Are there any leading men in your life? Several, but they're all fictional.

Catherine Lowell, The Madwoman Upstairs

[cevansbrat0007]

Request: Andy Barber & Baby Girl having sex during a thunderstorm.

Through the Storm

Summary: Andy helps you overcome your fear of thunderstorms.

Warnings: Astraphobia, Smut, Anxious Reader, Dominant Andy, Manhandling, Fingering, Spanking, CMNF (Clothed Male, Nude Female), Safe Sex, Cuddles, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Finally finished this WIP! This request takes place early in Andy and Reader's relationship. Part of my ongoing Growing Pains Series, but can also be read as a standalone. Not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

You stare out into the backyard, watching sheets of slanted rain pelt against your boyfriend’s newly installed patio. While it wasn’t much, it was enough to give the compact enclosed space the cozy feel it had long been missing. You’d even helped him with the landscaping, much to your chagrin. 

Andy had been quick to learn that while you enjoyed gardening you were also terrified of virtually all things creepy crawly, like bees. Especially bees. Your man hadn’t known what to make of that one, which had certainly made for an entertaining afternoon. 

A loud crash of thunder suddenly booms overhead, startling you so bad that you nearly drop the bottle of water in your hands. You fucking hated thunderstorms, a fun little nugget that you had yet to share with the man who was currently waiting for you to join him upstairs. 

Truth be told, you hadn’t even planned on staying over tonight. You were supposed to be home by the time the storm rolled in, tucked away safe and sound on your couch. All the while clutching your stuffed bear, Mr. Sprinkles, for dear life and watching your favorite comfort films until Mother Nature decided she was done with her tantrum.

But dinner with friends had gone long and then the show had started late. Well, the dinner itself hadn’t actually been with friends – more like one of his work colleagues. But the guy’s wife had been nice enough. And after enjoying one last round of drinks, you four had wandered across the street to take-in a production of Aladdin on Broadway. 

Of course musicals weren’t really your thing, but since it was a childhood favorite of yours you’d been all for it. Your boyfriend didn’t know how much of a Disney fan you really were. Which was okay. Because he was older, more mature. And as such, you always tried to come off more sophisticated than what you actually were.

He’d already been married once before and had a child. One he’d lost a few years back. You two had yet to actually have a true conversation about that one but you were almost certain it was coming.

It had to be, right? Because it wasn’t like you both could skirt around the topic forever. But, at the same time, it’s also not like you could be the one to bring up. Like, how would a conversation like that even go? 

Exactly. It wouldn’t. Because you couldn’t. It wasn’t your place. 

So, you would allow that door to remain shut for as long as it took to allow him to open it and guide you through. You could be patient. 

Alright fine. You would make yourself be patient. And until then you would keep trying to demonstrate the right amount of emotional maturity needed to prove that you could be a good partner and support system. Or at least a little worldlier than you probably came off.  

But all of that would be pretty hard to do if Andrew Barber knew that you were secretly afraid of thunderstorms. He wouldn’t get it and you would only end up tripping all over yourself if you tried to explain. Which meant that you had to make a decision.

Either you could be brave and climb the stairs so you could crawl into bed – his bed – wearing nothing but a pair of panties and one of his oversized t-shirts. Or you could sneak upstairs, grab your clothes, and dash out your man’s front door into the night like a madwoman and hope that he would be too stunned to chase you down. 

“Whatcha doin’ down there, Baby Girl?” Andy bellows from up above, making you jump.

“Noth–coming!” You shout back as you pad towards the stairs, still trying your best to devise a plan. Andrew Barber was deceptively fast, which meant running was out. So you were most likely gonna have to suck it up until he fell asleep and then you would be free to tremble in peace. 

The city’s hottest attorney could not know that he was dating the world’s biggest scaredy cat. If he ever found out, you might never recover from the embarrassment.  

You find yourself holding your breath as you round the corner before stepping inside Andy’s bedroom. Your man looks up from his phone when he notices that you’ve finally joined him. A warm smile spreads across his handsome features as he leans back, allowing his big body to relax against the frame. 

“Thought I was gonna have to come looking for you.” His husky purr sends a tiny shiver coursing through you, all the way down to your toes.  

“Uh, nope. Here I am.” Your eyes stray towards your overnight bag nestled innocently in the corner. Because if you weren’t mistaken you were also beginning to sweat. “But I was thinking that maybe I ought to – nooope!” 

An loud, unexpected clap of thunder has you diving towards the bed with a shriek. You seek refuge under the blankets, ignoring the sounds of a bewildered Andy calling your name. He tries to lift up the edge of the comforter, but you refuse to let go. 

At this point, you have no desire to acknowledge just how ridiculous you were being at that very moment. Because you were scared.

And also a smidge mortified.

“Um, honey..?” Andy works to keep his tone light. “What’s going on?” He pauses briefly as one big hand comes to rest on what he assumes must be your head. “Are you okay?”

“Yep!” You squeak out, clutching the blanket even tighter around you. “But I’m also really, really sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” Again he tugs at the edge of your makeshift shield, prompting you to try and roll away. “You haven’t done anything – can you at least look at me? Please.”

“Um, I…I don’t think so. No.” Your words come out slightly muffled.

You’re rewarded with a heavy sigh followed by a brief moment of silence. Although you’re not sure what you expected him to say, you’re still surprised by what comes next.

“Well, if you won’t come out, then I guess that means I’ll just have to come under there then, won’t I?”

Fine by you. Because you were pretty sure that you were only seconds away from dying of embarrassment anyhow.

“Kay.”    

“Let me in, princess.” 

Relief fills him when he sees you finally relax your grip. Seconds later he joins you under the blankets, cocooning you both within the plush softness.   

“Hey.” Andy breathes as his eyes strain to adjust to the light.

“Hey.”

As if of its own accord, one of his hands reaches over to gently brush your curls away from your face. A quiet sigh makes its way past your lips as you feel yourself melting into his touch. In a way it acted as an unspoken reminder. 

You were safe with this man. Which meant it was time to fess up. 

“Umm…” He makes an exaggerated show of looking around. “Why are we hiding?”

“Because.” You whisper, only to flinch when another crack of thunder echoes above. 

“Because?” Your man drags out the word. “Because what? Are you–?” He cuts himself off before trying again. “I’m gonna guess that all this has something to do with the storm. Am I somewhere in the ballpark?”

His question has hot tears pricking the backs of your eyes.

“I don’t like it.” You croak before giving into temptation and burying yourself in his tattoo-covered chest. “In fact, I hate it.” 

Good Lord, you sounded so pitiful right now. 

“The…storm?” 

“All of it.” You confirm as you begin to tremble ever so slightly. “The lightning, the thunder, the heavy winds, the sound of the rain. S’too much.”

“I see.” Is all he says, even as his hand goes to rest on the small of your back, rubbing in easy, soothing circles. 

“I’m sorry.” You feel even worse when the tears spill over onto Andy’s bare skin. 

“Hush.” Comes the soft-spoken command, drawing you flush against his much larger body. “There’s no need to be sorry. I just wish you would’ve said something earlier. Is that why you were so adamant about going home tonight?”

“Mmhm.”

But then your handsome ogre just had to go and be difficult.     

“And I convinced you to stay.” Andy huffs out a disappointed breath at the same time as he drags his knuckles along your spine. “I should’ve noticed something was wrong. All I could think about was how much better I sleep whenever you’re next to me.” You can tell he’s annoyed now – not with you – but with himself. “Should’ve thought to ask why you seemed so skittish.” He drops a brief kiss on the top of your head.   

“Andy…”

“I’m sorry, Baby Girl.” He grunts, pulling away so that he can get a good look at your face. “No–” He continues when you open your mouth to interrupt. “I should’ve been paying better attention. That’s on me.” He takes a moment to whisper his sensual, full lips over your own. 

“It’s okay.” You assure him before pressing a tender kiss on his left pec, just above his heart. “I probably should’ve said something earlier. It was just…I guess I was embarrassed.” You finish with a shrug. 

“Why?” He cocks his head to the side as he patiently waits for you to answer. Although it was hard to read his expression in the dark, you knew he was genuinely curious. 

“Because it’s a stupid.” You mumble a few seconds later. “It’s stupid and I’m stupid for–”

“No it’s not.” Andy swiftly interjects. “And no you’re not. So please let that be the last time I hear you refer to yourself that way.” His gruff tone leaves little room for argument, not that you were in the mood anyway. Seconds later, another clap of thunder, followed by a flash of lightning, has you diving back into the safety of his arms.

“Fuck.” Pissed at himself, he quickly wraps his arms around you before gently rocking you back and forth in an effort to calm you down. “When did it start?” More thunder booms overhead the whole house, loud enough to shake the whole house. 

Andy frowns when he hears the tiny whimper that escapes your throat. .   

“It’s silly.” You warn, even as you close your eyes and force yourself to take a deep breath. 

“Try me.”

He’d stay up all night if that’s what it took to get you to talk. The last thing he wanted was for you to shut down on him. Again.  

“Please.”

Guess that was your cue to start spilling your guts. 

“Wh–when I was a little girl, I couldn’t have been more than six or seven, there was this really bad storm. I mean later we would find out that tornadoes had touched down all over the region. But that night – I swear the rain was coming down so hard it sounded like hundreds of baseballs were being pelted against the roof. And the wind was blowing so hard that it kept rattling windows.”

“Mmhm.” The small, noncommittal sound rumbles from somewhere deep within his chest, spurring you forward. 

“So my dad woke us all up, me and my siblings, and herded us down to the basement. I guess he’d been watching the news and figured we’d be safer there. My mom had laid out blankets and sleeping bags for us. At first it seemed kinda fun – almost like we were camping out.”

Another bright flash of light briefly illuminates the bedroom, but you’re too engrossed in your story to really care. Plus, you had Andy to keep you safe. Nothing bad ever seemed to happen when you were with Andy.

At least not so far. 

“I could see that.” Your boyfriend affirms, before giving your hip a light squeeze. “Bet you probably had a cool sleeping bag.” 

“I totally did. I actually had one of those Disney character sleeping bags.” The memory makes you smile as your initial anxiety begins to lessen. “Come to think of it, we all did. But mine had Genie from Aladdin on the front of it. I remember because I got to pick it out myself.” 

“I knew I had the right idea when I invited you out tonight.” Andy muses, brushing his mouth against your curls once more. 

“Yeah, Big Man. I’m a Disney girl. And I sure did love that sleeping bag.” You take a moment to lace your fingers through his, needing the connection. “Which was why I climbed right on in and let my mother zip me up. At that point, I think my little sister started crying or something, so I let her crawl inside with me. After that she went right to sleep.”

“But I’m guessing you didn’t.”

“Nope.” Your grip on his hand tightens, but your man doesn’t pull away. Even so, you allow your thumb to sweetly caress along the ridges of his knuckles. “I stayed wide awake for what felt like hours just…listening. Listening as the wind picked up, as the thunder got louder and louder. Until it became so loud that it sounded like the storm was happening right above our house. And then suddenly there was this crash that shook the entire house – almost like a bomb went off.”    

“Listen, I know sometimes storms can seem–”

“It was a tree.” You quietly forge on. “The storm had knocked down a tree. It fell through the roof, into the room I shared with my sister. Of course nobody was hurt, but ever since then I’ve been terrified of thunderstorms.” You finish, somehow feeling even more foolish than when you’d first started. 

“Holy shit.” Andy exhales before briefly nuzzling your nose with his own. It was a simple stress touch, nothing more. But at this particular moment, it means everything. “I mean, I’m sure this probably goes without saying, but I’m so glad you weren’t in there when it happened. You or your sister.”

Wordlessly you nod, still wishing that you’d found a way to make it home tonight after all. Come tomorrow you’d finally bite the bullet and start looking for a therapist. Perhaps it was finally time you found a way to move past some of your childhood trauma. And maybe then–

Your thoughts are interrupted by the deep, rich timbre of Andrew Barber’s voice. 

“I’m afraid of clowns.” Your boyfriend grunts in a very matter of fact tone. “And spiders.” He tacks on with a slight grimace. “Can’t get near either one of them without breaking into hives.” 

“Oh.” Is all you can manage, clearly surprised by his sudden openness. You hadn’t been expecting that at all. “So I‘m guessing anything to do with Pennywise is probably – ahh shit!” You cry out when the familiar sound of thunder makes you lose your train of thought, leaving you unable to finish your small attempt at humor.

Almost immediately, you feel two strong arms band themselves around your waist, drawing you closer even as you try your damnedest to scramble away. You throw off the covers before attempting to swing your legs over the side of the bed so that you can make a mad dash in the direction of the basement.     

“Hold on, baby.” Andy growls, wincing when your elbow accidentally connects with his ribs. “Just settle down for a second, okay? We’re gonna get through this, I promise.”

“Nope – I’m good! Just let me go, please.” Instead of doing as you ask, he flips your bodies, using his considerable weight to keep you still. “I’m serious, Andrew!” You tell him, thumping his back with your fist for good measure.

“Hush.” He takes advantage of your positions long enough to glide his lips along the column of your throat, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. “Just focus on me – on us – and let everything else fade away.”

Hmph. Easier said than done, handsome.

Andy gifts you with a glimpse of his pearly white teeth before slanting his hungry mouth over your own. He moans into the kiss, gently sucking on your bottom lip and releasing it with a slight pop. When you don’t respond he does it again, this time tracing the curve of your lips with his sinful tongue. 

“But what if –.”

“Shh.” Your boyfriend pauses his sensual assault long enough to stare down at you while he braces himself on his forearms. “You have my word that nothing bad is gonna happen while I’ve got you here, with me, in this bed. We’re safe, Baby Girl.” He then angles his head to nip along your jaw. “Let me show you.”  

“Do you trust me?” Where had you heard that before?

“I…” You trail off as he continues to nip at your heated flesh, paying special attention to the sensitive shell of your ear. “Y–yes.”

“Good.”

Apparently that’s all the permission Andrew Barber needs, because the next thing you know he’s sliding one large hand up your thigh, his lightly calloused palm sending pinpricks of pleasure straight to your core. Seconds later, you both are treated to the sounds of tearing fabric. 

Well, there went your panties. They’d been shredded to hell just like every other pair that went before it. 

Next up is your shirt. He manages to whip it over your head with relative ease before resting his delicious weight on top of you once more. Clad in only his boxers, he makes a show of grinding rapidly hardening cock against your damp pussy.

“Andy.” You whine, wantonly arching your hips in time with his thrusts. “Don’t tease me right now.”

“Why not?” He purrs as a hand moves to fist itself in your hair, wrenching your head back with just enough force to make you feel dizzy with lust. 

Reaching up, you capture his face between your hands to pull him down for another kiss. The scruff of his neatly trimmed beard feels so good against your skin.

“Fuck me, please.” You hiss, seeking a much needed distraction as a flash of lightning threatens to send you running for the hills. Since this man wouldn’t let you leave, your next best option was to let him bury his thick cock inside you so hard and so deep until you no longer had the capacity to think. 

Or walk properly, for that matter.

“Your wish is my command, baby.” Your boyfriend groans as he continues to circle his hips. With that said, he then makes quick work of removing his boxers before tossing him aside in the direction of his hamper. He misses, of course. Which is why you silently vow to pick it up later.

Now freed from its confines, you watch Andy’s impressive manhood immediately spring to attention, lightly smacking his abdomen as it bobs up and down.

Good God, you’d be lying if you said the sight didn’t make your mouth water.  

His mouth curves into a roguish grin as he purposely slides himself between your slippery folds. He revels in your wetness, loving the way your slick coats his aching cock. Shit – if he wasn’t careful he risked blowing his load before it was time. 

Which absolutely would not work. You always came first. That was the rule. There were no exceptions, unless you were playing a game or something.

Reaching over you, Andy grabs a foil packet from his nightstand. Tearing it open with his teeth, you lean back on your elbows while he handles his business with the condom. Maybe next time he’d allow you to put it on for him. You’d always wanted to try…

You also weren’t quite sure of exactly when he’d gone and removed his boxers, but you also weren’t complaining either.         

“Now, sweetheart.”  Your man begins as he takes a hold of your calf, tenderly draping it over his muscled shoulder as the wheel continues to howl outside. “All you’ve gotta do is lay back and focus on how good you feel.” He leans forward so that he can trace his tongue around your nipple before sucking the delicate flesh into his waiting mouth.  

Your back bows as you thrust your chest forward in silent offering. Andy groans as continues to toy with your pouting nipple before switching to the other. You let out a sharp cry as he brings the pebbled tip in his mouth, lightly pinching it between his teeth just hard enough to make you writhe beneath him. 

That’s part of what always made this feel so good. The way he always seemed to mix pleasure with a little bit of pain. 

His mouth eventually finds yours again as your hands smooth their way over the blades of his shoulders, allowing you to run your fingers along the contour of his muscles. And when you finally reach the firm globes of his ass, you can’t help but giggle as you finally give into the temptation to smack it. Hard.    

Just the way he liked it.

“Remember, sweet brat. If I’m gonna wear your handprint then I think it’s only fair you wear mine too. Understand?” Of course he doesn’t wait for you to answer. Instead he maneuvers himself up so that he can expertly flip you over onto your stomach before pulling you up so that you’re now resting on your hands and knees before him. 

Instinctively you arch your ass in the air, inviting him to make good on his promise. This man loved spanking your ass every chance he got. And what’s more, you seemed to enjoy it almost as much as he did.

“Now be a good girl and put your hands where they’re supposed to go.” 

A small shiver of anticipation courses through as you move to obey. He chuckles softly as he watches your eager fingers grip the headboard. Later he would tell you how proud of you he was in that moment, that he was honored by your faith in his ability to distract you from the violent storm taking place right outside his window.

It meant the world that you trusted him enough to take care of you at a time like this. 

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” Andy purrs as the heavy weight of his palm comes down on your upturned rear with just enough force to make your naughty pussy gush. Unable to stop it, you can’t help the groan you emit when he does it again, loving the way he kneads and caresses your most intimate curves.  

“So are you.” 

Your body jerks when he decides to focus his attention on your greedy little cunt. Nimble fingers spear you open as they between your glistening folds to tease your throbbing clit. It’s not long before your hips begin moving in time with his ministrations. 

Soon your eyes flutter closed as you bear down, shamelessly grinding yourself against his calloused palm. At first, Andy is content to simply watch as you slowly work yourself into a frenzy.

Because this time, when the sound of thunder crackles throughout the room, you barely react. In fact, you hardly hear it. You’re too engrossed in the pleasure, too caught up in just how good your man is making you feel, to remember to be afraid. 

“Easy, greedy girl.” Andy hums after another beat goes by before finally removing his hand. The fucking bastard.

“Nooo!” You whine, hating the way your impending orgasm lingers just out of reach.

"Yeees.” There’s a slight mocking edge to his tone that has you glancing over your shoulder to shoot him a glare. 

“Swear to God you’re so fucking beautiful. Even when you’re trying to turn me into dust.” He winks at you then before allowing his hands to settle on your hips. Goosebumps pebble across your sweat-dampened flesh when you feel the head of his impressive cock nudge at your entrance.

“Please.Please.Please.” That one word is whispered over and over, like a fervent prayer. 

Just then, a stroke of lightning brightens the room, treating you to a fleeting glimpse of your man right as he thrusts himself inside of you, all the way to the hilt. Your eyes threaten to roll back in your head as he forces you to take every deliciously thick inch of his cock, stretching your tight pussy until you can’t help clench around him.     

Andy starts off slow, gradually building up the pace as your velvety walls continue to milk him for all he’s worth. His fingers dig into your curves as you rear back to match his movements. Soon, he adjusts the angle of his thrusts, allowing him to go even deeper. 

“S’good, Andy!Fuuuck!” You moan as Andy continues fucking you into oblivion. “Yes!Harder, pleeease!”

“My baby wants it harder?” He growls, adjusting his position to give you exactly what you asked for. A desperate sob bubbles up from your throat, prompting you to bury your face in a nearby pillow.

Too bad your man is having none of it.        

“Oh no.” One large hand moves to wrap itself around the delicate column of your throat, applying just the right amount of pressure to make your pulse spike. “You don’t get to hide that pretty face from me. Not tonight.” He grunts before allowing his free arm to encircle your waist to haul you against the hard wall of his chest. 

A hand soon finds its way to your breast. He lifts the tempting weight, before plucking at your nipple with his thumb and forefinger, evoking the most exquisite sensations. 

“You’re doing so good, Baby Girl.” Andy rasps, tweaking his angle so that he can find your spot. “So good. Told you I’d keep you safe.” The sounds of flesh slapping against flesh echo throughout the room, creating an erotic tempo. “Would never let anything bad happen to you.” 

Your boyfriend’s Boston accent grows thicker and more pronounced with each passing second – letting you know that he’s close to losing control. That’s when you decide to push him closer to the brink by reaching behind you to pull his head down for a kiss. It’s hot, wet, and deep. And by the time you both come up for air your heart is hammering in your chest. 

“I…I know.” And you did know.

Tipping your chin back, you allow your walls to flutter around his fat cock, making him twitch. Your core begins to spasm as you feel the coil in your belly tighten even more. Andy makes sure to keep a tight hold on your sweat-slicked body as his lips continue to whisper kisses along the curve of your jaw.  

White hot pleasure dances along your skin, meanwhile Andy’s thrusts continue to grow more and more erratic with each passing minute. One of your hands slips from the headboard to help keep you upright. 

“Cum, princess. Give it to me.” He snarls through clenched teeth before reaching down to deliver a slap to your pussy. It feels so good that you beg him to do it again and again. “Be a good girl and fucking cum!”

That’s all you need to hear before you go tumbling over the edge and into bliss. “Fuck!Fuck!Fuck!” Ecstasy slices through you, making you cry out loud enough to wake the neighbors. Thank goodness there was a storm going on outside, otherwise someone might’ve taken it upon themselves to call the police.  

Chest heaving, you continue bouncing on your man’s cock. He felt so amazing it bordered on obsession. And you knew he’d feel even better once you had him in your mouth. Andy shudders behind you, his big body trembling with the force of his orgasm.  

Completely spent, you both flop down on the bed. You’re both naked and sweaty, but neither of you really cares all that much. You curl up in his arms, resting on his chest so that you can listen to the soothing sound of his heartbeat. 

“You okay?” Andy murmurs a little while later when he notices that your eyes have begun to droop. “Do you need me to–”

“Mm…” You purr, stretching your arms above your head as you stifle a lawn. “I’m thinking I need some more of that. Like tonight.” 

You grow quiet once you realize that you no longer hear the sound of the rain. Or the wind. Or the thunder. All is as it should be. Thank goodness.

“Give me ten minutes to refuel and I’m all yours.” He grunts before disposing of his used condom in a nearby garbage can.. 

“Thank you.” You mumble, feeling your cheeks heat. “For tonight, for what you did.”

“Not sure if I did much of anything.” Andy smiles down at you, his brilliant blue eyes filled with sincerity. “You’re always safe with me, princess. So just relax."

“I believe you, Andy. But the storm –"

“Is about over. We fucked right through it, baby.” You don’t have to look up at him to know that he’s got some kind of shit-eating grin plastered across his handsome features. "But most of all, thank you for trusting me with your secret.”

“Thank you for not laughing.“ Your hand reaches up to stroke your knuckles along his bearded jaw. 

“Hm.” Andy mutters. “Maybe next time we’ll have to try making love in the rain. What do you think, princess?”

“Um, baby steps, Andrew.” You counter, expertly dodging his first question. “Let’s go smaller. I’m talking waaay smaller.”

“Fine. I’ll settle for a kiss during a light drizzle.” Your boyfriend concedes, laughter and warmth suffusing his tone. 

“Consider it done, handsome.” You mumble as sleep threatens to overtake you.

Later, Andy would tell you that he let you fall asleep that night on purpose. Your earlier anxiety had really done a number on you, which is why he was content to let you rest. Instead of complaining, he holds you close, silently willing his heart to beat in time with your own. 

And when you wake in the middle of the night, cocooned in the safety of your man’s arms, you know without question that you are cherished beyond measure.

END

[fagm0m]

Mom who posts on a forum about how she feels guilty for taking advantage of her son being on antidepressants because he gets oh so sleepy during the day.

vrmom1970: Hello fellow moms! I'm a frequent viewer of this particular forum space, but today I make my first post! I did a bad thing today. But it felt so...good. So exhilarating! LOL! My transgender son (22) has been depressed for quite some time after his girlfriend broke up with him, and so he was prescribed some antidepressants to help him deal with it. However, the antidepressants make him terribly tired! Yesterday, he was asleep on the couch, looking so peaceful and cute. I went to put the blanket that was hanging off of him back over him, when I noticed he had on no panties! Along with that, his tits were spilling out of the only article of clothing he was wearing, a tank top. I've seen my son nude before, he practically is a nudist the way he's allergic to wearing clothing unless guests are over. Anyway, I don't know what came over me. I went to go and tuck his breasts back into shirt, they were very soft, areolas big and round (just like mine!) nipples hard and plump like gumdrops...something disgusting and nasty took over me, because without a second thought, I put his breast in my mouth! I started sucking and groping them, like a madwoman! I never knew I could be so perverted and taboo, but even as I write this my girldick is throbbing just thinking about it! Ugh! I think reading you ladies posts has turned me into a fully fledged pervert! Anyway, I think I was sucking too hard, because he started moaning! I quickly pulled away and he turned over, covering himself with the blanket. I let out a sigh of relief before I headed upstairs and instantly had to relieve myself! I came as hard as the first time I stumbled upon this forum two years ago, cum shooting all over my own face as I laid in bed thinking about how I sucked my son's breasts, and about what else I would've done had he not started stirring! My gosh, I think I'm gonna have to go pleasure myself again, so this ends this forum post! I will keep you guys updated on if I decide to do something like this again! xoxo :)

comments:

badmamabutchbitch: next time try and slide a finger in for me ;)

wildestdesiree: wow that was so hot! how big are his tits? i bet his t-dick is huge!

leatherfagmom: I just came reading this. I'd love to see you shoot ropes all over his face. >:)

[deleted user]: HORNY Local Moms are looking to fuck in your area! Sign up and get laid today! www.localmoms.com

auntrena: one of my favorite commenters finally makes a post! so exciting! First of all, WOW. I can't believe your first encounter already had you with a mouthful of your son's tits! Secondly, we need part two! I'm soaking wet right now as I sit in bed on my laptop! Imagining you were sucking my nipples was so hot! Next time try and see if you can suck his dick or even get him to suck yours! Eagerly awaiting your next post! xoxoxo!

[deleted user]: you have a dick? wtf

vrmom1970 reply: Kill yourself!

[mzannthropy]

Bertha Mason Rochester in Jane Eyre is called the "madwoman" because she lights beds on fire, stabs people, sneaks into rooms and rips veils, lights the house on fire. But when you look more closely at her actions, they make perfect sense. She sneaks out one night after ten years of being locked in the attic by her husband. Her caretaker has fallen too deeply asleep and Bertha has stolen the key. She does not injure her caretaker who is being paid to do a job. Bertha lights the bed of the man who is locking her up on fire. She never lunges for the maids who come to help tend her. But she stabs her brother who knowingly leaves her locked in an attic. When she is in a room with the woman who her husband is going to marry, she does not hurt the young, unknowing fiancée (Jane Eyre herself). Bertha rips up the veil that Jane will put on in the morning to marry Bertha's husband. Bertha doesn't hurt Jane: she warns her.

Fucking this, I said the same thing. Bertha never harms Jane, and she has the perfect opportunity to do so! (And I also see her ripping the veil as a warning to Jane.) She doesn't harm Grace or Leah or Mrs Fairfax. The only people she attacks are her husband and her brother--and the latter she couldn't have anticipated, bc Richard's visit was unannounced. When they all go upstairs after the crashed wedding, she doesn't go after Richard, or the vicar or the lawyer, or Jane--the only person she attacks is, once again, Rochester!

[citronellaww]

Peter Doherty at the Royal Albert Hall - a coronary experience.

"...because the poet said a word."

When I came back from the (utterly maddening and brilliant and “I still smile like a madwoman whenever I daydream about that night”) Libertines concert in Prague last year, I made this note to myself: “This is what poetry means to me: I sail to the unknown, writing”.

Months of writing (and daydreaming) later, the sea called for me again — and so, in an endless pursuit of the unknown, I sailed to Albion. (Editor's note number one: I had to fly, because sailing when your country's land doesn't reach the sea - yes, William Shakespeare, I am sure you and your mystic Bohemia are flabbergasted now - is a tad bit complicated, but I watched the ships underneath the plane's wings and I shed a tear as we crossed the Channel, and I listened to Carl Barât and the Jackals as we were landing and I really recommend that sort of combination, because it made me feel colours, instead of being scared of landing).

Being a PhD student in American and British literature (…), people naturally thought I made this trip to see the Coronation. And I let them think that, because to me it was a sort of "coronary" experience, seeing Peter Doherty perform at the Royal Albert Hall. (Editor's note number two: "coronary", as the arteries which protect and nurture the heart; and "coronary" as Peter's music which protects and nurtures the poet that lives in my head).

There were things that happened in between, before and after the concert (in terms of my time in Albion), but Peter’s concert was the place where written words transcended the letters they were once formed from, dreams turned into reality, sound mixed with poetry, and the unknown left me struggling to catch the railing. Frankly (Mr. Shankly), when I arrived in London and climbed the seemingly never-fucking-ending vortex of stairs at Finsbury Park, dragging my luggage behind me (kudos to the guy who suggested I take the lift, then watched me struggle upstairs, his old green Reebok shoes an imprint on my mind), I never even guessed what I would be a part of days later at Peter's concert.

Now, when it comes to the art of 'concert reportage', I believe in authenticity, so I wrote the following paragraphs while lunching in Camden the day after the concert. Beware, my writing was influenced by my overwhelming excitement, shock (to the system), but also by exhaustion (blame the stairs at Finsbury Park and the fact that night buses from Bounds Green -one zero fucking seven, I am looking at you- live a life of their own, certainly undisturbed by my need to get from point A to point B and not to be stranded at a bus stop in the middle of the night, accompanied by a lonely fox staring at my cigarette like if it was food and the Full Moon), as well as circa million other emotions, piling atop the words like rain on the ground in Camden that day of "coronation"... :

I never thought that I'd experience the whole Royal Albert Hall singing ‘Tell the King’ and ‘The Man Who Would Be King’ a day before the coronation (editor's note number three: a beloved moment I couldn’t help but describe to everyone as I came home, especially those who asked me ‘but did you see the coronation’). Never thought I'd be dancing to (my favourite) 'Ballad of Grimaldi' and have my little nerd moment over hearing Peter talk about the meaning behind 'St. Jude' (editor’s note number four: it's one of my favourite songs exactly because of the part “St. Jude may hear my pleas / See me on my bended knees”), then sing along to 'I Get Along' (editor’s note number five: I have the refrain pinned on the wall at uni), as well as other scarcely or only once before performed songs played on Peter's acoustic, let alone watch people invade the stage while he's playing 'Time for Heroes' (but ‘did you see the ((stylish)) kids in the riots?’ I guess I fucking did!)… Guys from the row behind me jumping over my head to join others, then coming back and telling us about it. One of their friends went to the loos right before the stage invasion and thus missed the whole thing, so of course they all gathered to tease him with that "we've just been a part of something legendary and you've missed the whole thing" conversation.

I cannot say that I wasn't shocked; in the end, these were the wildest (?) "dreams" coming true, and the weirdest coincidences, as only that morning I said to my friend "I’m sad I never got to experience those wild years of stage invasions" (was the God of music listening? Whoever s/he is). To be absolutely honest, the experience was so overwhelming I think that I am only now coming back to reality, though I will not lie, it is a complex process. (Editor’s note number ?six?: The gin and tonic I consumed afterwards might have been at fault, too.)

The hours prior I was reading nature poets in Kensington's bookshops (I’m a romantic and ecocritic, shoot me), then walking around sunny Hyde Park, picking fallen blossom out of my hair, randomly bumping into old classmates (hi Magda!), this peaceful prelude to clear my head for the evening… then suddenly I’m crying to Hak Baker's support set (editor’s note number ??: his speech about mental health already had me tearing up, it turned to full on weeping as he talked about his mom), then I’m overwhelmed again, with joy too, seeing/hearing Peter – and shocked (to the core) but laughing (uncontrollably) as people sweep across the hall like a tsunami, jumping over a meter (or so) high barriers, knocking security guys down - because the poet said a word. You wouldn't be able to make any of that up, ever. And obviously, I was already more than happy (and quite emotional) that I came to London, but the following day, walking around Camden, the words of this random person I talked to after the concert suddenly hit me: "welcome to London". What a great city baptism. Now, writer's endnote: I do not think that we appreciate artists like Peter enough. For what they do for us in these moments, for how they can change our lives – with words, with music, and the magic that binds it all. What I've found since I started listening to Peter (& Carl, the Libertines and then the other dozen bands that came out of it all - bless 'em) is renewed passion for what I love, be it my poetry, writing, literature, art OR sailing (ok, flying) to Albion in pursuit of my dreams (and in pursuit of the never-fucking-ending vortex of stairs at Finsbury Park). And this, this is enough - truly, it is.

Thank you, Peter, the Albion is still on course. (But hey, where are we sailing next?)

-Karla

P.S. I apologize for the number of editor’s notes, I know it fucks up the (good) flow of the text and, as an editor and writer myself, I would give Karla here an earful about how she is supposed to control her "editor persona". Now, to prove how truly sorry she is, here are some more notes:

*Everything here (including the poem) is written by me. An edited version of this post should (soon) be also on my IG, along with videos.

*The phrase ‘because the poet said a word’ was my own invention (my friend Linda will testify to that); however, the good scholar that I am, I researched it yesterday to see if, maybe, it has been already used somewhere else, and while it seems it is original, I found connections to Emily Dickinson (such as her “This was a Poet—It is That” or “Shall I Take Thee”). This connection is purely unintentional, coincidental, but warms my heart nonetheless, especially when I know that Peter likes Emily’s poetry (and I do, too), and I wanted to point that out in case you people are poetry nerds like me, or would like some poetry recommendations.

*Addition to editor’s note number two: “coronary” and “coronation” both stem from the original Latin term “corona”; “coronary”, in particular, was derived from the medieval term "curuner" which was used for the person who had the (local) responsibility of protecting the crown. Ever thought of yer own heart as the “crown”? (I do have my “Karla the Linguist” moments.)

*Editor’s note number x (missing from the text): An hour before the gig I went for a tea into one of the bars at the Royal Albert Hall (it really was a tea!), and the girls behind the bar told me how it was ‘a quiet and slow day’ and I sat there, the room empty, and watched the staff around exchange jokes. I thought of that moment later as I watched the security/staff struggling to, somehow, control the masses.

*Anyone who wants to point out to me that ol’ Will Shakespeare thought that ‘Bohemia’ was reaching the Adriatic Sea at that time should understand that I am well aware of this possibility but, as a wannabe scholar, I feel inclined to test the limits of good ol’ William.

*Special thank you to everyone who made my stay in London an absolute dream come true (especially everyone at Muswell Hill and Rosebery Road where I was staying, local foxes and buses included), and to Linda for listening to my continuous storytelling these past few weeks (and being the first person to read this...what would my writing be, if I didn't have my people to share it with?).

[twittercomfrnklin2001-blog]

"Masquerade"

When I was younger there were episodes of Boris Karloff’s THRILLER series that scared the pants off me. My favorite episode, however, was a comic horror, “Masquerade” (1961, YouTube), directed by Herschel Daugherty with a script by Donald E. Sanford from a story by Henry Kuttner that first appeared in WEIRD TALES in 1942. Tom Poston and Elizabeth Montgomery are a bickering couple lost somewhere in the South who take refuge in a sinister house whose inhabitants may be killing and eating travelers. It would just be a clever thriller were it not for a twist at the end, and watching it knowing the twist may be even more fun, as you can see all the set-ups. Montgomery and Poston play in two different styles. She seems to be doing THE THIN MAN (1934) and quite well, while he seems to be doing WHISTLING IN THE DARK (1941). But they have one scene arguing about his drinking moonshine that has great comic timing. John Carradine and Jack Lambert are their hosts and possible killers, and the wonderful Dorothy Neumann (a Roger Corman regular with a background in sketch comedy) is the madwoman locked in a room upstairs. The three take such glee in their over-the-top characters it’s pretty much infectious. The set is great, but then, it was great in PSYCHO, too, with different dressings. And Jerry Goldsmith’s score catches the right balance between the eerie and the ridiculous.

[qbdatabase]

The Upstairs House by Julia Fine There’s a madwoman upstairs, and only Megan Weiler can see her. Ravaged and sore from giving birth to her first child, Megan is mostly raising her newborn alone while her husband travels for work. Physically exhausted and mentally drained, she’s also wracked with guilt over her unfinished dissertation—a thesis on mid-century children’s literature. Enter a new upstairs neighbor: the ghost of quixotic children’s book writer Margaret Wise Brown—author of the beloved classic Goodnight Moon—whose existence no one else will acknowledge ...

[chronically-ghosted]

For the ask game: 56, 42, and 43 💕

Hello! 👋🏻

56. favourite food(s)

this pineapple fried rice from this very specfic thai foodtruck by my house

taquitos from this very specific mexican restaurant by my house

everything but the ice cream by ben and jerrys

coffee, if that's a food group

42. favourite book(s)

the shadow of the wind by carlos ruiz zafón

the haunting of maddy clare by simone st.james (anything by simon st.james tbh)

mexican gothic by silvia moreno-garcia (anything by silvia moreno-garcia tbh)

the madwoman upstairs by catherine lowell

43. favourite song ever

only one pick for a song???

okay, either the chain by Fleetwood Mac or dancing in the dark by bruce springsteen

thank you so much for asking! 🤍

[eranthiss]

There's about two straight minutes of Iris cackling like a madwoman- the telltale noise of a shitty bluetooth speaker pairing to her phone- half an hour of the official Champion Iris battle music playing nonstop over the sound of a battle- and then even more cackling.

She's battling her upstairs neighbour for dominance.

Again. She just changed the music to the Wii channel music .

[gardengremlin]

Update: I made it out of work. First two hours were MEH but it went better after that. One of my coworkers owes me a coffee now for being a lazy shit and making me get the whole-ass heavy box of cocos disks from upstairs.

On the flip-side, now that work is over I feel my back burning like a bitch. I didn't notice because I was potting like a madwoman.

[akhilaasthana]

It was frightening, how her treacherous body echoed palpitations in her throat. She leaned against him nonetheless with no choice but to. The beat of her heart was a clammy crushing weight, but it provided a moment of clarity. Akhila licked her lips, satisfaction come in thick throes above the pain. Her gaze turned to him, the smile fading as he acknowledged she needed help. It would be easier to shift their joint focus to the problem at hand. The heart. Because she was so sure of it now. Ha! Would a madwoman be so wise as this. Akhila had undone the puzzle. She had her salvation. Unfortunately, she still gripped him for fear her weakened knee would give out again.

She didn’t want to leave. She didn’t want to abandon her purpose.

“There’s crutches upstairs…” Akhila reluctantly confided, they could be her aid in continuing the search. But leaving when she was so close. When she could nearly taste success felt like defeat. “My nose will heal of its own accord.” What was a little pain? Akhila had rarely been this side of an encounter. She didn’t need to hazard the guess that her patients had felt greater pain than this. “Really no first aid is necessary. I suspect a subluxation of my patella…I can confirm it is back in its proper place.” Akhila huffed a laugh, but the sharp uptick of pain from exhaling through her nose cut her humour short. “There’s no immediate first aid to be done, I am conscious, and the dispensary is locked.”

Akhila’s gaze lifted beyond him, the corridor appeared shorter than it did in her memory. There was no hope for her cataloguing the corridors, rooms and blueprint of this place when it shifted on a whim. “Help me upstairs…” Akhila conceded, because even she could admit that a clean face would make her feel leagues better. She worried her bottom lip, her gaze glossing back over him now that clarity had returned. Would he be useful in her search? It was one to mull over as they worked in tandem towards the stairs. He’d proved himself to be…adequate on the ship, and in equals parts a noisy nuisance. Startlingly, under the garish veneer he appeared quite ordinary.

Akhila still loathed herself for knowing she'd bared herself for him. There was no lower state than that of need. She sought to distract them both from the shame of her infirmity.

“Alex have you ever read The Castle of Otranto?” For she was quite certain now, more than ever, they were living in a brutalist battlement. Defiled by the inexplainable.

Alex made a belated lunge, held back by the conviction that Akhila would never forgive him for seeing her brought low to such an undignified state, and winced when his delay meant that she collapsed back down onto what she'd already injured -- her knee, from what he could tell as she started to touch it, palpate the area and all that kind of medical whoozy-whatsitz that he'd seen medics do on the show.

She didn't seem to have realized just yet that she'd smashed her nose, too, but Alex waited politely on that one. Dignity in pretending something didn't exist until the person it had happened to realized it, you understand. If anybody worked by those rules it would be Akhila, posh Afghan Hound Akhila, schoolmarm with a soft heart somewhere under that haughty ribcage Akhila.

And there it came as Alex scootched softly down to a crouch next to her, on one knee, seeing the blood smeared over her hand nauseatingly scarlet and fresh. He didn't know what she was talking about -- had she found this basement? Something in the basement, something to do with her powers, some other inner thing she'd been searching for? -- but what came next was more immediate. Alex was good at immediate, great at it. Give them what they right away wanted and let the rest come after.

"I got you," he said without hesitation, and scooped an arm around her middle (she was so so slight, for all the gravitas of her presence) to bring them both up to standing. Alex had them leaned so that he was bearing most of Akhila's body weight, hazarding a guess: "You couldn't stop moving? Is that how you ended up taking a spill?" And then on the heels of that so she wouldn't have time to feel disgruntled and self-conscious, an appeal to her greater knowledge: "What d'you need me to do, to help with your nose and your knee? My first aid's got its limitations."

[the-final-sentence]

But on this point, I think I have said sufficient.

Catherine Lowell, from The Madwoman Upstairs

[loewenzahnstudies]

What and where I’m reading, March 2020

[pagesfullofstars]

Isn't there some truth in all fiction? There's some fiction in all truth too. 

- The Madwoman Upstairs by Catherine Lowell ★

[bookish-thinking]

Review: “The Madwoman Upstairs” by Catherine Lowell

Whether you like the Brontë siblings (one of them, all of them, their writing, their story) or not, this book is a great read! It is also twice as enjoyable for literary students, I am sure, as we know all about the references mentioned and the practices of our field. We know the discussions about how to read books properly, death of the author or not, and about deep obsessions with details and individual people. It is a great book about books, a great story of a literary scavenger hunt, gothic adventures, families and their secrets and legacies, as well as a bit of a love story. Filled with complicated, quirky and lovable characters and rich settings, this is a good book to curl up with. And for all the Brontë lovers and literature students out there, it is enlightening, entertaining, a bit of a naval gaze that at times forgets a fourth wall exists, and delights with sharp-witted discussions.

[lost-generation-lights]

"Are there any leading men in your life?" "Several, but they're all fictional."

The Madwoman Upstairs, Catherine Lowell