#amusement ride manufacturer

[hithisis9]

Crazy Tagada Ride for Sale!

Spin with dynamic music!

【Official Web】 https://www.thrill-rides.com/

[shailion]

"We explicitly told you not to do that and you did it anyway"

CAUSES OF ENGINEERING DISASTERS:

"huh, didn't know that material behaved that way"

"well luckily *this* load case will never happen"

"I TOLD YOU. I TOLD YOU ALL. BUT YOU SAID THE FIX WAS TOO EXPENSIVE AND WOULD TAKE TOO LONG"

"you were using it to do *what*???"

"shouldn't we get this change approved by a regulatory body?" "nah"

"wait we were meant to inspect that part of the structure?"

[amusementrides]

Website: https://www.spin-ride.com/space-roller-ride/

e-mail: info@spin-ride.com

30 seats fiberglass space roller ride for sale; thrilling ride space roller is popular in the amusement park, theme park, scenic area, etc. factory price high-safety space roller ride is suitable for your investment. more details, please contact us!

[indiabungy]

India Bungy - Expertise in Modular Plastic Floating, Floating Jetty, Amusement Park Rides, and Pool Table Manufacturing

When it comes to business, there is a lot that goes into the manufacturing process. From designing the perfect product to manufacturing it with precision, the process can be overwhelming at times. That's where India Bungy comes in! India Bungy is a company with expertise in multiple different types of manufacturing, including modular plastic floating, floating jetty, amusement park rides, and even pool table manufacturing. Here, we will delve deeper into each of these areas and provide an overview of India Bungy's offerings.

Modular Plastic Floating Manufacturers:

India Bungy's modular plastic floating solutions are perfect for those looking for an easy-to-install docking solution. Using high-quality, durable materials, these floating structures can be customized to meet your unique specifications. Whether you're looking for modular plastic floating manufacturers for a small pond or a larger lake, India Bungy's modular plastic floating solutions are perfect for any environment.

Floating Jetty Manufacturers in India:

In addition to modular plastic floating solutions, India Bungy is also a leading floating jetty manufacturers in India. These jetties are perfect for those looking for an easy-to-assemble option for their waterfront. Whether you're looking to create a dock for your boat or simply want to enjoy a peaceful day by the water, India Bungy's floating jetties are the perfect solution.

Amusement Park Rides Manufacturers:

India Bungy is also a leader in amusement park rides manufacturers. Whether you're looking for a thrilling ride for your park or just want to add some excitement to your business, India Bungy's amusement park rides are second to none. With a team of expert designers and engineers, we have the ability to create custom rides that are sure to amaze your guests.

Top Pool Table Manufacturers:

Finally, India Bungy is also top pool table manufacturers. If you're looking for a high-quality pool table that is built to last, look no further. Our expert craftsmen use only the finest materials to create each and every table, ensuring that you have a product that will provide years of fun for you and your family.

In conclusion, India Bungy is a company with expertise in a variety of manufacturing processes. Whether you're looking for modular plastic floating solutions, floating jetties, amusement park rides, or pool tables, India Bungy has got you covered. With a team of expert engineers, designers, and craftsmen, we are dedicated to providing our clients with only the best products. Contact India Bungy today and let us help you bring your manufacturing dreams to life!

[teal-fiend]

The Actor

A day in the life of a working predator actor.

content: fatal vore, implied digestion, willing prey, hunger, safe vore mentioned

The actor entered into their silver trailer and sat down on their faux leather couch (cruelty-free), lying back painfully, exhausted, looking up at the ceiling. That was a rough couple of hours. 

They had just finished the swallowing scene, the one the director wouldn’t budge on even though it was such a time sink, so much money and effort and agony for what, 2 seconds of footage that would actually be used in the final film? 

The actor’s stomach growled irritably. It had been fed, and then unfed so many times it was now beyond confusion and hunger. The pred rubbed their stomach soothingly. It didn’t know what was going on. The pred’s body was not designed for this type of tomfoolery. In the past, in ancient times, once they had prey, they got to keep it. There was no messing around with spitting it back up again, only to consume it once more five minutes later. 

The pred’s stomach had gotten all the signals that it was supposed to be digesting a big meal, and the fact that it wasn’t, meant that it was going to direct its energy; its anger, onto the pred. 

What the stomach didn’t know, the actor thought to themselves, was that doing this would ensure hundreds, if not thousands of prey in the future; the money they would make from this film could feed them for several lifetimes over. But this sort of thing was inconceivable to the simple animal that was the predator’s stomach. All it knew was that it had been robbed. It never thought of the distant future, only the current and terrible emptiness and hunger for more - anything. 

There was a metallic knock on the trailer door.

The actor straightened themselves up, “come in,”

Their personal assistant arrived on the threshold. 

“Don’t tell me I have to go back out there,” the actor groaned.

“I have some appetite suppressants.”

“You know those make me sick, besides, doesn’t that go against the point of it all.”

These gruelling hours were at least partially manufactured by the director’s desire to capture a genuine experience. They talked about it a lot, and it meant that they would force the pred to repeat the same scenes over and over until they grew exhausted and irritated and that would supposedly bring out their true predatory nature.

“Take three, I’ll tell them that this is your last round then you’re done for the day.”

“No, don’t tell them that, they’ll keep me out all night.”

“According to your contract, no. They’re only allowed one more hour with you today, and I’ll make sure they stick by it. I’ll have something waiting for you when you get home.”

“Prey?” the actor asked, barely concealing their excitement. 

Their assistant scoffed, slightly amused, “well yes.”

“Alright,” the pred laughed, stretching, “I’m just making sure you’re not throwing me a party or something. But going home to a nice, big prey… that sounds nice.”

“I’ll see you out there,” the assistant said evenly. 

“Right-o”

Knowing what they had in store back at home, the pred was able to breeze through the next hour, much to the behest of the director who was determined to see them break under the pressure. They wanted hunger, they wanted animalism, madness, and they got it, but the pred was only acting. And once they heard ‘cut’, the actor reverted back to their carefree selves. And they left exactly on the hour.

—

After the uber ride and the elevator ride, the actor unlocked the door to their penthouse apartment with a metal swipe card. Inside there was someone waiting, they could smell before they could see

Under the pink LED lights in an otherwise dark apartment, their prey waited for them. But when they saw the pred, they looked surprised.

“Good evening,” the actor said

“It’s you!” Their prey gasped.

The actor grinned, a little confused. “It is me.”

Maybe the prey wasn’t told whose apartment they were going to? They didn’t know how this stuff worked - usually they just came in and ate the prey and nobody was surprised or asked questions or really said much at all. After all, it would be a bit strange to have a conversation with your doordasher. Or maybe the prey was more like the take-out that the delivery man provided. It would be even more strange to talk to your take-outs… which is exactly why the actor tended to avoid it.

“I’ve always wanted to be eaten by you,” the prey said.

“Really?” 

“Ever since I saw you in that old movie,”

Ah yes, the pred remembered their debut film. It was crazy, all the way back then. They had only just graduated highschool. It was a small project, they just happened to be one of the only preds that the director knew. 

The movie became considered the first film to show a predator consuming prey on screen. Technically there were others, but this is the one that people heard about. And it made the pred famous.

“Oh gosh, has it been ten years already?”

How interesting how that worked. Time, and knowing people. The prey had known about the actor for many, many years. They’d seen interviews and articles probably, they knew the pred as well as a friend might. And yet, the pred had never seen this prey before in their life. 

“Maybe this is fate,” the actor said, “or manifested destiny.”

The pred felt a strong squeezing in their middle. The hunger pangs were peaking. But they felt the need to entertain their fan for a little while longer. They were after all, deep down, a performer. 

“Sorry if I’m a bit off, I’ve had a terrible shooting experience. I’m not sure what they told you, but I was made to swallow and spit up prey for most of the day.”

The prey consoled them, sympathetic, but they couldn’t help but ask, “you’re making another movie?” The implication being, another movie where the actor would eat prey on screen. 

“Yes,” the pred said, “I suppose you won’t get to watch it… that’s a shame.”

The prey sighed. The pred grinned, “but that also means that it won’t matter if I break my NDA, would it? After all,” they lowered their voice subtly, “you’re going to be me soon anyway.”

The prey paled slightly. The pred moved gently but unyielding, taking their prey’s hand and putting it against their grumbling stomach. They began to describe the plot of the film to the prey, along with some insider knowledge about production that they were sure the prey was dying to know about. 

As they talked, they were also sizing the prey up, considering where they would like to lie down after they had finished eating. The actor’s feet were sore, they didn’t want to have to wander about with a full tummy. They slowly moved the prey towards the pit in the living room, a kind of sunken area that was like a circular couch with a large marble coffee table in the middle. 

Once they were ready to eat, they already knew exactly how they would do it. Despite the years in between, the pred remembered the stage directions of their debut film perfectly. 

They started by saying a few low words, a close up to the actors faces. Then the camera would pull back, so the audience could watch as the pred hoisted the prey up by both arms, then took them feet-first into their mouth. It watched the slow struggle, one long take (and they only made one take. The pred had to use all their focus to not fuck it up and look into the camera). Every gag, gulp and fidget of an inexperienced pred and an even more inexperienced prey. Although these days, the actor had plenty of experience. Especially after the day they had - their throat still burned from the repeated friction. 

The actor sighed in relief once their meal had settled. They were about to lie down, but then realised they were still in their work clothes. They supposed it was unavoidable, having to walk around with a full stomach. Strangely enough, they felt a burst of energy, a bit of adrenaline - a second wind after eating. They supposed their stomach was ready to let it go again, so it wasn’t about to get comfortable just yet. That was fine for the pred; they wanted to take a shower anyway. 

The shower was steamy and well-pressurised, the towels were heated and soft, the robe waiting for them was softer. The actor passed by a hamper that they forgot they had, and selected from it a small box of assorted chocolates. Then they went back to the living room, balancing the box on top of their belly, and laid down in the pit. 

Their stomach was starting to trust them again, “there, see,” the predator said, caressing it gently, “all yours.”

The pred heard their prey murmur about something, and shift around. The pred frowned, then prodded their stomach curiously. It was always strange to hear their food try to talk from inside of them. A bit uncanny. Maybe it made them uncomfortable because if other people were around when it happened, they’d act all sympathetic, wanting to make the pred let their prey out. And that was something the pred didn’t even want to think about right now. 

That wasn’t going to happen now. The pred patted their gut proprietarily. The movement dislodged a belch, and their stomach grew tighter around their meal. 

The actor turned on their television and chose a movie they’d been waiting for a chance to see. A thriller. They took a candy from the box and ate it, eyes staying on the screen. As the opening sequence played, the actor took in a deep breath and sighed, relaxing more into the cushions. They’d had a big day, but now here they were, maybe all the hard work made moments like these more enjoyable. The pred kept a hand rested on their stomach, casually, restfully, but possessively. This one I get to keep. 

[trivialbob]

Yesterday I had a great time in Wisconsin.

Early in the morning I cooked a traditional eggs and sausage breakfast. When I finished eating I walked around the campground, talking to people. I crossed paths with a lot of nice people this weekend. During my walk a group of campers were cooking eggs and bacon outside. Despite having just eaten a similar big breakfast the smell made me feel hungry again.

Eventually I drove to town to re-fill the propane tank. When I buy propane at home I pay a cashier first then show an attendant my receipt before he fills the tank. At the place in Wisconsin the owner (I think he was) came outside. I asked if I should pay before he filled or while he filled the tank.

"You can pay now if you want. Or you can talk with me while I fill the tank," he replied.

Being who I am, asked all sorts of questions about his experiences filling propane tanks while he filled mine. He seemed to genuinely appreciate my interest. There were no horror stories. He explained how he inspects the tank's date of manufacture and makes sure it's safe to re-fill. Back home I've never noticed the attendant pay much attention to the tank, nor is he into small talk either.

After that I went down the road to the place our friends own for a bloody Mary and a small pizza. I like the garnish in a separate glass and the chaser. I looked over several side-by-sides in the parking lot, including one flying two large American flags (the pictures at the top).

After lunch I returned to the campground -- and took a two hour nap. Why not. It felt like vacation. When I got up I met more people at the campground. It's been only two weekends but I'm very happy Sheila chose this place for a year.

Then I went on a bicycle ride. Because I was on some 45-55 MPH roads I wore a hi-viz jacket and had all my blinky lights going.

Almost everyone who drove towards me waived. Drivers who passed me gave wide berth. Two farmers on tractors subtly waved and nodded their heads my way. That made me smile. Approaching an Amish buggy, I figured the woman and boy in it might not appreciate my bright, flashy garb and blinking lights. But they smiled brightly and waved. That really made me grin.

In the evening I went to a different small town, the one I had been to the previous night. I was keen on having a beer at the bar that shares my first name.

First picture below is a sign on the way into town that I found amusing. Second picture is inside Mr. Bob's bar.

I should have taken a selfie, to show EXACTLY how many customers were in there at 6 PM. Later someone told me Mr. Bob's doesn't get busy until late at night. The bartender was a decent woman, but I felt she looked at me like "Why the heck are you here so early? Now I have to stop what I'm doing to serve you." It's not like I woke up the owner to serve me beer at 7 AM. I should have asked why they don't simply unlock the doors at 10 PM.

Since there was no one to chat with at Mr. Bob's I went around the corner to a taproom I had on my list of places to try. I was not disappointed.

There are 20 beers on tap. Not one of them has Light in the name. I chose a flight of four.

Next summer, sometime when Sheila drives, I plan to order the Dirty Knapp. It's served in that large, Swiss-cheese-looking circle below. For $48 you get a four-ounce beer from each of the 20 taps. That's five pints. I'm not a college student any more, but I think I can pull it off if I skip lunch and dinner :)

At the bar I sat with two other guys my age and a younger woman. The bartender was funny. The five of us laughed pretty hard while telling stories.

Because I had to drive back in the dark, along deer-infested county roads, I didn't drink any more beer after that flight. I was having so much fun talking to the others I didn't want to leave. So I tried some non-alcoholic drinks. I've seen hop water before, just never tried it. I liked it. It reminded me of some odd flavor of La Croix. I also had a non-alcoholic IPA. It tasted like real beer without making me buzzed.

To complete my night, some neighbors invited me to join them and their friends around a camp fire. More laughter and stories.

Fun times. I'm looking forward to going back a few more times before we have to winterize the trailer.

[bethanydelleman]

Anne de Bourgh is probably just sick

It really bothers me when people speculate that Anne isn’t really sick or that she is a victim of Munchhausen's by proxy because it makes Lady Catherine a monster instead of a uppity busy-body. There is nothing in the text to indicate that Anne is even unhappy at home or feels stifled by her mother! She is presented as ill.

First of all, it was very common back then for people to be sickly. No modern medicine meant vaccine preventable diseases were running rampant many of which can cause lifelong complications (except smallpox, that vaccine was rolling out) and if you had something like a heart condition, no medication or surgery. There are many "sickly" people in history who are suspected of all sorts of conditions. Anne could suffer from something as simple as chronic anemia or from a congenital heart condition or many other things. Diagnosis lagged behind cures in many cases, for example, Type 1 Diabetes has been correctly diagnosed for hundreds of years but it was just a death sentence until they learned how to manufacture insulin.

Second, Anne is physically different from her family and shockingly so. Maria cries out in surprise, “Only look at her. She is quite a little creature. Who would have thought she could be so thin and small!” Elizabeth later describes her thusly, “Miss de Bourgh was pale and sickly: her features, though not plain, were insignificant”. Given that almost every other member of the Fitzwilliam family (Darcy, Georgiana, and Lady Catherine) are described as tall and “formidable”, this indicates a long-standing illness.

Third, there is no evidence that Lady Catherine is in any way cruel or abusive towards her daughter. Anne has her little phaeton to ride around on, Lady Catherine brings people to play pianoforte and cards for her daughter's amusement, and she has a round the clock health attendant, Mrs. Jenkinson. She seems excessively concerned about Anne's health, which wouldn't help to fake keep her sick, "except when Mrs. Jenkinson expressed her fears of Miss de Bourgh’s being too hot or too cold, or having too much or too little light" and "Mrs. Jenkinson was chiefly employed in watching how little Miss de Bourgh ate, pressing her to try some other dish, and fearing she was indisposed,"

Fouth, Anne if anything, seems like a Lady Catherine mini-me than a poor stifled child. She makes Charlotte stand outside to talk to her, which Elizabeth calls rude. She also is a tyrant over her guests:

Miss De Bourgh chose to play at cassino, the two girls had the honour of assisting Mrs. Jenkinson to make up her party.... When Lady Catherine and her daughter had played as long as they chose

In Mansfield Park, Mrs. Grant makes a big pretense of wanting to play whist for her husband’s sake but making it seem like the guests’ choice. Both Anne and Lady Catherine choose without reference to their guests and they play for as long as they want.

But mostly, why in the world would Lady Catherine make her daughter sick if her life goal is to have Darcy marry Anne? Who is going to marry someone who looks like they will die in a stiff wind? Lady Catherine's probably relying on family duty because she knows her daughter is basically unmarriageable. She's frail! She can't even play piano much less run Pemberley, and Lady Catherine is aware of that which is why her only chance is hinting at her nephew and yelling at women he dares to propose to!

Now is it possible that Lady Catherine is treating Anne with something that makes her more ill? Certainly. But that would be an honest mistake and not malicious. Also, we see in Sense & Sensibility that the doctor tries a new remedy when the last fails, so I think it is more probable that Lady Catherine would have gone though many treatments and many doctors, all of whom have failed or maybe resulted in very small improvements.

Anne de Bourgh being an only child and a sickly one is Lady Catherine’s only sympathetic feature. It seems more likely to me that the reason Lady Catherine tries to control and advise others is because the only thing she can’t change is Anne. If Lady Catherine is inflicting this illness on Anne she just becomes an irrational monster. It’s far more likely that Lady Catherine is deeply disappointed that she can’t present Anne at court and parade her around.

People with MbyP usually want to be praised for taking care of their child. Not so with Lady Catherine. The compliments Lady Catherine appreciates are Mr. Collins saying it’s sad Anne can’t be out. She assures people that if Anne was well she would have been awesome. This points more to disappointed hopes than wanting to be seen as a supermom.

MbyP is also super rare. It's far more likely that Anne is just sick or is a result of too many cousins marrying cousins, or is a contrast to healthy, vibrant Elizabeth. Jane Austen also LOVES writing hypochondriacs and when she does, it is always very clear but Anne de Bourgh is presented as just sickly.

Additional Note: The JAFF trope where Elizabeth, uneducated girl that she is, knows what is wrong with Anne/knows the treatment is hurting her is just kind of laughable. If anything she would say something like, “You shouldn’t bleed her, mercury is the way to go.”  Also Lady Catherine would probably laugh in her face and ask her for some credentials.

[reactivatedrockstar]

Closed starter for @6am-saveme

It was practically a tradition at this point for Freddy and Bonnie to spend a day at the amusement park shortly after the Bunnie family's annual trip. As much as the freckled bassist loved spending time with his siblings, he always ended up watching the younger ones that were too short to ride all the big, intense roller coasters. Mom and Dad took the triplets and Brielle around kiddie land, whereas Brent, Bridgette, and Bibi ran off to go ride all the stuff Bonnie wanted to, leaving the responsible teenager to keep an eye on the fellow middle children. That's why he and Freddy always went back: to give Bonnie the chance to ride what he missed out on.

Bonnie absolutely loved it, because who wouldn't want to spend the day at the amusement park with their best friend?! Especially since he didn't get to ride the park's new giga coaster, Night Train. While it didn't have any inversions, he'd heard nothing but good things about this ride, and it was even made by one of his favorite manufacturing companies, so he knew that the restraints would be nice and comfortable. Bonnie had been geeking out about this coaster for months before it opened, so naturally, standing in line to ride it was a hard thing for the brunette to do.

"I am literally so excited for this."

[omgellendean]

what is a children's railway? is it some sort of an amusement ride where kids can participate?

A children's railway is the coolest thing ever. Trains in general are always cool, but this type is special because it's used and operated mainly by children.

Essentially, it's a miniature train system (usually in the park) with its own looped narrow-gauge railroad, a real, completely functional train with several cars, and two or three stations. Often, the train is manufactured specifically for the children's railway or even made by enthusiasts, so it's unique in this aspect too.

There are adults present for safety, but kids get to try most of the railroad professions, from the station attendant to locomotive driver. In winter, they undergo training, visit real train stations, make models, etc. Then in summer, they practice working in different roles and eventually driving passengers around. Children that finished the entire 4 year course also get easier entry into further professional education, at least in Russia.

Children's railways originated in the USSR in the 1930s and became pretty popular both within the union and in other socialist countries. Because, again, trains are cool, little trains operated by kids are even cooler, and the state gets several thousands future railroad workers guaranteed every year. But they can be really costly and demanding, and trying to get more profit veers dangerously into child labour exploitation. That's why, in the 90s, a lot of these railways have been closed or converted into amusement rides, unless they were backed by the government.

Luckily for Russia, our railroad company keeps all 52 Soviet children's railways running and has even built several more, so that's a W. If you visit in summer, check out if your city have this ride and give it a try.

[pancakeke]

once a friend showed me some youtube channels where people take videos via go pro as they walk through haunted houses and amusement part dark room rides and such. does this kind of thing exist but with tours of facilities that manufacture various stuff? or maybe tours of greenhouses/hydroponic vegetable growing facilities? I want to see stuff being made.

[hithisis9]

New Jump and Smile Carnival Ride for Sale for People of All Ages

Contact me if you have interest.

[roosterbruiser]

𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ✯ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐞𝐧

✯ 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 "𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐦𝐚𝐧" 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐘𝐨�� (𝐍𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞: 𝐅𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲) ✯ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: The moment we've literally all been waiting for. ✯ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 7.6k ✯ 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✯ 𝐅𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲'𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐱𝐭𝐚𝐩𝐞 #𝟏 ✯ 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞'𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐱𝐭𝐚𝐩𝐞 #𝟏 ✯ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ✯ 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐞𝐧 ��𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝, 𝐓𝐗 𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝟒𝐭𝐡, 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟖

The scent of fireworks sits thickly in the air--it has all day, from the moment you woke up to the first few distinct pop-pop-pop-pop’s from the neighbors front yard. You like the smell of fireworks: gunpowder that’s been manufactured for wide public consumption. It makes you think of dank swimsuits and overcooked hotdogs and sitting on your daddy’s shoulders.

“Filly? You up, honey?” Your mama asks, knocking on your door. 

She knows you are, though--you’re always up before ten on the 4th of July, even when you were little. 4th of July was like Christmas to you; you couldn’t wait to put on your little shorts and run through Color Bombs. 

“Yeah,” you answer softly, blinking up at the ceiling. “I’ll be out in a minute, mama.” 

Your mama just nods, hand hesitating by the handle. She knows better, really, than to go into your room without your explicit invitation. You’ve never really liked her in there--not since she made you take all your paper horses off the walls. She supposes, in some ways, you’re still punishing her. You’re bull-headed like that. 

“You want orange juice?” Your mama asks again, letting her hand fall to her side. 

“Sure,” you answer, voice thin. 

You can’t stomach anything. You’re nervous--that belly-churning, palm-sweating kind of nervous. Your mama makes you butter-drenched toast and you throw it in the trash when she’s not looking. You ride on the back of your daddy’s motorcycle to the firework stand with your belly aching, your ears ringing. You smile and nod when your daddy points to different ones he would buy if he had more money. 

It isn’t even that you’re not used to this--everything that’s happening so far today, even the unrelenting sunshine and the muddy grass from the past few days of rain--is achingly normal. This is how every 4th of July has gone for you. You and your daddy go to firework stands the day-of to get the best deals, you set some shit off in the front yard, you wait all day for night to come. 

The only difference is that today you’re going to have sex for the first time. It shouldn’t feel like a big deal--that’s what you tell yourself. It’s nothing. It’s just sex. That’s all, that’s it. And, logically, you’re sure that’s true. 

It gives you fleeting solace, only for a few moments. But still--you can’t calm down, not permentantly. 

Your daddy notices--because he’s always noticing you--when the two of you are sitting on the front stoop just before dark. Only an hour before you’re supposed to meet Jake. There’s a bucket full of water sitting before you and your daddy is smoking a cigarette as he lights little firecrackers and tosses them into the water, where they promptly explode beneath the surface and make the water spurt up and out. He’s taking long drags, watching your listless stare, watching your fingernail disappear between your teeth. 

“Need a smoke, spitfire?” He asks. 

You glance at him, squinting beneath the sunset. And then you shake your head softly. You know that if you start smoking now, you won’t be able to stop. 

Your daddy isn’t one to press. So, he nods. 

He flicks his trusty silver zippo again, just to have something to do. 

He’s paused throwing the firecrackers in the water--he knows you aren’t amused. Something in his chest feels tight because of it; this used to be your favorite thing to do on the 4th. You used to stay outside all day, punks in your hands, hair unbrushed, teeth coated in bomb-pop, little legs covered in mosquito bites. 

Now, here you are, eighteen-years-old. All long limbs and crazy hair, the prettiest kind of despondent expression on your face. You’re the kind of pretty that just ain’t fair--you aren’t even trying. You look like your mama did--except by the time she was eighteen, you’d already been around for a fair while, hanging all over your daddy and causing trouble.

“You gonna tell me what’s on your mind?” He asks gently. He still isn’t pushing--it’s a genuine question. “‘Cause you better do it while your mama’s out of earshot.” 

You hone in on the precise moment you’re in: the distant popping of firecrackers, the crickets crooning, the bullfrogs singing in their misplaced ponds in the flooded grass, the gunpowder sitting so readily beneath your nostrils, the mosquitos clouding your face, the scent of your daddy’s cigarette. 

“M’fine,” you tell him, holding your cheek in your palm as you look at your daddy. He’s still flicking his zippo, puffing his cigarette, eyeing you. “Tired, I guess.” 

He nods. 

“Didn’t sleep well?” 

You lie--shaking your head.

“Nah.” 

“Shame,” your daddy says softly. “Usually bein’ tired don’t make you lose your appetite, Filly-billy.” 

Busted. 

You never try to bullshit your dad and in turn, he never tries to bullshit you. 

“I’m nervous about somethin’,” you admit. You warily make eye contact with him, your mouth a serious flat line. “And that’s all I’m gonna say about it, alright?” 

Your daddy nods, adjusting the hat on his head and stubbing his cigarette on the concrete you’re sitting on. 

“Are you in trouble?” He asks gently. You shake your head. “Is someone gonna hurt you?” He asks. You shake your head. “Is it somethin’ I can fix?” You shake your head again. “Is it the reason you’re wearin’ makeup?”

Swallowing hard, you nod. 

It’s quiet for a moment. 

You and your daddy look out over the shitty front yard you’ve always had, the one that floods too easily but somehow always has yellow grass. Up and down the street, the neighbor kids are lighting Color Bombs and writing their names with Sparklers. People are starting to gather their six-packs and their lawn chairs to stake out on the curb, bellies full of barbecue ribs and potato salad. The lightning bugs are starting to float across the air as the heat begins to die, elegant and sporadic. 

If someone were to look at your front porch right now, if someone were to see this tired-looking cowboy sitting next to the young girl in the dress with finger-applied makeup, would they ever know how close the two of you are? That just admitting to your daddy that you’re nervous about something has made your gut settle?

“You gonna be alright?” He asks you seriously.

You nod, sniffling. 

“Uh huh,” you tell him. You know you are. You’re just nervous. 

“You gonna be somewhere you can call me if you ain’t alright?” 

You told your parents you were going to Ennis with Ruth for the annual parade, then staying the night at her house. But you don’t bullshit your daddy. 

“Yeah, daddy,” you say quietly.

He nods, chewing on his lower lip. 

“Need any cash?” He asks--because he always, always asks.

You shake your head. 

“No, daddy.”

“Well,” he says, sighing. “You ain’t gettin’ off that easy. One Roman Candle before you leave--no if’s, and’s, or but’s about it.” 

It makes you laugh and your daddy relaxes, elbowing your ribs and standing up with a heave. He lights up another smoke, kicks the bucket of water over into the grass, and winks at you. 

Your daddy has you stand in the middle of the street--telling all the little neighbor kids to back up, winking at all the old granny’s that sit in their lawn chairs with their plates of apple pie--and puts the Roman Candle in your hands, grinning at you. 

“Alright, girly. You ‘member how to do it?” 

You roll your eyes--you shoot off Roman Candles every year. 

“Uh huh,” you lip. 

Your daddy grins, cigarette dangling out of his mouth. Then he promptly takes his trusty hat off, plops it down on your head, smooths his curls, and lights your candle. 

“Run like Hell!” He teases. “Giddy on up!”

You roll your eyes and take a few paces down the street, further away from everyone. And all your neighbors, these people that have always been in these trailers, clap and holler for you as you curtsey for them. 

The candle shoots off more elegantly than you remember--the little powderkegs are smooth as they burst out of the tube and into the dusk above you, bursting in the dark blue sky in flashes of neon pink. They fizzle before hitting the street. 

And, sure, it’s beautiful. But it’s nothing new. 

What is drawing your attention right now, what is making your belly settle finally, is all the little neighbor kids hooting and hollering. They’re vibrating with excitement, amusement written all over their features, jumping up and down in their hand-me-downs and clapping their hands. They’ve abandoned their bicycles and their poopsicles, stuck their punks in the damp ground and forgotten about their Tanks and Confetti Poppers. All that matters to them in their little lives is the pretty girl in the dress holding the Roman Candle, lighting up their dinky street with bright pink. It’s the closest to magic they’ve ever seen probably. 

Your daddy, arms crossed over his chest and heels of his boots pressed into the asphalt, watches you grin at all the neighbor kids. He wonders, for a moment, just when you grew up. You and Jake used to be those neighbor kids, sticky with popsicles, sick with pie, throwing color bombs at each other, tackling each other in the mud. Now your face is alight with joy, pink dazzling your glassy eyes, a grin fighting its way on your lips. 

He thinks, even just right now, that you’re the best thing he’s ever done with his life.

Jake’s sitting in Rusty, holding onto the steering wheel, making sure that everything’s in order. The gas tank is full, the oil’s been changed, the key isn’t jamming, and Jake even splurged and bought one of those tree-shaped air fresheners to hang from the rear-view mirror. It hasn’t done much to mask the scent of marijuana and beer, but it’s the thought that counts. 

These days, since everything that happened with Emmaline, Jake is more pensive about everything. He’s doing his best to try and forget about it all, avoiding bringing Emmaline up in any capacity--Hell, even avoiding anything related to babies--but it’s been weighing heavily on his mind. 

The only thing that’s taken all that away is you. You sitting on the handlebars of his bike after a shift at the ice cream parlor, you laying in his bed and flipping through old comic books while he tosses a baseball up and catches it, you kissing him dumb in your backyard after a summer shower, all that citrus on your skin, all that warmth in your throat. It’s the only time he feels okay. 

If you know that something is wrong, you don’t show it. And Jake tries his damndest to be normal around you. No more crying in your bed as you hold him, which you haven’t brought up yet. He’s thankful that you haven’t--he thinks it’s very graceful of you. He loves you for it.

He’s been looking forward to today for what feels like his entire life. And he’s decided that he isn’t going to let anything stop tonight from being perfect. He has to soak it all in--every bit of it. He’s not gonna think about Emmaline or being a dad or going to college or playing baseball. He’s gonna think about you--just you, only you. 

He has until the end of the summer.

So, when he glances at the rearview mirror and suddenly sees you standing at the edge of the driveway with an old grocery bag disguised as an overnight bag in your hands, his shoulders immediately go slack. 

You’re smiling softly at him, toeing the loose asphalt at the end of the drive. Your heart is racing. 

But then he gets out of the truck and grins at you--that Jake grin, the one that could light up the darkest part of the ocean, the one that spreads across his entire body--and your body goes slack with peace. 

“Hey, Filly-girl,” Jake greets. He crosses his arms, nods to the truck. “Like my ride?”

You nod, playing along, pretending like you’ve never seen Rusty before. 

“She’s pretty special,” you tell him, swiping your fingers across the rust as you near him. “How many miles she got on her?” 

Jake holds his hands on his hips. 

“Only five,” he says. 

You gasp. 

“But that’s how many miles it is from here to the dealership!”

He nods. 

“Only the best for you,” he tells you, patting Rusty. 

And that’s when you finally meet him just outside the driver’s side door, when you press your chest against his, when you’re close enough for him to smell those oranges. He takes your bag, sets it in the truck, then moves to hold your waist. You begin to tense, glancing at the trailer behind him, but he shakes his head. 

“They’re all at the Bennet family’s compound,” he tells you. “No one’s home.” 

So, you sink into him. It’s silly, almost, that the two of you are hugging. But you are. It’s just what feels right in this moment, what feels natural. It feels right to wrap you up in his arms, sink his nose in your hair, and hold still. That’s all he ever really wants to do with you, anyway. Just hold still. 

“Got…everythin’?” You ask, voice muffled from his chest. 

Heat pools in your cheeks. This is the first time you’ve felt nervous--or embarrassed--about anything relating to sex. This just feels so much bigger than anything you’ve ever done. 

“Uh huh,” he answers.

He made the drugstore run earlier today: condoms and lube. He didn’t even care that the checkout lady was eyeing him up. He was just buzzing for the night to come. 

And now it’s here. It’s happening.  

That logical part of you, the one that knows having a penis inside of you probably won’t change you as a person, wants to maintain complete composure. But then there’s that other part of you, the very little one, who feels like this is the end and the beginning of something.  

“You wanna do this still? I know it probably ain’t all that fun, like, doin’ it with a virgin.”

You’re giving him an out. 

He knows that. 

He breathes in all of you--the firecracker in your hair, the oranges on your skin, the sweat on your hairline. 

“I wanna.” 

The motel isn’t the nicest--not that you’re used to nice motels. You’re not even really used to motels at all. You’ve only stayed in a handful in your life, and most of the time they were on the side of the highway and their only form of room service were the vending machines out front. 

“It ain’t the Ritz or anythin’,” Jake says as he sticks the key in the doorknob, a flush covering his cheeks. 

You nod. 

“Hey, I just found out the Ritz is a hotel a few weeks ago,” you tell Jake with a small smile, bumping his hip. 

He raises his eyebrow at you, opening the door and nodding for you to go through. 

There isn’t hesitation in your body when you float over the threshold, still holding your overnight bag. 

“Only a week ago?” Jake asks, a bit disbelieving. “Filly, how did you graduate high school?” 

He watches you walk into the room, a smile tugging at his lips as he closes the door behind him and locks it. 

“With honors,” you answer softly. “And without studyin’.” 

“Never gonna stop throwin’ that in my face, huh?” He asks, leaning against the door. 

Biting your lip, you look at him over your shoulder. 

“I wouldn’t count on it.” 

The room is ground-level, the uncrowded pool visible from the one picture window in the room. The bedspread looks like it’s seen better days--it's an atrocious floral print something your grandma would want on a couch. There’s sparse furniture, just an old television, an older television stand, a desk, and a nightstand with a lamp and a bible on it. 

It’s very cold in here, the window unit working overtime. It feels good. God, you love air conditioning. You think it should be illegal to not have it in every place you go. 

Jake sets your bags on the floor beside the bed, watching you take it all in. You’re swiping your fingers along the bedspread, looking at the outdated art on the walls, pressing your palms into the pillows. His breath is bated when you wander over to the window and peer out--it’s dark now, but the sky is purple from smoke. You can still hear all the ruckus of the holiday, but it’s muffled now.

“It’s cold,” you say finally, voice a bit thin. 

Jake wanders up behind you, rests his chin on the top of your head. You two gaze out the window together, watching the pool lazily ripple in the wind. It feels like the two of you are the only ones here right now, even though the parking lot had a few cars. 

“Feels nice, don’t it?” He asks. 

You nod at once. 

A beat passes. 

“Things aren’t gonna change, are they?” You ask, a bit breathless.

Jake blinks. 

Fuck. 

He wishes you wouldn’t ask that. He wishes that he wouldn’t have to lie to you. He wishes he even knew what he wanted. Does he want things to change? Does he want to admit that he’s in love with you, to have a few blissful weeks with you, then have them all come crumbling down when you find out? Does he want to keep living in this limbo, the one where you love him and he loves you but neither of you say it? Does he want to admit it to you, run off to Austin with you, and never talk to anyone from Silverkeep again? 

He doesn’t know. 

“Everythin’ will be the same,” he tells you. 

You pretend like you can’t hear the dishonesty in his voice. It’s something you’ve been doing for a little while now, ever since he came into your room after seeing Hyde. Except you’re not really sure he was seeing Hyde at all--but you’re too afraid to ask him what made him cry. 

“Okay,” you whisper.  

And then you reach up, very slowly, and close the blinds. It’s a silent gesture, one you don’t need to use words for. It feels like a brave thing to do, to be the one to break the ice, to be the one that initiates things. 

Jake knows this. He does. So, he leans down, and presses his lips against your jaw. 

“It’s all gonna be alright,” he tells you softly, kissing a steady line across your jaw as he wraps his arms around you. He isn’t sure if he’s convincing you or himself--and he’s not even sure if it’s working. “Swear it.” 

You nod, swallowing thickly, lashes fluttering against your cheek. 

“Alright,” you tell him. “Yeah.” 

He leads you to the bed, his heart settling steadily in his chest. 

There is no shame as the two of you undress in front of each other. It’s you and it’s him, your skin familiar, your nakedness exciting but not groundbreaking. You stand on opposite sides of the bed, watching each other with soft eyes, as the radio in the corner plays Secret Garden by Bruce Springsteen. 

The lights are low and it smells like chlorine and oranges in here, something that will stain your memory of this night forever. You don’t know it, and neither does Jake, but anytime you smell the stink of pool chemical from this point forward--you’ll think of this precise moment. You’ll think of that pause after the two of you undress, that strange calmness that overwhelmed the two of you, the hum of the air conditioner, Bruce Springsteen in the background. 

It’s all so American, you think. Losing your virginity on the 4th of July.

Your body still makes Jake’s belly clench. It’s everything--everything. All those hills and valleys, the endless plane of skin, those familiar scars, that birthmark on your rear. He feels like he could know your body better than anyone else if you let him. 

And you still think that his cock is pretty--but you know better now than to say anything about it. He’s already grown so tan from working on the farm, already developed those muscles from baling hay and lunging horses. He is a sight to behold--something you would photograph and keep forever if he let you. 

“I think you’re beautiful, Filly,” Jake tells you, meeting your eyes. 

Heat pools in your chest and you blink a few times, overwhelmed by how badly you want to kiss him right now. 

He feels it coming before you say it. 

“Would you shut the Hell up and kiss me already?” 

That soft bubble has popped now, broken and gone away. 

He breaks out in a grin and pats the bed, nodding for you to climb on. You meet each other in the center of the double bed, which is definitely more accommodating than the twin beds you’re used to. 

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, still flustered but fighting it off tooth and nail, and he holds your naked waist, thumbing the goosed skin there. 

“I mean it,” Jake says, pushing his luck. 

When your nose wrinkles, when your lips part, he presses his lips to yours. 

It’s a good kiss--one that knocks the breath out of your lungs. His lips on yours, his fingers dipping into your skin, holding you like you’re going to fade away. 

For a moment, as your tongue comes into his mouth, as your hands move into his hair--he thinks it. Maybe you are going to fade away. Maybe he needs to soak in each and every moment of this. Maybe he needs to hold you tighter, keep you closer. 

He does hold you tighter--so tight that you groan quietly into his mouth. But you’re tough, you’re not going to complain. It excites you almost--thinking about him wanting you so bad that he bruises you with his touch. It’s a dizzying thought, one that makes all the blood in your body shoot down, down, down. 

He moves away from your mouth, kisses hotly down your throat, relishes in the pants falling from your mouth and heaving your chest. Your skin is still chilled, but you both know that it won’t be for long. 

“Lie back, huh?” He mumbles against your skin, already pushing the soft skin of your belly until you’re falling back into the pillows. “Yeah,” he whispers, as if confirming to both of you that this is how he wants you. 

Still on his knees over you, he takes a moment to admire your body laid out just for him. Those red finger-shaped marks on your waist, the gooseflesh on your belly, the mess of your hair, the poorly-applied makeup, the part of your lips, the wideness of your eyes. 

You’re everything. You’re fucking everything to him. 

“Stop starin’,” you whine, already breathless. You reach up, tap his chest with your foot, brows furrowed. “It’s rude!” 

He smiles. 

“You’re starin’, too,” he argues. 

You’re flustered again, rolling your eyes. You were staring at his cock, he’s right. You just admire it--the way it floods with life and grows harder, the way it tells you how badly he wants you. 

But then Jake puts you out of your misery and leans down, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips before kissing down your throat, down between your breasts. He reaches up, teaks your nipples, sighs into your skin when you arch your back off the bedspread and groan softly. He wants to remember that sound, the one you aren’t embarrassed about, the one that makes his cock twitch to life. 

When he closes his lips around your nipple, his breath warm and his tongue hot, you sigh out a sound that is heavenly. He can feel it in the space between your ribs--all the pleasure that lives there, all the goodness he’s invoking.

A fire is already lit in your belly, the window-unit already entirely forgotten now. You feel like Jake is the only person in the world who can make you so hot, so fast. You’re wet already--almost embarrassingly so. But just the heaviness of his body on yours, just his fingers around one of your nipples, just his teeth barely grazing your other nipple, just him between your legs--it’s enough to get you off almost. 

“That’s real good,” you mutter to him, all the heat in your face concentrated in your cheeks. “Fuck--I like that a lot.” 

He hums against you, moving to your other nipple, giving it the same treatment. 

You’re almost shivering by the time he kisses down your belly, holding firm to your hips. Just in anticipation for what’s to come, you’re lifting your lips off the bed, throwing your arms over your face as you tilt your heavy head into the pillows. 

“You want this?” Jake asks softly, glancing up at you through his lashes. 

You nod, swallowing dryly. 

“Real bad,” you mutter. 

He has his arms wrapped around your thighs, his face hovering your heat, each one of his breaths tortuous in the most gratifying of ways. You’re beautiful spread out for him, panting above him. This is how he feels like you should always be had--on a bed big enough for the two of you, in a room where you’re alone, not a stitch on your body. It’s what you deserve. 

“Will you look at me?” Jake asks softly. 

God, your head is spinning. 

But you listen to him, slowly move your arm away from your face and let your eyes fall down to meet his. And that’s precisely when he lets his mouth fall onto your clit. 

It takes everything in your body, the one he’s made so hot, to not let your eyes fall shut. You keep your wide eyes on his green ones and he languidly licks down your wetness, savoring the taste of you thick on his tongue. 

“Shit,” you whimper, shoulders quivering.

You reach blindly for purchase, gripping the ugly bedspread. But then Jake grabs your hands and leads them to his hair, which you take to like a tick on a dog. He likes the pain, kind of--when you pull too hard, when he knows he’s doing something very right. 

He sucks gently on your clit, lets his free hand wander down between your legs. He grazes the sensitive skin of your innermost thighs and a shiver races up your spine. 

“This okay?” He asks, panting, as his index finger circles your entrance. 

“Fuck, yeah,” you mutter. “Don’t stop.” 

You let him in with ease, wet and soft around him. He’s careful, pumping in and out of you as he suckles at your clit, incredibly mindful that you’re still a virgin. You don’t take your eyes away from his, your jaw set and your legs tense. 

He thinks he could cum from this, from watching you take him so well. Even just knowing he’s going to have sex with you makes him dizzy. 

When a second finger nudges at your entrance, you nod vehemently, brow creased with pleasure. He keeps sucking on your clit, keeps it up until his jaw is aching. He presses into you so perfectly, hits that spot deep inside of you, makes your vision explode in bursts of pink--just like the Roman Candles. 

Jake wants it to last forever. 

But after twenty minutes, you’re the one tapping out, almost blubbering. 

“I want you,” you tell him, voice dripping with desire. “Please, please.” 

Who is he to deny you? 

So, he straightens up, kisses your belly again. And as you lie on the bed, so turned on that you feel like you could be turned inside out, he leans over and digs into the pharmacy bag for the condoms. 

“Ribbed for her pleasure?” You laugh softly, eyeing the box in his hands. 

He flushes--but laughs anyway, tearing the box open and fishing a packet out. He grabs the lube, too, places it on the bed. 

“I’m a gentleman,” he says softly. 

Then he rips the condom open with his teeth, and pulls it out of the packet carefully. This is the part he’s worried most about--he has to be careful with this condom. 

He starts to roll it on, cheeks hot, but then you hold his wrist. 

“Show me,” you say softly. “I wanna do it.” 

It’s something that would maybe make other people feel awkward. But you’re not ashamed to ask, not ashamed to tell him that you want to learn how to put condoms on.

“Okay,” he says softly, angling towards you so you can see him fully. “You gotta make sure it’s, like, the right way. And I made sure it is, so then you just…roll it on.” 

You sit up on your knees, leaning down, holding his cock in your hands. He moans lowly at your hand wrapped around him, dizzy with pleasure, dizzy with the taste of your cunt on his tongue. 

Keening at his sounds, you press a few kisses to his shaft, pumping him a couple times. He’s hard--a feeling, a heaviness, you’ve grown to enjoy immensely. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Jesus, Filly.” 

You roll the condom on without much issue, smiling pridefully once it’s fully intact. He shows you how to use lube, too, lets you pump him a few good times before you meet each other’s eyes.

This is it. You two are about to have sex for the first time. 

“So…how do we…?” 

Jake swallows. 

“How do you want it?” He asks, his ears ringing. 

You shrug. 

“I literally don’t know.” 

He grins at that, laughing softly. He nods, brows furrowed. 

“Do you wanna be, like, on top?” He asks. “It might be, like, easier for you to control it.”

Now your throat is dry. 

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” 

There’s a bit of shuffling, him lying on his back, you sitting on your knees beside him. But then you fall back into the moment: he holds your thigh, helps you straddle him. He steadies you with his hands on your hips, lets his thumb press against your hip bone. 

Above him, his cock achingly near your cunt, you’re nervous for the first time. This is really happening--you’re not going to be the virgin left behind. You’re going to have sex with Jake and things are gonna be good. Everything’s gonna be okay. 

He watches your brows knit, watches you chew on your lower lip. 

So, he reaches up, cups your cheek. 

“Y’alright, Filly-girl?” 

You nod at once. 

“Surreal,” is all you whisper. 

He nods, swallows hard. 

“Yeah. It is.” 

A beat passes where you’re still just hovering over him, your heat making his cock strain against you just barely. 

“You want this?” You ask softly. 

He looks deep into your eyes, lets the room fall silent enough for him to hear the fireworks still going off distantly. And then he nods. 

“More than anythin’,” he tells you. 

So, with all the sureness of someone who has done this precisely zero times, you reach down and let the head of his cock press against your opening. And fuck--there’s a stretch, a burn. It surprises you, even after all the horror stories you’ve heard. Your brows knit again, hips squirming, and Jake--through grit teeth--says your name. 

“Slow,” he tells you quietly. “S’alright. We’ve got-got all night. Take it easy.” 

You nod, lip tucked between your teeth. 

“Okay,” you mumble, brows still knit. “It…hurts a little bit.” 

He nods, squeezing your hips. 

“Do you wanna stop? We can, we don’t gotta--!” 

You shake your head furiously, sinking down on him a bit further. He gasps out, head thrown back into the pillows. 

Good God, you feel better than he expected you to. Like you were meant for him. 

But he reigns it in, makes himself meet your gaze.

“S’alright,” he soothes. He squeezes your hips again, nodding. “Let’s just do it at our own pace, okay? No rushin’, nothin’ like that. You okay?” 

You nod again. 

“Is this alright?” He asks, cupping your breast, tweaking your nipple again. 

Pleasure sweeps across your chest, momentarily making you forget about the stretch of his cock. You just nod wordlessly and he sighs, relieved to give you some sort of gratification. 

“Good, good,” he mutters, voice strained. “Wanna make you feel good.” 

You sink again, just another inch. But then you’re gasping, letting your head fall forward, pressing your palms against his chest. It’s not the worst pain you’ve ever felt--but it’s a new kind of discomfort, one of just being full. 

“You okay?” Jake asks again, still tweaking your nipple. 

You nod again. 

“I’m gonna…I’m gonna go all the way down,” you tell him, eyes closed tight. 

He nods tucking your hair behind your ears, preparing himself for what’s about to come. 

“Doin’ real good,” he praises, lashes fluttering as you sink all the way down and sit flush on his body. He moans out, head heavy and muddled with gratification. 

Jesus Christ--he’s having sex with you. This is it. This is what he’s been dreaming about, what he’s been aching for all summer. It’s happening right here, right now.

“Fuck,” you whimper. “Okay. Can-can we just sit here for a sec?” 

He nods immediately. 

“We’ll sit here all night if you want,” he tells you, really meaning it. 

While you’re stilled, your head lolled to the side as you grow accustomed to this new fullness, he watches you. God, he thinks you’ve never looked more beautiful. You’re somehow tame right now--tamer than you usually are--but you still look like a wild thing. Those glossy lips, those long lashes, those teeth chewing your cheek. 

Because he can’t help it, he holds your cheek, strokes the corner of your eye with his thumb. His thumb is wet--you’re crying he realizes. 

“Hey,” he says, alarmed. “Hey, why’re you cryin’? You alright? Do you wanna--here, I’ll stop, we can stop--!” 

But you’re shaking your head again, keeping him still, chasing his hand cupping your cheek. 

“No, no,” you whisper. “No, it’s--it’s starting to feel good. Just give me a second, okay?” 

He nods. 

You’re not lying--the burn is beginning to retreat, a strange pleasure taking its place. It feels less pronounced than when he sucks your clit or moves his fingers inside of you--but it’s definitely where, it’s something that’s growing.

“Here,” Jake offers, hand sinking from your breast to where you’re connected, “what if I--?” 

He presses two fingers to your clit, very gently, and rubs a few small circles--just testing the waters. You moan, those pearls of pleasure rattling your spine and forcing your fingernails into his skin. 

“Yeah?” He whispers, watching your face carefully as it contorts with pleasure. “Yeah, that’s it. You like that?” 

You nod, chewing your bottom lip again. 

“Mm, that’s really good,” you tell him, nodding profusely. “Oh, God, that’s--Jesus, that’s…” 

You’re moving now, on your own accord, experimentally. You lift yourself up, then fall back down carefully. And it’s good--that stretch is still there, but you barely feel it when Jake is rubbing slow circles over your clit. 

“Yeah,” Jake breathes, chest blooming with heat. “Oh, fuck, you feel so good.”

You moan, his words bubbling up in your belly. 

“Fuck, this is--why didn’t we do this forever ago?” You ask, stabilizing yourself on his chest and moving up and down steadily. Your face is hot, body electrified right now. “Jake, we should’ve been doin’ this always.” 

He’s grinning, his chest growing tight with pleasure, but he’s focused on you. He wants you to feel good. He wants this to be good for you. And even though he’s fucked up a whole lot recently, he knows he can be good for you. He can make this good. 

“I dunno,” he whispers, watching your throat flex as you groan. “Jesus--we really should’ve, huh?” 

You find that you like to sit flush against him and grind yourself--it makes him hit a spot inside of you that has white spots appearing in your vision. And all of it feels good for Jake--every bit of it, he’s relishing. He’s holding tight to your hips and you’re holding onto his chest, keeping yourself steady. 

“I’m gettin’ a little tired,” you pant to him, hips slowing. 

He nods. 

“That’s alright,” he tells you. “Whoa, girl.” He grabs your hips to halt you and you laugh, shaking your head. 

“Jesus,” you whisper, pulling off of him carefully. You wince a bit when he’s fully out and are surprised to find that you genuinely miss the feeling of it. “Easy on the horse talk, pal.”

“Okay, Filly.” 

He brackets you, nestles himself between your legs, kissing your throat. And then he slowly presses into you again, peppering your cheeks with kisses. Your breath is caught, but he knows you feel good. You feel good because of him. 

“I really like this,” you tell him, breathing out harshly into his shoulder. 

He nods. 

“Yeah, I figured you would,” he whispers. 

He rests his forehead against yours, kisses your lips a few times, and rocks himself into you very carefully. You’re tight around him, thighs gripping his hips, and he nearly loses all resolve and cums right then. 

He watches your face as he thrusts, watches that crinkle between your brows and the gap between your teeth. He can still smell the citrus on your skin and see the glimmer in your eye. You’re beautiful--so beautiful that it nearly chokes him up. It isn’t fair, suddenly, that everything is going to go to shit at the end of the summer. 

But at least he has you now. 

And now, right now, there’s something building inside of him. It’s something big, something dangerous, something he isn’t sure he’s gonna be able to stop. And just as you let your cheek fall into the pillow, it happens. 

“Filly, I’m in love with you.” 

And then everything halts. 

There’s so much blood rushing through your ears, so much cotton pressed into your body, that you’re certain you misheard him. You’re certain that it was a strange sounding firework or the radio or--fuck, or anything else. But then you meet his green eyes and they’re swimming with fear, with earnesty. His face is flushed and his hair is mussed and his lips are a  very serious line as he looks down at you. 

No--you heard him right. He said he’s in love with you. 

Your entire body grows hot. 

“You are?” You ask, swallowing. 

No going back now. 

“Yeah,” he confirms, nodding a few times. “I have been. You know, for like, a while now. And I just felt-felt like you should know that. Not just because we’re doin’ it or whatever, but because I just feel like you deserve to know. I’ve been thinkin’ it for a long time and-and I just had to say it. So, maybe I’m sayin’ it for me. But I mean it. I really do mean it.”

You nod. 

Your face is unreadable as he gazes down at you, still seated inside of you. He doesn’t know what those eyes mean or what those lips mean. He can’t tell what you’re thinking or what your racing heart means right now. 

But then he hears it. 

“You fuckin’ idiot,” you whisper. “I’m in love with you.” 

 He has sometimes imagined this moment. Sometimes tinted with rejection, sometimes not. But he never imagined that he would say it while buried inside of you, while taking your virginity. And he certainly never imagined that the two of you would suddenly break out into grins and laugh. Especially not the kind of laughing you’re doing right now--those deep belly laughs, your mouths wide open, tears in the corners of your eyes. 

He feels like this can’t be real. It’s too good--too perfect. Here the two of you are, truly connected for the first time, in stitches over the fact that you two have been in love this entire time and never admitted it until now. 

  He’s thinking about the first time he went down on you, after you were hurt with the baseball. He’s thinking about how afraid he was that you would laugh in his face if you knew how in love with you he is. And really, you are laughing in his face. But he’s laughing in yours, too. And everything is good. 

“What the Hell just happened?” You whisper to him, still giggling. 

“I don’t know,” he tells you, kissing your face. “God, do you--you wanna keep goin’?” 

“Yeah,” you whisper.

And then you kiss again, kiss long and hard with open mouths as he rocks himself into you. It’s long, one where you’re sharing spit and breath, one where your eyes are welling with tears from his nose smushing against yours so hard.

The kiss doesn’t stop--doesn’t stop until Jake’s pace falters, until his hips stutter, until he gets that familiar little crinkle between his brows. You drink in his moans, hold onto his back, kiss him as hard as you can. He cums and you feel it--the pulsing, the aching, the stillness. 

Then it’s over. You’ve had sex for the first time. And you didn’t make it through it without admitting that you’re in love with Jake. 

With you, there’s no such thing as an afterglow. As soon as Jake rolls over, chest heaving, ears ringing, you’re sitting up on your elbows and grinning at him. 

“Hey,” you say. “We just did it.” 

He nods softly, gesturing to his sweat-stained naked body. 

“Uh huh,” he says. 

You look around the room, maybe waiting for something to appear different now that you’ve had sex. But nothing’s different at all. Yellow is still yellow, the art on the walls is still outdated, the blinds are still dusty, the bible is still intact. Things are entirely the same. 

“Are you okay?” Jake asks, flat palm falling against your back. 

Nodding vehemently, you turn to look at him. 

He’s never looked more soft than he does right now--overgrown sandy hair mussed, eyes glassy, cheeks pink, lips swollen from your kisses. 

“You wanna go swimmin’?” You ask. “I brought my suit.” 

“You wanna swim?” He asks, brow perched. 

You nod. 

“Alright,” Jake answers. “We can swim.” 

The water is warm. 

All you can hear out here is the retreating fireworks, the squealing of tires, the tired crickets. It’s very calm, very serene. There are no lights on in any of the windows of the motel, but there’s a stray cat wandering around the chainlink fence and pouncing after a grasshopper. 

You’re submerged beneath the surface, the chlorine burning your eyes, for a long moment as Jake slowly steps into the water. You jumped in, of course--and he was keen on watching you until you pestered him enough to come in. 

When you emerge, you grin at Jake. He grins at you, too. 

Basked in moonlight and the terrible blue light in the pool, you really do look like something that belongs in this motel pool. Cheap swimsuit and runny makeup, that despondent kind of beautiful, that reckless grin. If there are sirens in the ocean that lure shipmates to their death, then you’re something that dwells in chlorine and lures down-on-their-luck high school gym coaches and cheating husbands to their death. All that would be left of them is wife beaters and gold chains, curly chest hairs mucking the pool filter.

“So, what now?” You ask, chin resting on the surface of the water. 

Jake doesn’t tear his gaze from yours. 

“How long’ve you known?” 

You swallow. 

“My whole life,” you tell him seriously. “Like, for as long as I can remember.”

 He swallows thickly. 

“Me too,” he whispers. “Why didn’t you say anythin’?” 

“Why didn’t you?” 

It’s quiet. You flick some of the water on the surface and Jake ducks down below to wet his hair, wiping his eyes when he resurfaces and finds you still looking at him. 

“So, what do we do now?” You whisper. 

His chest is aching. He wants to curl into himself. He wants to reverse time. But instead, he just sniffles. He promised that he would make this good for you. He promised himself that he wouldn’t think about Emmaline or the baby. He’s going to keep that promise. 

“I’ll do whatever you wanna do,” he tells you. 

You swallow hard, wring your hands together. 

You’re a few steps away from him, separated by dead junebugs and a few sparse blades of grass. 

“Ever thought about me comin’ to Austin?” You ask. 

“Yeah, of course I have.” 

Your fingertips are quivering. 

“And?” 

“Wouldn’t that be a dream?” Jake whispers. “You and me in the capitol.” 

A beat passes. Jake moves forward, wades through the water, until he’s close enough to you to press his palms against your cheek. Your hearts are racing--not that either of you would admit that to the other--and won’t look away from each other’s eyes. It’s the only thing keeping you here, in this moment.  

“Would you come with me?” He asks quietly. 

You don’t freeze. You don’t flinch. You don’t tense. 

You nod. Immediately--right there in that pool. 

“Yeah,” you answer. “Yeah, I would.” 

His eyes are watery. He wants this so bad that he can taste it. 

“And we could be together?” He asks. 

Again, you nod. No doubt, no question. 

There’s just clarity here and now. 

Everything makes perfect sense. 

“If you’re askin’, then the answer is yes,” you say softly. “And if you’re not askin’, then I am.”

✯ 𝐚/𝐧: it happened!!!!! it happened!!!!! was it worth the wait??

✯ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

✯ 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝

✯ 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

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✯ 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝/𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬, 𝐃𝐌 𝐦𝐞!

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[myna]

I went to Japan’s Conantown (also known as Hokuei, Aoyama-sensei’s hometown) and I just wanted to share what an experience it was.

First off, to get there from Osaka I had to take a several hours long train ride, landing eventually in a station where they didn’t accept my Suica, that’s how rural this place was. I think all this made it feel even more incredible though, since I was traveling by myself. It almost felt like a pilgrimage LOL.

As I landed in the actual town, there was a ton of Conan art and statues to signify that you got to the right place. The town itself was small and peaceful, sort of a farming town outside of the Conan related traffic. I walked the street down to the museum, and if you’re under the impression this is like an amusement park you will be disappointed for sure. It’s actually a town. While there are statues and a couple shops, the only real “attraction” is the museum. I went on an off day so I couldn’t go to the cafe, but I did get a really nice gelato.

I know this sounds like negatives but I think of it definitely as positives. It really felt like there was so much heart to it. Like a whole community came together to celebrate a resident who made an impact on them. It didn’t feel manufactured or high budget, it felt like a family. It honestly made me a little emotional apart from the screaming fan in me.

If you get a chance, I really highly recommend visiting. It’s worth the day-trip, and it was the highlight of my vacation.

[theprogressivesadist]

Imagine giving your life to activism and choosing to spend your time on this bullshit

[chimerickat]

What am I even doing I don't know how to write articles...

The name Seto Kaiba may not be familiar to most of our readers. I admit, when I received this assignment, I had to google his name. What I found seemed like a fictional story. 

Orphaned at a young age, Seto Kaiba found himself adopted by the founder of Kaiba Corporation after beating him at a game of chess. At the time, the company manufactured weapons. However, Kaiba made headlines at the age of 16 when he took control of Kaiba Corporation and turned it into a gaming company. Many believed that by dismantling a successful company, Kaiba was guaranteeing bankruptcy, but he proved them wrong, and today, Kaiba Corp is a household name in Japan. 

With his cutting edge technology, Kaiba plans to make his company a household name worldwide. Currently, he plans to expand his reach to the United States with Kaiba Land, an amusement park dedicated to showing off his games and technology. 

At first, I was convinced his park would be a rip off of Disneyland. However,  I was able to visit prior to the official opening and experience the park for myself. I can say with confidence that Kaiba Land is in a league of its own.

In Kaiba Land, children can live out their wildest fantasies. Seto Kaiba, a visionary when it comes to technology, has equipped his park with the best his company has to offer. The virtual reality simulators allow you to visit anywhere in the world at any point in history that you desire. I was able to visit ancient Egypt and see the pyramids in all their glory. 

If you want to visit somewhere fictional, you can do that too. I was able to experience flying on a dragon in a medieval-type setting. 

You can even fly to space to explore the moon if that’s something that interests you.

Besides being able to live out your wildest fantasies, Kaiba Land also has an entire arcade section dedicated to gaming. Classic games are lined up side-by-side with Kaiba Corp. games. 

Kaiba Land also has a few rides available. They have a dragon-themed roller coaster and a ferris wheel. 

Regarding Kaiba Land, Seto Kaiba had this to say:

“I want Kaiba Land to be a place where any child can come and visit no matter how rich or poor their parents are. We’re committed to providing free access to anyone in the foster system as well as children without parents.”

If Kaiba Land is any indication of what Seto Kaiba has to offer, he should become a household name worldwide in no time. Our readers can purchase discounted early access tickets via our website.