#nude controversy

[belovedcelebrity]

Jennifer Lopez Mocking Tiktok Nude Controversy Ben Affleck Spouse Wiki

[getjoys]

The Transformation of Jana Kramer: From One Tree Hill to Country Music Stardom

Jana Kramer is a country music star who has overcome many obstacles in her life. She started her career as an actress, appearing in shows like One Tree Hill and Entourage, but she always had a passion for singing. She released her debut album in 2012, which spawned the hit singles “Why Ya Wanna” and “I Got the Boy”. Released her second album, Thirty-One, in 2015 and was nominated for Female Vocalist of the Year at the Academy of Country Music Awards.

However, behind the scenes, Jana Kramer was struggling with her personal life. She went through three divorces, one of which involved domestic violence, and another one of which involved infidelity and addiction. She also suffered two miscarriages and dealt with postpartum depression. Despite these challenges, Jana Kramer never gave up on herself or her music.

She recently announced her engagement to Allan Russell, a Scottish former professional soccer player and coach, who is currently working for Norwich City FC. She is working on her third album, which she says will be her most honest and vulnerable one yet. In this article, we will explore how Jana Kramer has turned her pain into power, and how she has found happiness and healing in her journey.

From Acting to Singing

Jana Kramer, born on December 2, 1983 in Detroit, Michigan, USA, had a passion for music from a young age. However, she did not pursue it professionally until later on. Initially, she pursued acting and successfully landed roles in several TV shows and films. Jana gained popularity for her portrayal of Alex Dupre, a troubled actress and singer, on the hit show One Tree Hill. While working on the show, Kramer got the opportunity to showcase her singing talent as well.

She recorded several songs for the show’s soundtrack, including “I Won’t Give Up” and “Whiskey”. She also performed live at the CMA Music Festival in 2011. Where she received a positive response from the audience and the industry. After being inspired by her personal experiences, Kramer made the decision to pursue a full-time career in the country music industry.

This led to her signing a record deal with Elektra Records in 2011 and subsequently releasing her debut single, “Why Ya Wanna” in 2012. The song was well-received, achieving the third spot on the Billboard Hot Country Songs chart and number 52 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart. Additionally, Kramer’s success earned her a nomination for Top New Female Artist at the 2013 Academy of Country Music Awards. In 2012, Kramer released her self-titled debut album, which debuted at number five on both the Billboard Top Country Albums chart and the Billboard 200 chart.

The album received positive feedback from both critics and fans, who praised Kramer’s vocal abilities, songwriting skills, and versatility. The album also spawned two more singles, “I Hope It Rains” and “What I Love About Your Love”. In 2015, Kramer’s second album, Thirty One, came out. It had more personal and grown-up songs. The title of the album was her age at that time and showed how she had improved as an artist and a woman.

One of the songs on the album, “I Got the Boy“, became a hit and reached number five on the Billboard Hot Country Songs chart and number 24 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart. The song was also nominated for an award at the 2016 CMT Music Awards for Best Female Video. Kramer kept performing at different events like Grand Ole Opry, iHeartRadio Music Festival, and CMA Country Christmas.

She also took part in season 23 of Dancing with the Stars in 2016, where she danced with professional Gleb Savchenko. She impressed the judges and the viewers with her dance skills and made it to the finals, finishing in fourth place. Kramer has not released any new music since 2016, but she has hinted that she is working on her third album, which she says will be her most honest and vulnerable one yet.

She has also shared some snippets of her new songs on her social media platforms, such as “Beautiful Lies” and “Dammit”. She has not announced a release date or a title for the album yet, but she has said that it will reflect her recent experiences and emotions.

From Heartbreak to Healing: The Story of Jana Kramer

A Troubled Marriage

Jana Kramer met Mike Caussin, a former NFL player, in 2014 and got married in 2015. However, their relationship was not a fairy tale. Kramer revealed that Caussin had cheated on her multiple times and had a sex addiction, which led to their separation in 2016. They reconciled and renewed their vows in 2017, but the problems persisted. In 2019, Kramer found out that Caussin had relapsed and had been unfaithful again.

Kramer wanted to fix her marriage and went to therapy with Caussin. However, she ended up getting a divorce in April 2021 because of “bad behavior in the marriage, differences that couldn’t be resolved, and cheating.” She also got a legal order to keep Caussin away from her because he was “annoying and making threats.”

Kramer and Caussin have two kids together, Jolie Rae (4 years old) and Jace Joseph (2 years old). Kramer has said that she is focusing on being a good mother and co-parenting with Caussin.

A New Love

Kramer had not dated anyone publicly since breaking up with Ian Schinelli in the spring of 2022. However, she found a new love in her life, Allan Russell, a Scottish former professional soccer player and coach, who is currently working for Norwich City FC. Russell popped the question to Kramer after dating for half a year. The following month, they became parents to a baby boy, whom they named Roman James.

Before getting engaged to Allan Russell in May 2023, Jana Kramer had been married twice and engaged once. She was married to three different men: Michael Gambino from 2004-2010, Johnathon Schaech from 2010-2011, and Mike Caussin from 2015-2021.

She was also engaged to Brantley Gilbert in 2013, but they ended their relationship before the year was over. Kramer has said that Russell is “the most amazing man” and that he makes her feel “loved, respected, and appreciated”. She has also said that Russell has a great relationship with her children and that they are “one big happy family”.

A Healing Music

Kramer has expressed her emotions and experiences through her music, which she says is her therapy. She has written songs about her divorce, her new relationship, and her healing process. She has also collaborated with other artists, such as Blake Shelton, Carrie Underwood, and Keith Urban, on some of her new tracks.

Said that her third album will be “a reflection of who I am now and where I’m going”. She has also said that she hopes her music will inspire and empower other women who are going through similar situations.

Social Media Presence

Jana Kramer is very active on social media. She uses popular platforms like Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, YouTube, and TikTok. She uses her social media to share her personal and professional updates, as well as to interact with her fans and followers.

Facebook: Jana Kramer has an official��Facebook page with over 929 K followers. She posts about her music, her podcast, her family, and her lifestyle. She also........Read More

Source: Getjoys

[inapat17]

Erotic films. They are almost as old as the cinema itself. Nevertheless, it is still taboo to talk about its evolution, its importance within the cinema's history, and its link with the political, cultural and social context of its time. This series of blog posts aims to explore through 4 films, the rises and falls of erotic cinema.

Episode 2: And God Created Woman directed by Roger Vadim (1956)

The '50s are sort of a turning point in what is representible on screen, a decade before the sexual revolution of the '60s. In 1952, the US Supreme Court went back on its decision and freed a bit the film industry to not impeach the liberty of expression and speech guaranteed by the First Amendment of the US Constitution. Even if censorship will rise again at the end of the 50s, some directors will step into the breach. Whereas Elia Kazan releases Baby Doll in the US, Roger Vadim will create a little earthquake on the other side of the Atlantic with And God Created Woman.

Vadim’s movie inflames passions on both sides. Some part of the population and the politicians rose against the pseudo indignity and immorality of the movie. Indeed, it seems unbearable to see a woman able to develop her own desire and not be only an object of the masculine one. Brigitte Bardot, playing the main role of Juliette Hardy, appears several times naked. Nude scenes are not new in the cinema. But they were usually used for a pictorial aim, an artistic purpose, to create a sense of beauty. With And God Created Woman, Vadim dares to associate nudity with sexuality. Wow, we are gobsmacked! Supporters of censorship force these to be cut, namely almost a quarter of the film length, in France and the UK. In the US, it is condemned by the National Legion of Decency and several attempts are made to remove the film from the American screens. In Lake Placid, New York, an archbishop tries to buy every movie ticket in his town to prevent his believers' souls from becoming impure.

Even if And God Created Woman created an outcry among partisans of tradition and conservatism, it was praised by the future figurehead of the French New Wave such as Claude Chabrol, François Truffault and Jean-Luc Godard, leading the way to a progressive liberation of the cinema and the society in general during the 60s.

Our next blog post will bring us to 1969, and the beginning of the erotic film Eldorado. Woodstock, May 68… A wind of freedom blows in Europe and the US, and therefore for sexuality and its representation on screen. But the exploration of what is possible to show and to do added to a sudden lack of legislation develops two different types of films and productions: erotic films, or “soft”, and pornographic films, or “hard”.

théo bonnin

[sluttyten]

limited time only

Kinktober Day 2 | Jaemin Masterlist | Member Masterlist

tags: supernatural creature, semi-public sex, beach sex, nudist jaemin, wax play, grinding, riding, a little play on the myth of Eros and Psyche,

length: 4707

The first day you saw the man come from the sea, you thought your eyes were deceiving you. He came from the water, all golden skin and dripping with glistening saltwater, entirely nude save for the gray folded fabric he carried in one hand.

Typically, in your time living in this coastal town, seeing a naked man walking along the beach is cause for concern. However, when the naked man walking towards you has just emerged from the sea looking like a sea god, it’s a little more difficult to take issue with.

It’s difficult to look away from him — his windswept, damp hair is the color of midnight; his handsome face reminds you of Renaissance artwork; his broad shoulders are just a prelude to the rest of the masterful composition of his body; his waist tapers in, accentuating his toned abdomen, drawing your gaze downward along a fine dark trail of hair….

You tear your gaze away from him, looking back down at the fluttering pages of the book you had been reading up until his magnificent emergence.

God. He’s beautiful.

When you glance up again, he’s no longer in front of you, and you’re a little scared to look at the rest of the beach behind you. If you risk another look at him, you’re worried that you might not be able to tear your gaze away. So instead you do your damnedest to focus on the book you’d been thoroughly enjoying prior to his appearance.

But your mind keeps wandering back to the shape of the man, which stirs heat low in your belly. And then there’s just your simple curiosity — you’ve not seen that man before; is he just a tourist that’s mistaken this beach as a nude beach? Is he just an exhibitionist? What’s his story?

After a while, you give up on making any further progress in your book, and you begin to pack up your things to leave.

A shadow falls over your blanket, and you tilt your head, lifting your hand to shield your eyes from the bright sunlight. And you look up and up and up, until finally your eyes settle on the face of the sea man. He’s dressed now, regardless of the state that you’d previously seen him in, and he’s smiling now — a dazzling, charismatic grin that sets your heart racing.

“Hello,” he greets you. His voice is surprisingly deep, yet soft-toned. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I just saw what book you were reading, and I’ve been meaning to pick it up, but I was just wondering if it’s any good? I’ve heard some controversial opinions about it.”

Oh. The ocean god reads and he looks like that? The news is devastating to your quickly developing crush on this man.

It turns out you have more in common with him than just that singular book. For the next few hours, you sit together on your little blanket on the beach and talk, laugh, and you pray that it’s not your imagination that he seems equally as interested in you as you are in him. You learn that he’s not from around here, he’s just visiting for the first time in seven years. He’s an only child. He likes to read, to people-watch, to sing and dance, to take photographs to truly capture the human experience. He laughs when you tell him that sounds like something a really passionate artist would say.

As the sun begins to lower towards the horizon, you realize just how late it’s become. You’ve actually got plans with your friends for dinner that you’ll be late to if you don’t hurry.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, “I didn’t mean to keep you.” He stands up, freeing up your blanket as you’re shoving your things into your bag.

“You’re alright! I just lost track of time. I’ve enjoyed talking with you. Um.” You pause, your blanket wadded up in your hands, and you look up at him. “Actually, I’m sorry. We’ve been talking for hours, and I just realized, I’ve not asked your name.”

He smiles, the warmth of it matching the setting sun behind you. “My name is Jaemin.”

Jaemin, the sea god.

And, because you really like him a lot, you put yourself forward, and you ask him for his number.

“If I had a phone, I definitely would give you my number.” Jaemin looks genuinely apologetic. “But, seeing as I don’t have a phone, we could meet back here tomorrow, same time?”

And that’s good enough for you.

You run off, have dinner with your friends during which you tell them about your mysterious beach man, giggle like you’re all young girls with a crush, and that night you dream of Jaemin.

You wake with his name on your lips, heat racing beneath your skin.

Hours later, you’re again sitting on the beach on your blanket. Again, you’re holding a book, though today you’re so utterly distracted by the prospect of seeing Jaemin again that you can’t focus on a single word on the page. And then you hear a gasp from a woman sitting a short distance away.

There he is.

Jaemin, rising again from the water, again nude.

Luckily, you’d brought a towel along today, and as Jaemin strides up the beach towards you, you toss the towel at him.

“Is this a common thing for you?” You ask as he wraps the towel around his waist. He drops something dark and damp down in the sand beside your blanket before he sinks down to sit with you. This close to him, you find it a little difficult to fully focus. “The… skinny-dipping at a public beach?”

Jaemin smiles, pushes his fingers through his damp hair. “Does it bother you?”

“Not really.” It gives you the opportunity to admire him.

“Alright, then.” Jaemin reaches over, his fingers brushing the backs of your hands. “What are we reading today?”

So again you sit there with Jaemin for hours and hours, talking and occasionally taking a brief trip down into the water to cool off.

Jaemin, despite his manner of arrival earlier, never goes into the water above mid-calf, just content to stand and watch as you wade out into the water. His gaze rushes hungrily over your skin when you walk out of the water towards him — seawater runs in sun-silvered rivulets down your chest and your stomach and your thighs. He never strays far from your beach blanket, keeping it always within sight, which you appreciate him keeping an eye on your things while you’re out in the water.

You stay on the beach all day and into the twilight hour before you make a brief excursion into town to pick up some dinner, some drinks, and then you return back to your blanket where Jaemin is still waiting. 

Some time later, in between the drinks, you grow bold enough to lean closer and kiss him. Jaemin, to your absolute delight, eagerly kisses you back. It doesn’t stop there of course. Once you’ve had one taste of kissing this godly man that washed up on your beach, you can’t wait to have more.

You don’t care that you’re in public, out in the open on the beach where anyone can walk by. You pull Jaemin over you – drinks, dinner, books forgotten – and you encourage his hands to wander under the edges of your bikini; your fingers push loose the towel he still wears bound around his hips. The town lies silent behind you while you moan into each other's mouths, touching each other, grinding on the blanket in the sand.

“Jaemin,” you gasp his name as he finally lets his body settle between your hips; his heavy cock rubs forward against your heat. “Jaemin, please, just put it inside me.”

He drops his mouth to your shoulder, teeth nipping lightly as he grinds forward once again, slow and teasing before he just – 

“Fuck, right there, Jaemin!” You twist one hand into his hair, the other drags your nails down his back. 

His cock is magnificent, feels so perfect inside you.

You hold him close, muffling your moans by biting his shoulder, and he buries his sounds in your hair or against your lips. 

You forget that you’re on the beach, fucking out in the open, but even when the crashing of the waves or the sound of a car passing by on the road reaches through your sex-fueled haze, you can’t bring yourself to care that someone might see, might hear.

Jaemin pulls out just before he cums with a low moan of your name. His forehead rests against your chest as he rapidly strokes his cock, striping the blanket between your thighs with his cum. And then he’s lowering himself down, burying his head between your thighs – two fingers pumping inside you, his tongue at your clit – and the vibration of his moans against your clit quickly has your thighs quaking around his ears, your orgasm cresting and crashing over you like the waves battering the shore behind him.

You collapse, a molten puddle of satisfaction in the sand. Your heart races, pulse thundering in your ears.

“I think you need to come home with me,” you pant, trying to recover your breath. You’re halfway joking, but at the same time, you dearly want Jaemin to come back to your place, to tumble you once more in your bed, to wake up beside you in the morning and do this again. “I make a great breakfast, if you’d like to come over, stay the night, and try it in the morning?”

Jaemin lifts himself up, sliding up alongside your body, and he drags one of your thighs up over his hip. “I’d like that,” he says, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. 

So, you pull your bikini back into place. You pack your things back into your bag. Jaemin wraps the towel around his waist again, and it’s only as you start to walk away from the beach into town – you live only a ten minute walk away – that you realize Jaemin is carrying with him that dark fabric that you’d noticed him carrying out of the water with him yesterday and earlier today. You wonder what it is, and if it’s clothing then why is he still wearing only your towel.

You let him rinse off in your shower while you tidy your room – putting away clean laundry you’d left piled on the foot of your bed, kicking dirty clothes out of sight, hiding the embarrassing seal plushie that you’ve slept with since you were seven. 

After Jaemin emerges, clean and smelling like your lavender body wash, you take a quick shower – washing sand out of places it certainly doesn’t belong. You can hear Jaemin walking around, the creaking of the floor in your house as he probably looks at your bookshelves, the photographs of your family and friends hung on the walls, your collection of knickknacks.

He’s occupied, so you linger in the bathroom a moment longer to text your friends from the evening before about the details of your day – meeting up again with him, spending all day with him, how he’s a tourist but he’s been here before seven years ago, how he weirdly carries like a wad of gray fabric with him, how you had sex on the beach, and he’s now waiting for you in your bedroom.

You expect them to be excited for you. A few of them respond just as enthusiastically as you’d hoped, but one friend is a spoilsport about the whole thing.

“That’s sorta weird right?” she sends in the groupchat. “Him coming out of the ocean like that, all mysterious and from out of town?”

Is she accusing you or lying, making up a handsome man that sounds like a fantasy?

“What is he a selkie lol” another friend says.

“My grammy used to scare my sisters and I with stories of selkies,” the first one says, “Warning us that selkie men would appear on the beach and steal us away into the sea to drown us and steal our souls.”

“Your grammy was a hippie, babe, I think she tripped a little too hard in the old days and never quite recovered,” one of your friends says in response to that.

You’re still stuck on what she’s talking about. A selkie. What’s a selkie?

You ignore the notifications from the group chat and instead search up ‘selkie,’ uncertain what you’re going to find. 

You certainly don’t expect to find your friend accusing Jaemin of being a shapeshifter, but it turns out that’s exactly what a selkie is – a supernatural being that resembles a seal in one form, and upon shedding its skin becomes human. She’s ridiculous for planting such a notion in your head, and when you check back into the groupchat, you find it’s grown even more ridiculous.

Some of them are joking that your sudden silence is because your new selkie boyfriend has taken you out to sea. One of them is jokingly asking if he’s got webbed fingers and toes. And the one who started all of this is actually sending messages like she genuinely believes Jaemin could be a part seal-part human creature.

“If he’s a selkie, he’s got to have his seal skin somewhere nearby. It’s how they transform back. My grammy used to say that they can only come to land every seven years, but if someone hides their seal skin they’ll be forced to stay on land. She said they’re really seductive creatures, which is how they lure poor innocents out into the sea, but it backfires on them because sometimes the one they seduce will be the one to hide their seal skin, and they’re stuck here. She once read a legend that selkies have a mark on their hip like this:” and then she sent a badly scribbled drawing that looks like spirals swirling together. 

“You’re so ridiculous. All of you,” you send, “Goodnight.”

You shut your phone off, leave the bathroom, and find Jaemin sitting on the edge of your bed, looking at the seal plushie that you clearly hadn’t hidden well enough.

“This is cute,” he says. “Friend of yours?”

You pluck it quickly from his grasp, tossing it over towards a reading chair you have shoved into the corner of your room by the window. You offer the excuse of, “A childhood memory, that’s all,” before you place yourself in Jaemin’s lap, curl your fingers against the back of his neck, and you press your mouth to his.

Jaemin welcomes the kiss, opening up to let you take control while he tips backwards until he’s lying with his head among your pillows. You make out with him, rolling around in your bed, touching each other again like you’d done on the beach until your sheets are rumpled and the hour is late.

Jaemin falls asleep before you do, his soft snores filling the quiet space between you. 

You want to fall asleep, to slip into dreams, but your mind won’t settle. Your thoughts keep turning back to your group chat, your silly friend with her even sillier accusations. And the more you think about it, the more things about Jaemin line up with the things she was saying about selkies.

But the main odd and unexplainable thing that sticks out to you is the thing she said about selkies and their seal skins. Jaemin has that dark gray fabric or whatever that he’s carried with him almost every time you’ve seen him. He had it when he rose out of the sea both times, carrying it with him all the way here.

What if you find it? It’s somewhere in your house. You could just go take a look, see what it is, put aside any silly thoughts you’re beginning to have.

Jaemin shifts a little when you roll away from him, but he doesn’t wake. His eyes are closed, snores still pouring from him. You tiptoe from your bedroom to the front door where he’d dropped the towel as soon as he stepped inside.

You can’t see anything in the dark, and you left your phone back on your bedside table. The next best thing is a candle sitting on your kitchen table. You light it, and by the warm glow, you search the floor. There’s the towel and your abandoned flipflops. It’s only now that you realize Jaemin didn’t even have shoes. He truly came out of the water with nothing but the mysterious dark gray thing. 

And you can’t find it. You climb the stairs back towards your bedroom quietly, scanning the shadows of each step to see if maybe it somehow got carried up here. You check the landing and the hall. Finally, you peek into your bathroom. 

The mirror above the sink magnifies the light of the flame, making it easier as you check the floor here. There’s your abandoned clothes from before your shower. There’s your towel from after your shower. In the corner behind the door, tucked almost completely out of sight, is the towel you’d handed Jaemin before his shower. It sits crumpled on the floor, covering most of something dark and gray. 

You crouch down, pulling the towel away, revealing Jaemin’s only possession.

You touch it.

Whatever it is, it feels like velvet. 

You lift it up into the light reflected by the mirror. It’s not any particular shape – not identifiable as a piece of clothing, nor as a blanket or towel. You don’t know what the shape is, and the velvety texture of it combined with the darkness seems to swallow the candlelight, making it even more difficult to make out anything identifiable about it.

Seeing this thing – the potential seal skin of a potential selkie currently sleeping in your bed – hasn’t cleared up anything at all. If anything, you’re even more confused and on-the-fence about your friend’s accusation. 

But there’d been that last thing she said.

The mark of a selkie, found on the hip. 

You’ve been too swept up in enjoying Jaemin to even notice any marking on his body, but according to your friend and her grammy, that mark would let you identify him.

So, fully aware of how ridiculous you’re being and of how awkward this will be to explain, you pick up the candle and head back to your bedroom.

Jaemin is still asleep on his back, one arm thrown above his head, the sheets pool around his abdomen. You hold your breath while you look at him.

He’s beautiful.

Just looking at him right now you want to jump his bones, pull away the sheet to touch him, get him hard, and ride him. 

You think again of what your friend sent in the groupchat earlier, how she said that selkies apparently have great powers of seduction. Is Jaemin exuding some supernatural selkie power of seduction, or are you just really horny for the hot naked guy in your bed?

You come to stand on his side of the bed, and you lean over him, reaching out to nudge away the sheet, searching his bare skin for any sign of any weird marks. All you can see as you slowly drag the sheet down are the marks you’ve unintentionally left on him – hickeys, marks from your fingernails – and more normal things like freckles, hairs, moles arranged like constellations.

Oh.

A spiral-shaped constellation of moles low on his pelvis.

You gasp, tilting the candle to get a better look.

Hot wax spills, pouring over the edge of the candle, landing on Jaemin’s stomach.

His eyes flash open, and in an instant he’s sitting upright. One of his hands has a vice grip on your wrist holding up the candle. His other hand has shot right to your throat, dragging you over him so you’re perched in his lap.

“Jaemin–”

“What are you doing?” He asks, his voice devoid of the sweet charisma. “What have you done?”

You can’t speak. All the signs are pointing to one truth: Jaemin is a selkie.

“Are you–” You squirm, struggling beneath his powerful hands. “Jaemin, this mark… Are you a….”

Jaemin’s hand loosens on your throat, but he keeps a tight grip on your wrist supporting the candle. “Am I what?”

How can you ask him this? If you’re wrong, he’s going to think you’re crazy. But what if you’re right? What then?

Sitting on his lap like this, you can feel his cock beneath you. A bit of candle wax dribbles over the lip of the candle again as your hand wobbles, and from the corner of your eye you watch it trickle down Jaemin’s knuckles. His eyes flare in the dark, his jaw tenses.

“You have to say it,” Jaemin challenges you, “Use your words.”

“Jaemin,” you pause, mustering up the courage or stupidity to speak the next words aloud: “Are you a selkie?”

The fact that you actually asked seems to catch him off-guard. Jaemin’s hold on you falters, just for a moment, but it’s enough to give you the freedom that you manage to break your wrist free, and with your other hand you shove his chest so he’s lying flat beneath you again. 

Again, the candle wobbles in your grip. 

Another couple drops splatter against Jaemin’s chest. He hisses, but the way his eyes flash and the way his cock twitches beneath you tells you that the sound doesn’t necessarily come from pain. 

Jaemin lies still, his eyes fixed on the dancing flame in your hand. 

“What are you going to do to me if I tell you that you’re right?” Jaemin asks. “Who are you going to tell?”

“Why would I tell anyone?” You reply. “And if I did, who would believe me?” 

You barely even understand what it means to be a selkie. You’re not likely to go blabbering about it to anyone. The only person who would possibly believe you or know what you’re really talking about would be your one friend. 

Again, a couple drops of wax escape the candle and meet Jaemin’s bare chest, dangerously close to a nipple.

This time his hips rock off the bed, bucking up between your legs. “Shit, are you going to keep doing that?”

“It depends, do you like it?” You sit down on him, rolling your hips slowly. “Because it seems to me like you do.”

“Can’t we focus on one thing at a time here?” Jaemin groans, his hands flying to your hips as you keep moving. “I thought you were trying to confront me about being a selkie? Or do you want to have sex again, incorporating a little wax play?”

Both? Maybe one should take priority over the other at the moment. 

Jaemin’s hips rock up again, and your mind is made up.

There’s only a thin sheet between your pussy and his cock, and it takes only a simple twitch of your hand to move it out of the way. As you move, shifting around to be in the proper position above him, you tilt the candle, watching as wax spills over and paints itself on Jaemin’s skin.

He moans. His nipples are hard, and he watches you with dark lust-filled eyes, full of want. “You’re going to play with me, tease me? After I treated you so well earlier?”

You lower your hips, dragging your pussy along his hard length as you pour a thin line of wax from his sternum down towards his belly button. “Relax, Jaemin. Just enjoy the pain a little.”

His eyelashes flutter, caught between the pleasure as you circle your clit against the head of his cock, and the pain as you dribble a little more wax on his skin. But he clearly loves it: cock twitching, bottom lip pinched between his teeth, his fingers curling against your hips without any urgency to the touch.

You could just keep teasing like this, grinding on him, pouring wax on his sensitive skin. But you don’t want to leave yourself hanging. You want some of the pleasure too.

Jaemin moans in tandem with you as you lean forward, roll your hips down against him, and then push back onto his hard length. As the warmth of your pussy envelops Jaemin’s cock, you brush away some of the dried candle wax on his chest and you lower your mouth to his nipple, flicking your tongue over the hard bud. 

Jaemin moves to seek his own pleasure, hips rocking off the bed to bury his cock inside of you while you mouth at his chest, while you let a few more drops of wax speckle his chest, drawing shapes now. He keeps forcing whines and moans, gasps of his name from your lips with each deep press of his cock inside you. And you’re drawing quite the sound collection from him as well, including one sound that you swear sounds like the grunt of a seal, reminding you startlingly in that moment of Jaemin’s identity.

You sit up on him, pressing your hand down against his abdomen, forcing Jaemin to still his movements. 

He looks up at you, burning with arousal. But he waits.

“About you being a selkie” you tell him, “I don’t care what you are as long as you’re mine.”

“I belong to the sea,” he tells you. “I can only come to land a few months every seven years. I don’t know that I can be yours, and I don’t think it would be fair to ask you to wait for me.”

You slide your hand up his chest, knocking aside chips of cooled wax. “For now, let’s just make the most of what time we’ve got.” You’ll figure the rest out later. 

The candle in your other hand is flickering, the flame going out. Jaemin watches as you lean over him, as you slide the candle onto the bedside table, and as you lean over his face, he lifts his head and captures one of your nipples with his lips. He licks, sucks, and nips at the sensitive peak until your pussy is throbbing with need and you can no longer just sit here on his cock. 

You push at his chest until Jaemin falls away, his head once more against your pillows, and he smiles up at you, dazzling and charming again while you sit above him.

You let go of everything, choosing in that moment to focus only on what feels good. 

You fuck yourself on Jaemin’s cock, leaning back with your hands braced on his thighs as you bounce. He snakes a hand up between your thighs, fingers on your clit. Your thighs twitch, moans spilling from your lips, and you feel powerful as you take what you want, as Jaemin gives it all to you. His hips rise from the bed, lifting to meet your thrusts, your bodies move in tandem, each of you seeking the height of pleasure.

You thrust down, and the angle of Jaemin’s cock inside you presses against your G-spot right as he pinches your clit between his fingers.

Your orgasm sets you adrift, untethered as your body moves on autopilot, chasing the high higher and higher. 

Jaemin sits up, sealing his mouth over yours, rolling your beneath him, and he fucks into you hard, fast, out of rhythm as his climax takes over too, and he cums buried inside you, passing his moans directly to your tongue.

You must pass out, slipping into unconsciousness just like that with Jaemin’s body covering yours inside and out, pressed together inseparably. 

When you wake what feels like hours later to the sunrise painting the sky a hundred different shades of pink, Jaemin still sleeps with his face tucked against your shoulder, his arms around you, cock soft but still pressed into the mess between your thighs. When you shift to rearrange a little, Jaemin’s arms hold you tighter still. He sighs, eyebrows furrowing a little. 

“Don’t move,” he mumbles sleepily. “I want to hold you for as long as I can.”

You settle in comfortably to the warm security of his arms, content to stay like this with Jaemin for however long you can have.

a/n: day 2 completed! when i started working with a few different prompts and they combined to spell out that I should write mermaid Jaemin with candle wax play I really wasn't sure where this was going to go, but then I started thinking about Eros and Psyche and her dripping hot oil/candle wax on him, and I thought about a book I read as a kid about selkies, and I decided yep that's it, that's the one

I hope you've enjoyed this one, and I look forward to all of you sticking around for the rest of this month's kinktober fics!

Reblogs are deserving of my eternal gratitude, likes are greatly appreciated, and your thoughts and comments are always welcome !

[lvrrgirlll]

Tolerate It (series)

Synopsis: Life as Patrick Zweig’s controversially young girlfriend should have been a dream, but it was anything but. He was a broken man. You were a girl who knew all too well. Who’s to say whether you’ve got it wrong now…

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Paring: Patrick Zweig x reader

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: smut, oral sex fem!receiving, p in v, bit of possessiveness, implied that reader is female, age gap relationship, angst, references to cheating, mentions of sending nudes

Notes: Thank you all so much for the love on the last part!!! Trust I have a vision for this story long term, I promise…we just gotta let it cook! As always, enjoy! :)

Previous part

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Part 2: Bloom and Grow

2019:

Since the whirlwind night you spent with Patrick, the two of you had become somewhat inseparable. He spent the rest of his time in New Rochelle staying in your apartment when he wasn’t playing. He broke it off with all the others he had been seeing casually at your request to try to see where this went. He wasn’t opposed. He didn’t have many better options anyways.

He continued with tour for a bit, still broke, but with some support now from you. It helped that you liked to spoil him. Not that you were in much of a place to, but you didn’t mind helping him out financially here and there. You understood it was hard on tour and he needed to make ends meet in between matches. He felt like such a failure, though. A washed up, 32-year-old tennis player dating an 18-year-old college student…a 32-year-old man paying for shit with money from his 18-year-old girlfriend. He was grateful for you; so sweet and good to him, but it didn’t change the fact that he was embarrassed.

“Class earlier was stupid, I mean, a lot of it is just a waste of my time really. They’re teaching me shit I already know…” you complained to Patrick on the phone. He murmured half-hearted ‘damn’s and ‘sorry’s in response, but you could hear his exhaustion through the phone. “Pat, you okay? You sound tired…we can talk later if you want.”

“No, no. Don’t worry, baby. Just had some bad matches today, that’s all. Doesn’t usually happen to me…” he chuckled sarcastically “you could say my ego’s a little bruised.” A frown crossed your face, but, of course, he couldn’t see your expression through the phone.

“I’m sorry about that…you work so hard. I’m sure tomorrow’ll be better,” you attempted to reassure him, hoping it’d at least make him feel like someone was in his corner. “Did I mention I’m out of school next week. It’s our fall break. I could come visit you on tour?” He was quiet for a moment before replying.

“You didn’t mention that actually…that’d be nice. I won’t be far, actually. The match is in the city…I could stay with you and commute?” He seemed to perk up at the idea of seeing each other in person again. After all, phone sex could only go so far.

“I’d love that,” you replied simply. It’d be nice to be with him again. You’d been missing him more than you’d let on.

Your relationship was an interesting one. The dynamic was odd. He clearly held more authority, being 32 after all, but you were the one with a more stable lifestyle. He also didn’t have anyone to tell about your relationship, nor did he really see a need to. On the flip side, you were so excited about dating such a man, but you didn’t want to tell anyone for fear of judgment at the age difference between the two of you and for fear that, him being a very minorly famous tennis player, you could garner him some sort of bad reputation he didn’t want. Of course, Patrick knew better, crucially aware of the fact that his fame in the tennis world had long faded. But he found it cute how you saw so much in him. Maybe he could do with seeing more of that in himself.

2029:

“Mrs. Zweig! A comment please, how do you feel about your husband’s retirement after such a long career?”

Cameras flashed between a somewhat uncomfortable silence as you thought over your answer, considering the conversation you and Patrick had had about this interview hours before.

“I’m very proud of him. He’s been playing a long time and has gotten to a point of success that we both feel accomplished in. I think now it’s time to focus more on living life and being normal people.” You spoke in reply. It was a bit off the cuff, but was close enough to what you had rehearsed.

“Mr. Zweig! You made your way back to a grand slam just a few months ago, how can you justify retiring when you’re on such a career high?”

A certain look flashed across Patrick’s eyes. None of them would catch it, but you did. ‘He doesn’t really want to retire,’ you thought.

“It’s uh- well…to be honest, I’m getting old,” he chuckled a bit, trying to seem informal “and I’d like to be able to spend more time on my family.” All the words were there, but his heart wasn’t exactly in it. He was a tennis player, after all, not an actor.

You knew he didn’t want any of this. Was doing it because it was this or your marriage would fall apart. And he couldn’t take that after everything you’d both been through.

2019:

Months had passed, and you and Patrick were surprisingly still going strong. He didn’t call as often, and neither did you, busy with finals, but you texted enough and you knew he missed you. He told you so. It was your two’s recent fixation…he’d say he missed you, you’d ask how much, he’d say “so much” with a frowny emoji, and then you’d send him a picture of your tits. He also tended to reply about 10 minutes after that with a brief “thanks.”

When he did call, it was a lot of the same. Tons of ‘I miss you’s and ‘wish I were there’s, which you found sweet. Maybe you were a bit foolish, but you were 18 after all.

He visited in December to celebrate the holidays before you went home for your real break. The visit was nice. In not seeing him for some time, you realized just how much you had missed him too.

“I’ll have to start asking you for pictures…” you mentioned half jokingly to him.

“Yeah baby? You miss me that much?” He asked cockily, looking at you with a shit eating grin. You both made out for a bit, pulling away occasionally to talk more about your respective lives or remark how much you’ve been longing to be together again, when suddenly Patrick’s phone buzzed.

It didn’t concern you, really. Phone’s buzz all the time. It was his reaction when he glanced at it that concerned you. It buzzed again…and again…and again. The fact that he wasn’t checking it after the first glance had you more worked up.

“Are you gonna check on that…?” You asked, worry seeping through your voice.

“It’s nothing- just my coach. Don’t worry.” He answered smoothly, running his fingers through your hair. This excuse, however, was more concerning than anything. You knew he didn’t have a coach…he couldn’t afford one. He must’ve let the fact that you knew that slip his mind in his time away.

You chose to ignore it and pretend to believe him, smiling then and kissing him again. “Missed this so much…” he whispered in between kisses. His hands found themselves tugging at the hem of your shirt as he broke the kiss, looking into your eyes with that same darkness you saw that first night. You nodded, a silent agreement, at which he pulled your shirt above your head, marveling at you. You reach back to take off your bra, smiling up at him, half because you genuinely had missed this, and half so as not to let on that you were extremely skeptical of what those messages were. “Missed these too,” he remarks as you are finally fully topless now.

He takes off his clothes in record time, reminded of how irresistible you were, and in need of release now. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t happy to see such desperation from him. It sort of quelled your racing mind. You reminded yourself that at the end of the day, he was yours, and you were his. You were broken out of your thoughts at the feeling of his lips trailing down your neck. “I need you baby…” he mumbled against your soft skin. ‘That’s good to know,’ you thought to yourself. You let out a sigh, more at your own worries than his words, but you couldn’t deny you were enjoying this regardless. The two of you make your way to your bed, where you first found yourselves months ago, and waste no time.

He trails kisses down your neck to your chest, down your stomach, and finally to your thighs. He looks up at you like a man starved, eyebrows furrowing as he silently begs permission to touch you. He knew he didn’t need to…but that was just how he was. You thought it was gentlemanly; yet another reason you were probably overthinking the messages. You nodded yet again, not in the mood for words for a number of reasons, and he was eager to oblige. Bunching your skirt around your waist, not even bothering to take it off, he pulls your panties to the side, observing your dripping cunt. “She’s so wet for me…you did miss me, huh?” It felt more like he was talking to your pussy than you…but you didn’t mind. He runs a finger through your folds, teasing your needy hole. He leans in, placing gentle kisses around your thighs, but not where you need him most.

“Patrick, please…” you practically moaned, looking down at him hopelessly. You weren’t exactly sure if you were asking him to touch you or to stick by you, but it didn’t matter in the moment. You just knew you needed him. In every sense of it. He looked up at you with a devilish smirk before diving in, his nose brushing against your sensitive clit as his tongue lapped at you. You moaned at the sudden surge of pleasure you felt. This was what you needed. He slurped away, eventually adding one, then another one of his fingers to help finish the job. You felt your high coming quickly, and suddenly something came over you. You weren’t usually like this, but your thoughts had taken over, bleeding into the pleasure you felt. “Pat…,” you asked in between breathless moans.

“Mhmm,” he hummed in response, looking at up you while tonguing your clit. The buzz of his hum was hard to ignore, but you somehow kept your focus.

“I’m yours, right?” You looked at him again with a hopeless expression painted across your features.

“Mhmm,” he hummed again, smirking into your pussy.

You gasped, then replied through your moans. “S- say -fuck- say you’re mine. P- please.” He looked up at you, stopping his work suddenly. His eyes were lidded, as if he was drunk off of you. He offered you a lazy smile, then crawled up from your thighs to prop himself up directly on top of you.

“Baby,” he cooed tenderly, leaning down as if doing a push up to kiss you sweetly, “of course I’m yours. I’m all yours, doll.” He kissed you again, the stubble of his beard scratching you a bit, but in the best way. From this new position, he lined himself up at your entrance, looking down at you. “Y’ready for me?”

“I’m all yours, Patrick…” you whispered in response. That was enough for him, then slamming his hips into you at a rigorous pace. Pleasure like this was a lot to handle, you weren’t used to him, since he’d been gone so long, but this was exactly what you had been craving. His gaze didn’t waver from you, as he thrust in and out, maintaining eye contact as you fell apart beneath him, reaching your high as that invisible coil in your stomach snapped. “Oh- fuck, I’m yours Patrick…all yours- fuck.”

His release came not long after yours, pulling out and pumping himself onto your stomach with a smooth grin gracing his face. He collapsed beside you for a moment, catching his breath before getting up to go get a washcloth. “Here you go baby, lemme clean you up,” he murmured, wiping the warm, damp washcloth across your stomach and thighs. “I’m gonna jump in the shower real quick…wanna join?” He smirked at you, eyes hopeful, but you shook your head. You were tired anyways. And an unknown answer to a question was still lingering in your mind…

“All right beautiful, I’ll be out soon,” he said, kissing your forehead before heading to the bathroom.

You waited ti you heard the water running to reach over to the nightstand, checking his phone. You weren’t surprised, unfortunately, but from what you discovered, you were very hurt.

“Miss you all the way from Savannah. When are you coming back to me babe?”

There were pictures underneath that message, but you couldn’t bear to look. To think that after all of that, he could’ve been seeing who knows how many people on tour…it broke you a bit. You wanted to scream or cry or throw something, but you didn’t. Hearing the water turn off, you knew Patrick would be out any minute. He always took such quick showers. You closed his phone quickly, putting it back on the bedside table and rolling over as if nothing had happened. You intended to continue to act that way as long as you could…so he was sleeping around on tour…maybe you had just gotten it wrong? Maybe you weren’t as exclusive as you had thought?

[solomonomenon]

WELCOME! ✨

IT'S A SOLOMONOMENON!

hello there, my name is solomon but you can call me sol

a passionate part-time writer | an amateur tarot reader

this is a nsfw blog, focused mainly on skz, so minors please do not interact (I hate children btw). I'll be writing smut (and maybe angst), doing headcanons, tarot reading, and many more I cannot think of yet. please bear in mind that nothing on here is fact even if it's a reading based on their birth chart. this is all for fun. enjoy!

ps. if you're curious, feel free to hop into my inbox

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 　　　　　　*　　　　　　　　　　　. .　　　　☾　　　　　　　　　. 　　✦⠀　,　 ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　 　　⠀　　　⠀.　 　　˚　　　⠀　⠀  　　,　　　　　　. 　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　　　　　*⠀　　⠀  ✮　　　　　⠀✦⠀　 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　　　.　　　　.　　　⠀ 　　　　✩　　　　　　　. 　　　　　　　✴ 　　　˚　　　　　　　　ﾟ　　　　　. 　.⠀　　⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀, 　　　*　　⠀.★ 　　　　　.　　　　　　　　　　⠀✦ 　˚　　　　　　　　　　　　　　*　　　　　

𝙈𝘼𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙍𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

OT8

MTL to bring someone back to the dorm

skz on getting someone pregnant

age that skz are attracted to

skz relationship vs hooking up

would skz film themselves having sex?

who in skz would be most likely to be a fuckboy?

a night with skz | hyung line

a night with skz | maknae line

skz's opinions on dating a fan

skz's sex playlist

skz tea - october 2024

skz’s first thought when they see an attractive woman

how are skz in bed?

skz kinks and favorite positions

what controversy might skz get themselves into?

how long would skz wait before sleeping with their s/o in a serious relationship?

skz on using escorts

skz ideal type

skz tea (nsfw)

skz pull-out game

skz and facesitting

are skz in a 18+ group chat?

are skz the one who initiates sex?

are skz into sexting?

do skz want nudes from their partner?

skz and quickies

thoughts on gangbang/orgy

how often would skz like to have sex in a committed relationship?

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

[the-aussie-knight]

Name: Samantha Fox

AKA: Sam Fox

Born: 15th of April 1966

Measurements: 34DD-24-33

Fact: Samantha Fox first posed topless at 16 years old, for British tabloid newspaper, The Sun on page 3. Controversy however exists as to why she would be allowed to pose topless, at such a young age, but laws at the time, allowed girls to pose topless at 16 (with parental/guardian consent), and nude at 21. Laws since changed invoking the 18+ rule for all sexual related media, and now underage photos have been declared illegal and destroyed. Samantha has quite possibly become, and still is, the most famous Page 3 model of all time.

[icedsodapop]

White journalism has mostly been utterly rubbish at covering the recent controversy between Jasmine Crockett and Marjorie Taylor Greene, writing about the incident as two women who derailed a meeting when they hurled appearance-based insults at each other, not understanding that what Greene, a literal white supremacist, was doing by commenting on Crockett's fake eyelashes affecting her work, was actually implying that Crockett's appearance was unprofessional and therefore, incompetent. The appearances of Black and Brown women are often scrutinised and they are penalized for not adhering to standards rooted in white supremacy.

Here's a written account by a Black woman:

I looked up to find a critical mass of Black women excitedly converging upon my interview station. Forming a half circle around my table, they began exclaiming how enamored they were by my appearance and how it countered much of the counseling they had received on how to appear “professional” and “look like a lawyer.” They emphatically discussed the damage and financial expense they incurred to straighten and subdue their naturally coiled, gravity defying hair to appear “polished” and “professional” for their interviews. They shared how they spent several hours in several stores seeking a skirt suit that would complement their figure, but not emphasize or unveil their curves, and were ultimately forced to splurge on a tailor to appear feminine and physically appealing without being hypersexualized, since the average suit is not designed to fit their body type. They were told to wear these skirt suits with “flesh toned” stockings and “nude” makeup for a “polished” but “professional” look, and reflected upon their frustration running up and down retail aisles seeking “flesh tones” and “nude” colors that actually matched their complexion, since the “darkest” shade of most products still only reflect the darkest tone of white or light skin. They looked at me, a visibly Black woman with brown skin, wearing bold gold earrings, a large naturally curly afro, bright colored fitted pant suit, and bare-face except for a bright red lip, and questioned whether it might be possible to enter the legal profession without having to leave elements of their Black womanhood behind.

[kwisatzworld]

The first time I actually saw Vale was at a gala in Barcelona for the Sport Awards sponsored by IWC. I was the only journalist in a tuxedo. The editor-in-chief of Donna Moderna had told me to try to snag an interview with him on the sly. So, I kept my eyes on him all night, and when he got up to chat with some friends and Arianna, his girlfriend at the time, I slipped into the group and asked him a question. He turned to me, laughing, and asked, “Who are you?” A journalist, I replied. I was just starting out, a bit naive, thinking of being a journalist as some kind of status. Not for Valentino, though: “Then I’m not talking to you.” He turned away and completely ignored me. End of story.

Then I joined Riders, even though I knew next to nothing about motorcycles. So, I started studying. And only then did everything start to connect for me: his decision to switch to Yamaha to prove he was the best, even without Honda, his rivalry with Biaggi, the tax controversies, his comeback victories, and the antics to celebrate them—all of it was already framing a legend, an incredible story. That’s when I got the idea to dedicate a cover to him and his father, Graziano. They’d only been interviewed together once before, and it hadn’t gone well. I was sure mine would be a hit. We set it up. I interviewed Vale and Graziano separately. I spent nearly four hours with Graziano in the Yamaha hospitality and had 15 minutes with Vale in a small office in the same place. Was I nervous before meeting him? I remember I was—very much so. At the end of the interview, I suggested he pose nude, embracing his motorcycle, both of them lying down, shot from above, inspired by that famous photo of John Lennon and Yoko Ono. He replied that, no, he’d never do it nude. And then he left. I was left with the impression that he had no real sense of the legendary status he held or of the power his story already had. I liked that, honestly—it made him feel more relatable. Someone you could talk to about Inter and girls, and nothing else.

I reentered Vale’s world when we arranged an interview with Uccio. Uccio was his personal assistant back then; now he’s in charge of the VR46 Academy. In those days, he also drove the motorhome. We agreed to do the interview on the road, so we met outside Milan, and I joined him for the drive to Barcelona. Uccio struck me as a bit of an enigma—a tough guy, not one to warm up easily. We spent the journey listening to Vasco and Cremonini, chatting, and smoking. Vale called him only once, just to ask when his Nike sneakers would arrive. Uccio said to me, “Do you know how many people would like to please Valentino?” Uccio, who calls him “il Capo,” Uccio who, at one point, sang out loud against the windshield to Cremonini’s song PadreMadre: “Padre, occhi gialli e stanchi, cerca ancora coi tuoi proverbi a illuminarmi…”

After reading the interview, Uccio crossed paths with me in the paddock and simply said, “Nice article. Nice.” Then he walked back into hospitality. Only later did I understand that giving that compliment, with the way he is, had cost him a lot.

In the meantime, I got a call from Gabriele Romagnoli, one of Italy’s finest journalists—narrative and romantic. He called me to Rome, and over coffee in a fading bar, he proposed I write a book about Rossi for the publishing house 66thand2nd. The idea was to portray Vale in the aftermath of the accident with Simoncelli. A story of human tragedy and novel-like fate. Life and destiny. The book never came to be. I’d wake up at 5 every morning, writing from 5:30 to 8:30, but what I wrote lacked truth. I wasn’t deep enough into Vale’s mind to pull it off, and the more I wrote, the more I realized that he was slipping through my grasp.

In an attempt to understand him, I even sought advice from an astrologer, Chiara Viola. She told me, “Of course he eludes you—you’re used to seeking the meaning of things in depth. Vale doesn’t even question the meaning of things. He just lives. You’re vertical, he’s horizontal. You live in the past and the future; he seems superficial, but in reality, he’s a constant present.” That description helped me more than anything else in understanding how Valentino overcame everything, especially Marco’s death. And today, as I see him calmly approaching the moment of his last race, I recall that phrase.

What luck I’ve had. What luck we’ve all had to have you, Vale. Luck for those who stood by you every day, for those who admired you only on TV or in the papers, for those who commented on you, interviewed you, and even for those who never missed a chance to give you a hard time. What luck we’ve had. To experience you, to grow up with you. Because that’s exactly what it’s been about. To rejoice and despair with you. Yes, what luck. Today an era ends. A generation comes to a close. It’s been splendid. And that, dear Vale, no one can ever take from us. No one. Ever.

[thelambliesdown1974]

i want to study at comedy yaoi university

i will write controversial rpf and direct 1980s box office flops. 

i would watch Earl and Floyd on SCTV all night while doing cocaine with my troupe.

i'll have allegations for making insensitive jokes on my Twitter account.

i would have backstage gay sex with Steve Martin and Martin Short every night. 

i would take nude bathhouse photos with Jerry Lewis and Dean Martin, and develop scripts for slightly uncomfortable homoerotic Rick Moranis films…

i wish i was a yaoi comedian :( …………

[coolbeesbro]

TGOFC Leshy Facts (Chapter 6 Spoilers)

There's so much that goes into each character in my au, and the last chapter I dropped had a bunch of lore for Leshy's character, and I just felt like compiling the minute facts that might be overlooked in light of the story that genuinely bring me joy.

Unlike the other siblings, Leshy was just a regular chaser worm who was evolved into something more human (even though humans aren't a thing in this universe, I can't think of a term that would convey the same thing here) through the power of the Green Crown. The others were like regular people already capable of complex thinking, bipedal etc., who came to find their crown one way or another (I'll go into them more in their own posts), so in comparison Leshy is more unpredictable and overall feral in his actions and mannerisms. He also still has a strong connection with the worms and can communicate with them perfectly fine, giving him an advantage over prior gods of Chaos who couldn't control them at all.

Some examples of him being more animalistic is the fact that he's being prone to biting just because, and still having urges like burrowing underground being more comfortable for him than sleeping in an actual bed, and randomly making strange little noises. He also thinks nothing about eating through and ripping up the floorboards in his house, and has Heket bring him spare lumber to store as a "little snack" when he's too lazy to get up and go to the dining hall and raid the kitchen. Every sibling's homes are reflective of their personalities, and where Heket, Kallamar, Narinder and Shamura have furniture and decor, Leshy's home, though normal looking from the outside, is literally just an empty room with the majority of the floorboards ripped up or gnawed through, looking like a storm ripped through the inside of his home. He has no furniture or decor outside of a few potted plants gifted to him by Tebryn (au yellow cat).

Another thing, and this might be controversial, is that he's actually terrible when it comes to taking care of plants. Almost every plant he owns is either dead, or on the brink of death, but he doesn't really know it since he can't see for himself that they are. He use to be good at it, but that ended up being 100% the Green Crown's power. Having not been capable of thinking past basic animal instincts prior to becoming a god, he can't fathom that he might not actually know what he's doing. Tebryn teases him lightly about it, but also doesn't have the heart to tell him that the plants in his window died months ago. There's one plant that's hanging on by a thread, an overwatered camellia bonsai that's now really just a stick in dirt with 3 leaves, and it only stays alive because Tebryn repots and tends to it when Leshy isn't paying attention. That doesn't stop Leshy from attempting to unintentionally over-trim the tree, much to Tebryn's dismay.

When he was still just a baby up until his toddler years, he would often just run around naked (only covered by leaves) and Heket would struggle to just get him to keep at least his cloak on (there'll be a flashback to a scene like that later on). One second he would be fully clothed, she would look away for just a moment, then look back to see Leshy running away on all fours with his clothes in a trail behind him. Now, if not for the fact that he'd get a lecture from the others on why he needs to stay clothed out in public, he would probably be in the nude 24/7.

As a product of his rapid evolution, his appearance from what chaser worms are in present day is drastically different; since while they evolved over time, he was like a preservation of their past. Like how he burrows into dirt, where they no longer have to due to evolution giving them large horns and a larger/tougher build for protection. Instinctually, he still attaches sticks to his head, which was both a defense mechanism of sorts along with helping with hunting. Being partly burrowed in the ground helped him feel vibrations of things walking near him; and with his head sticking up past the dirt, he looked more shrub-like so predators wouldn't go after him, and also prey would be more inclined to walk near him or use him as shelter, making for easier meals.

I also decided to make him a trans man, because why does Shamura get to be the only trans one (also as a youngest child who's a trans man I decided that my comfort character WILL be trans as well.)? With the help of Kallamar he's able to transition with HRT and other surgeries. Nobody but his siblings know he's trans, and is 100% passing as cis to everyone else. He's also the shortest of all the siblings, followed by Shamura, then Narinder, Heket and Kallamar.

There's definitely more than this, but my god I realized just how long this was getting so I'll end it here unless people want me to make a continuation.

[pmamtraveller]

SCENES FROM MODERN LIFE; THOMAS EAKINS

Thomas Eakins (1844–1916) was an influential American painter known for his realism and focus on the human form. His father was a calligrapher and writing teacher, and at first, that seems to have been Thomas Eakins’ direction, too. He studied at the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts where he learnt drawing and anatomy.

The Champion Single Sculls (Max Schmitt in a Single Scull) (1871)

Created to commemorate the victory of Eakins's friend, Max Schmitt, in a rowing competition on Philadelphia's Schuylkill River. Eakins, a passionate oarsman himself, depicted Schmitt in a moment of calm rather than in the throes of competition. The painting captures great detail in the water, oars, and weather, Eakins even included himself in the artwork, rowing in the background.

Portrait of Dr. Samuel D. Gross (The Gross Clinic) (1875)

It is a portrait of the renowned Philadelphia surgeon in the surgical amphitheater of Jefferson Medical College (now part of Thomas Jefferson University). Eakins includes himself in the painting, seated at the far left, sketching the scene. The patient's mother, who looks away and shields her eyes, unable to watch the surgery, is also included. The procedure took place before the advent of aseptic technique, so instruments were clean but not sterile, gloves and gowns were not worn.

Arcadia (c 1883)

This painting was an unusual venture into mythology, created during a period when Eakins was experimenting with photography. Eakins had bought his first camera in 1880 and started to use it as a photographic sketchbook. Although it can be read as another step in his campaign for painting from life, the work features models posed in a pastoral setting, including his future wife, Susan Macdowell, and his nephew, Ben Crowell.

Swimming (The Swimming Hole) (1885)

Bathers have been a popular and recurrent theme in paintings since the dawn of the art. Here, Eakins features identifiable figures, which are Eakins himself and several of his students. However, its exhibition in 1885 sparked controversy due to its graphic portrayal of nudity and identifiable figures. This backlash contributed to Eakins's resignation from the Academy in 1886 after a series of complaints about his promotion of nude studies.

The Agnew Clinic (1889)

This fine painting shows the surgeon performing a partial mastectomy, and the whole scene is a testament of how surgery had advanced in just fourteen years. The clean white gowns worn by the doctors, the use of sterilized instruments, techniques promoted by Agnew. Eakins completed the painting quickly, in just three months, rather than the year he took for his earlier masterpiece, The Gross Clinic.

[whatcoloristhatcat]

my cat, momo, has been the center of several 'controversies' amongst my friends because sometimes she looks beige (is that also called buff? for real? like "in the buff" as in nude? i find that so funny) or "fawn"? but she also looks super orange?

he seems to be a dilute red (cream) ticked tabby with low white spotting! his look does seem to vary pretty widely with lighting but i think he’s just a pretty saturated cream

[channeledhistory]

The highly controversial indiscriminate child sexual abuse regulation (so-called chat control) could still be endorsed by EU governments after all, as France could give up its previous veto. This is reported by Euractiv and confirmed by internal documents. France considers the new “upload moderation” proposal in principle as a viable option. According to the latest draft regulation dated 28 May (Council document 9093/24), which is presented as “upload moderation”, users of apps and services with chat functions are to be asked whether they accept the indiscriminate and error-prone scanning and possibly reporting of their privately shared images, photos and videos. Previously unknown images and videos are also to be scrutinised using “artificial intelligence” technology. If a user refuses the scanning, they would be blocked from sending or receiving images, photos, videos and links (Article 10). End-to-end encrypted services such as Whatsapp or Signal would have to implement the automated searches “prior to transmission” of a message (so-called client-side scanning, Article 10a). The initially proposed scanning of text messages for indications of grooming, which is hardly being used to date, is to be scrapped, as is the scanning of voice communication, which has never been done before. Probably as a concession to France, the chats of employees of security authorities and the military are also to be exempted from chat control.

During the last discussion on 24 May, the Council Legal Service made it clear that indiscriminate chat control scanning of non-suspects is still envisioned and remains a violation of fundamental rights. Nevertheless, most EU governments are determined to go ahead. EU governments plan to continue their discussions on June 4th. “The Belgian proposal means that the essence of the EU Commission’s extreme and unprecedented initial chat control proposal would be implemented unchanged,” warns MEP and most prominent opponent of chat control Patrick Breyer (Pirate Party). “Using messenger services purely for texting is not an option in the 21st century. And removing excesses that aren’t being used in practice anyway is a sham. Millions of private chats and private photos of innocent citizens are to be searched using unreliable technology and then leaked without the affected chat users being even remotely connected to child sexual abuse – this would destroy our digital privacy of correspondence. Our nude photos and family photos would end up with strangers in whose hands they do not belong and with whom they are not safe. Despite lip service being paid to encryption, client-side scanning would undermine previously secure end-to-end encryption in order to turn our smartphones into spies – this would destroy secure encryption. [...]

[genandguice]

𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞. ryan gosling

warnings: i do not condone these thoughts or actions….

infidelity. smut. and with plot 👎🏼 also reader smoking cigs. female reader. oral m receiving, piv, little bit of breeding

𝐰𝐜: 4.7𝐤

Ryan’s touch on your abdomen is so slight that it tickles, and you find yourself smiling against his lips as they move sensually against yours. Every faint movement from him sends a tingle across your stomach. For a moment, you’re distracted from the heat and the pulsing between your thighs, you let yourself moan into his mouth just to keep from giggling, until his hand starts to travel further north. His fingertips are destined to grip the curve of your breast, and you tremble in the anticipation, your moans become unsuppressable. The muscles in his back stretch and flex under your hands and your legs tighten around him as the notion of his strength settles in your mind; how deeply, how harshly he could ram his hips into you, how tight he could hold you down, or how easily he could hold you up, how these very muscles would feel under your hands, using all his brawn to lift you up and down on his cock.

“Cut!”

“That’s lunch everybody! 2 hours today!”

The sound on set resumes around you as your costar lifts away from his position above your half-naked body, taking his body heat and his natural, masculine smell with him. A pang of disappointment replaces his warmth as he leaves you, perfectly chipper and unaffected by the sudden halt as he pulls his t-shirt back on, bringing you back to reality. You aren’t a controversially-aged couple dramatically kindling a resisted desire, but an unknown actress and her married A-list costar.

You’d always heard he was great to work with, a gentleman and a sweetheart, that he had great chemistry with everyone on set, but that wasn’t the case with you- he hardly spoke to you.

You give a multi-million dollar performance moaning and writhing underneath him, and he doesn’t seem to notice you at all.

You think he must be desensitized, all the roles he’s played with so many women, a scene is just a scene. But more likely, he just loves his wife.

Either way, it seems you’ll never have the chance to abolish your yearning for the real thing.

Your silk robe is handed over by a nearby assistant and you wrap it around yourself, deep in racing thought, hoping no one had noticed the ever present wet spot in your sole article of clothing. You’ve been shockingly invisible to most of the crew, despite being the leading lady, and most currently one of only two nude bodies in the room, but it finally pays off as you’re able to scurry to your trailer unbothered. With your cunt literally weeping, screaming for attention, you’re thankful for an extra long lunch. Maybe if you take care of yourself the next take won’t be so stimulating. It’ll be nice to spend some hours locked away.

Trailer locked, blinds shut, robe open, panties down, and you’re in wonderland. It’s almost embarrassing to be so worked up like this over someone you’re working closely with, but as your middle finger seamlessly and mercilessly glides over your slippery bundle of nerves, you couldn’t give a shit. The mental images of Ryan pounding into you, the guttural sounds he’d make as he hits that spot deep inside you, earnestly driving you toward a life-changing orgasm, it was all you could think. Your back arches up off the dark leather couch, your moans heighten in pitch, volume, and frequency even as you try to hold them back, and you’re finally at the edge.

And then someone is knocking at your door.

It takes everything in you not to scream. It’s as if everyone you work with is cock-blocking you at every step. You throw a quick, silent tantrum, kicking your feet and punching your fists in the air, furiously grieving the second suspension of your pleasure, before you tie your robe to hide your body and stickiness once again. You kick your panties to the side before you crack the door.

“Hungry?”

Of course it’s him.

“Kinda thought I felt your tummy rumbling so I brought you something.” Ryan gestures to the bag of takeout he shakes in his other hand. You want to be frustrated, the ache between your thighs is painful, but he just has a way about him that cheers you up. You crack, and you snicker, and it pulls a smile from him.

“My tummy?”

He shrugs and looks at you as if you’re the one who’s ridiculous while he opens up the bag. “Your tummy.”

His terminology makes you feel like a little girl, and it’s conflicting. On the one hand, it makes you feel precious, and desired, as if he’d eagerly sweep you up in his strong arms, pet, caress and cradle you like a kitten, call you a “cute little thing”, but on the other hand, it’s just more evidence that he’ll never take you seriously. You are just a little girl to him; too young and silly to garner any real attention.

“It is reportedly- reported by you, your favorite.” You inspect the bag with one arm slithering through the door, while Ryan waits patiently and confidently for you to approve.

“It is my favorite, where did you hear that?”

Again, he shrugs, but this time with a humbly accomplished smirk that blesses his features all too well. “I have my sources. But you can only have this food on one condition.”

You huff a laugh. “What condition?” What could he want from you?

He gives you that “you’re ridiculous” look again. “You let me eat with you.”

Immediately your mind has returned to its racing, but one thought stands out among the others. “Ryan, I’m still in my robe.” You laugh nervously, feel your cheeks getting hot as your thoughts turn dirty, the confession turning your attention back to your bare crotch lingering underneath the garment. But he’s oblivious to that, and consequently unfazed.

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. And I do not believe in the sexual objectification of female nudity.” He points a finger at you as he corrects himself, “Or near nudity.”

He’s dangerously convincing; finally giving you that characteristic Gosling charm and the attention you’ve wanted for, and although it’s almost alarmingly sudden, it’s irresistible.

“Alright.” You open up the door and let him in, cheeks still burning. You feel more naked and displayed like this than you do when you aren’t wearing it, the fabric highlighting and accentuating every curve of your body. But Ryan walks right past you as if it’s nothing.

He takes a seat on your dark leather couch, freshly dry of your sweat, but not before covertly noticing the discarded panties behind the door.

The twitch is his pants makes him second guess himself, maybe he shouldn’t have done this- but nobody will know about a slight involuntary reaction to finding out the young girl in front of him was truly naked beneath a single, thin layer. He has plenty of control over himself. You’re his costar, he can’t avoid interacting with you just to subside meaningless temptation forever.

But his doubts linger back as his eyes lift and land on you. The way they’ve done your hair up for the movie, how the color of the silk compliments your skin tone, how the fabric hugs your thighs with each movement. His minds eye shows his hands sliding up the inside of them, bound for the sole part of your body still unknown to him. Though you settle into the opposite end of the couch, as far as you could be, he finds the proximity intoxicating, and his thoughts difficult to purify.

“Why’d you wanna eat lunch with me anyway?” Your legs are carefully tucked under your knees to shield your undress, arm resting on the back of the couch, resting your head on your hand, cigarette delicately balanced between your fingers on the other. The food has long gone, and you still have nearly an hour left for lunch, but for whatever reason, he’s stayed; sitting, legs spread wide, listening, laughing, blabbering back, occasionally slapping his hand on the couch, so close to touching you, to emphasize his sentences.

And with every passing minute, you feel the pull between you growing stronger, more tangible. The air around you is static, you can barely look him in the eyes, and he can’t allow his gaze to linger anywhere but yours.

“We hardly know each other. It’s a little un-gentlemanly of me to touch you the way I do and not know anything about you.” He laughs, and you swear you see a rosy hue spread across his cheeks. “But I also thought you could use a friend, you know. You must get lonely in here all by yourself.”

“What makes you say that?” You look at him curiously as you drag from your cigarette.

He’s taken aback by the question, as if he doesn’t have an answer, he just assumed you must be lonely, and his demeanor shifts as he spends a short moment reflecting. His body tenses, almost imperceivably, he guards himself up, and then it’s over as fast as you could notice it.

“Well,” he laughs, “Maybe I’m projecting.”

“…Are you lonely?”

“Everybody gets lonely sometimes.”

It hurts to hear that he hurts, but it downright sickens you that it gives you a flush of hope. Why would he come here now, confide that in you, if not to act on it? It was a reach, but one to give you just enough reason to abandon all shame and morality standing in your way.

“Your family doesn’t travel with you?” You cautiously elongate your legs out toward him as you put out your cigarette, careful not to flash him. When he delays to answer you, eyes lingering on the hemline lying in just the right position to keep you covered, you know you’ve trapped him.

“Ryan?”

He shakes his head, eyes unmoved, and softly speaks. “No.”

He’s faired no better, made no progress clearing his thoughts since he stepped foot in your trailer. He can’t explain the effect you’ve had on him, not anymore, not with the way he’s half-hard in his pants and remains seated, gazing at the apex of your thighs, hoping the robe would rise just a few inches higher. But no, it’s only his cock that continues to rise, and at this point, he’s a willing participant.

“That must be hard.”

As you make your risky, but valid remark, his eyes finally meet yours, and the state of them confirms your suspicions; dark and hooded, he’s voluntarily trapped, with no ambitions to escape.

“It is.” His gaze lingers on you, almost daring you to continue, and the atmosphere thickens. Where your attraction was once unrequited, it was now matched, filling the air with a steaming fog of sexual tension.

“Your wife doesn’t get nervous about you being so far away, and lonely? Getting close with other women?” You edge closer, unable to resist the magnetic pull between you.

“It’s not usually such a problem.” His eyes are everywhere, rapidly roaming your body with a hunger that makes your skin tingle. From your lips, to the slope of your shoulders where your robe threatens to slip, to the gentle swell of your breasts against the fabric, back up to meet your own ravenous gaze, traveling in a never-ending loop.

“Usually?” Your voice is raspy with need.

“This is different,” he admits, barely above a whisper. You can see now how his breathing is quick and heavy; the rise and fall of his chest as he struggles to control it, mirroring your own arousal.

“How so?” You shift onto your knees, now mere inches away from him and the erection straining against his pants.

“I’ve never been in such… irresistible company.”

Ryan is a good man. It was something you’d always known, something you were always told. You still believed it. Just as you believed you were a good young woman. But everyone has their weaknesses. And yours just so happened to be each other. All the time you’d spent together on this movie, trying desperately not to indulge this very feeling. What if something cosmically, intensely amorous lie on the other side of it?

“So you want me to… help with your loneliness?” Your tone eases into a seductive tenor that fuels the sinful craving taking over him.

Ryan’s adam’s apple bobs as he gulps, and he nods, silently pleading for you to relieve him.

“Are you sure?” You ask, closing the gap between you and snaking your hand over his thigh, feeling how it trembles at your touch. You lean in to whisper, lips gently brushing his tragus, “I wouldn’t want to desecrate your vows.”

Your freshly-manicured fingers massage the tent in his crotch, stroking every ounce of hesitation right out of him. He couldn’t stop himself if he wanted to.

“God, yes.”

You hum in his ear, giving him a squeeze, feeling the thickness of him. You’ve thought about it so many times, fantasized about this very moment where he picks you over it all. The weight of endless possibilities presses down on your mind as you sift through every dream, looking for a perfect place to start. To taste his cock, to feel his tongue lapping at the puddle between your thighs, to prolong the anticipation until he’s begging for you, or just to kneel below him and ogle his stiff, robust, burly form.

His eyes have fallen shut as he relishes in the motion of your hand. With each touch, he's consumed by impure thoughts he’d never allowed himself to give into before. And after truly indulging his fantasies for the first time, he blurts exactly what comes to mind, with a grunt, as if he’s read your thoughts; “I want you to put me in your mouth.”

Your body responds instinctually, a moan escaping your lips at the mental image he created, and the realness of the sound reverberates in his ear, seeps into his bloodstream and gets him addicted to it. He feels his urges thundering through him, fingertips prickling with restlessness, ready to finally act on his instincts and pull every wanton noise you have to give until you’re hoarse.

You move with an enticing grace, slinking down into the floor between his knees as if it were your natural place. Ryan’s eyes track you all the way, completely enraptured in you, as if the moment might cease altogether if he blinked. His cock jumps as you settle into your position at his feet, so eager to unleash him.

Your eyes are locked as you slide your hands up his thighs, the width of his quadriceps dwarfing them. The fabric around his crotch is taught and strained. Your mouth waters knowing what waits for you there.

The zipper gives without a fight, the pants themselves ready to be free of him. It’s the sound that draws your attention to his cock, the heavy thump of it smacking up against his stomach. It’s every bit as impressive as you imagined; thick, veined, glistening at the tip, and you moan at the sight of it alone.

A tentative hand reaches for your neck, gently petting you with his thumb, but the anticipation mingling with the skin-to-skin contact ignites some kind of impatience in him.

His hand reaches up into your professionally done hair and tugs it tight, sending your head back with a gasp.

“As much as I’d like to take my time with you,” he speaks lowly as he guides your lips to his cock, “we don’t have that luxury.”

His commandeering tone somehow gives you that precious and desired feeling. So hopelessly hypnotized by him that you need his guidance to properly do your job, and you gladly accept it, like the distracted little girl you are.

Your lips wrap around just the very tip of his engorged head, swiping your flat tongue over his slit and savoring the taste of the droplets that soak into it. Ryan shudders and he grips the leather with his free hand as you take him further, quickly growing hungrier, suctioning his cock into your wet mouth and stroking your tongue on the underside of it. He’s heavy on your tongue, tastes of salt and sweat and daydreams come to life and you want more.

One of your hands grips him, sturdy and pulsing in your hand as you pump him up into your greedy mouth, and a needy groan rumbles from his chest.

“Fuck, yes,” he speaks behind grit teeth, steadily pushing you further onto him with the hand buried in your hair.

The more he fills your mouth, the more your own arousal pools between your thighs, begging for attention. But this moment was about him. The man who’d always put others before himself, who’d always chosen his career and his wife over his own desires. Your talented tongue massages the thick vein throbbing against it, milking him towards a newly free ecstasy with every motion. The hand that supports your mouth drips with your spit, drooling down his cock and soaking him at the base, properly drowning him in pleasure.

“God, I knew you’d be good at this,” he gasps, unable to take his eyes off the sight of you giving him a fresh new world. The idea of him thinking about you that way, trying to imagine how he’d feel in your mouth, just how well you’d please him, makes your pussy flutter.

You moan around him, spurring him on further as his hips jump and twitch. You find a rhythm, swallowing him down and slurping him back up, letting your wrist fall slack and sloppily twist around him. The sound is fucking obscene, wet squelches of your hand and your throat, sighs and expletives shoving their way past his lips. His hand shoves your further and rougher as he loses himself in the feeling, stealing the air from your lungs and replacing it with the feeling of his cock pounding the back of your throat. You’re enthralled, all of your senses filled to the brim with him, tears blooming in your ears, cunt empathetically throbbing with the weight of his impending orgasm, until you’re overflowing.

You pull back at a particularly harsh and deep thrust, gagging, coughing, gasping for air, but pumping him through it all. Your mouth is smeared with a shameful amount of slobber, but you wear it graciously, thirsty for his seed. But after all the time you’ve pined after him, the amount of wanting proliferating inside you just today, you need it spilled and planted elsewhere.

Residual groans and twitches flee his body, fueled the sight of you on your knees before him, wide-eyed, cherry-lipped and needy, still dutifully stroking him. It’s a feat for him not to just hold you in this position until he blows all over your pretty face. The way you worship him, the way you crave him, it fulfills his ego, reaffirms his dominance over you. He makes a mental note to mention how much it truly means to him to be treated with such reverence as your hand slows to a stop, but for now, he has a painfully hard cock to attend to, and a surely leaking cunt awaiting his discovery.

“Tell me what you want, baby.” He commands, his hand loosening in your hair, returning to its gentle caress.

The aching in your core becomes all-consuming as your deliverance draws near, and you whimper like a neglected pet.

“I want you inside me,” you plead. “God, Ryan, I want you deep and raw,” he grips your hair for purchase as your filthy words thrill him, and you gasp before he loosens again- “Ah! Oh, I want you to make me sorry for tempting you,” you’re panting, “I want to feel everything you’ve waited to do to me.”

He leans forward with a sigh, aiming to sound displeased, but the excited glint in his eye exposes him.

“You’re a needy little thing, aren’t you?”

You nod vigorously, thoroughly shameless, and he hums in approval, and then-

His lips crash into yours and you’re both reborn. It’s real, and intense, and passionate, and you can feel how much he’s needed you too.

His hand begins to flow down your back, not bothering to pull your robe off, beelining for the curve of your ass, large hand brushing down and over the skin there with a tantalizing touch. Creeping between your thighs, sneaking up the inside, soaking up your expecting whines. The largest swell of your inner leg is sticky with your arousal and Ryan groans into your mouth as he lands upon it- and then he’s there.

Spreading your pitifully slick labia with his middle finger, circling your clit just once, sending your hips lurching forward, then continuing to tease your folds. You grip his muscular arms to keep yourself steady and they flex marvelously under your palms with his movements, stretching, bulging, hardening like those of a Greek god. You’re whimpering in his mouth, desperate and insatiable, until his finger suddenly plunges inside your gushing hole. Your mouth falls open with a gasp and he groans low and long, slowly fucking his finger into you, carefully stroking your walls and exploring the steamy sanctuary your body had tailored for him.

“So fucking wet.” His voice has regained a softness, as if he’s grateful. He kisses across your cheek and down to your jaw,“Gonna be a good girl?” He wants to sound patient, like he’s in control, like he could walk away if you can’t properly hold yourself together, but his aching tone and his now harsh, deep thrusts prove otherwise. “Can’t have you makin’ too much noise.” He huffs. “Need you to tell me you’ll be good for me.”

“I will.” The words rush from your mouth at a shameful speed. “I will, I will, I will.” You mumble and whimper, clinging to his biceps. “Please just fuck me.”

His impatience climaxing once again, Ryan effortlessly scoops you up like a ragdoll and drops you to lie on the dark leather, strong hands preventing you from bouncing on the furniture to return you to the lewd position you held just before he joined you.

He’s breathtaking above you. He always is. But this time he’s primal, any ounce of his normally cheeky self ceased. A tower of a man, staring down at you with black eyes, wide chest expanding further with his labored breathing, cock standing impressively between you, demanding attention, ready to claim you and reclaim himself.

He pulls one of your legs over his shoulder, shifting your hips up, vulgarly unveiling your cunt to his hungry eyes. He showers your calf in kisses and growls in praise of the display below him; swollen, saturated and leaking, calling out to him without a sound.

“Fuck,” he mumbles to himself, “You’re gonna be the death of me, girl.”

You must have been seducing him this whole time, winding him up with a vengeance until he had no choice but to give in to keep his sanity. How intensely and honestly you beg for him, how you submit to his will, how your body naturally composes in just the way to please him. He’s lost all resistance to your siren song. And so he wastes no time pressing his cock past your folds, drinking up your breathy, relieved whines as he stretches and plugs your tender hole.

He releases a stifled, husky grunt when his dick is fully buried, rolls his hips against you until he’s perfectly sheathed and settled. You can hear him shuddering while you faintly struggle to adjust to him, uncontrollably clenching around him, unknowingly driving him mad. He’s stiff as a steel rod inside you, so snug against your pillowy walls you can feel him pulsating, every tiny shift and twitch in his hips. You can’t help but be stimulated, you’re so full you can feel it in your lungs, and so you clench, and every little breath makes it worse, your body only mustering tiny, pitiful whimpers.

“Relax.” He hisses through his teeth, massaging your lower stomach where it bulged with the heft of his erection.

“If you don’t stop squeezing me like that I’ll cum fast.” But as much as you can’t stop the fluttering of your walls, he can’t stop his cock succumbing to it, hips subconsciously answering the primal beckoning and starting a slow rhythm, unintentionally forcing you to feel every inch steadily slotting in and out of you. So started a viciously stimulating cycle.

“I- can’t help it,” you whine, “so full.”

His dick twitches, his hips stuttering deep into you, “Fuck yes you are.” Still barely holding himself together, his hips just slightly speed up, gain a momentum, gently knocking into your cervix with his force, jostling your body on the couch. He doesn’t retreat more than an inch or two before hinging back into you, determined to keep you stuffed.

“You like it, don’t you? Like being so full of me you can’t control yourself, like making me lose control.” His hands grip your thighs, white-knuckling, imprinting his nails into your skin. It’s inexplicably sensual the way he fucks you, taking his time to ensure your bodies feel and remember every stroke, despite how close he is, and how little time you have left.

Your teeth dig into your bottom lip to quiet your noise, muffled squeaks garnishing his thrusts, the pounding on your cunt sends you tightening around him again, all your muscles contracting as he pummels you and-

He whimpers, a strained sound, stilling his hips, eyes shutting tight, orgasm almost overcoming him.

He’s panting as his forearms descend to either side of your head, resting his weight over top of you until his breath is fanning across your lips, your one leg still wrapped over his shoulder and now pinned to your chest.

“Squeezing my cock like this,” his hips resume their leisurely rolling, his cock sinks impossibly deeper with the new angle, he grunts with every thrust, “You want me to cum inside you. Want me to ruin my marriage knocking you up.” The sound you let out is profane, met with a growl from him as he covers your loud mouth with his hand, the impending threat of his orgasm surging once again, but this time it neglects to stop his movements and spurs them instead.

“Be good and quiet for me, baby.” He whispers, catching your lips in a short kiss to make his words stick in your fleeting mind.

“Tell me,” His eyes study yours closely, his shoulder muscles flex as he shifts his weight and his hand slides down your torso, thumb joining with your clit to swirl over it in tandem with his pelvis, “Were you touching yourself thinking about me fucking you like this?” The image of it makes his cock swell inside you.

The way your eyes unfocus for a millisecond is almost enough of an answer for him, but he needs to hear you say it.

“Tell me.” He repeats, voice shrouded in anguish, pleading with you to verbalize how deeply you desired him, to make it all real.

“Yes.” You whine, weakly, brokenly, as you admit your deepest secret, paralyzed in the pleasure of his thumb and his thrusts catalyzing your climax.

“Yes, yes, yes,” he echoes you earnestly, voice straining, “Oh, fuck, yes, yes.” Ryan spends his last spur of energy slamming deep into you, smushing and kissing your cervix, as he begins to peak, pulling you along with him into the powerful, electric whirlwind of finally having every inch of each other.

He’s groaning and cursing feverishly as his cock embeds inside you, spouting, leaking, and twitching right against your deep, needy organ, “Yeah, take it- take it, fuck- fuck, so tight, fuck yes, cum, yes,” his hips stuttering, your legs trembling, juices pouring, you milk each other for all you have. A few gentle kisses on the neck bring you back to earth, and when you turn to him, Ryan gives you one more, real, passionate and lasting on your lips for a while after he pulls away.

“Well the afterglow scene is gonna be authentic.”

FORGIVE ME </3 💋

[mariacallous]

(CNN) — Mark Robinson, the controversial and socially conservative Republican nominee for governor of North Carolina, made a series of inflammatory comments on a pornography website’s message board more than a decade ago, in which he referred to himself as a “black NAZI!” and expressed support for reinstating slavery, a CNN KFile investigation found.

Despite a recent history of anti-transgender rhetoric, Robinson said he enjoyed watching transgender pornography, a review of archived messages found in which he also referred to himself as a “perv.”

The comments, which Robinson denies making, predate his entry into politics and current stint as North Carolina’s lieutenant governor. They were made under a username that CNN was able to identify as Robinson by matching a litany of biographical details and a shared email address between the two.

Many of Robinson’s comments were gratuitously sexual and lewd in nature. They were made between 2008 and 2012 on “Nude Africa,” a pornographic website that includes a message board. The comments were made under the username minisoldr, a moniker Robinson used frequently online.

Robinson listed his full name on his profile for Nude Africa, as well as an email address he used on numerous websites across the internet for decades.

CNN is reporting only a small portion of Robinson’s comments on the website given their graphic nature.

Many of Robinson’s comments on Nude Africa stand in contrast to his public stances on issues such as abortion and transgender rights.

Publicly, Robinson has fiercely argued that people should use bathrooms only that correspond to the gender they were assigned at birth. He’s also said transgender women should be arrested for using women’s restrooms.

“If you’re a man on Friday night, and all the sudden Saturday, you feel like a woman, and you want to go in the women’s bathroom in the mall, you will be arrested, or whatever we gotta do to you,” Robinson said at a campaign rally in February 2024. “We’re going to protect our women.”

Yet privately under the username minisoldr on Nude Africa, Robinson graphically described his own sexual arousal as an adult from the memory of secretly “peeping” on women in public gym showers as a 14-year-old. Robinson recounted the story as a memory he said he still fantasized about.

“I came to a spot that was a dead end but had two big vent covers over it! It just so happened it overlooked the showers! I sat there for about an hour and watched as several girls came in and showered,” Robinson wrote on Nude Africa.

CNN is not publishing the graphic sexual details of Robinson’s story.

“I went peeping again the next morning,” Robinson wrote. “but after that I went back the ladder was locked! So those two times where [sic] the only times I got to do it! Ahhhhh memories!!!!”

In other comments on Nude Africa, Robinson discussed his affinity for transgender pornography.

“I like watching tranny on girl porn! That’s f*cking hot! It takes the man out while leaving the man in!” Robinson wrote. “And yeah I’m a ‘perv’ too!”

In an interview with CNN on Thursday, Robinson repeatedly denied that he made the comments on Nude Africa.

“This is not us. These are not our words. And this is not anything that is characteristic of me,” Robinson said. Presented with the litany of evidence connecting him with the minisoldr user name on Nude Africa, Robinson said, “I’m not going to get into the minutia of how somebody manufactured this, these salacious tabloid lies.”

CNN first reached out to Robinson Tuesday morning with evidence connecting him to the comments on Nude Africa. It took his campaign two days to respond and issue a denial.

During his interview with CNN, Robinson repeatedly said the issues that faced North Carolinians were more important than what he called “tabloid trash,” and he steered the conversation toward attacking his opponent in the race, Democrat Josh Stein, the state’s attorney general.

“We are not getting out of this race. There are people who are counting on us to win this race,” Robinson said.

A history of controversial statements

Campaigning for lieutenant governor in 2020, Robinson advocated for a complete abortion ban without exceptions. He later expressed regret in 2022 for paying for his now-wife to have an abortion in the 1980s.

Now campaigning for governor, he says he supports a so-called “heartbeat” bill that would ban abortion when a heartbeat is detected – approximately six weeks – with exceptions for rape, incest and health of the mother.

But writing as minisoldr on Nude Africa in December 2010, Robinson said he did not care about a celebrity having an abortion.

“I don’t care. I just wanna see the sex tape!” Robinson wrote.

In another thread, commenters considered whether to believe the story of a woman who said she was raped by her taxi driver while intoxicated. In response, Robinson wrote, “and the moral of this story….. Don’t f**k a white b*tch!”

Robinson, who would become North Carolina’s first Black governor if elected, also repeatedly maligned civil rights leader Martin Luther King Jr., attacking him in such intense terms that a user accused him of being a white supremacist.

“Get that f*cking commie bastard off the National Mall!,” Robinson wrote about the dedication of the memorial to King in Washington, DC, by then-President Barack Obama.

“I’m not in the KKK. They don’t let blacks join. If I was in the KKK I would have called him Martin Lucifer Koon!” Robinson responded.

CNN’s reporting on Robinson’s comments comes a few weeks after The Assembly, a North Carolina digital publication, reported that Robinson frequented local video pornography shops in the 1990s and 2000s. The story cited six people who interacted and saw him frequent the stores in Greensboro, North Carolina. A spokesperson for Robinson called the story false and a “complete fiction.”

Despite earning the full endorsement of former President Donald Trump and the North Carolina Republican Party, Robinson faces an uphill battle in the race for governor against Stein.

Robinson’s history of controversial remarks, including mocking school shooting survivors, his past support for total abortion bans without exceptions for rape or incest and disparaging the civil rights movement have been a consistent theme in the race. Recent public polling shows Robinson is losing to Stein.

Identifying minisoldr as Robinson

On the Nude Africa website in both comments and his profile, minisoldr offered numerous details that align precisely with Robinson’s personal history.

In his profile, minisoldr listed his full name as “mark robinson” and disclosed a private email address Robinson used elsewhere online. In 2012, a user responded to a comment by calling minisoldr “Mark.”

Minisoldr mentioned in 2008 being married for 18 years, which corresponds with Robinson’s marriage to Yolanda Hill in 1990. In 2011, minisoldr wrote he had been married 21 years. Minisoldr wrote in a 2011 post that he lived in Greensboro, North Carolina, the same town where Robinson lived at the time and currently lives.

In a post in 2012, minisoldr said he served in the Army in the 1980s, during the same time period as Robinson. In his sexually graphic comments detailing watching women in the showers in 2011, minisoldr wrote that his mother worked at an Historically Black College and University (HBCU). Robinson’s mother worked as a custodian at North Carolina A&T State University, an HBCU located in Greensboro.

Both minisoldr and Robinson often posted about the same topics online, including reviews for remote-controlled helicopters, their attraction to specific celebrities and their favorite “Twilight Zone” episode.

The email address associated with minisoldr on Nude Africa was also used by Robinson elsewhere online and social media. On the commenting platform Disqus, a user who joined in April 2011 features Mark Robinson’s photo under the username minisoldr.

Usernames and email addresses from Disqus were publicly leaked online in 2017, according to the company. CNN confirmed that Robinson’s username minisoldr on Disqus shared the same email address as the one used on Nude Africa.

Robinson’s Disqus page is also linked to the Black social networking site Black Planet. The Web Archive shows a user named “minisoldr” described themselves as 40 years old in February 2009 – the same age as Robinson at the time – and living in Greensboro, North Carolina – Robinson’s hometown.

A username often used by Robinson

Robinson has frequently used the username “minisoldr” elsewhere on the internet. On X, the platform formerly known as Twitter, Robinson once used the minisoldr username, according to a screenshot he shared on Facebook in 2018 and data in Robinson’s old tweets.

A YouTube playlist for a user named “minisoldr” features exclusively videos of Robinson. On Pinterest, a user “minisoldr” lists his name as “Mark Robinson.”

The “minisoldr” username has also posted reviews of products and places Robinson has also publicly recommended. On Amazon, a user named “minisoldr” reviewed products frequently shared by Robinson on Facebook, including remote-controlled helicopters. And the same email address and username used on Nude Africa also left reviews on Google for two local businesses Robinson later posted on Facebook that he used.

Robinson’s unique choice of language further links him to the “minisoldr” alias on the pornographic forums. Uncommon phrases such as “gag a maggot,” “dunder head,” “I don’t give a frogs a**,” and “I don’t give two shakes of it” were used both by minisoldr on Nude Africa and by Robinson on his personal Facebook page.

Robinson as minisoldr ‘Slavery is not bad’

In the pornographic forums, Robinson revealed his unvarnished thoughts on issues such as race, gender and abortion.

Writing in a forum discussing Black Republicans in October 2010, Robinson stated unprovoked: “I’m a black NAZI!”

That same month, Robinson wrote in another post that he supported the return of slavery.

“Slavery is not bad. Some people need to be slaves. I wish they would bring it (slavery) back. I would certainly buy a few,” he wrote.

In March 2012, Robinson wrote that he preferred the former leader of Nazi Germany Adolf Hitler over the leadership in Washington during the administration of Barack Obama.

“I’d take Hitler over any of the sh*t that’s in Washington right now!” he wrote.

Robinson’s comments on Nude Africa often frequently contained derogatory and racial slurs directed at Black, Jewish and Muslim people.

In a series of seven posts in October 2011, Robinson disparaged Martin Luther King in such intense terms, calling him a “commie bastard,” “worse than a maggot,” a “ho f**king, phony,” and a “huckster,” that a user in the thread accused him of being in the KKK. Robinson responded by directing a slur at King.

In October 2010, Robinson used the antisemitic slur “hebe” when discussing how he liked the show “Good Times” developed by Norman Lear, saying “the show itself was a bunch of heb [sic] written liberal bullshit!”

While discussing the Taliban, he referred to Muslims as “little rag-headed bastards” and said that “if Muslims took over liberals would be the 1st ones to be beheaded!”

Robinson also used homophobic slurs frequently, calling other users f*gs.

In a largely positive forum discussion featuring a photo of two men kissing after one returned from a military deployment, Robinson wrote the sole negative comment.

“That’s sum ole sick a** f*ggot bullsh*t!” he wrote.