#something something sex and dominance and power and masculinity. making him walk on all fours on a leash bc you're so normal

[astarionsunderwear]

forgot how straight up gay the lighthouse is tbh. he wants to fuck that old man so bad it makes him look stupid

[megapandathing]

Pyrrha’s Cuckquean Awakening

(This story was written for NaughtyRWBY/NaughtyWeiss after a discussion about how hot cuckquean Pyrrha is. Sadly they have since deleted their blog but hopefully they’ll see this post.)

Pyrrha was the happiest she had ever been. Since starting Beacon, she now had many new friends, a wonderful team, and now she even had a boyfriend. Jaune was sweet, loving, a gentleman and perfect in every single way. . . Except one. His dick. It was huge! And not only that, because of his aura, Jaune’s stamina and libido were insane. Pyrrha usually couldn’t feel her legs after their lovemaking. It was time for some reinforcements. And she knew just the experienced girl to help her out. . . Yang Xiao Long.

During one of the many boring lectures Pyrrha had to attend at beacon, Pyrrha scribbled a message for Yang down on a note and passed it to the busty blonde sat next to her. Yang looked at Pyrrha with a confused expression, Pyrrha responded by pointing to her folded note. Yang discreetly opened the note and read its contents.

‘Yang, meet me behind the main hall when this lesson is over. I have a proposition for you.’

Yang smirked and looked at Pyrrha who responded with a suggestive wink, both girls would exchange quick glances as the lesson progressed. Once the lecture reached its end Pyrrha gave Jaune an affectionate kiss on the lips and said

“I’ve got to go help Yang out with something I’ll meet you back at the dorm okay?”

“Sure thing Pyrrha! Take care and I’ll make you some food for when you get back.” Jaune’s reply was sweet as ever.

Pyrrha’s heart warmed each time she spoke to the handsome boy she was dating and she knew her plan would be a treat for both of them. She and Yang made their way through the maze-like hallways of Beacon Academy until they found themselves at the agreed place behind the main hall. Turning to face Yang Pyrrha laid out her plan. Yang listened intently as Pyrrha explained the troubles she had with the size of Jaune’s dick and his seemingly endless stamina. Yang’s eyes widened in excitement as she began to figure out what Pyrrha was asking of her.

“So, you want some advice on how you can handle Jaune’s raw masculinity?” Yang suggested with a seductive smile. “Not quite Yang. I want you to be the one he fucks” Pyrrha said with a shy giggle.

“Oh my Pyrrha! I didn't realise you were so kinky. I was waiting for the day you’d find your kink.”

With those words Yang’s grin widened as she pulled Pyrrha into a warm hug, Pyrrha was confused by Yang’s words but decided to ignore them for now. With their mission in mind the two beautiful women went back to team JNPR’s dorm to find Nora and Ren absent and Jaune arc sat at his bed reading a comic book. As Pyrrha and Yang entered they closed the door behind them quietly, the soft clank of the door closing caught Jaune’s attention as he looked up to see Yang standing confidently in front of him, her shirt was partially unbuttoned to air her cleavage but Pyrrha knew the approach Yang was aiming for. Pyrrha was smiling in anticipation at thought of her lover fucking Yang with the same power he fucked her with.

“Jaune, Yang has been kind enough to join us for our love making session today. Don’t worry about me feeling bad, I’m gonna be watching the entire time.”

Pyrrha’s voice was like silk to both Yang and Jaune’s ears, the arousal of the two blondes was clear to see almost the instant Pyrrha began talking. When she put her mind to it Pyrrha could go from a well-behaved student to an enchanting sexual beauty. A trait she knew Jaune loved and Yang had just seen for the very first time, Yang saw Jaune’s rising bulge in his jeans and wasted no time in removing them from the boy. Once his underwear was gone as well Yang saw Jaune’s huge dick for the first time, Yang now understood perfectly why Pyrrha struggled to take such a beast from the size alone. But Yang was undeterred by Jaune’s size and would prove to both Jaune and Pyrrha that she was the right girl to spice up their sex life.

Getting down on the bed Yang crawled to Jaune’s cock and brought her face straight up to it, bringing her soft skin into contact with the cock. Yang placed slow and deliberate kisses up and down Jaune’s shaft while Pyrrha slowly removed her clothes to give Jaune a little extra show. Yang was practically drooling over Jaune’s length and slowly took his dick into her warm mouth, using her experience Yang bobbed her head along the shaft’s entire length, trailing her tongue along to add more pleasure for Jaune. Jaune could not contain noises of enjoyment as Yang worked her magic on his cock, shivers ran up his spine as Yang hummed happily around his cock.

Pyrrha was now sat on the opposite bed with her leg’s spread wide, her fingers were already vigorously pleasing her clit as she watch Jaune’s reactions to Yang’s expert cock sucking. She watched with glee as Yang released Jaune’s cock and saw her spit trailing down the incredibly thick member, Pyrrha knew what kind of man Jaune was in bed and she decided to wait to see if Yang could really handle her boyfriend when he finally took the initiative.

That is if Yang hadn’t taken the initiative first, she finger’s movement intensified as Yang laid herself down on the bed next to Jaune, spreading her thick, strong legs to give both Pyrrha and Jaune the perfect view of her hairless pussy. Jaune understood what Yang wanted him to do and practically tore his own clothes off and lined himself up with Yang’s soaking wet folds, he looked to Pyrrha with a loving smile and Pyrrha gave a nod. Jaune then ploughed his cock straight into Yang’s pussy and she moaned in pleasure, Pyrrha saw the outline of Jaune’s beastly cock as it plunged in and out of the beautiful blonde girl.

Pyrrha had never felt more aroused in her life, she ceased pleasuring he clit and put two slender fingers into her own pussy and rapidly fingered herself, moaning out in sheer passion as she never took her eyes away from the sight of her boyfriend fucking another woman. She loved the lewd expressions Yang was making as Jaune filled her insides with his huge cock, she loved watching Yang’s breast bounce wildly as Jaune’s pace increased. But the real main attraction for Pyrrha was watching Jaune utterly dominate Yang, Pyrrha finally saw how she might look when she and Jaune made love. As she fingered herself, she brought another hand up to her breast and played with the large, soft mound.

“Pyrrha! He’s so big!” Yang gasped

Jaune was completely silent as he pounded into the sexy blonde girl, his body alive with pleasure beyond describing as Yang’s walls tighten and flexed around his cock. Unlike Pyrrha Yang was taking his cock without any resistance from her body, he cast his gaze over to Pyrrha and saw his lover furiously masturbating to the two blondes fucking. He felt himself approach his climax at the sight of his girlfriend enjoying herself so much, he groaned loudly as he released his first load into Yang. Yang came hard at the feeling of so much cum filling her insides up, her panting reaching a fever pitch as her own juices covered the bedsheets beneath her.

Pyrrha thought Yang had reached her limit sooner than her reputation said, however she was delighted to see Yang still hand energy to spare as she flipped Jaune over so now Yang was on top and Jaune lay on the bed. The two fuck hungry blondes wasted no time as Yang instantly began riding Jaune’s cock with rough slams. Only occasionally did Yang slow down to rotate her hips around Jaune’s dick, giving him the added pleasure of her walls caressing the boy’s length. Pyrrha suddenly came hard from a combination of the divine sight before her and her own arousal.

Unlike every other time, where Pyrrha was spent after the first climax she found her current situation left her ready and able to continue pleasing her body. This time Yang and Jaune both watched as Pyrrha began slowly fisting her pussy, the two blondes fucked each other even harder, both of them were sent into a sexual overdrive knowing Pyrrha was watching them so intently.

“That’s it Yang take his monstrous cock! Jaune you’re doing great! Show me more!” The amazon practically screamed from the raw pleasure she was feeling.

Nothing had ever aroused Pyrrha more in her entire life, her boyfriend was so strong and so manly when he was fucking Yang, where a normal girlfriend would feel bitter envy Pyrrha only felt the most overpowering lust she had ever felt. She came countless times as the two blondes fucked for hours on end, neither one seemed to run out of stamina, Jaune had cum on Yang’s stomach and breasts more times than Pyrrha thought possible. The bed sheets beneath Yang were soaked like they had been out in the rain; the busty blonde was panting in her sexual haze as her breasts bounced and shook with the force of Jaune’s fucking. The two switch positions so now Yang was on all fours, her large, round breasts hanging freely and bouncing with each thrust Jaune gave. All three of them were lost in their own sexual lusts as they indulged their strongest urges, Pyrrha got up from the other bed and walked behind her boyfriend.

"That's right Jaune, fuck this busty slut for me. Show me what you can do."

Pyrrha whispered lustful temptations into her boyfriends ears, before switching to Yang and groping her tits and kissing her neck. Yang was overwhelmed with heavenly feelings as Pyrrha whispered promises of being fucked like this every day. Yang felt her whole body flush with arousal once again as she neared her final climax.

“Fuck! I’m gonna cum again!” Yang moaned out like a true slut.

Yang’s body arched as she shook from her most powerful orgasm yet as her juices sprayed out as Jaune continued thrusting throughout her climax, Jaune slammed into Yang one last time as he let loose his biggest load. Yang’s stomach inflated drastically from the sheer amount of cum being pumped into her, she screamed out in pure pleasure as both her and Jaune finally tired out. They moved apart from each other and laid down on the bed, leaving enough room between the two for Pyrrha.

As Pyrrha approached the two, she felt a sense of powerful satisfaction from arranging this lust filled encounter. A confident smile stretched across her face as she laid between her amazing boyfriend and their new sexual partner.

Yang was right, Pyrrha really had discovered her kink.

She was a cuckquean, through and through.

[thejokesonthem]

Full article under the cut for those who can’t access the link.

The hatchet came later. Rocks were rare in the Red Hills of Kansas, where Carry Nation lived, so, when God commanded her to destroy establishments where alcohol was served, she gathered pieces of brick from her yard and wrapped them in brown paper to look like packages. On the morning of June 7, 1900, she walked into a saloon in Kiowa, told the proprietor to take cover, and began throwing her “smashers,” as she called them, at the mirror above his bar and all the bottles on it.

Later that day, Nation did the same thing at two other bars in town, though when her brick failed to break the mirror at one of them she hurled a billiard ball from a nearby pool table to finish the job. She was detained in Kiowa, but not arrested. Her first jail sentence came nearly seven months and many smithereened bars later, in Wichita. “You put me in here a cub,” she cried from behind the bars of her cell. “But I will go out a roaring lion and I will make all hell howl.” And so she did, switching from “smashers” to hatchets after her release, and getting arrested at least thirty more times for wielding them at bars from San Francisco to Coney Island.

Carry Nation’s wrath was a response to matters both private and public: she was furious at her alcoholic husband, and furious at the legal system that let men like him drink freely to the detriment of women, children, and society at large. Although her means were unusual and her desired ends unfashionable, she was representative of a recurring figure in American history: the woman whose activism is fuelled by anger. Such women are much in the news today, and much in the streets, too, although generally without the hatchet. Since the 2016 Presidential election, countless numbers of them have set out to make hell howl—by disrupting government hearings, occupying federal buildings, scaling the Statue of Liberty, boycotting businesses, going on strike, coming forward with stories of harassment and assault, flooding congressional telephone lines, raising a middle finger at the Presidential motorcade, and attending protests by the millions, sometimes carrying with them representations of the President’s castrated testicles and severed head.

In previous political eras, women like these would have been told to hold their tongues or act more ladylike. These days, however, we are being encouraged, at least in some quarters, to embrace our anger. A slew of new books are challenging the ancient notion that rage can be dangerous for both self and society, arguing instead that women’s anger is, as the respective subtitles of these books insist, their “power,” their “revolutionary power,” even their “superpower.”

Like any emotion, anger is easy to recognize but difficult to define. We know it when we see it, and certainly when we feel it, yet most definitions struggle to wholly capture it. Philosophers sometimes describe anger as a response to the feeling that something one values has been wronged or harmed. Biologists might explain it as a feeling of pain or discomfort or anxiety, accompanied by the release of hormones, like adrenaline, that increase blood pressure. Psychologists often classify it as a secondary emotion—one that follows from a primary reaction, such as fear or shame, and can take many affective forms, from tears to screaming to silence.

This definitional slipperiness inevitably haunts any effort to make anger into a political tool—what, exactly, is being valorized, an ethical objection or a rush of adrenaline? But one thing is clear: responses to anger depend, to a remarkable degree, on whether the person expressing it is a man or a woman. In “Rage Becomes Her: The Power of Women’s Anger” (Atria), the writer and activist Soraya Chemaly notes early on that women “don’t need books, studies, theories, or specialists” to prove how reviled our anger is. We are all familiar with the stereotypes whereby femininity demands the suppression of anger while masculinity rewards its expression, and whereby angry women are hysterical harpies but angry men—white men, at any rate—are heroes. Rather than dwell on how female rage is received, Chemaly presents a thoroughgoing assessment of its causes: an account, organized thematically, of the private and public abuse, bias, and discrimination faced by women.

The result is both relentless and revelatory. American women between the ages of eighteen and forty-four are nearly twice as likely as men to report feeling exhausted every day; women, if they have sex with men, have fewer orgasms than their male partners; they make less money than their male colleagues; of the thirty highest-paying job categories, twenty-six are dominated by men, while women dominate twenty-three of the thirty lowest-paying categories; female patients are treated for pain less often than male patients who present with the same symptoms; one in four women lives with domestic violence; one in five women has been sexually assaulted; and two-thirds of women have experienced street harassment, roughly half of them before they turned seventeen. Chemaly deftly balances these statistics with grim stories to illustrate them, so that the cumulative effect of reading her book is not merely to legitimize women’s anger but to render it astonishing that we are not even angrier.

All the facts that Chemaly musters were true before the most recent Presidential election, but in its wake many women are refusing to stay quiet about their experiences. Chemaly says that she is calling for a change in our cultural thinking on anger, gender, and politics, but in truth she is responding to one that has already begun. It was on display on January 21, 2017, the day of the first Women’s March, and since then has grown steadily more prominent, and strikingly more personal, with the #MeToo movement. Chemaly’s book has autobiographical passages—many of her female relatives get vivid cameos—but she chooses not to emphasize her own story. By contrast, the Rutgers University professor Brittney Cooper builds a manifesto mostly from memoir. “Eloquent Rage: A Black Feminist Discovers Her Superpower” (St. Martin’s Press) considers African-American feminists from Michelle Obama to Beyoncé, but it is chiefly a chronicle of how Cooper learned to stop disguising and dismissing her own anger.

Cooper writes movingly about coming of age as a black woman in the Baptist Church and on the campus of Howard University—two bastions of black power and, in her experience, black patriarchy. She describes carrying around Audre Lorde’s “Sister Outsider” like a “feminist bible,” and it is mostly from Lorde that she derives her account of how rage can be made useful. Lorde owns anger the way that Monet owns water lilies; no one writing about the emotion today can ignore her address at the National Women’s Studies Association conference in 1981. Delivering “The Uses of Anger: Women Responding to Racism”—a title too often abridged at the colon—Lorde described the bigotry within the feminist movement, and then argued that anger was an appropriate response, because when “focused with precision it can become a powerful source of energy serving progress and change.”

It was essential for Cooper to develop that focus, she says, in order to make use of her anger: “The clarity that comes from rage should also tell us what kind of world we want to see, not just what kind of things we want to get rid of.” Focus, of course, is really the ability to adjust our vision, measuring one thing accurately against another, and Cooper’s attention to the complex dynamics of anger is illuminating even for readers who don’t agree with the positions she ultimately takes. She weighs her desire to join the first Women’s March as an act of feminist solidarity against her anger over the long-standing failure of white feminists to make common cause with women of color. (In the end, she skips the march, but feels ambivalent about the decision.) She considers her frustration that President Obama did not send troops to rescue the Nigerian schoolgirls kidnapped by Boko Haram alongside her wariness about “getting in bed at any level with the logics of patriarchy and militarism.” (Despite those qualms, she wishes Obama had done more for the girls, many of whom have still not been found.)

That sort of self-critical reflection is often missing from the journalist Rebecca Traister’s “Good and Mad: The Revolutionary Power of Women’s Anger” (Simon & Schuster). Traister, who covered both of Hillary Clinton’s Presidential campaigns, is a kind of feminist first responder who writes often and sometimes instantly about sexism in America. Her columns and profiles for New York magazine are astute accounts of the daily attacks on women’s rights, and the argument she makes in her book is partly one of accretion. Women’s rage, she claims, has long fuelled progressive social change, and the women galvanized by Trump’s election are part of a grand tradition of radicalism. Traister sees parallels between the participants in the Women’s March and the members of the National Women’s Political Caucus who protested when the press failed to cover their presence at the 1972 Democratic National Convention; between the gun-control activist Emma González and the labor activist Rose Schneiderman; between the men who demand smiles from women today and those who, in previous centuries, put women in branks (a metal muzzle, also known as a scold’s bridle, used to silence and publicly humiliate those who were forced to wear it); between the women of #MeToo and those who stormed Versailles during the French Revolution; between herself when she published an angry column and Rosa Parks who, as a girl, picked up a brick and threatened to throw it at a white boy who was bullying her.

Traister writes, “I had no idea how old and deep and urgent was women’s impulse to sometimes just let their fury out without a care to how it would be evaluated, even if that expression of rage put them at risk: in young Rosa Parks’s case, at risk of death; in my case, at risk of being mocked on the internet.” Of course, the Internet these days is very much real life, and abuse there can lead to abuse offline, but the problem with Traister’s comparison is that no semicolon can bridge the gap between those two experiences. That is, in fact, a problem with the book over all: juxtaposition is not a sufficient structure for a political argument. Traister focusses on isolated episodes of anger among progressive women of various races, classes, and eras, while failing to adequately reckon with crucial differences among the circumstances that provoked their anger and the ways in which they chose to respond to it.

But those aren’t superficial differences. They are critical distinctions that lead some angry women to be applauded while others are attacked, and that lead many rebellions to fail while only a few revolutions succeed. Traister writes that she does not wish “simply to cheer” anger, and acknowledges that the rage that fuels insurrections “has the power to burn them up.” But her case for ire is undermined by a rampaging elephant in the room: anger knows no political persuasion. For every Maxine Waters, there’s a Michele Bachmann; for every Gloria Steinem, a Phyllis Schlafly. At the same time that Chemaly, Cooper, and Traister were watching their own angry takes and rage-filled tweets go viral, Ann Coulter, Candace Owens, and Jeanine Pirro were watching theirs do the same.

This failure to parse politically inconvenient anger is, as Ogden Nash once put it, “a notable feat / of one-way thinking on a two-way street.” “Eloquent Rage,” “Good and Mad,” and “Rage Becomes Her” give little space to Sarah Palin, the women of the Tea Party, and the legions of women who—in what they, too, feel is an expression of righteous anger—lend their voices to the anti-abortion movement. All of the books do, however, acknowledge a fact that undercuts their attempts to valorize women’s anger: one of the angriest demographics in America before the 2016 Presidential election was white women, and the majority of them voted for Donald Trump.

That the words “President” and “Trump” came together anywhere outside of a Mad Lib is itself perhaps the most straightforward argument against anger as a political virtue. According to exit polls and endless postmortems, many people were so furious about immigration, the economy, the election of a black President, the potential for a female one, Black Lives Matter, the War on Christmas, and any number of other real and phantasmagorical issues that they voted for Trump. Was there ever a better example of blind rage?

That blindness is one of the oldest objections to anger. The ancients generally regarded rage as uncontrollable and violent; it led to bad decisions and endangered the well-being of individuals and collectives. The University of Chicago professor Martha Nussbaum shares that view, and, unlike Chemaly, Cooper, and Traister, she is not sanguine about anger as a political tool. In “The Monarchy of Fear: A Philosopher Looks at Our Political Crisis” (Simon & Schuster), Nussbaum acknowledges the seductions of anger but warns against its side effects.

“Anger is a poison to democratic politics, and it is all the worse when fueled by a lurking fear and sense of helplessness,” Nussbaum writes. That is true regardless of the angry person’s gender: it clouds the judgment of men and women alike, and increases the likelihood of error. Because the sort of insults and injuries that provoke anger can occur by accident, and because their causes can be difficult to determine, it is easy to get angry at the wrong person, or to settle for a substitute for the unavailable or unknown source. Even if we accurately identify the responsible party, Nussbaum argues, we can still err in assessing the severity of the transgression or in selecting an appropriate response. Anger, according to this view, is almost always retributive; even when it does not seek personal redress, it demands the suffering of others.

History is filled with examples of how easily anger can be exploited or manipulated, but Nussbaum summons from Greek tragedy an evocative illustration of how it can be redeemed. She tells the story of how, in the Oresteia, the Furies, vengeful beings that drip ooze from their eyes and vomit blood, are transformed into the Eumenides, beautiful creatures that serve justice rather than pursue cruelty. Athena establishes a system of law, and the changed Furies are part of its foundations. To Nussbaum, Aeschylus offers a metaphor for how individual passions can be tamed by reason and how collective anger can be converted to the cause of justice.

Of course, classical mythology is one thing and contemporary reality is another. Yet resisting anger personally and rejecting it politically is a crucial, if never fully realizable, duty of democratic citizens. That may seem like a reactionary message for a political era such as ours, but it is worth remembering that this age of rage was preceded, for progressives, by an era of hope, and that earlier injustices have been fought by political movements devoted to peace and nonviolence. Nussbaum cites Mahatma Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Jr., and Nelson Mandela in her account of protest without payback. (The fact that all three are men does not, needless to say, reflect a masculine attraction to nonviolence but, rather, our failure to canonize female political heroes. She could have written as convincingly about Susan B. Anthony, Ellen Johnson Sirleaf, and Clara Luper.) Nussbaum quotes King explaining that, though anger might have brought people to his protests, an essential task of the movement was to purify the emotion so that it could serve the cause of civil rights.

That belief came partly from King’s deep theological commitment to nonviolence. But it may also reflect a tactical awareness that people who feel, even erroneously, that they are losing power can be angrier than those who are seeking it. It is the deforming nature of anger to blur the boundary between unjustified and justified; if it weren’t, only the righteous would ever be angry. Instead, rage is most often forsworn by those who seem most entitled to it, and civility is demanded by those who least deserve it. The civil-rights marchers and the Freedom Riders were the ones with the calm clarity of the Eumenides, while their white neighbors were the ones who looked and sounded like the Furies.

All these authors are right to note that a major problem with anger is that some people are allowed to express it while others are not. That disparity was vividly on view during the recent Senate Judiciary Committee hearing in which Christine Blasey Ford calmly testified about being sexually assaulted in high school and her alleged attacker, the Supreme Court nominee Brett Kavanaugh, seethed and shouted at the senators, behavior that was applauded by conservative pundits and politicians as evidence of his innocence.

It was an upsetting display, and hardly one to make the case for the virtues of anger in the political arena. Indeed, the hearing suggests that, instead of encouraging rage from people who have traditionally been denied it, we might be better off defusing it in those traditionally rewarded for it—not only for the sake of our democracy but for ourselves. However efficacious anger may seem in the short term, even righteous anger is likely to be deleterious in the long term, to the individual body and to the body politic. Repressed emotions are dangerous, but, as countless medical studies have shown, sustained anger is both physically and emotionally destructive.

Women have every reason to be livid right now, and our anger should not be mocked, censored, or punished. But that does not mean it must be celebrated, or that hard-won efforts to manage anger and discourage aggression in the general population should be reversed. Tellingly, Cooper’s book concludes with a meditation on joy, a benediction of sorts that ends with a reminder: “What you build is infinitely more important than what you tear down.”

Anger is an avaricious emotion; it takes more credit than it deserves. Attempts to make it into a political virtue too often attribute to anger victories that rightfully belong to courage, patience, intelligence, persistence, or love. These days, we remember Carry Nation’s hatchets, but forget that she sold souvenir versions of them and used the proceeds not only to pay her own bail but also to support a shelter for the wives, mothers, and children of alcoholics. Nation’s anger accounts for only a sliver of her political activism; the majority of her life was spent in constructive rather than reactive efforts, and it was also spent in community with other activists, through the Woman’s Christian Temperance Union. Such solidarity, rather than the rage that occasioned it, feels like the secret subject of these new books. What is powerful isn’t so much women’s anger as their collective action. That is what has changed most radically since this past election, hopefully not in a burst of rebellion but in a revolution of lasting consequence. ♦ This article appears in the print edition of the October 15, 2018, issue, with the headline “Fighting Mad.”

[lovebunnie]

nick carraway and jay gatsby are both gay and heres why

its 11:30 at night and i have class tomorrow but ive been itching to make this post for about a week so im gonna do it. this wont be centered as much around jay and nick being in LOVE, since id have to read and analyze it a bit more to make honest to god claims and opinions for that, but these r some of the reasons that point to both of these characters being completely gay. also, im going to be issuing some points from others sources, but ill include links to the original texts which i recommend reading!

1

so the great gatsby was written in 1925, a time full of alcohol, financial bliss, and parties like u would not believe. many of these themes are prevalent in the novel, making themselves known all throughout. even the term ‘gatsby-like’ is extremely well known. needless to say, this book is extremely well known in every front. one of the ones i saw the most was calling the great gatsby ‘the greatest love story ever written.’ and before i read the novel myself, i wouldnt have been able to tell u any different. but when u read it, and really, how u analyze it, really shapes how u see the characters. to some people, it really could be an amazing love story. but to me, this story is written about someone obsessed with a facade, denying himself who he is, and a man who watches his downfall and can do nothing to stop him.

one very important thing to acknowledge is how this novel is told: its told completely in nicks perspective. we only know how he feels, we only know these characters based on how nick sees them. it is immediately biased towards nick. and what he does is describe a hell of a lot of people. but it is very distinctive in the way he does it; men and women are very differently described.

nick describes daisy in her voice and the power it has over people. all of nicks flowery language goes into daisys speech, but not in great length about what daisy looked like. with jordan, nick does a bit more describing in the way she is ‘small-breasted’ and had the ‘shoulders of a young cadet.’ these traits are masculine, and we know from the novel that nick does enjoy jordans company and he does say he ‘enjoys looking at her.’ hell, even the name ‘jordan’ is traditionally masculine. nick sees jordan leaning more towards masculinity than femininity. but even still, the flowery language is not as grand as it could be, not as we know nick can get.

its when nick is describing men that things get bold and expressive. even while describing tom does nick go into great and intimate length with him;  ‘ He had changed since his Haven years. Now he was a sturdy straw haired man of thirty with a rather hard mouth and a supercilious manner. Two shining arrogant eyes had established dominance over his face and gave him the appearance of always leaning aggressively forward. Not even the effeminate swank of his riding boots could hide the enormous power of that body he seemed to fill those glistening boots until he strained the top lacing, and you could see a great pack of muscle shifting when his shoulder moved under his thin coat. It was a body capable of enormous leverage -- a cruel body’ the author of this paper literally said this passage ‘pulses with sexual energy,’ and this is for a character nick doesnt even like. it obviously means more in the way nick describes him, has more heart and passion put into it.

and now gatsby, who nick, in the final chapters, dwells on even more. we know gatsby is attractive, that much we can tell without nick even really having to describe him. but even in a single paragraph about his smile does it provoke more feeling than anything else about daisy or jordan;  ‘ He smiled understandingly-- much more than understandingly. It was one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you might come across four or five times in your life. It faced --or seemed to face-- the whole external world for an instant, and then concentrated on you with an irresistible prejudice in your favor. It understood you just as far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would like to believe in yourself, and assured you that it had precisely the impression of you that, at your best, you hoped to convey.’

like. damn nick. this is only about gatsbys smile. this was no accident or cruel twist of fate; nick is enamored with jay and obviously finds him attractive and also enjoys looking at him, like jordan. nick sees men and women differently. this could be chocked up to ‘it was the olden days’ and ‘sexism,’ but nick isnt rude to these women, nick is simply not interested in them, at all.

but how do we know nick is gay? wheres the textual proof? its written out word for word, you just have to know where to look. and where to look is at the very end of chapter 2.

so chapter 2 does a lot for the plot; it basically introduces nick to the life these people live and makes him see how unappealing it is. we meet a large cast of characters and expand on others, like myrtle, her sister, and most importantly to the subject of nicks sexuality, mr. mckee.

mr. mckee is described as a ‘pale feminine man’ and nick offhandedly describes the smudge of shaving cream on his cheek. weird right? later in the night, nick describes himself as ‘ Taking out my handkerchief I wiped from his cheek the remains of the spot of dried lather that had worried me all the afternoon.’ nick has been LOOKING at this married man all night and cleaned him up when he was messy like come ON. plus, a ‘pale feminine man’ could very easily be a stereotype of a gay man, especially in the 1920s.

but then comes the most important part about nicks sexuality in the entire book: the ellipses.

the great gatsby is relatively short, only about 200 pages or so, give or take. fitzgerald would not include anything he wouldnt need, as he is also an expert in metaphors and making things seem as they are not. everything is masterfully placed and paced, making it seem to flow like water. 

the scene in question describes mr. mckee and nick on an elevator, leaving the party. mr. mckee walked out, leaving his wife, and nick decided to follow. heres the scene:

Come to lunch some day,” he suggested, as we groaned down in the elevator.

“Where?”

“Anywhere.”

“Keep your hands off the lever,” snapped the elevator boy.

“I beg your pardon,” said Mr. McKee with dignity, “I didn’t know I was touching it.”

“All right,” I agreed, “I’ll be glad to.”

. . . I was standing beside his bed and he was sitting up between the sheets, clad in his underwear, with a great portfolio in his hands.

“Beauty and the Beast . . . Loneliness . . . Old Grocery Horse . . . Brook’n Bridge. . . . ”

Then I was lying half asleep in the cold lower level of the Pennsylvania Station, staring at the morning Tribune, and waiting for the four o’clock train.

LIKE. WHAT.

those ellipses separate the time between nick and mr. mckee on the elevator and nick and mckee at his home, with one in underwear and then nick leaving for the train at 4am. there is a large gap of time missing from this, and nick decided to leave it out while fitzgerald decided to keep it in. it means something, and the use of ellipses gives the audience enough to know what is happening without explicitly telling them. it is the authors ‘wink wink nudge nudge’ to the audience. think of the environment nick was in; tom was cheating with myrtle, the heavy metaphor of the eyes watching over the sins we think no one can see. this party was full of mischief and nick fucked a married man.

mckee does not seem intoxicated, he invites nick out to lunch while gripping the elevator handle, which are always objects shaped like dicks. plus in the novel, the scene does feel somewhat out of place; nick does not spend too much time discussing the interactions between mckee and himself, it seems thrown in. i get the impression that nick almost didnt want to include it it his writing, and put it in last minute. however, nick is fictional and i dont have much to go on off from an almost 100 year old book. its open to personal interpretation, but it seems like nick and mckee had sex and nick left on the 4am train, leaving mckee in his underwear at his own home looking through his pictures.

even at the beginning of the novel, nick is planning on living in a house with another man before the plan falls through and he goes to washington dc. could this be a failed boyfriend? we cant say. but it is a possibility.

nick carraway ends the novel mourning his friend jay gatsby, moving back to the midwest alone and away from the glitz and glam of new york. his ending does not involve getting married and having kids and riding off into the sunset, which seems bittersweet for our narrator. however, given the way things planned out for other characters, this is the best ending we could hope for for nick, one away from the destruction and one where he can at least begin to to to be happy again.

and now we move onto jay.

ill admit, this has little to do with textual evidence; i cant point out a place where jay fucks a dude or describe the way jay sees men and women; with nick being our narrator, again, he only know his perspective. but we do hear things about jay from other characters, how he acts and acted before nick and the type of man he is.

wolfshiem describes jay as ‘ very careful about women. He would never so much as look at a friend’s wife.’ this means that jay knows women and knows when to back off, never advancing on someone he had no claim to. this is very important to me for several reasons.

1. it implies jay is not a cheater

2. it implies jay has been around enough women to know who is who

3. it shows jay is respectful

this also says to me that jay is not bi; he only has eyes for daisy, and not other woman. and those eyes for daisy are questionable.

we know daisy and jay had last seen each other 5 years prior to the events of the novel. in that time, jay had collected numerous things about daisy, built a house just so he could see her, and blew thousands of dollars every weekend for parties in hope that daisy would show up, even obtaining money illegally just to impress daisy.

jay gatsby is obsessed with daisy.

this is obvious from the text, the behaviors he puts forward are strange and creepy in pursuit of daisy. gatsby stares longingly out the window, cant hold a conversation with nick, and flat out bolts out of a restaurant to avoid embarrassment. he is an awkward guy, no doubt. and he lives his life as trying to be someone else, specifically, the man he thinks daisy wants from 5 years ago. when the car crashes with myrtle, all gatsby cares about is how daisy feels; when hes literally about to get ganked all he thinks about is daisy, daisy daisy daisy.

this isnt love, and i think deep down, jay knows it. this is the equivalent of dudebros who go above and beyond to prove they arent gay but end up the most gay of them all. gatsby is compensating for his feelings and trying to push the limit to deny himself more and hide back into the closet. he wants to seem the most manly he can get and basically say ‘wow i love women! i love women so much! look what i did for this woman! look at how much i love her!’

daisy is the first person jay felt he could be himself around, could begin to feel happy. and when he went to war, he no longer had something to push all his feelings onto. plus he was surrounded by other men, and for someone so in denial about their own sexuality, it probably drives them to pretty bad places. pretty obsessive places. he needs daisy, not because he loves her, but because he needs to security blanket. he needs to feel validated.

those glaces and stares out at nick feel like cracks of the real jay poking through, one who likes men but cannot admit it to himself. after all, as a man so attached and desperate for the ‘american dream,’ back in the 1920s, that did not include marrying a man. jay lives with internalized homophobia and tries to calm his nerves with his pretend love of daisy.

i could go on and on about this forever but its 12:30 and i have class.

if u take nothing from this, let me leave u with these main bullets:

TL;DR

nick fucked a dude

nick describes men erotically while he describes women very dully

nick almost lived with another man

jay is obsessed with daisy to repress his emotions

the separation and wartime made things worse for him

his internalized homophobia causes the plot

his longing stares out the window at nick are cracks in his facade

ty and goodnight

[theliterateape]

Advice and Wisdom to Baby Himmel

By Brian Sweeney

Hello, Baby Himmel. Right now, you are a newborn baby with promise and wonder and a skull that isn’t fully formed. The world is weird and scary for you right now, and your kneecaps are only cartilage. But, you know what? You actually remind me a lot of myself. You sleep 16 hours a day, you cry constantly for no apparent reason and you love sucking titties. It is because of this kinship between us that I thought I would give you some of the advice and wisdom that I have picked up in my years being alive. 

1. Don't pay your taxes. It's a scam. Just don't. Build a cabin, live in the woods and be totally off the grid. All you need are potatoes and two buckets. One bucket for peeing and the other for pooping. Everything else is just a bunch of bullshit you don't really need. Oh, but you will want a rifle for when the Feds come after you. Stand your ground and never give in. Ever.

2. You're going to hear a lot of stuff about how it's important to listen to your parents and be respectful of your elders. Again, this is a bunch of horseshit. Stand up to your dad. If he is too big to take on with your fists, go to the junkyard and find a table leg. Bring it back home and begin swinging it wildly at your father. You will watch the man you once looked up to as your ultimate definition of masculinity pathetically cower and beg for his life. It's important to show no mercy and kill your dad, just as he killed his father, and his father killed his father before him.

3. Ghosts are real. The ghosts of your ancestors are around you at all times and they watch you changing clothes and they jack off. They watch you go to the bathroom and they jack off. When you sleep, they watch you and jack off. When you wake up in the morning and have crust in your eyes, that's the ghost cum of your ancestors.

4. Pee is sterile and OK to drink. This goes for all pee. If you are ever thirsty, drink pee. Walk up to strangers and demand they pee in your mouth so that you may have a refreshing drink. Some  people will not care about how thirsty you are and refuse. This is another good reason to have a rifle. When you have a rifle, people are a lot more agreeable about peeing into your mouth.

5. Arson is a fun and healthy way to take out your frustrations. A lot of times you will get mad and angry and not fully understand why. In your head, a voice will keep whispering to you "Burn down this world and destroy everything and everyone in it and start a new world where you are God." The only way you will be able to quiet this voice is through horrifyingly destructive acts of arson. It will fill you with excitement and you will feel empowered by it. 

6. When you are a little older, you will want to rummage through your parents' things. When you do so, you will probably run across pictures of your father and me. These pictures may confuse you because you will wonder why we have our clothes off and are holding one another so tight. You probably will think we are telling secrets. You may wonder why we are kissing each other's feet and sucking one another's toes. Instead of asking these questions, you should ask why it is that your father didn't embrace true love and instead threw it all away to marry a woman who can never love him the way that I do. 

7. All dogs are boys and all cats are girls.

8. Never admit you're wrong. This is a sign of weakness. If people show you factual evidence that your beliefs are incorrect, verbally attack them. Be vicious. Go after their physical appearance, their family, their significant others, their income, whatever it takes. If you are able to make them cry, you have definitively won the argument. Related: never accept defeat. If you lose at something, attack whoever won. Don't let them enjoy their victory. Make the entire thing unpleasant for all involved. This way, you will have won.

9. Sexuality is a spectrum. A sweaty, shameful, disgusting spectrum. 

10. Only nerds try hard in school. Being popular is what matters in school, and popularity is only afforded to non-nerds. Argue with your teachers about everything, Don't do any of the homework assigned. Drop out of school as soon as you can in order to pursue your true passion in life: shoplifting.

11. Girls like it when you make the Pac-Man dot-eating sound when you're going down on them.

12. Never help people. A lot of people in your life will try to get you to do things for free, as if you were nothing to them but a common slave. You must show them that you are the dominant one and will not be used in this way. If your mother asks you to water a fern, light it on fire and put its charred remains in the dishwasher. If dad asks you to bring him his reading glasses, steal the TV and pawn it for cigarettes. If grandpa ever asks you to help him with his pain medication, ritualistically sacrifice a deer and leave its carcass on the altar of a local church. 

13. There are only four types of stories: man vs. man, man vs. nature, man vs. self, and Kevin McCallister vs. The Wet Bandits.

14. Around the year 2031, you will begin jacking off like crazy. I don't know what human beings will be jacking off to at that point, but I think it is safe to wager that it will involve big titties and/or dongs. Some things are constant. There comes a time in every boy's life when he tries to see how many times he can jack it to completion in one day. My record was seven. After you start jerking the fourth or fifth time, your wiener will start hurting. Don't let this slow you down. Jerk through the pain. Champions don't let anything stop them from shooting multiple cum ropes all around your parents' house. 

15. Santa Claus is real, but he died many years ago and is not coming back.

16. People will tell you that living well is the best revenge, but it's not. Car bombs are.

17. Always remember that your parents don't remember what its like to be your age. They are old and out of touch. The only people that really understand you are people that loiter in the parking lots of Speedway gas stations. These are the only adults you should listen to. Your parents only want you to be unhappy. 

18. Only nerds read the directions. When you get a new game, immediately tear up the directions and flush them down the toilet. Use your instincts to guide you. If the person you are playing the game with disagrees about the rules you are making up, hit them with a hammer. Don't hit them too hard with the hammer, because it is very hard to hide a body and explain away a missing person. It's near impossible to get rid of all the evidence from a murder. 

While these are all great pieces of advice, the most important thing to remember is that only you know what's right to do for you. In life, you need to do the things that make you feel good and happy and powerful and better than everyone else and strong and god-like. Life is a beautiful struggle filled with wonder. 

But no matter how far you may go in life, no matter how much you gain, you must never forget that judging by the date you were born and the date of your father's birthday, you are most likely a birthday sex baby.

[mindcoolness]

On Being an Aggressive Alpha Male

New Post has been published on http://www.mindcoolness.com/blog/aggressive-alpha-male/

On Being an Aggressive Alpha Male

Twas yesterday night. We were done working and about to go home. “Dom,” a female colleague urged me, “there’s a group of guys outside on our premises. Tell them to go away. Those stairs are private property. I’ve already told them yesterday, but we need your backup.” So I went outside and said, “Hey, do you all know that this is private property? You have to leave.”

There were six men, ranging from about 25 to 40 years old, drinking beer at the top of the stairs where they had found shelter from the heavy rain outside. “I don’t see no sign that says ‘private’, so fuck off,” the oldest one of the group beefed. I retorted, “There doesn’t have to be a sign, but it’s a private area, property of company X, so you have to leave.”—”I’m not going out into that rain!”

At that point, four female coworkers had joined me outside. After a few minutes of heated back-and-forth, a part of the group, who probably just didn’t want to deal with this shit, took their beers and turned away in an attempt to leave. Two did not.

One of the two became really aggressive and started yelling at us with a drunk, overweight voice. I knew how I wanted to respond, and so I did. “DON’T YOU FUCKING YELL AT ME!!” I yelled harshly, surpassing his volume by twofold and pointing my forefinger in his face. I had chosen to escalate the situation.

I could see an intimidated startle reflex in his face, but he was too drunk to back off. He walked up to me and cursed, “I’ll mangle you, you fucking [Austrian swear names].” Puffing up pompously in front of him, I tilted my head back, expanded my arms, and pushed out my chest: “Yea, we’ll see about that.” As he handed his jacket to his friend, two of my coworkers, who were standing behind me, softly tried to pull me back, but the fight was on.

Right before the first punch, his friend, after looking at me, interfered and dragged the middle-aged drunk away. Now the whole group left. Among them, a cursing maniac who spit into my direction as he was out of fighting distance. I didn’t care. I was observing my victory. I had won. I was the alpha. King of the steps.

Yet there was more to it.

I’d been stupid. I even felt stupid while I was being it. The situation had been a breath away from escalating into a violent street fight with probable injury, potential jail time, and me losing my job. Still, I deliberately chose the aggression. In that moment, I saw it as my mission and responsibility to protect the women who had asked for my backup.

My protective instincts had kicked in, and I understood that while nonviolent communication worked with five of the guys, the sixth one was too drunk to succumb. I also wanted to prove to myself that I could assert my dominance in this most primordial situation: a fight for territory. I wanted to prove my ability to act like an aggressive alpha male at will. I wanted to prove my manhood.*

I didn’t see calm communication as a real alternative also because I had no good rational arguments on my side. I find the law and police unpersuasive, so I didn’t want to mention them to make my case; that’s how my colleagues argued. In fact, I didn’t even understand why those men had to leave in the first place.

Here’s where they were standing. Big deal…

Private property? It was just a little platform at the top of a few stairs! Who cares if someone’s standing there? They were harassing no one, and there was nothing they could steal or vandalize. They were just sheltering from the rain. Usually, I’d have greeted them and walked home. There was no legitimate reason to tell them to go away. I was simply being an asshole.

I was aggressive without anger, though. My aggression was an act, my mind was cool, and I knew what I was doing. I actually respected the drunk guy for standing up against me enforcing a stupid principle. Although I was yelling, too, I wasn’t angry at him. I was grateful for his will and aggression, and one can’t be emotional while being grateful—that’s the law of mindcoolness.

After the event, I had mixed feelings. My heart was filled both with the pride of an alpha chimp and with the guilt of a rational human. I felt like a painfully enlightened warrior. I was fighting for my team whilst being aware that the greater cause was petty and corrupt. I felt like a soldier in war fighting for his platoon, his brothers, even though he understands that the larger politics aren’t in line with his values.

In my case, I was defending women from my team for a principle I didn’t agree with. My True Will was split in tribal versus moral values. If I could turn back time, I’d do it again. After all, it was an important learning experience for me, no matter that the outcome could’ve been disastrous. In the future, however, I won’t do it again because I have nothing more to prove to myself.

Once the six men were out of sight, I cheerfully wished my colleagues a good evening and walked away. They giggled as ravenous sexual attraction flamed in their eyes. This wasn’t why I’d acted all aggressive: I wouldn’t want to bang any of them. But it’s interesting to see how women instinctively react to an aggressive display of masculine power.

That’s also, by the way, the danger of dating extremely feminine women. Nothing will turn them on like irrational aggression. I haven’t worked out this problem for myself yet. Do I want a girl who motivates me to become the manliest or the most virtuous version of myself? In any case, the problem establishes my belief that male aggression is a substantial part of human nature that probably no amount of civilization can obliterate. As long as women are attracted to brute masculinity, men will be violent.

I know, many people would argue that there’s no real conflict here: “Aggressiveness isn’t a mature masculine trait anyway.” Yet I suspect that the civilized notion of masculinity, although perhaps useful, is a lie, especially since not all aggression is anger-fueled. It can also be well-considered, mindcool, and controlled—a true expression of freedom.

* On the one hand, the need to prove something (e.g., one’s courage or manliness) signals insecurity:

Because when you are ready to fight at every moment, you are a coward. Fight is a cover-up. You want to prove that you are a brave man. The very wanting, the very desire to prove, means that you are not. (Osho, When the Shoe Fits)

On the other hand, if you never prove anything, you never know whether you are who you think you are or whether you are just bullshitting yourself.

Further Reading

Does Catharsis of Aggression Work? The Truth about Anger Release

The Truth about Testosterone: Aggression, Sex, and Social Status

Do You Choose Anger Because You Lack Confidence?

On the Hypermasculine Will

[madamebonjourbitch-blog]

Anonymous, erotica

Chapter 1 Alta left her sun room to check herself in the mirror, she was feeling very confident about her face tonight. Her skin shone like the moon she gazed upon ever so fondly. She had a lot of makeup on, false beauty. Her wide brown eyes had a sadness in them, making them appear kind. Alta always looked at her reflection and thought she was a pretty girl, however deep down she knew she was not. At least not for this world. Her hands trembled as she lit another cigarette, her clock revealed that she had been waiting for about forty five minuets. She was surprised at how fast she was able to get ready after work, she closed that night so it was almost ten when he told her he was coming over. He lived a little over an hour away. Her skin was smooth and she smelled like oranges, she took a very fast shower when she got home. She was so nervous to meet him, she had talked to him a few times on the phone...even though she hadn't met this man yet, there was something about him that left her completely enchanted. He was beautiful, bright blue eyes a handsome face and oh so very tall. For some odd reason he was interested in Alta, she wasn't sure why but she was glad he was. she thought maybe it was because she was so much younger than him, but there was a kindness in his voice that told her he wasn't a shallow person. He was so cute and funny over the phone, Alta had never giggled so much in her life, and he loved her laugh, he picked up on things about her very quickly. He was very intuitive and something about his age intrigued her so much. she absolutely couldn't wait to meet this man. she was so nervous. Through the window she saw headlights, she casually sat down and smoked her cigarette so she could watch him come inside. Suddenly she was filled with terror, the car was a taxi, which was very uncommon transportation for where she lived. “Oh my god I'm going to get robbed,” she thought of all the terrible things that could happen to her, she lived alone in a house in the middle of nowhere, he could kill her and nobody would know...she hadn't told anyone she was meeting him...oh god. Her nerves instantly calmed when she saw the tall handsome figure get out of the vehicle and watch it drive away. He was wearing the same shirt in his picture, this was him...its going to be okay. he knocked at the door, she opened it and he smiled at her, my god he was even better looking in person and so much taller than her. “Hi how are you?” he wrapped one of his big arms around her for a hug, he smelled amazing. “Hi Adam.” she cutely looked up at him and invited him inside. He stepped up into her house, he towered over her. She was used to being shorter than everyone in her five foot one inch frame but he was over six feet four inches tall and so broad. She put her hands around his waste and hugged him, her face was slightly under his chest, he was solid he must be really strong. “ You're so tall!” she giggled. Adam shrugged, he probably got that all the time. he placed his hand on the small of her back, “Ya the weather is fine up here...you're a lot shorter than I thought you would be.” Alta giggled, he was so cute, so funny and she was so nervous. “So show me some of your artwork!” Adam’s voice was kind. Alta was slightly embarrassed, she had put on her profile that he was an artist however she had not painted in a very long time. She showed him around her house, she was very proud of it, not many girls her age had their own house all to themselves, it made her look far more successful than she actually was. Around men Alta liked to seem as intimidating as possible, she usually dated younger boys, she could be more dominant that way but nothing about her was intimidating to this man...this MAN. his boots were stylish and heavy on her floor, he wore a red blazer making his already wide shoulders seem even more masculine, his T-shirt was very cheeky like something Hot Topic would carry and Alta found him absolutely adorable. After she showed him the few things she had hanging on her wall they sat on the couch, Alta pulled her bare feet up and hugged her knees, her heart was racing, Adam had come to meet her...and to have sex, Alta usually aggressive in the bedroom suddenly felt totally clueless. “How about some tunes?” Adam took his phone and played some music, it was so unique and trancy, Alta had never heard anything like it before and she was pleasantly surprised. Adam put his arm around her and pulled her close, he made her feel so comfortable. “Sorry, I'm really nervous.” Alta confessed. “Do you want a drink?” she asked thinking some liquid courage would calm her nerves. “Ya I could go for a cocktail!” Adam said, there was such a lighthearted personality to his voice, the way he spoke was so personable and left Alta hanging on every word. Alta got up to make a drink, Adam followed. She poured vodka in two glasses with diet coke. Adam hovered over her sweetly, when she put her glass down he pulled her in and kissed her. Alta tried to wrap her arms around him and push her body against his but he was so tall she couldn't reach. she giggled and led him to the couch, all of the nerves she was feeling disappeared and she felt totally in control, Adam seemed to let her take the lead. He sat on the couch and she straddled him, she was feeling much bolder now wrapping her arms around his neck bringing her mouth to him, his kisses were sweet and playful. She wanted him to open his mouth so she could explore him with her tongue. she felt his hands move over her body, she pulled her printed short dress up over her head and tossed it aside, Adam immediately pulled her lace bra down exposing her porcelain white young flesh and kissed her soft round perky tits. His mouth felt amazing, he sucked on her one pierced nipple, Alta moaned and took his face in her hands. “Come with me.” she whispered and led him to the bedroom. Alta felt Adam checking out her ass as she walked, she was wearing very sexy high waisted lace underwear for the occasion. When they reached the bedroom Alta guided Adam onto her bed, she kissed his lips, his face, his neck...feeling his rock hard cock with her hand through his jeans. she opened his blazer and he pulled his shirt over his head, his body felt amazing, those wide strong shoulders, his pectorals were so hard, his skin so soft. Alta ran her hands down his torso, caressing the blonde tresses covering his chest and lower stomach, she was curious if his blonde hair got darker as it got thicker. Alta unbuckled his worn brown leather belt, this was a mans belt, everything about him was so masculine and powerful. She pulled down his slim fit jeans and his boxers reveling his huge slightly curved cock. Feelings of delight and fear crept into Alta’s mind, his dick was enormous, and it would either feel amazing or it would be painful, she was excited to see. Adam was indeed blonde everywhere. She bent down and breathed onto his hot erection, he was so hard and twitching anticipating being in her sweet little mouth. She looked up at him with her big brown eyes and smiled before taking him in her mouth, slow at first, she licked him feeling his smooth thick cock with her soft wet tongue, he breathed heavily as she lowered her mouth down onto him taking almost all of him in her throat. Adam’s face pinched in pleasure, he was breathing heavily trying not to come too quickly. Alta knew how to please a man with her mouth. She inhaled the scent of him, he smelled so amazing...earthy almost spicy. She ran her tongue up and down his cock, her little mouth growing wider as she went deeper, Adam moaned softly as if he was in absolute heaven he saw her pink lips stretched out around his cock, her big innocent brown eyes looking up at him, little moans of satisfaction vibrating onto his throbbing member. She cupped his blonde balls in her little hands, gently enjoying them. She took him out of her mouth and licked up his shaft flicking the oh so sensitive tip with her tongue. she wrapped her lips around one of his balls and gently sucked, she pumped his erection with her hand the saliva creating the perfect friction. A very cute higher pitched moan escaped Adams mouth, Alta giggled at the cute noise and took him in her mouth again. Alta relished the sound of his pleasure while she sucked on him. She loved the feeling of his big dick in her mouth, Alta quickened and bobbed her head up and down sucking harder and faster, when he hit the back of her throat she gagged and Adam grabbed her hair letting out a loud deep cry. Adam pulled Alta up on top of him with such power, he kissed her passionately and cupped her ass in his big hands, his firm grip hurt, but Alta loved it. Adam rolled her over so that he could be on top of her, being under this man was the most invigorating feeling in the whole world. He gazed upon her with his beautiful blue eyes, Alta felt as if he was gazing right into her soul. She felt his rough hands take off her panties, he hissed her lips her neck, he nibbled on her earlobe and his breath was tantalizing, she could smell the alcohol and the aroma of him was incredible her Pusey was on fire and dripping wet. Adam trailed his sweet kisses down her neck, his hand between her legs, opening her up and exploring her with his fingers. He brought his mouth up to her collar bones, licking and biting them. He lingered on her neck, his tongue so incredibly soft, he licked up to her ear lobe and she felt his hot breath on her ear sending shivers over her body he gently bit down on her ear, she was trembling feeling her first orgasm come with his fingers inside of her. “You’re so beautiful.” he whispered. Alta arched her back and her little voice shook as her walls tightened around Adam's fingers. She gripped his back with her shaking hands as she gushed. Adam chuckled obviously pleased with himself. “If you taste this good on your neck, I wonder how amazing you taste somewhere else..” Adam whispered as he moved his mouth down to Alta’s pretty tits and sucked her pierced nipple, his teeth clamped around it and Alta cried out in pain and pleasure. Adam kissed her soft skin, making circles on her light pink nipples with his tongue, Adam licked her tits her belly lower and lower... He positioned himself between her legs he put one hand on each of her thighs opening her up. “I love your Pusey.” He whispered kissing her thigh. Adam ran his tongue along the shaved pink flesh of her lips he tickled her with his tongue, teasing her. Alta wrapped her legs around him as he tasted her. She squirmed in the pleasure of his mouth on her, his tongue was amazing. Her clit was throbbing, she couldn't wait, she reached down to place her two fingers on the quivering nub but Adam took her hands in his pinning her so he could take his time finishing her. Alta whined cutely and began to squirm, Adam’s tongue was inside her. He licked her nectar and finally moved his tongue up and circled her quivering clit. “OOOh...” she moaned loudly, Adam gently licked and sucked her honey pot, he took his hands from hers and spread her vaginal lips getting full access to her clit. She quickly felt her second orgasm coming, Adam became more intense, rubbing his tongue and lips around her Pusey he moaned into her, the vibrations sending her into a wave of pleasure, she moaned loudly, intensely as she spilled her nectar onto Adams tongue. “Okay, okay!” she whispered breathless, her pleasure bordering on pain. “Mhhmm” Adam growled not ready to take his mouth away from her. He dove his tongue deep inside her, feeling her walls vibrate on his mouth. Alta cried filling the room with her sexy voice. In one swift motion Adam was on top of her again his mouth glistening, his enormous hard cock hovering over her wet pussy. He breathed heavily when he eased himself inside of her. Alta squeezed her eyes shut, his huge cock opening her up, there was pain but she relished it. Adam paused, not wanting to hurt her. Alta placed her hands on his muscular ass and looked up at him with her young face “Its okay.” she pulled the rest of him into her, her walls gripped tightly around him and pleasure overwhelmed them both. Adam moaned into her ear trying not to come too quickly, she was so wet and tight. “Oh thats a niiice little pussy.” Adam growled. Alta whined at every thrust, he was so powerful but so gentle with her and his cock was incredible, every pump sending him deeper and deeper into her. Adam cupped her face in his hands “Look at me.” Alta opened her eyes and connected with his, he was so beautiful. He kissed her deeply still thrusting inside of her, she could taste herself on his lips and tongue. She was very close, she could feel he was too. She clutched his back and pulled him in, “Oh yes, harder.” she said wanting to feel his power and strength. Adam groaned at the sensation of her words and being inside of her. “I cant, I just need to make love to you.” Oh Adams beautiful words, Alta looked into his face, their eyes met and they climaxed together. Adam rested his forehead on hers, he was trembling, slightly sweaty. She thought it must have been a long time for him. He rolled over and cuddled her, she felt so small and safe in his arms. “Okay now this is the part where I usually cry.” Adam joked, Alta giggled, he said the weirdest things but he said them in a way that was so cute and funny. No-one could make her laugh like Adam could. He hugged her close, “I love your laugh.” Alta kissed him softly on the cheek. “Your so funny! I've never laughed the way I did when i was on the phone with you last night.” Adam kissed the top of her head. “Why are you so sweet to me?” there was something in his voice, a pain, one that Alta knew all too well. She was filled with compassion for this man. She was puzzled, surprised, just the way he said it, was so sad. Like he really wasn't used to anyone being kind to him, like he had been starved of a smile, a soft touch, nice words. It broke Alta’s heart but she didn't want this incredible human being to know how much she suddenly knew about him, from just the sound of his voice.