#thrill at my Thrift Shopping Reports!

[graveyardrabbit]

I spent like all day running around to various thrift stores trying to find the right jacket cover in fake blood for my Halloween costume, and I wasn’t successful on that end but I did find manage to find a copy of The Worst Journey In The World, so I’m going to so that that’s a different kind of success

[96harmony96]

Chapter 15

Friday found Trey sharing breakfast with Cary and me after an overnighter. As I drank the day’s first cup of coffee, I watched him interact with Cary and I was genuinely thrilled to see the intimate smiles and covert touches they gave one another.

I’d had easy relationships like that and hadn’t appreciated them at the time. They had been comfortable and uncomplicated, but they’d been superficial in a fundamental way, too.

How deep could a love affair get if you didn’t know the darkest recesses of your lover’s soul? That was the dilemma I’d faced with Lauren.

Day 2 After Lauren had begun. I found myself wanting to go to her and apologize for leaving her yet again. I wanted to tell her I was there for her, ready to listen or simply offer silent comfort. But I was too emotionally invested. I got wounded too easily. I was too afraid of rejection. And knowing she wouldn’t let me get too close only intensified that fear. Even if we did figure things out, I’d only tear myself apart trying to live with just the bits and pieces she decided to share with me.

At least my job was going well. The celebratory lunch the executives gave in honor of the agency landing the Kingsman account made me genuinely happy. I felt blessed to work in such a positive environment. But when I heard that Lauren had been invited—although no one expected her to show up—I returned quietly to my desk and focused on work the rest of the afternoon.

I hit the gym on the way home; then picked up some items to make fettuccini alfredo for dinner with crème brulée for dessert—comfort food guaranteed to put me in a carbohydrate coma. I expected sleep to offer me a break from the endless what-ifs my brain was recycling, hopefully long into Saturday morning.

Cary and I ate in the living room with chopsticks, his idea to cheer me up. He said dinner was great, but I couldn’t tell. I snapped out of it when he fell silent, too, and I realized I was being a less than stellar friend.

“When are the Grey Isles’ campaign ads going up?” I asked.

“I’m not sure, but get this…” He grinned. “You know how it is with male models—we’re tossed around like condoms at an orgy. It’s tough to stand out from the crowd, unless you’re dating someone famous. Which I’m suddenly reported to be doing since those photos of you and me were plastered everywhere. I’m the side piece of action in your relationship with Lauren Jauregui. You’ve done wonders for making me a hot commodity.”

I laughed. “You didn’t need my help for that.”

“Well, it certainly didn’t hurt. Anyway, they called me back for a couple more shoots. I think they might just use me for more than five minutes.”

“We’ll have to celebrate,” I teased.

“Absolutely. When you’re up for it.”

We ended up hanging out and watching the original Tron. His smartphone rang twenty minutes into the movie and I heard him speaking to his agency. “Sure. I’ll be there in fifteen, tops. I’ll call you when I get there.”

“Got a job?” I asked after he’d hung up.

“Yeah. A model showed up for a night shoot so trashed he’s worthless.” He studied me. “You wanna come?”

I stretched my legs out on the couch. “Nope. I’m good right here.”

“You sure you’re okay?”

“All I need is mindless entertainment. Just the thought of getting dressed again exhausts me.” I’d be happy wearing my flannel pajama bottoms and holey old tank top all weekend. As much as I hurt inside, total comfort outside seemed like a necessity. “Don’t worry about me. I know I’ve been a mess lately, but I’ll get it together. Go on and enjoy yourself.”

After Cary rushed out, I paused the movie and went to the kitchen for some wine. I stopped by the breakfast bar, my fingertips gliding over the roses Lauren had sent me the previous weekend. Petals fell to the countertop like tears. I thought about cutting the stems and using the flower food packet that came with the bouquet, but it was pointless hanging on to them. I’d throw the arrangement away tomorrow, the last reminder of my equally doomed relationship.

I’d gotten farther with Lauren in one week than I had with other relationships that lasted two years. I would always love her for that. Maybe I’d always love her, period.

And one day, that might not hurt so badly.

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” Cary singsonged as he yanked the comforter off of me.

“Ugh. Go away.”

“You’ve got five minutes to get your ass up and in the shower, or the shower’s coming to you.”

Opening one eye, I peeked at him. He was shirtless and wearing baggy pants that barely clung to his hips. As far as wake-up calls went, he was prime. “Why do I have to get up?”

“Because when you’re flat on your back you’re not on your feet.”

“Wow. That was deep, Cary Taylor.”

He crossed his arms and shot me an arch look. “We need to go shopping.”

I buried my face in the pillow. “No.”

“Yes. I seem to remember you saying this was a ‘Sunday garden party’ and ‘rock star gathering’ in the same sentence. What the hell do I wear to something like that?”

“Ah, well. Good point.”

“What are you wearing?”

“I…I don’t know. I was leaning toward the ‘English tea with hat’ look, but now I’m not so sure.”

He gave a brisk nod. “Right. Let’s hit the shops and find something sexy, classy, and cool.”

Growling a token protest, I rolled out of bed and padded over to the bathroom. It was impossible to shower without thinking of Lauren, without picturing her perfect body and remembering the desperate sounds she made when she came in my mouth. Everywhere I looked, Lauren was there. I’d even started hallucinating black Bentley SUVs all around town. I thought I spotted one damn near everywhere I went.

Cary and I had lunch; then we bounced all over the city, hitting the best of the Upper East Side thrift stores and Madison Avenue boutiques before taking a taxi downtown to SoHo. Along the way, Cary had two teenage girls ask for his autograph, which tickled me more than him, I think.

“Told you,” he crowed.

“Told me what?”

“They recognized me from an entertainment news blog. One of the posts about you and Jauregui.”

I snorted. “Glad my love life is working out for someone.”

He was due at another job around three and I went with him, spending a few hours in the studio of a loud and brash photographer. Remembering it was Saturday, I slipped into a far corner and made my weekly call to my dad.

“You still happy in New York?” he asked me above the background noise of dispatch talking over the radio in his cruiser.

“So far so good.” A lie, but the truth helped no one.

His partner said something I didn’t catch. My dad snorted and said, “Hey, Chris insists he saw you on television the other day. Some cable channel, celebrity gossip thing. The guys won’t leave me alone about it.”

I sighed. “Tell them watching those shows is bad for their brain cells.”

“So you’re not dating one of the richest people in America?”

“No. What about your love life?” I asked, quickly diverting. “Are you seeing anyone?”

“Nothing serious. Hang on.” He responded to a call on the radio, then said, “Sorry, sweetheart. I have to run. I love you. Miss you like crazy.”

“I miss you, too, Daddy. Be careful.”

“Always. Bye.”

I killed the call and went back to my former spot to wait for Cary to wrap things up. In the lull, my mind tormented me. Where was Lauren now? What was she doing?

Would Monday bring me an inbox full of photos of her with another woman?

____

Sunday afternoon I borrowed Clancy and one of Stanton’s town cars for the drive out to the Vidal estate in Dutchess County. Leaning back in the seat, I looked out the window, absently admiring the serene vista of rolling meadows and green woodlands that stretched to the distant horizon. I realized I was working on Day 4 After Lauren. The pain I’d felt the first few days had turned into a dull throbbing that felt almost like the flu. Every part of my body ached, as if I was going through some sort of physical withdrawal and my throat burned with unshed tears.

“Are you nervous?” Cary asked me.

I glanced at him. “Not really. Lauren won’t be there.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“I wouldn’t be going if I thought otherwise. I do have some pride you know.” I watched him drum his fingers on the armrest between our two seats. For all the shopping we’d done yesterday, he’d made only one purchase: a black leather tie. I’d teased him mercilessly about it, he of the perfect fashion sense going with something like that.

He caught me looking at it. “What? You still don’t like my tie? I think it works well with the emo jeans and my lounge lizard jacket.”

“Cary”—my lips quirked—“you can wear anything.”

It was true. Cary could pull any look off, a benefit of having a sculpted rangy body and a face that could make angels weep.

I set my hand over his restless fingers. “Are you nervous?”

“Trey didn’t call last night,” he muttered. “He said he would.”

I gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s just one missed call, Cary. I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything serious.”

“He could’ve called this morning,” he argued. “Trey’s not flakey like the others I’ve dated. He wouldn’t have forgotten to call, which means he just doesn’t want to.”

“The rat bastard. I’ll be sure to take lots of pictures of you having a great time looking sexy, classy, and cool to torment him with on Monday.”

His mouth twitched. “Ah, the deviousness of the female mind. It’s a shame Jauregui won’t see you today. I think I got a semi when you came out of your room in that dress.”

“Eww!” I smacked his shoulder and mock-glared when he laughed.

The dress had seemed perfect to both of us when we’d found it. It was cut in a classic garden party style—fitted bodice with a knee-length skirt that flared out from the waist. It was even white with flowers. But that’s where the tea-and-crumpets style ended.

The edginess came from the strapless form, the alternating layers of black and crimson satin underskirts that gave it volume, and the black leather flowers that looked like wicked pinwheels. Cary had picked the red Jimmy Choo peep-toe pumps out of my closet and the ruby drop earrings to give it all the finishing touch. We’d decided to leave my hair loose around my shoulders, in case we arrived and learned that hats were required. All in all, I felt pretty and confident.

Clancy drove us through an imposing set of monogrammed gates and turned into a circular driveway, following the direction of a valet. Cary and I got out by the entrance, and he took my arm as my heels sank into blue-gray gravel on the walk to the house.

Upon entering the Vidal’s sprawling Tudor-style mansion, we were warmly greeted by lauren’s family in a receiving line—her mother, stepfather, Christopher, and their sister.

I took in the sight, thinking the Vidal family could only look more perfect if Lauren was lined up with them. Her mother and sister had her coloring, both women boasting the same glossy obsidian hair and thickly-lashed green eyes. They were both beautiful in a finely wrought way.

“Camila!” Lauren’s mother drew me toward her, then air-kissed both of my cheeks. “I’m so pleased to finally meet you. What a gorgeous girl you are! And your dress. I love it.”

“Thank you.”

Her hands brushed over my hair, cupped my face, and then slid down my arms. It was hard for me to bear it, because touching was sometimes an anxiety trigger for me when the person was a stranger. “Your hair, is it naturally brunette?”

“Yes,” I replied, startled and confused by the question. Who asked a question like that of a stranger?

“How fascinating. Well, welcome. I hope you have a wonderful time. We’re so glad you could make it.”

Feeling strangely unsettled, I was grateful when her attention moved to Cary and zeroed in.

“And you must be Cary,” she crooned. “Here I’d been certain my three children were the most attractive in the world. I see I was wrong about that. You are simply divine, young man.”

Cary flashed his megawatt smile. “Ah, I think I’m in love, Mrs. Vidal.”

she laughed with throaty delight. “Please. Call me Elizabeth. Or Lizzie, if you’re brave enough.”

Looking away, I found my hand clasped by Christopher Vidal Senior. In many ways, he reminded me of his son, with his slate green eyes and boyish smile. In others, he was a pleasant surprise. Dressed in khakis, loafers, and a cashmere cardigan, he looked more like a college professor than a music company executive.

“Camila. May I call you Camila?”

“Please do.”

“Call me Chris. It makes it a little easier to distinguish between me and Christopher.” His head tilted to the side as he contemplated me through quirky brass spectacles. “I can see why Lauren is so taken with you. Your eyes are a deep chocolate brown, yet they’re so clear and direct. Quite the most beautiful eyes I think I’ve ever seen, aside from my wife’s.”

I flushed. “Thank you.”

“Is Lauren coming?”

“Not that I’m aware of.” Why didn’t her parents know the answer to that question?

“We always hope.” He gestured at a waiting servant. “Please head back to the gardens and make yourself at home.”

Christopher greeted me with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, while lauren’s sister Ireland sized me up in a sulky way that only a teenager could pull off. “You’re a brunette,” she said.

Jeez. Was lauren’s preference for light-haired women a damn law or something? “And you’re a very lovely brunette.”

Cary offered me his arm and I accepted it gratefully.

As we walked away, he asked me quietly, “Were they what you expected?”

“Her mom, maybe. Her stepdad, no.” I looked back over my shoulder, taking in the elegant floor-length cream sheath dress that clung to Elizabeth Vidal’s svelte figure. I thought of what little I knew about Lauren’s family. “How does a girl grow up to be a businesswoman who takes over her stepfather’s family business?”

“Jauregui owns shares in Vidal Records?”

“Controlling interest.”

“Hmm. Maybe it was a bailout?” he offered. “A helping hand during a trying time for the music industry?”

“Why not just give him the money?” I wondered.

“Because she’s a shrewd businesswoman?”

With a sharp exhalation, I waved the question away and cleared my mind. I was attending the party for Cary, not Lauren, and I was going to keep that first and foremost in my thoughts.

Once we’d moved outside, we found a large, elaborately decorated marquee erected in the rear garden. Although the day was beautiful enough to stay out in the sun, I found a seat at a circular table covered in white damask instead.

Cary patted my shoulder. “You relax. I’ll network.”

“Go get ’em.”

He moved away, intent on his agenda.

I sipped champagne and chatted with everyone who stopped by to strike up a conversation. There were a lot of recording artists at the party whose work I listened to, and I watched them covertly, a bit starstruck. For all the elegance of the surroundings and the endless number of servants, the overall vibe was casual and relaxed.

I was starting to enjoy myself when someone I’d hoped never to see again stepped out of the house onto the terrace: Magdalene Perez, looking phenomenal in a rose-hued chiffon gown that floated around her knees.

A hand settled on my shoulder and squeezed, setting my heart racing because it reminded me of the night Cary and I had gone to lauren’s club. But the figure that rounded me this time was Christopher.

“Hey, Camila.” He took the chair next to mine and set his elbows on his knees, leaning toward me. “Are you having fun? You’re not mingling much.”

“I’m having a great time.” At least I had been. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Thank you for coming. My parents are stoked you’re here. Me, too, of course.” His grin made me smile, as did his tie, which had cartoon vinyl records all over it. “Are you hungry? The crab cakes are great. Grab one when the tray comes by.”

“I’ll do that.”

“Let me know if you need anything. And save a dance for me.” He winked, and then hopped up and away.

Ireland took his seat, arranging herself with the practiced grace of a finishing school graduate. Her hair fell in a single length to her waist and her beautiful eyes were direct in a way I could appreciate. she looked worldlier than her seventeen years. “Hi.”

“Hello.”

“Where’s Lauren?”

I shrugged at the blunt question. “I’m not sure.”

she nodded sagely. “she’s good at being a loner.”

“Has she always been that way?”

“I guess. she moved out when I was little. Do you love her?”

My breath caught for a second. I released it in a rush and said simply, “Yes.”

“I thought so when I saw that video of you two in Bryant Park.” she bit her lush lower lip. “Is she fun? You know…to hang around with?”

“Oh. Well…” God. Did anyone know Lauren? “I wouldn’t say she’s fun, but she’s never boring.”

The live band began playing “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” and Cary appeared beside me as if by magic. “Time to make me look good, Ginger.”

“I’ll try my best, Fred.” I smiled at Ireland. “Excuse me a minute.”

“Three minutes, forty seconds,” she corrected, displaying some of her family’s expertise in music.

Cary led me onto the empty dance floor and pulled me into a swift foxtrot. It took me a minute to get into it, because I’d been stiff and tight with misery for days. Then the synergy of longtime partners kicked in and we glided across the floor with sweeping steps.

When the singer’s voice faded with the music, we stopped, breathless. We were pleasantly surprised by applause. Cary gave an elegant bow and I held on to his hand for stability as I dipped into a curtsy.

When I lifted my head and straightened, I found Lauren standing in front of me. Startled, I stumbled back a step. she was seriously underdressed in jeans and an untucked white dress shirt that was open at the collar and rolled up at the sleeves, but she was so damn fine she still put every other woman in attendance to shame.

The tremendous yearning I felt at the sight of her overwhelmed me. Distantly I was aware of the band’s singer pulling Cary away, but I couldn’t tear my gaze away from Lauren, whose wildly green eyes burned into mine.

“What are you doing here?” she snapped, scowling.

I recoiled from her harshness. “Excuse me?”

“You shouldn’t be here.” she grabbed me by the elbow and started hauling me toward the house. “I don’t want you here.”

If she’d spit in my face, it couldn’t have devastated me more. I yanked my arm free of her and walked briskly toward the house with my head held high, praying I could make it to the privacy of the town car and Clancy’s protective watch before the tears started falling.

Behind me, I heard a come-hither female voice call out lauren’s name and I sent up a prayer that the woman would stall her long enough for me to get out without further confrontation.

I thought I just might make it when I passed into the cool interior of the house.

“Camila, wait.”

My shoulders hunched at the sound of Lauren’s voice and I refused to look at her. “Get lost. I can show myself out.”

“I’m not done—”

“I am!” I pivoted to face her. “You don’t get to talk to me that way. Who do you think you are? You think I came here for you? That I was hoping I’d see you and you’d throw me a goddamn scrap or bone…some pathetic acknowledgment of my existence? Maybe I’d be able to harass you into a quick, dirty fuck in a corner somewhere in a pitiful effort to win you back?”

“Shut up, Camila.” Her gaze was scorching hot, her jaw tight and hard. “Listen to me—”

“I’m only here because I was told you wouldn’t be. I’m here for Cary and his career. So you can go back to the party and forget about me all over again. I assure you, when I walk out the door, I’ll be doing the same to you.”

“Shut your damned mouth.” she caught me by the elbows and shook me so hard my teeth snapped together. “Just shut up and let me talk.”

I slapped her hard enough to turn her head. “Don’t touch me.”

With a growl, Lauren hauled me into her and kissed me hard, bruising my lips. Her hand was in my hair, fisting it roughly, holding me in place so I couldn’t turn away. I bit the tongue she thrust aggressively into my mouth, then her lower lip, tasting blood, but she didn’t stop. I shoved at her shoulders with everything I had, but I couldn’t budge her.

Goddamn Stanton! If not for him and my crazy-assed mother, I’d have had a few Krav Maga classes under my belt by now…

Lauren kissed me as if she was starved for the taste of me and my resistance began to melt. she smelled so good, so familiar. Her body felt so perfectly right against mine. My nipples betrayed me, hardening into tight points, and a slow, hot trickle of arousal gathered in my core. My heart thundered in my chest.

God, I wanted her. The craving hadn’t gone away, not even for a minute.

she picked me up. Imprisoned by her tight grip, it was hard to breathe and my head began to spin. When she carried me through a door and kicked it shut behind her, I couldn’t do more than make a feeble sound of protest.

I found myself pressed against a heavy glass door on the other side of a library, lauren’s hard and powerful body subduing my own. Her arm at my waist slid lower, her hand delving beneath my skirts and finding the curves of my butt exposed by my lacy boy shorts underwear. she wrenched my hips hard to her, making me feel how hard she was, how aroused. My sex trembled with want, achingly empty.

All the fight left me. My arms fell to my sides, my palms pressing flat to the glass. I felt the brittle tension drain from her body as I softened in surrender, the pressure of her mouth easing and her kiss turning into a passionate coaxing.

“Camila,” she breathed gruffly. “Don’t fight me. I can’t take it.”

My eyes closed. “Let me go, Lauren.”

she nuzzled her cheek against mine, her breath gusting hard and fast over my ear. “I can’t. I know you’re disgusted by what you saw the other night…what I was doing to myself—”

“Lauren, no!” God. Did she think I left hee because of that? “That’s not why—”

“I’m losing my mind without you.” Her lips were gliding down my neck, her tongue stroking over my racing pulse. she sucked on my skin and pleasure radiated through me. “I can’t think. I can’t work or sleep. My body aches for you. I can make you want me again. Let me try.”

Tears slipped free and ran down my face. They splashed on the upper swell of my breasts and she licked at them, lapping them away.

How would I ever recover if she made love to me again? How would I survive if she didn’t?

“I never stopped wanting you,” I whispered. “I can’t stop. But you hurt me, Lauren. You have the power to hurt me like no one else can.”

Her gaze was stark and confused on my face. “I hurt you? How?”

“You lied to me. You shut me out.” I cupped her face, needing hero to understand this one thing without question. “Your past doesn’t have the power to push me away. Only you can do that, and you did.”

“I didn’t know what to do,” she rasped. “I never wanted you to see me like that…”

“That’s the problem, Lauren. I want to know who you are, the good and the bad, and you want to keep parts of yourself hidden from me. If you don’t open up, we’re going to lose each other down the road and I won’t be able to take it. I’m barely surviving it now. I’ve crawled through the last four days of my life. Another week, a month…It’ll break me to give you up.”

“I can let you in, Camila. I’m trying. But your first response when I screw up is to run away. You do it every time and I can’t stand feeling like any moment I’m going to do or say something wrong and you’re going to bolt.”

Her mouth was tender again as she brushed her lips back and forth over mine. I didn’t argue with her. How could I, when she was right?

“I hoped you’d come back on your own,” she murmured, “but I can’t stay away anymore. I’ll carry you out of here if I have to. Whatever it takes to get you back in the same room with me, talking this out.”

My heart stuttered. “You were hoping I’d come back? I thought…You gave me back my keys. I thought we were over.”

she pulled back, her face set in fierce lines. “We’ll never be over, Camila.”

I looked at her, my heart aching like an open wound at how beautiful she was, how broken and in pain she was—pain I’d caused to some degree.

On tiptoes, I kissed the reddened handprint I’d left on her cheek, clutching her thick silky hair in my hands.

Lauren bent her knees to align our bodies, her breathing harsh and erratic. “I’ll do whatever you want, whatever you need. Anything. Just take me back.”

Maybe I should have been scared by the depth of her need, but I felt the same passionate insanity for her.

Running my hands down her chest in an effort to soothe her trembling, I gave her the hard truth. “We can’t seem to stop making each other miserable. I can’t keep doing this to you and I can’t keep going through these crazy highs and lows. We need help, Lauren. We’re seriously dysfunctional.”

“I saw Dr. Petersen on Friday. He’s going to take me on as a patient, and—if you agree—he’ll take us both on as a couple. I figured if you can trust him, I can try.”

“Dr. Petersen?” I remembered the brief jolt I’d felt at seeing a black Bentley SUV when Clancy pulled away from the doctor’s office. At the time, I’d told myself it was wishful thinking. After all, there were countless black SUVs in New York. “You had me followed.”

Her chest expanded on a deep breath. she didn’t deny it.

I bit back my anger. I could only imagine how terrible it must be for her to be so dependent on something—someone—she couldn’t control. What mattered most at that moment were her willingness to try and the fact that it wasn’t just talk. she’d actually taken steps. “It’s going to be a lot of work, Lauren,” I warned her.

“I’m not afraid of work.” she was touching me restlessly, her hands sliding over my thighs and buttocks as if caressing my bare skin was as necessary to her as breathing. “I’m only afraid of losing you.”

I pressed my cheek to her. We completed each other. Even now, as her hands roamed possessively over me, I felt a thawing in my soul, the desperate relief of being held—finally—by the woman who understood and satisfied my deepest, most intimate desires.

“I need you.” Her mouth was sliding over my cheek and down my throat. “I need to be inside you…”

“No. My God. Not here.” But my protest sounded weak even to my own ears. I wanted her anywhere, anytime, any way…

“It has to be here,” she muttered, dropping to her knees. “It has to be now.”

she chafed my skin ripping the lace of my panties away; then she shoved my skirts to my waist and licked my cleft, her tongue parting my folds to stroke over my throbbing clit.

I gasped and tried to recoil, but there was nowhere to go. Not with the door at my back and a grimly determined Lauren in front, one hand keeping me pinned while the other lifted my left leg over her shoulder, opening me to her ardent mouth.

My head thudded against the glass, heat pulsing through my blood from the point where her tongue was driving me mad. My leg flexed against her back, urging her closer, my hands cupping her head to hold her still as I rocked into her. Feeling the rough satin strands of her hair against my sensitive inner thighs was its own provocation, heightening my awareness of everything around me…

We were in Lauren’s parents’ house, in the midst of a party attended by dozens of famous people, and she was on her knees, growling her hunger as she licked and sucked my slick, aching cleft. she knew just how to get to me, knew what I liked and needed. she had an understanding of my nature that went above and beyond her incredible oral skills. The combination was devastating and addicting.

My body shook, my eyelids heavy from the illicit pleasure. “Lauren…You make me come so hard.”

Her tongue rubbed over and over the clenching entrance to my body, teasing me, making me grind shamelessly into her working mouth. Her hands cupped my bare butt, kneading, urging me onto her tongue as she thrust it inside me. There was reverence in the greedy way she enjoyed me, the unmistakable sense that she worshipped my body, that pleasuring it and taking pleasure from it was as vital to her as the blood in her veins.

“Yes,” I hissed, feeling the orgasm building. I was buzzed by champagne and the heated scent of Lauren’s skin mixed with my own arousal. My breasts strained within the increasingly too-tight confines of my strapless bra, my body trembling on the edge of a desperately needed orgasm. “I’m so close.”

A movement on the far side of the room caught my eye and I froze, my gaze locking with Magdalene’s. she stood just inside the door, halted midstride, staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the back of Lauren’s moving head.

But she was either oblivious or too impassioned to care. Her lips circled my clit and her cheeks hallowed. Sucking rhythmically, she massaged the hypersensitive knot with the tip of her tongue.

Everything tightened viciously, then released in a fiery burst of pleasure.

The orgasm poured through me in a scorching wave. I cried out, pumping my hips mindlessly into her mouth, lost to the primal connection between us. Lauren held me up as my knees weakened, tonguing my quivering flesh until the last tremor faded.

When I opened my eyes again, our audience of one had fled.

Standing in a rush Lauren picked me up and carried me to the couch. she dropped me lengthwise on the cushion; then hauled my hips up to rest on the armrest, arching my spine.

I eyed her up the length of my torso. Why not just fold me over and fuck me from behind?

Then she ripped open her button-fly and pulled her big, beautiful penis out, and I didn’t care how she took me just so long as she did. I whimpered as she shoved into me, my body struggling to accommodate the wonderful fullness I craved. Yanking my hips to meet her powerful thrusts, Lauren battered my tender sex with that brutally thick column of rigid flesh, her gaze dark and possessive, her breath leaving her in primitive grunts every time she hit the end of me.

A trembling moan left me, the friction of her drives stirring my never-sated need to be fucked senseless by her. Only her.

A handful of strokes and her head fell back as she gasped my name, her hips rolling to stir me into a frenzy. “Squeeze me, Camila. Squeeze my dick.”

When I complied, the ragged sound she made was so erotic my sex trembled in appreciation. “Yeah, angel…just like that.”

I tightened around her and she cursed. Her gaze found mine, the stunning green hazed with sexual euphoria. A convulsive shudder wracked her powerful frame, followed by an agonized sound of ecstasy. Her cock jerked inside me, once, twice, and then she was coming long and hard, spurting hotly into the clutching depths of my body.

I didn’t have time to climax again, but it didn’t matter. I watched her with awe and pure female triumph. I could do this to her.

In the moments of orgasm, I owned her as completely as she owned me.

[onescientificmishap]

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Part 1

Peter nearly tripped over his feet in the rush to get to the couch and the remote for the TV.  “Peter, no running inside,” May’s voice floated after him.  “Sorry Aunt May,” he called back as he flipped on the TV.  Rapidly he changed the channels until he found the news. After the reports and speculations of the robot battle in California splashed all over the news, he nearly vibrated in place waiting to watch SI’s press conference.  Okay let’s face it, Tony Stark’s press conference.

“Ben,” May whispered in an urgent tone, grabbing his arm to get his attention.  “He’s watching the news, again.  What kid his age watches the news?”  She cast a worried look over at her nephew.  She’d taken the young boy into her heart even though when they first met, she was fairly young as an adult.  In a way, finishing growing up herself while helping to raise Peter, not that she regretted even a minute of it.

“Relax, he’ll be fine. This all started with Tony Stark coming back from being captured by terrorists.  I think it’s a good thing.”  He gestured in the direction of the TV, ”The guy is trying to take some responsibility and it helps show Peter that the bad guys don’t always win.  I think that’s important for him.”

“Yeah, it’s important for me,” the young verse chimed in.  Twisted around on the couch to face them, Peter grinned unrepentantly.  “It helps me develop my morals, listening skills and cognitive development.”

Ben snorted moving over to tickle his nephew reducing the kid to giggles.  “Stop reading your Aunt’s parenting books brainiac.  We’ll go get you some better books from the library okay?”

“Okay, okay! I promise!” Peter nearly shrieked with giggles.

Finally his uncle let him go, helping him sit back up on the couch.  “Okay kiddo, now watch your news.”

Leaving Peter on the couch he moved back over to May, who couldn’t quite hide her fond smile.  “See he’s fine.  Just needs a bit of a challenge.”  He wrapped an arm around his wife and gave her a hug from behind as they both watched their nephew being absorbed by the different reports.

“I just don’t want him to get all worried about things; he worries about enough for a kid.”

He gently squeezed her. “And if this doesn’t help, we’ll redirect him to something else.”  

She gently slapped his arm. “Now who’s reading my parenting books?”

On the couch, Peter ignored his Aunt and Uncle, as they finally started showing the press conference. Tony stark seemed a little stiffer than before, apparently reading off some cards.  Then one of the reporters interrupted him, rude.   Yet the question hung out there.  Were they really supposed to believe this was some sort of body guard of Tony’s Starks?  He held his breath.

“The truth is . . I am Iron Man.”

One small boy positilvey lit up at the news.  “Whoa . . “ This was so much cooler than some comic books, because this was real and now.

“Aunt May Uncle Ben look, look!   He twisted around to face them again.  “Tony Stark’s a superhero!”  Excitedly he pointed back at the TV as the reporters seemed to be going nuts.  “Superheroes are real, its awesome!”

Part 2

Bed time in the Parker household a fairly sedate affair normally, but not so much tonight.  May watched her nephew running around in the toy helmet he modified, (don’t ask her how he managed that one,) refusing it take it off.  “Peter, honey, you can’t wear the mask to bed.”  She did her best to try and stifle the laughter that bubbled up at his exuberance.

“But it’s got a night light.”  He protested, as if this would magically fix any concern she might have.  Really Peter felt pride in what he managed to adapt and add to the simple toy.  Uncle Ben took him on a scavenging run in some thrift shops and in a junkyard and he found everything he needed.  Now it had light up eyes and he almost finished the gloves.  

“Look, take the mask off now, finish getting ready for bed, and tomorrow you can wear it to the Expo,” May bargained.

Peter stilled his frenetic movement staring at her wide eyed through the mask.  “Really really?  Gloves too?”

“Really really,” May smiled and stuck out her hand to shake.  “Gloves too, now deal?”

“Deal!” Peter shook her hand with enthusiasm before pulling the mask off and racing to his room.  She sighed, one battle at a time.

* * * * *

It had taken Ben a bit of wrangling, some late nights and trading of favors but he managed not only to score the tickets, but also get the night off so he could take Peter. Just the two of them, he might have managed to get three, but May turned him down saying it would be good bonding time for the pair.  Plus she was happy enough to get a night to herself and let Ben handle the hyper-excited Stark fan masquerading as their nephew.

At first everything went fairly smoothly.  Peter urged Ben along, pointing out various things and rattling off facts and information. How the kid kept all that information in his head a minor mystery to him.  He made a mental note to check into some more extra classes for him.  Maybe pick up a couple of projects that would keep that scientific brain engaged and out of trouble.

Being on the small size for his age, the crowd gave Peter a little bit of trouble seeing everything that he needed to.  Ben put an arm around the anxious kid, before hoisting him up higher to Peter’s delight. He’d all too soon be too big for either adult to do this, or for the kid to let him.  So he’d enjoy this moment while he could.  Besides it was worth any tired muscles when his nephew got an excellent view of Iron Man arriving.

That is of course when all hell broke loose.  Shots sounded and glass rained down on the crowd as it started to panic and stampede towards the exits.  Ben kept a tight grip on Peter as he worked on getting them both away from the source of his danger.  Forced to put him down at the door, he held on to the boy’s hand.  Difficult to do when everyone pushed and shoved, each frantic to get away from the shooting and the advancing armed drones.

Then it happened. Someone stumbled and fell into Ben causing both to tumble to the ground and loose his grip on Peter’s hand. Frantically he scrambled up.  “Peter!”  

The boy had been swallowed by the crowd.

-

Peter was in so much trouble.  He knew that his aunt and uncle would want him to keep heading towards the exit, but how could he when his hero was in trouble?  Also, he neither knew where the exit was and Iron Man was being chased by more robots all over the place.  Technically there might not be a safe spot.  

Having been watching the TV, he saw the reports of the fight in Monaco, or even the reports about the party. Neither adult wanted him to see that report.  The channel got rather quickly changed.  Still if his hero was struggling, than he had to do his part.  Plus they said if you stood up to bullies, most of the time they would just back down.

Everyone else was running away.  Peter stood his ground.  

The crowd thinned out, people running around him and a part of him wondered if this is what being in a stampede would be like.  He didn’t have long to contemplate it before one of the robots clomped to a stomp right in front of him.  Curiously enough, even though the damaged these things dealt out rained down around him, he didn’t feel afraid.  Instead he simply lifted his hand, palm out like he saw his hero do as it aimed a gun on its back in his direction.

There was a clunk as something large and heavy landed behind him.  The robot shifted his regard and not even a second later a blast shot over Peter and into the armed drone.  Jumping back he gaped under the helmet, both thrilled and astonished.  

“Nice work kid.”

Iron Man just told him nice work.

Best. Night. Ever.

Of course when his uncle found him and they got home and he got grounded not so much fun but it was worth it.  He proved he could stand up for himself, and for his hero.

Part 3

“Honestly do you guys even know what they put in those hot dogs?”  May cheerfully complained as Peter and Ben cheerfully chowed down on their treats.

Slinging an arm around his wife, Ben couldn’t help but to take a chomp in her direction as Peter laughed. “Ever hear ignorance is bliss Aunt May? It tastes good, why should it matter? One person’s delicacy goes down another’s garbage disposal.”

With a sigh she reached over to ruffle his hair.  “Alright tough guy, I’ll remember that the next time you turn your nose up at my cookies.”

Ben started to comment as something high up caught his attention.  Frowning he studied the skies.  “Hey brainiac, you’re the Stark fan, is something special supposed to be going on today?”

Peter shoved the rest of the hot dog in his mouth as he looked up.  His eyebrows lowered as he chewed, studying the blue light that speared up through the sky.  A roughly circular inky shape started to spread in the air above Stark Tower.  He swallowed to clear his mouth.  “No, the arc reactor activation was days ago. That wasn’t supposed to do anything but power the building.”  He squinted. “Is that, is there something coming from it?”

The trio stared upwards as black specks seemed to emerge and spread from the undulating back circle. When the larger whale like shape emerged and the explosions erupted Ben Parker had only one thought on his mind. Get his family to safety.  “Run!”

Turning, the adults each put a hand on Peter, keeping him between them as they started to flee the disaster forming behind them.  The sounds of explosions mixed with screams and the sounds of some sort of alien weapon quickly filled the air.  They didn’t get far before the aliens overtook their position, and chaos swirled even more thickly.

Instead of just running, Ben looked for a place for them to hide.  There wouldn’t be a safe spot soon.  Not on foot.   Not with the buildings being attacked.  The cries of injured people needing help tore at him, but his family came first.  Finally he spotted it, as the navigated through debris and fire.  A small place for them to take shelter, not as big or flashy as the buildings the creatures were attacking.  “Here!”

Carefully he guided May and Peter into it, tucking them inside the small shelter.  “Peter, look after your Aunt.”

“Ben no!”  She read his intention before he started to pull away, grabbing at his hand.  

“May I have to, you know I do.  People out there need help; I can’t turn my back on that.”

“I can help!”  Peter started to scramble forward only to be stopped as Ben put his hand up.  

“No, I need you stay here and protect May for me okay?  If I know you two are looking out for each other, than I can help other people, understand?”  He gave the youth a stern look.

Peter’s chin quivered, before he nodded and let Aunt May pull him back into her arms.

“Be careful.”  She cast a worried look in his direction.

“Always am.”  Leaning forward he pressed a kiss first to the top of Peter’s head, and then briefly to May’s lips.  “Stay safe, keep your heads down, and if trouble comes you run, understand me?”

Some might have said that he should stay with them, made sure they stayed safe.  But he knew his May, and he knew Peter.  Knew that the two of them were smart and could take care of each other.  So many other people out there couldn’t, or wouldn’t.  So he dove back into the dust and chaos to help those that needed it.

They could see a bit of the sky from their hiding spot.  A rather good view if one could call it that of the chaos erupting into their city.  Lighting that suddenly lit up, trying to cage the things from coming out of it.  He saw the red and gold streak across the sky.  Iron Man coming to defend the City.  Roaring and a green shape tickled Peter’s memory; the Hulk was on the scene. They actually saw him once, charging past their hiding spot crushing a couple of the aliens that got close to them.

A new sound filtered through the screams and destruction.  A low rumble that caught Peter’s attention and he turned his head trying to stand up as May tightened her grip on him.  “Peter stay down!”

A slim lethal shape swum through the sky, the red and gold bright dot that he identified as Iron Man came up under its belly.  The missile, for that is what it was started to tilt up.  Despite May’s protests he stood up to better watch as it shot up towards the black hole in the sky.  The lightening bracketing it stopped and they slipped inside.  “Come on, come on, come on,” Peter chanted softly.

Both of them were out there, his two heroes.  His uncle on the streets trying to save who he could and Iron Man guided some sort of missile into that black hole.  Peter couldn’t, didn’t, know where Ben was, but he could see where Tony Stark got to. He could only hope both came back to him.

One heartbeat, two, then a few more and still the red and gold dot he looked for didn’t emerge.   The hole started to shrink and there, right before it winked out of existence that dot emerged, falling through the sky.   At the same time the sound of chaos cut in half.  No more explosions, just the cries of the injured and the sound of building debris falling.  No more strange alien guns.  Peter didn’t slump back in relief until he saw the green shape of Hulk snatch the falling form of Iron Man out of the air.  

Only then he turned towards May and lean into her embrace.  He could only hope that both his heroes emerged from this day safe from harm.  One had been caught.  Next, they needed to find his uncle.  Even then, after today, Peter didn’t think that anything would ever be the same.

Part 4

It had been a rough week. While science and math remained easy for him, English, History and Spanish could give him a challenge.  This meant he needed to actually study those subjects.  At times wading through the work for papers for those classes, instead of working on personal projects Peter wanted to do.  It sucked; it wouldn’t stop sucking for years to come.  Not if he wanted to work all the way through his PhD, and earn the access to funding to do so.  Top grades in everything required for that.

Qualifying for special science schools yes worked in his favor.  The jocks of this place tended to be the academic athletes, not physical ones. It didn’t entirely eliminate the jerks of the world.  One in particular apparently took a liking to prodding at Peter.  So yeah, suckfest to try and stay positive and deal with that on top of school work and future worries.

To top it all off it seemed like Peter just kept running into large happy families.  Now he appreciated what he had left.  What little he had left.  But sometimes he felt the absence keenly.  An edge that sliced through his day cutting off light and happiness, leaving him with whatever was left.  Sometimes, life really just sucked.

Peter kept his hoodie up as he trudged home, headphones in place using music to help shut out what he didn’t want to deal of the world.  Aunt May wouldn’t be home yet.  When he let himself in, he headed straight for the couch to flop down and flip on the TV. His normally found a bit of an escape in his troubles by watching the news.  Even if bad things went on in the world, good things happened too.  

But this week even Tony Stark dealt with his own share of troubles.  The news reports conflicted at times at what exactly happened.  Bombs going off, terrorist threats, and someone close to him getting hurt.  Peter watched as they recapped the angry confrontation with the reporters that involved Tony challenging the terrorists by handing out his home address.  Which okay, didn’t seem like the best idea.  

Breaking news flashed on the screen interrupting his train of thought.  Peter leaned forward watching a missile streak towards Tony’s Malibu home.  He knew what it looked like of course.  Yes, a total fanboy if he needed to admit to it.  Not that he stalked the guy, which would be weird.  He just kept up to date on SI achievements, Iron Man actions and other public knowledge type stuff.  Like the spread about his house in one of the magazines.  

His backpack fell to the floor with a thunk as Peter leaned forward.  No. Just no.  This could not be happening.  He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the screen as it hit in a ball of fire and destruction.  Breath frozen in his chest as he watched the building, start to slide off the cliff and down into the ocean.  He pulled down his headphones as to actually hear what the newscasters reported on.  

The streak of red and gold carrying a woman out of the crumbling building brought a feeling of short-lived relief.  As the story continued to unfold the report came in that the figure inside the armor, not in fact Tony Stark.  For the moment, the billionaire was being listed as missing with crews trying to dredge and search the wreckage.  

Hours later and he still sat there watching the news be rehashed as a weight settled next to him on the couch.  May’s arm settled around him and he leaned sideways into her.  “He, um, Tony Stark is missing.  Stupid, I guess to announce his address and issue a challenge for terrorist to attack him at home.”

May rubbed her nephews arm, trying to figure out the best thing to say.  He’d been struggling lately, they both had to be honest.  Yet, still, he let himself lean on her.  If he still did that, then she had hope that they would be okay in the end.  “Well, people aren’t perfect.  Making mistakes is part of being human.  Ben,” here she faltered a little.  “Well your uncle would always say that it’s not about being perfect.  It’s about what we do after we make a mistake that matters, remember?”

Peter nodded, replying in a rough tone.  “Yeah, taking responsibility and dealing with your mistakes marked the difference between a real adult and someone that’s just pretending.”  

She leaned into Peter a little.  “And haven’t you always said one of the things about Tony Stark that you admired was that he wasn’t perfect and never pretended to be?  That instead he tries to make up for it and help people?”

The youth nodded again. “Yeah, and he always seems to come back, from everything.”  It was one of the things that made it fairly safe to keep admiring Tony Stark.  The guy came back from being missing for three months in the Middle East, he could handle this too.

“So, we’ll wait to see what happens, okay?”  She gave Peter a smile.  Even if only a flicker of one came in return.  “Tell you what, let’s order a pizza and just hang out tonight huh?  I can tell you about my day and we can find the most ridiculous news reports to mock?”

May studied the TV. She couldn’t fix everything, but she could be there for her kid and help him try to find his way through it.  “Also, you now know if you ever become famous, don’t give out your home address to crazy people okay?  Because I fully expect your brain to take you far kid, one of these days one of those news stories is going to be about something important you’ve done to help save the world.”

Peter huffed a laugh and she inwardly counted that as a win.  “Yes to the pizza, but I don’t think I’ll need to worry too much about the second part Aunt May.”

Tugging back his hood to get a better look at his face she smiled at him.  “Trust me kid, you’ll get there someday.  I’m betting on it.”

[fabricati-diem-pvnc]

A.J. Raffles and the performativity of gender

Note: Over the course of #rafflesweek, I will post five excerpts from my master’s thesis on E.W. Hornung’s Raffles stories. While each part can be read on its own, I recommend reading them in the order they are posted.

This is Part 1.

(Please see the end for footnotes and works cited.)

Introduction: How the English Gentleman Came to Be

[This introduction is a condensed version of a much longer chapter about Victorian roles of masculinity.]

My analysis of A.J. Raffles and Bunny Manders was based on the main concept behind Victorian middle-class masculinity: the gentleman. The original definition of a gentleman (dating back to the late Middle Ages) was a man of aristocratic birth with land ownership. When the feudal system was overturned as a result of the Industrialisation, the emerging middle class not only gained political and economic power but also began to appropriate the gentleman ideal. This appropriation shifted the meaning of what a gentleman ‘is’ from an inherited privilege (one was born into it) to an aim to strive for, thus making it accessible to non-aristocratic members of society.

The middle-class ideal of a ‘true’ gentleman was based on moral virtues (courage, honour, integrity, self-respect, etc.). However, it was still tied to wealth, as the best means of achieving gentlemanly status was through public school education. Apart from instilling moral virtues into its pupils, public school education also fostered  athleticism through team sports such as rugby and cricket. The philosophy behind this was called ‘Muscular Christianity’: only in a sound body could a sound mind (and moral character) thrive. Public schools were designed to prepare their pupils for an upper middle-class life: these young men would either pursue a profession (law, military, church) or live off inherited wealth / investments. Both options afforded the gentleman a great amount of leisure: whiling away his days at clubs or house-parties, he was able to display his disinterest in economic matters by eschewing a life of thrift and manual labour.

Victorian middle-class society was strictly divided into a public, ‘male’ sphere and a private, ‘female’ sphere. The men were supposed to display vigour, initiative, moral rectitude and self-restraint, while the women were expected to be tender, nurturing and submissive. In the 1890s, the gentleman ideal was contested by the newly-emerging role of the dandy. The dandy was a fundamentally theatrical being: he combined lower-class bohemian aspects (dress, lifestyle) with aristocratic archetypes (artificiality, posing, masks). This was based on the ideas of Aestheticism (art for art’s sake) and Decadence - the rejection of social institutions (e.g. marriage) and the embrace of hedonistic self-indulgence. For the Decadents, the meaning of life lay in the intense experience of moments through great passions. The dandy’s performative identity and his ridiculing of morality was perceived as a direct attack on the integrity of the gentleman ideal. As the dandy’s aristocratic attitudes were also associated with effeminacy, his presence threatened the gender stability of the middle-class gentleman as well. Indeed, the dandy would soon be associated with homosexuality, the most famous example being Oscar Wilde.

“You Must Not Make the Criminal (Gentleman) the Hero”

By the time the first volume of Raffles stories was published in 1899, the idea of what constituted a ‘gentleman’ was highly contested. Half a century earlier, the concept of a ‘gentleman thief’ would have been anathema to people like Samuel Smiles, who praised moral integrity and truthfulness as the core characteristics of a gentleman (Smiles 1997: 317). At the turn of the century, however, a writer of stories depicting the idea of the gentleman as “essentially weak and vulnerable” (O’Brien 2015: 658) did not have to fear censorship or moral outrage any longer.

While there were some critics of The Amateur Cracksman who voiced moral concerns1, the overall reception of the stories by critics and the public alike was very positive. On one level, Hornung’s stories about a cunning and egotistical, public-school educated gentleman pretending to be a man of leisure while secretly robbing the houses of the upper (middle) class, were merely cashing in on the late-Victorian craze for sensationalist stories (both fictional and non-fictional) (Fox 2007: vii-viii). Accounts about ‘forbidden’, immoral and possibly violent subjects were in huge demand by the late-Victorian reader (Seeber 2012: 335); tales about secret identities, guilty secrets and transgressions of moral and social boundaries abounded in sensational journalism as well as in popular fiction and high-brow literature2 (Freeman 2007: 73). A notable nonfictional example was the nation’s fascination with Jack the Ripper. One major thread running through the public discussion at the time was the assumed respectability of the man: for instance, the skillful removal of organs from his victims led the Illustrated Police News to speculate he was a doctor in everyday life (Godfrey 2011: 116). [Even Raffles voices his own theory about the murderer’s identity at one point: “[…] it’s my profound conviction that Jack the Ripper was a really eminent public man, whose speeches were very likely reported alongside his atrocities.” (Hornung 2013: 31).] In a world where a serial killer was believed to be a respected gentleman, the scandalous potential of depicting a fictional gentleman burglar was consequently not that high.

Playing at being a gentleman

While the choice of a criminal gentleman as protagonist may not have been that controversial in itself3, the way in which E. W. Hornung characterises A. J. Raffles challenges the common-held notions about what a gentleman was by blurring the lines between gentleman, dandy and the common criminal. When the reader is first introduced to Raffles in “The Ides of March”, his status as a gentleman is quickly established. As a boy, he attended a public school where he excelled in team sports, especially cricket (Hornung 2013: 6). As the reputation of a public school during this time4 depended in no small part on the quality of its sports teams (Holt 1992: 82), Raffles’ performance of his role as captain of the school cricket team can serve as an indicator of his gentlemanly character. This is pointed out by Bunny when he comments: “Everybody knows how largely the tone of a public school depends on that of the eleven, and on the character of the captain of cricket in particular; and I have never heard it denied that in A. J. Raffles’s time our tone was good, or that such influence as he troubled to exert was on the side of the angels.” (Hornung 2013: 6-7)

After Raffles left public school, he joined the ranks of amateur cricketers, playing in matches both at home and in Australia (Hornung 2013: 47). His being an amateur is another trait that characterises Raffles as a gentleman: “an amateur is as proficient as a professional, but plays the game for its own sake rather than for money” (Green 2003: xxxiv). Spending a great amount of time playing cricket without actually being paid for it implies that Raffles is wealthy enough to not have to pursue actual work. Bunny assumes as much when, desperate for help after signing over worthless checks to the winners of a baccarat game, he visits Raffles hoping to get a loan from him: “[…] I had dared to look for kindness from him now; because I was ruined, and he rich enough to play cricket all the summer, and do nothing for the rest of the year […].” (Hornung 2013: 3; emphasis added).

However, the true source of Raffles’ income is soon revealed. Having promised to help Bunny, Raffles drops several hints as to how he will secure the necessary money. When Bunny, overjoyed that Raffles will come to his aid, proclaims that there was nothing he wouldn’t do for a friend, Raffles asks: “Not even […] a crime?” (Hornung 2013: 7). He then proposes to visit a jeweller friend of his in the middle of the night. When Bunny expresses doubts, Raffles assures him he has “the run of [the] place and a latch-key all to [himself]” (Hornung 2013: 8). As naive as Bunny is, it takes him until he is actually standing in a room above the jewellery shop to realise what’s truly going on:

“He had given me a dozen hints, and I had taken none. […] ‘A burglar!’ I gasped.

‘You – you!’

‘I told you I lived by my wits.’” (Hornung 2013: 10-11)

The reason Raffles gives for leading a double life of respectable gentleman by day and skilled burglar by night is quite illuminating: “Why should I work when I could steal? Why settle down to some humdrum uncongenial billet, when excitement, romance, danger and a decent living were all going begging together?” (Hornung 2013: 16). In essence, Raffles wants to enjoy the leisure and privilege a gentlemanly life affords without having to endure a boring profession to finance it. Additionally, he pursues a profession that presents him with countless moments of thrill and excitement, which is reminiscent of the Decadent argument that life should contain as many “pulsations” and moments of ecstasy as possible (Pater 1980: 190). While Raffles loves playing cricket, turning professional would not be an option for him. The earnings of professional cricketers were not nearly substantial enough to finance a life of leisure (Holt 1992: 290-291). A gentleman was expected to dress a certain way and his apartment had to belong to a respected neighbourhood (Waters 1997: 31); both of these requirements were not sustainable on a professional cricketer’s salary. It is precisely because Raffles plays cricket just for fun that the doors of higher society are open to him.

The status of gentleman was only accessible for people with a certain amount of wealth. While burgling houses certainly provided a way to attain the necessary income, it being a crime went straight against the idea of moral integrity that was so engrained in the gentleman ideal. Thus, while Raffles certainly knows how to act like a gentleman (Larance 2014: 106), he doesn’t share the moral convictions commonly associated with the role. While Bunny repeatedly expresses compunction about leading a life of crime, Raffles does not share this view. For him, crime is an exciting game (Hornung 2013: 364). He does pay lip service to it being “wrong”, but he immediately brushes that aside by saying, “we can’t all be moralists” (Hornung 2013: 16). This nonchalant dismissal of moral concerns is also one of several elements in the stories that tie Raffles to the aesthete and the Decadent dandy.

Well isn’t this just Dandy?

The Raffles stories abound with references to Aestheticism and Decadence. Firstly, the stories establish Raffles’ keen interest in art and literature. In “The Ides of March”, the reader learns that Raffles fills his home with exquisite furniture and heaps of books: “It was charmingly furnished and arranged, with the right amount of negligence and the right amount of taste. […] Instead of the conventional rack of war-worn bats, a carved oak bookcase, with every shelf in a litter, filled the better part of one wall […]. The man might have been a minor poet instead of an athlete of the first water. But there had always been a fine streak of aestheticism in his complex composition […].” (Hornung 2013: 6; emphasis added)

Bunny also points out several Pre-Raphaelite paintings adorning Raffles’ walls, naming works by Dante Gabriel Rossetti (Hornung 2013: 6) and reproductions of paintings by George Frederic Watts and Edward Burne-Jones (Hornung 2013: 381). That Raffles’ stacks of books aren’t merely decorative is apparent in the amount of quotes he readily intersperses in his conversations. First, the stories are peppered with Shakespeare quotes. To name just one example, Raffles quotes Julius Caesar prior to his and Bunny’s first felonious undertaking: “‘The Ides of March, the Ides of March, remember.’ Eh, Bunny, my boy? You won’t forget them, will you?” (Hornung 2013: 8). Raffles also references the works of John Keats several times, especially his poem “The Eve of St. Agnes” (Hornung 2013: 15). In “The Fate of Faustina”, the story which chronicles his tragic dalliance with a young Italian woman named Faustina, Raffles quotes two poems by Algernon Swinburne. While Shakespeare and Keats can be readily explained by the classical education Raffles enjoyed during his schooldays, his profound knowledge of Swinburne may be seen as indicative of his “streak of aestheticism” (Hornung 2013: 6) – the Pre-Raphaelite poet was much admired in Aestheticist circles (Freeman 2007: 83).

Crime as an art form

Apart from being a consumer of art and literature, Raffles also uses aestheticist ideas to explain his philosophy on crime. In “A Costume Piece”, Bunny doesn’t deem Raffles’ plan of robbing a South African millionaire necessary as they still have enough money at their disposal. Raffles is aghast at this statement: “Necessity, my dear Bunny? Does the writer only write when the wolf is at the door? Does the painter paint for bread alone? […] You pain me, my dear chap; you needn’t laugh, because you do. Art for art’s sake is a vile catchword, but I confess it appeals to me.” (Hornung 2013: 20; emphasis added). Many of Raffles’ schemes are based more on the beauty of the objects he intends to steal than the money he actually gets for them when selling them to a receiver of stolen goods. For instance, after he has stolen a golden cup from the British Museum in “A Jubilee Present”, he doesn’t sell it, but keeps it on his mantlepiece for days. When Bunny suggests he should melt it down to at least get some money in exchange for the gold, Raffles vehemently disagrees with him: “Taking it was an offence against the laws of the land, Bunny. That is nothing. But destroying it would be a crime against God and Art, and may I be spitted on the vane of St. Mary Abbot’s if I commit it!” (Hornung 2013: 139; emphasis added). Whenever Raffles does have to commit a burglary out of pure necessity – which happens more frequently than he would care to admit –, he considers it “a vulgar sort” of crime (Hornung 2013: 35)5.

Raffles’ artistic views are not confined to the objects of his desire but extend to the method of stealing them as well. In “Nine Points of the Law”, Raffles and Bunny are enlisted by a somewhat corrupt lawyer to steal a painting from an Australian legislator. Instead of being content with simply snatching the painting, Raffles scours all over the country for a convincing fake so he can steal the painting without the legislator noticing it (Hornung 2013: 82-83). When a club of criminologists invites him to one of their meetings in a later story, Raffles realises they suspect him to be the gentleman thief, so in order to get them off his scent, he stages an elaborate break-in that looks as if it took place while he was at dinner with the other club members; the only thing he actually steals, though, is a pair of parliamentary robes, which he returns to the owner anonymously at the end of the story (Hornung 2013: 286-288). Finally, Raffles’ sense of artistic flair is also applied to his tools. He keeps his drills and skeleton keys in “a pretty embroidered case” originally meant for razors (Hornung 2013: 12), and a rope ladder designed by him for the heist at the Criminologists’ Club is disguised within a cane with a polished knob (Hornung 2013: 287).

This conflation of art and crime was not a concept that Hornung had invented himself. Rather, it was indebted to Oscar Wilde’s theory on “crime as art” (Freeman 2007: 76). In several of his works6, Wilde had experimented with a new form of criminal protagonist: “the gentleman-about-town, exploring the gulf between appearance and reality” (Freeman 2007: 77). The concept of a gentleman with a dark secret was thus directly indebted to the writings of one of the most eminent Decadent dandies.

The Wilde Card

The link between A. J. Raffles and Oscar Wilde is not restricted to the overall construction of the narrative. In fact, the Raffles stories are riddled with references to Oscar Wilde’s life and his works7. Firstly, there are several parallels between A. J. Raffles and the characters of The Importance of Being Earnest (1895). Raffles’ place of residence, the Albany, is also the place where Ernest Worthing lives while he stays in London (Wilde 2000: 16)8. In “Nine Points of the Law”, Raffles excuses himself from a dinner obligation with the Australian legislator by claiming he was “called out of town” due to a “sudden illness of [a] near relative” (Hornung 2013: 79); this is part of his plan to sneak into the apartment and steal the painting. When Bunny is quizzed by the host on what relative that would be, he confesses that he doesn’t know Raffles’ family because he knows Raffles “[o]nly in town” (Hornung 2013: 79). This scene is a nod to the concept of ‘Bunburying’ thought up by Algernon Moncrieff in The Importance of Being Earnest: “I have invented an invaluable permanent invalid called Bunbury, in order that I may be able to go down into the country whenever I choose.” (Wilde 2000: 19).

Concerning the character’s personal tastes, Raffles only ever smokes Sullivans, an exquisite brand of Egyptian tobacco (Hornung 2003: 141, note 4). His consumption of this type of cigarette is so well-known that, when he later has to live under an assumed name in London, he is too scared to smoke them for fear of being found out: “I can’t even smoke Sullivans, because no one man was ever so partial to them as I was in my lifetime […]” (Hornung 2013: 122). While Oscar Wilde himself was known to enjoy “consuming large quantities of expensive Egyptian cigarettes” (Freeman 2007: 83), the pleasure Raffles takes in smoking Sullivans is also reminiscent of one of Lord Henry Wotton’s aphorisms in The Picture of Dorian Gray (1891): “Basil, I can’t allow you to smoke cigars. You must have a cigarette. A cigarette is the perfect type of a perfect pleasure. It is exquisite, and it leaves one unsatisfied. What more can one want?” (Wilde 1994: 93-94).

There is also the parallel between A. J. Raffles and Oscar Wilde being forced to keep parts of their identity hidden from society: “the man-about-town playwright who leads a secret life (one that was at the time, a criminal matter), the man-about-town cricketer who leads a secret (also criminal) life” (O’Brien 2015: 660). Freeman adds another level to this when he points out that, apart from being a gentleman thief, “[…] Raffles is already leading a double life in some respects by alternating between the supposedly antipathetic roles of aesthete and sportsman.” (Freeman 2007: 83).

Finally, the parallels between Raffles’ and Oscar Wilde’s later life, while not exact, are quite startling: In 1895, Oscar Wilde was charged with having committed an “act of gross indecency with another male person”9, found guilty, and sentenced to two years in prison (Rowland 1999: 76). After being discharged in 1897, he was forced to leave England and spend the last three years of his life as a semi-invalid in France (Rowland 1999: 80). During his time there, Wilde had adopted the assumed name of “Sebastian Melmoth”; the name was a reference to Melmoth the Wanderer (1820), a Gothic novel written by his great-uncle Charles Maturin (Sedgwick 1985: 94-95). In a striking parallelism of dates and facts, Raffles’ cover is finally blown in 1895. Charged with stealing a priceless pearl aboard the SS Uhlan, he manages to evade capture by leaping overboard; as the ship is at this point ten miles from shore, Raffles is believed to have drowned (Kemp/Mitchell/Trotter 1997: 33). Meanwhile, Bunny is arrested, tried for burglary and sentenced to eighteen months in prison (Hornung 2013: 128). Two years later, Raffles returns to London as an elderly, invalid Australian called “Mr. Maturin” and meets up again with Bunny, who has recently been released from prison (Hornung 2013: 122). Raffles spends the next three years in hiding, with Bunny as his only companion, before he dies on an unnamed battlefield in South Africa in the year 1900 (Hornung 2013: 232).

Performance art of the self

While the references to Oscar Wilde are indeed striking, it would do the stories injustice to reduce A. J. Raffles to a mere fictional amalgamation of Wilde and his characters. Displaying character traits, styles and opinions of both the athletic gentleman and the aesthetic dandy, Raffles cleverly subverts both gender roles by exposing their inherent instability: “In Raffles the effete, passive, superficially charming manner of the dandy clothes-horse is subsumed within a powerful body that is in sly and subversive alignment with contemporary masculine paradigms.” (O’Brien 2015: 661). Once the essentialist notion of a ‘natural’ masculinity is discarded, the character is free to perform his masculinity (and, more generally, his identity of self) in whatever way he wishes.

This makes it notoriously difficult for the reader to get a hold of the ‘real’ A. J. Raffles. While society knows Raffles mainly as amateur cricketer, Bunny’s position as his close friend and partner in crime gives us insight into the more secretive aspects of Raffles’ life. The reader learns that Raffles is incredibly skilled at disguises, an ability essential for balancing his double life: whenever Raffles has to make business with other members of the criminal class, he turns into “the professional Cockney villain who, to reduce the risk of blackmail by his receiver of stolen goods, ‘drives[s] all [his] bargains in the tongue and raiment of Shoreditch’ […].” (Freeman 2007: 84). Raffles’ disguises are so immaculate that he manages to fool Bunny with them every time. In “A Costume Piece”, for instance, Bunny is dumbfounded when “the dark scowl and the dirty clenched fists of a dilapidated tramp” (Hornung 2013: 22) turn out to belong to his friend. Raffles then leads him to the place where he keeps the props necessary for his disguises – an apartment in Chelsea, which he has officially rented as an artist’s studio10. To make his posing as an artist believable, Raffles keeps a canvas in the room: “[…] there’s the canvas I’m always going to make a start upon. I tell [my landlords] I’m looking high and low for my ideal model.” (Hornung 2013: 24). When Bunny first enters the room, Raffles asks him, “Looking for the works of art?” (Hornung 2013: 23). This can be interpreted in two ways. Firstly, he is of course referring to the lack of actual paintings in the room; secondly, the question could also be pointing to the disguises Raffles constructs in here. As Raffles sees his criminal exploits as artistic endeavours, the disguise is a crucial part of performing the art of crime. By transforming himself into the perfect image of a London tramp, Raffles essentially becomes a work of art himself.

A. J. Raffles has constructed his life as a web of alternate identities and disguises. His character is made up of conflicting traits: the aesthetic dandy vs. the athletic gentleman, the upstanding citizen vs. the skilled thief, the charming society man vs. the cunning and egotistical criminal. What part of his identity is presented to society, Bunny or the reader is wholly Raffles’ choice. This has led Larance to remark that, “[…] because his entire life is essentially a performance piece, it is frequently difficult to know which Raffles is real and which Raffles is the performer.” (Larance 2014: 107). However, the point of the Raffles stories is that there is no ‘real’ Raffles. The ease with which the character switches between different gender roles exposes that there is no essential, ‘natural’ masculinity or femininity. As gender is a major constituent part of identity, the performativity of gender implies that a person’s identity is also not absolute, but established through the very act of performing it (Butler 2007: 34). This, more than anything else, makes A. J. Raffles a precursor of modern notions of gender and personal identity.

Footnotes:

1For example, a review in the Bookman reproached Hornung for having written “‘the greatest incentive ever penned to spirited youth to make a brilliant living by the burglar’s art’”.

2Both Robert Louis Stevenson’s Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr Hyde (1886) and Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray (1891) explored the destructive potential of secret identities and the fragmentation of self.

3A view apparently not shared by Arthur Conan Doyle, who commented on the “rather dangerous” suggestions of the Raffles stories in his memoirs (Haining 1984: 16). He also claimed to have cautioned his brother-in-law: “You must not make the criminal the hero.” (qtd. in Larance 2014: 100). This runs counter to Hornung’s claim that Doyle actively encouraged him to pick a public-school villain as the protagonist for a new series (Green 2003: xxi).

4Assuming that Raffles was about 28 years old in “The Ides of March”, which is set in 1891, he probably would have attended public school between 1876 and 1881, a time when the importance of high-quality team sports for the reputation of a public school had already been firmly established (Waters 1997: 74).

5It is only during his life in hiding, when stealing for money has become a necessity after all, that Raffles changes his mind: “The older I grow, Bunny, the less I think of your so-called precious stones. When did they ever bring in half their market value in L. s. d.” (Hornung 2013: 131).

6Most notably in The Picture of Dorian Gray, where the painting enables Dorian to indulge in ever more baser exploits while retaining his innocent and beautiful looks.

7A possible explanation for these references can be found in the personal connection that existed between Oscar Wilde and E. W. Hornung. They were friends and close neighbours in the early 1890s, and Hornung christened his only son ‘Oscar’ in May 1895 – at exactly the same time as Wilde was being tried for homosexuality (Rowland 1999: 76).

8The Albany was also the place where Hornung’s acquaintance George Cecil Ives, a cricketer and criminologist, lived (Green 2003: xxiv).

9The Criminal Law Amendment Act of 1885 had made sodomy punishable by two years’ hard labour. This was actually an improvement on the former legal status of homosexuality: up until 1861, homosexual acts had been considered a capital offence (Purchase 2006: 126).

10Chelsea was one of several parts of London where dandies and artists tended to mingle in coffee-houses and restaurants (MacLeod 2006: 33-34).

Works cited:

Butler, Judith. Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity. 2nd ed. New York: Routledge, 2007.

Fox, Paul. “No Respecter of Class: The Ubiquitous Appeal of Late-Victorian Crime Fiction.” Formal Investigations: Aesthetic Style in Late-Victorian and Edwardian Detective Fiction. Ed. Paul Fox and Koray Melikoğlu. Studies in English Literature 4. Stuttgart: ibidem, 2007. vii-x.

Freeman, Nick. “Double Lives, Terrible Pleasures: Oscar Wilde and Crime Fiction in the Fin de Siècle.” Formal Investigations: Aesthetic Style in Late-Victorian and Edwardian Detective Fiction. Ed. Paul Fox and Koray Melikoğlu. Studies in English Literature 4. Stuttgart: ibidem, 2007. 71-96.

Godfrey, Emelyne. Masculinity, Crime and Self-Defence in Victorian Literature. Crime Files. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011.

Green, Richard Lancelyn. “Introduction.” Raffles: The Amateur Cracksman. E.W. Hornung. Ed. Richard Lancelyn Green. London: Penguin, 2003. xvii-xlvii.

Holt, Richard. Sport and the British: A Modern History. 1989. Oxford: Clarendon, 1992.

Hornung, E.W. A.J. Raffles – The Gentleman Thief Series: The Amateur Cracksman; The Black Mask; A Thief in the Night; Mr. Justice Raffles. Leipzig: Amazon Distribution GmbH, 2013.

Kemp, Sandra, Charlotte Mitchell, and David Trotter, eds. Edwardian Fiction: An Oxford Companion. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997.

Larance, Jeremy. “The A.J. Raffles Stories Reconsidered: Fall of the Gentleman Ideal.” English Literature in Transition, 1880-1920, 57.1 (2014): 99-125.

MacLeod, Kirsten. Fictions of British Decadence: High Art, Popular Writing, and the Fin de Siècle. Palgrave Studies in Nineteenth-Century Writing and Culture. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2006.

O’Brien, Lee. “Wilde Words: The Aesthetics of Crime and the Play of Genre in E.W. Hornung’s Raffles Stories.” English Studies, 96.6 (2015): 654-669.

Pater, Walter. The Renaissance: Studies in Art and Poetry. 1893. Ed. Donald L. Hill. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1980.

Purchase, Sean. Key Concepts in Victorian Literature. Palgrave Key Concepts. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2006.

Rowland, Peter. Raffles and His Creator: The Life and Works of E.W. Hornung. London: Nekta, 1999.

Sedgwick, Eve Kosofsky. Between Men: English Literature and Male Homosocial Desire. Gender and Culture. New York: Columbia University Press, 1985.

Seeber, Hans Ulrich. “Vormoderne und Moderne.” Englische Literaturgeschichte. Ed. Hans Ulrich Seeber. 5th, updated, and expanded ed. Stuttgart: Metzler, 2012. 327-388.

Smiles, Samuel. Self-Help; With Illustrations of Character and Conduct. 1859. The Collected Works of Samuel Smiles 24. London: Routledge, 1997.

Waters, Karen Volland. The Perfect Gentleman: Masculine Control in Victorian Men’s Fiction, 1870-1901. Studies in Nineteenth-Century British Literature 3. New York: Peter Lang, 1997.

Wilde, Oscar. The Picture of Dorian Gray. 1891. London: Penguin Books, 1994.

Wilde, Oscar. The Importance of Being Earnest. 1895. Ed. John Lancaster. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000.

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[zoe-godijn]

The haul video trend promotes the worst parts of fast-fashion

Type the word "haul" into YouTube and you’ll be presented with 28 million different choices. Scroll a short while through the videos and you’ll notice a disconcerting continuity among the many video cover images. A female presenter sat in her bedroom, mouth agape, holding a shopping bag in one hand, the other points a finger towards her mouth, conveying a message of “Should I? Shouldn’t I?”

The videos are wildly popular. And, all jokes aside, it’s not hard to understand why. After all, look at the similar rise of ASMR and mukbang videos. Though they differ in content, these videos all implicitly focus on intimacy and forging a seeming connection between viewer and vlogger. But, given the materialistic heart of the haul video, should we be more skeptical of their success?

Brands are harnessing the power of influencer marketing more than ever. TheFashionLaw reported in late 2016 that the most-liked Instagram post of all-time (at the time of writing) actually featured subtle product placement which, incidentally, wasn’t disclosed until after an article exposing this fact was published. And, while websites like The Fashion Law are consistently pointing out undeclared advertisements, it’s not always easy discern when an influencer has been remunerated to market something. But a look at the best performing haul videos shows the same high street brands again and again.

Consumer psychologist Kate Nightingale, founder of Style Psychology, explains that our social circles are increasingly global and overwhelmingly digital. We recognize elements of ourselves in influencers, and therefore select — through follows, likes, and subscriptions — a database of internet personalities we’re willing to trust. “As people choose to follow influencers similar to their actual or ideal selves, there’s a default basic level of trust,” explains Nightingale. “But, like in any relationship, they have to continue to deliver a value to keep the power of influence.” They need to keep showing the goods. And brands can now profit off the levels of trust we’ve built up with these online personalities.

Despite the “should I, shouldn’t I keep this item” dynamic of many videos — their existence is definitely driving consumption. When there exists a vicious cycle of overproduction driven by corporate greed and mountains of discarded clothing in landfills worldwide exacerbating climate change, the ethics of these videos can further be called into question. But some YouTubers are using their platform to promote second-hand, charity shop, and vintage clothing, a market which offers an alternative to fast-fashion without sacrificing style or sustainability.

"As people choose to follow influencers similar to their actual or ideal selves, there’s a basic level of trust. But, like in any relationship, they have to continue to deliver a value to keep the power of influence.”

DianaChamomile, for example, has amassed 70,000 subscribers. Her entry into YouTube hauling came via the output of influencers like TheFashionCitizen and ClothesEncounters, whose videos often featured vintage hauls. “I got such a thrill from seeing the gems they found at their local thrift stores. It really made me want to start shopping secondhand, and because I was a college student with all of my money going towards tuition, it was a great alternative for me.” She says it took her a few years to bite the bullet and make videos of her own, but when she did she soon found a community of like-minded online users genuinely engaging with her videos.

Chamomile is very aware of the exploitation often enabled by consumerism and the fashion industry. Haul videos have a huge role to play in this; countless influencers stock up on new clothing simply for the purpose of showing them off to the camera and then returning them. But returned clothes are rarely ever reused.

“They’re no longer new,” explains Stephanie Klotz, Senior Communications Manager of C&A Foundation — an organization which supports Fashion Revolution’s vital Transparency Indices. “There are initiatives like RePack, which work with postal services to create reusable pouches, and I’ve bought from ethical companies which enclose letters explaining the impact of returns, but ultimately that trend of buying online to return immediately isn’t going anywhere.” This is damaging; plenty of our clothing returns are simply thrown out instead of donated, whereas some are ‘downcycled’ to create lower-quality, lower-priced goods still destined for landfill.

But these conversations are complicated, and often need to be filled with industry-specific jargon. “Sometimes I’ll see reports using language like 'value chain,' 'stakeholder' — not everybody understands that language, and even if they do, it’s boring,” laughs Klotz. “So we need to make these conversations more accessible, and that’s where I think influencers come in.”

“I learned about the factories filled with faceless people made slaves for capitalist gain. So I started picking up newer pieces and just asking myself whether they were worth someone else’s misery."

Influencers, like Chamomile in particular, who understand the issues and offer actual, practical solutions, have a vital role to play. It was during her studies at New York’s prestigious FIT(Fashion Institute of Technology) that she realized the importance of sparking these conversations: “I learned about the factories filled with faceless people made slaves for capitalist gain,” she explains. “So I started picking up newer pieces and just asking myself whether they were worth someone else’s misery. On top of all that, demand skyrocketed so much with fast-fashion that textiles became a huge environmental pollutant.”

We know these problems exist, and solving them can seem an impossible task. There are small changes we can all make, like buying vintage and second-hand, or using apps like Depop, or just buying one-size online as opposed to that second "just in case" size. It’s also worth noting that plenty of international heavy-hitters responded to Rana Plaza by complying with calls for transparency, as shown by Fashion Revolution’s annual Transparency Index. It’s crucial to remain vigilant – many high-street brands still work in countries buoyed by low wages and exploitative governments – but, as long as you’re not scooping up armfuls of $2 Hello Kitty tees each weekend, buying high-street isn’t as bad as it was.

When it comes to haul videos, it’s time to start investing our energy and our digital currency -- our views, likes, subscriptions -- into influencers who are actually trying to spark change. Search "haulternative" videos instead, and delve deep into a world of customization, vintage treasures, and charity shop gems which is — I promise — just as rewarding as that Fashion Nova haul. The high street might not thank you, but activists and advocates for change will do. Oh, and your wallet. Your wallet will thank you, too.

- By Jake Hall

This article originally appeared on i-D UK.

[universeinform-blog]

WordPress Plugin NextGEN Gallery Vulnerable to SQL Injection Attack

New Post has been published on https://universeinform.com/2017/03/29/wordpress-plugin-nextgen-gallery-vulnerable-to-sql-injection-attack/

WordPress Plugin NextGEN Gallery Vulnerable to SQL Injection Attack

The NextGen gallery has been plagued with a severe safety flaw for the second one time in consecutive years, and this time it’s miles even worse.

An internet safety company- Sucuri found that the NextGen gallery for WordPress (WP) is laid low with an intense Sq. injection vulnerability and attackers can get admission to the focused internet site’s database inside minutes which includes all of the touchy records.

“This is pretty an essential trouble, If you are the usage of a vulnerable version of this plugin, replace as soon as possible!”

More: 10 Ways to Protect Your WordPress Website online You Didn’t Realize Approximately

There are two opportunities from which the vulnerability may be exploited stated Mr. Mihajloski. If a website makes use of this plugin and the users are allowed to submit posts, an attacker can exploit the difficulty by executing malicious code via shortcodes, whilst the other opportunity is that if a site uses the NextGen fundamental tag cloud gallery in which case it may be exploited by using executing Square queries by using enhancing the URL of the gallery.

Up until now, this vulnerability hasn’t been exploited, however with over 1 million lively installs of the defective version of this plugin, you can best expect that havoc can cause if this difficulty isn’t taken care of speedy.

Also, this isn’t the primary time that the NextGen plugin has been inflamed with an important vulnerability. The remaining year the professionals found out a faraway code execution threat posting a massive protection hazard to the customers.

Although That is a vulnerability in WordPress plugin, the CMS itself isn’t always an awful lot comfy both. Closing month safety researchers at Sucuri located an extreme content injection vulnerability in WordPress that could let attackers edit content material on the WP based internet site.

What’s Best for My Site: WordPress or Joomla

You need to be really careful in terms of selecting the best platform for Seo. It’s very difficult to advocate a person approximately this due to the fact the choice need to specifically be primarily based on the desires of the websites and needs to be personalized. Maximum of the instances, users war among Joomla and WordPress. Both of them have their personal blessings, however, WordPress has gained lots of reputation over the latest years. This is manifestly for excellent motives. No matter the popularity, Joomla is observed simply in the back of. Right here we analyze them to determine what’s great on your Seo.

1. WordPress as a Winner

There are numerous benefits of the use of WordPress. One among the biggest perks of using its miles that you don’t must be an expert at HTML coding so that it will operate it. Modifications to the internet site may be made even when you have very little knowledge to it because it’s miles relatively very easy to perform. The kind of themes available makes it cheaper to build the website. it is incredible due to the fact SEO is made quite simple because of WordPress. There are masses of tools that continues it smooth to recognize and highly prepared. Thru WordPress, adding e-commerce in your internet site is a lot simpler and handy.

With all the perks, there are a few downsides of the use of WordPress. One of the Most commonplace ones of these faced by means of users around the arena is that WordPress improvements its software very often. If you want to function it at its high-quality, you need to maintain up with all of the upgrades often. Although you can make Modifications even without understanding HTML, a number of the instances it ends up searching entirely distinct in the actual browser. This might add to your frustrations as a user. If you want to customize a subject matter, it could be very steeply-priced Thru WordPress. In spite of some of these downsides, the perks outweigh the downsides evidently.

Let’s take a look at Joomla as a content management system.

2. Joomla as a Winner

For quite a few customers, Joomla continues to be running without a doubt well and there are a number of reasons for this. Even though the installation is tons extra hard than WordPress, it’s far still handy in quite a few methods in evaluation to other content management systems. Considering it is written in Php scripting, there may be lesser compatibility associated problems. Even though it seems tough to function, Joomla gives quite a few tutorials to the customers if they ever appear misplaced even as using it. In spite of little or no technical information, you may without difficulty perform Joomla. Most people locate it extra complicated than WordPress. On account that Joomla has an extensive range of extensions, you have got a number of freedom in selecting the one that customizes along with your needs.

Protection is a subject for folks that employ Joomla. a variety of customers has additionally confronted problems like compatibility, costing and restrained a number of customers.

Creating a Wall Gallery in Your Home

A gallery wall can immediately elevate the style of any area in any room in your home. Gallery partitions vary substantially, relying on the décor and taste of the human beings doing the arranging. They may be the total period of the wall, of a couch or other piece of furnishings, going up a staircase, or pretty much anyplace else.

Pick the Art You Need to Consist of

A gallery wall gives you a risk to make a declaration about who you’re and what you like. Your gallery is a first-rate manner to report and tell a tale of your travels and reports, display pix of family contributors through the years, display Artwork you’ve got gathered, show hand-drawn (framed) illustrations, contain metallic or wood items you have gathered, and much extra.

Blend it all Together

Introduce numerous exceptional materials and textures. Break up framed Artwork with timber Art, mental symptoms and even herbal factors along with feathers, branches, observed objects, and so on. Have a laugh the usage of your imagination.

Blend artwork and photographs, black and white with coloration, and high and low pieces. Gallery walls can consist of your favored portions of Art, artwork, the circle of relatives pictures, trinkets from trips, metal or timber items, and lots greater. If you’re seeking out objects to fill your gallery, go to flea markets, storage sales, thrift shops, Etsy, consignment stores, your grandmother’s house, antique shops, and different places of the hobby. Enjoy the hunt.

Frame It

Similarly to the Artwork you Select, keep in mind of the frames that highlight the Artwork. For an easy, formal, and minimalist look, Choose frames inside the same length and color. For a more eclectic look, Mix and in shape image frames so it seems which you’ve gathered the Artwork over time. In case you log on you may locate many framing opportunities which are a long way less highly-priced than going to and framing keep. You could discover thrilling vintage frames at flea markets, vintage stores, and backyard income.

Tip: If you have an unpleasant object on the wall (including the container for door chimes, why now not positioned a Body round it to include it in the gallery.

Provide you with a Game Plan

Once you have all of the Artwork you Want to Encompass, keep in mind that placement is the whole thing. Don’t simply begin placing. Right here are a few hints for arising with a clever wall:

Degree the amount of wall area you Need to fill. Then tape off a section that length on the floor. Set up, re-Set up, and rearrange once more the whole thing you Need to dangle until you Come up with the gallery wall that you are feeling seems great. Once you’re glad for the association, take some pix for reference. Or reduce out paper the exact sizes of your Artwork and tape the cutouts to the wall. Then grasp your Artwork one item at a time.

Why Energy Drinks Can Trigger Panic Attacks

Thousands and thousands of us citizens every day along with teens and adults are getting all hyped up from power liquids every day. It’s come to be a fad around the world and its hip and funky to drink strength drinks irrespective of what time of day. Children and adults aren’t only investing electricity beverages for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, however, they are also drinking power drinks at events as properly.

With Kids, the higher the attention of caffeine and different stimulants the more famous those beverages come to be. Lamentably quite a few Youngsters don’t realize that it may motive them to have panic assaults. For that count number, loads of adults do not know that either. They don’t have any concept why they once in a while experience the manner they do after consuming power drinks.

They can begin feeling extraordinarily “amped up” with hot flashes which can be ripping via their bodies caused by the adrenal gland secreting adrenaline at some point of their frame. They’ll begin feeling a tightness of their chest and a choking sensation that they cannot breathe correctly.

Their coronary heart will begin racing abnormally excessive and might even pass a beat or two causing extra worry to tear thru their frame and they do not understand what’s going on to themselves. Panic attacks caused via power beverages also can purpose now not best physical symptoms, however mental symptoms as well. Emotions of unreality or an intense feeling of coming near doom or demise are quite not unusual with panic attacks.

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Excellent Tips About Gold That Are Easy To Follow

TIP! If you intend to convert your gold jewelry into cash, you’ll have to choose between selling it as jewelry or for the “melt” value of the gold it contains. Most private sellers and pawn brokers are only willing to pay melt value for gold jewelry.

Gold trading has turned into one of the most popular investments. Much of this has been spurred on by the unpredictable economic times of recent years. Global markets have been on shaky ground. To make money in gold, however, takes some education and experience. It takes some forethought. Read on for some excellent tips that will help you get the most from gold.

TIP! Do your research before selling gold. Look to see what others are asking for when it comes to similar prices.

Gold bars are the most economical choice for investment purposes. There are numerous sizes available. They start at a mere half-ounce, but also rise as high as four-hundred ounces. If the 400-ounce bars interest you, you’re going to have a hard time finding them.

TIP! An inexpensive and simple way to see if an item is gold is with a regular household magnet. Real gold won’t stick to a magnet.

Realize that any piece that contains gold can be sold to a buyer. For example, you might sell home accent pieces, dinnerware, and old or broken rings and necklaces. Nor does it have to be 100% pure gold. Items with partial gold content, gold plating, or gold mixtures may still be valuable. You still stand to make a fair amount of money selling it.

TIP! Research all that you can before you invest in gold. Some people may try to trick you so you invest money with their company.

When considering mailing your gold away for sale, be certain you know how much return mail will cost should you change your mind. A lot of buyers offer free shipping but will charge you a lot to send the item back. Be certain you know exactly what those fees will be.

TIP! Be sure to check the credentials of all gold buyers, jewelry stores and dealers with the Better Business Bureau. The BBB’s website will share any negative reports made against a company through the BBB’s service.

You need to only sell your gold to buyers that are licensed. This does not prevent you from getting scammed, but a licensed buyer probably has a better reputation. There are quite a few vendors that will purchase gold, so never go into it thinking you’ve got to sell your gold to the first seller you talk to.

TIP! There are many options available to individuals looking to purchase gold as an investment. Stocks in gold mining or gold based mutual funds are two such alternatives.

If you don’t want to worry about storing, shipping and insuring your gold, consider buying GoldMoney instead. It is akin to establishing a bank account in which you deposit gold. You will simply establish and account, deposit fund and receive the value of your account in gold. Your gold sits in a vault until you decide what you wish to do with it next.

TIP! Gold should be separated by karat weight before sale. Don’t allow the dealer to rip you off by pricing all the gold at the least pure karat weight.

Don’t avoid searching antique shops or thrift stores for gold. These places can be treasure troves for gold hunters. Many people donate or sell to these places at low prices because they don’t know what they own. You stand to gain a great deal if you come armed with a bit of research.

TIP! You can actually sell your gold through the mail! Many sellers like this process because it is simple. The company will send a bag for your jewelry and once they receive it back in the mail, they will send you a check.

Use a magnet to determine if an item is made of gold. Gold and other precious metals are non-ferrous, so they won’t be attracted to a magnet. Sometimes it’s the clasp that is gold, while the rest is only gold-plated. A magnet can help test jewelry quickly.

TIP! Gold is often volatile even though it can be a good investment. Steer clear of this investment if you are easily stressed.

If you are selling gold pieces you own, keep pieces of different karats separated. Don’t allow the dealer to rip you off by pricing all the gold at the least pure karat weight. They will rip you off. So keep each piece separated to ensure you get the most you can.

TIP! Know what you want before you invest in gold. Gold is a great hedge against economic instability and inflation, but it can be a volatile investment.

Many people find the idea of investing in gold thrilling. But, as often times happens, a lack of understanding can lead a lot of people to not realizing the full potential of gold trading. It is hoped that this article has helped you learn how to reap more benefits when it comes to gold investments.