#Modern Writing

[vivsinkpot]

Freytag’s Triangle: Classic Plot Structure in a Modern World

If you’ve ever studied storytelling, you’ve probably come across Freytag’s Triangle — a classic way to map out the plot of a story. But is it still relevant today? And how can you use it without feeling boxed in? Let’s dive in!

🔺 What Is Freytag’s Triangle?

Created by 19th-century German playwright Gustav Freytag, the triangle breaks down a story into five key parts:

Exposition – Introduce characters, setting, and background

Rising Action – Build conflict and tension

Climax – The story’s turning point, biggest conflict

Falling Action – Consequences of the climax unfold

Denouement/Resolution – Loose ends tie up, story concludes

This structure was originally used to analyse classic tragedies and dramas — think Shakespeare, Greek plays, or 19th-century novels.

⏳ Is It Still Relevant in Modern Storytelling?

Yes and no. Freytag’s Triangle is a useful tool, not a rulebook. Here’s why:

Why It Helps:

It gives you a clear roadmap to pacing and tension, especially if you’re new to plotting.

Many popular stories — from thrillers to romances — still loosely follow this arc because it reflects how we naturally process conflict and resolution.

It’s great for traditional narratives with a clear beginning, middle, and end.

Why It Limits:

Modern stories often experiment with non-linear timelines, multiple perspectives, or open endings that don’t fit neatly into the triangle.

Some genres (literary fiction, slice-of-life, experimental) focus more on mood, character, or theme rather than a tight plot arc.

Over-relying on it can make stories feel predictable or formulaic.

🎨 Using Freytag’s Triangle Creatively

You don’t have to follow it rigidly! Here’s how to use Freytag’s Triangle in more abstract or modern ways:

Flip the triangle — Start with the climax and then explore what led there (think In medias res).

Multiple triangles — For stories with several plotlines, map out mini-arcs for each character or subplot.

Soft arcs — Instead of a big climax, focus on emotional or thematic “turning points” that aren’t as dramatic but still give a sense of movement.

Fragmented structure — Use flashbacks, unreliable narrators, or nonlinear timelines that loosely echo the triangle’s beats but aren’t bound by them.

✏️ Final Thoughts

Freytag’s Triangle is a classic storytelling compass — great for understanding structure and tension — but it’s not the only way to tell a story. Use it as a guide, a starting point, or even something to play with and subvert. Your story’s shape should fit your creative vision, not the other way around.

[pyx3l]

| i. A Fleeting Sense.

“𝐹𝑜𝑟 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑠 𝑎𝑠 𝑚𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑎𝑠 𝐼 𝑑𝑖𝑑, 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑚𝑎𝑧𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑜𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑓𝑎𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑚𝑒.”

Michael Emilio Aldene & Whitley Clarke Reeves.

01 . Encounter One

When two lonely people meet, they cling to one another for dear life. 

Michael Emilio Aldene, a 29-year-old fashion editor, is notorious for his critical and unswerving reviews. He believes fashion is an extension of his soul and emotions. An artist who cannot invoke authenticity has no place in couture. His magazine spreads could make or break an entire brand. His approval was one of the few that mattered. Despite his high-end disposition, Michael wasn’t always so refined. This was a raunchy bar for such a high-end person. 

What was the Michael Aldene doing at such a trashy place as this?  

He leaned into the counter and waved a delicate hand at the bartender. As he made his way toward Michael, he smiled and pushed his drink toward him, silently asking for a refill. Something was entrancing, maybe the way he held himself, or perhaps the way he stood out from the room. He watched as the mixologist got to work fervently on his drink, with the relaxation in his posture, Michael could tell he enjoyed his job. Head in hand, and fingers twirling in the man's hair. It was obvious the boredom had struck.

After this drink, Michael figured he would wrap the night up and mark it as unproductive. 

"Double it and put that on my tab," a deep voice stated as he neared Michael, sitting in the once-empty barstool beside him. “I’ll take some as well.” 

Michael's head shot over, and cocked to the side as he scanned who'd be paying for his tab tonight. It was a pleasant surprise to find a tall, well-built man in a suit, dressed just as nicely as himself. That watch on his wrist was screaming money, too. A grin pulled at the corner of Michael’s lips. It wasn’t often he was approached in scenes like this. When they did, they couldn’t keep up with his standards and were sure to remind him of his snobbish attitude. So this piece of work was a pleasant surprise. Michael always had something for an older man in a suit. Especially the way this man in particular looked. Long dark hair slicked back, a few strands falling loosely to drape over his face. A nose so sittable, Michael couldn’t stand it. Eyes so calm and charming, he could dream forever. And somehow, those brown and black glasses were the cherry on top. He was a bit attracted. No, that was a lie; he was extremely attracted to this stranger. 

Finally, the clink of Michael's refill hitting the bar knocked him out of the trance. With a small flinch, Michael came back to see the man with a generous smile on his face. "Are you gonna keep staring, or are we gonna say hi?" The stranger teased, and Michael could feel his face going red. His hand, which was once holding his head, was now covering his face as he looked away. 

He tensed up, being called out for just staring. Wrapping his fingers around the shot glass, Michael side-eyed the figure next to him and downed the shot before turning his head to observe him again. “Thank you, err-” 

"Whitley," the man introduced himself with a nod, and called for a drink. 

Whitley Clarke Reeves, a wealthy, simple man. Michael knew nothing about him yet, but he was well-known across town. There were no rings on his fingers, and that entailed a mighty fine opportunity. Whatever Whitley wanted from Michael, he could have it, right then and there if he wanted it. Michael was simple; when it came to an attractive man, he was ready to feast. There was nothing wrong with indulging yourself in things such as romance or erotica, but something about it made it hard for the man to breathe. He needed to get his mind out of the gutter. 

Michael smiled cheek to cheek and scratched his head nervously, clenching his empty shot glass. He felt so warm inside, and butterflies were dying to burst from his stomach. "Mia," the boy lied, and leaned into the company. It wasn’t a full lie, at least. He had given the man a nickname, for privacy’s sake. Michael didn’t need a scandal before he got the chance to see him naked. He licked his lips, 

Tonight just got less boring. 

“So, Whitely, what brings you here tonight?” 

“I’m a regular, I suppose,” 

“Right,” he laughed. “It’s hard to believe that.''

“Heh. It’s nostalgia. Reminds me of Italy.” Whitley responded, finger training the rim of his empty shot glass.

The bartender breezed by, dropping four fresh shots of their choice before removing the previous glasses. Whitley’s bottle of whiskey was left as requested. He pulled his shot glass in and pushed the tequila shots toward Michael with a soft grin. His aged features were god-awfully enticing. Every wrinkle and every gray hair only made Michael curious about what he had been through. Even if it was age, he loved stories from strangers. Whitley was a silver fox and it made Michael hot and bothered. It had been a long time since Michael had felt butterflies in his stomach. If he remembered correctly, it had been well over a decade. With his job and personal leisure, he had no time. Nor could he truly relate or feel comfortable. 

“Oh?” Mia cooed with intrigue. “That would explain the accent.” 

A deep laugh escaped Whitley’s stomach. “I attended a private boarding school in Italy for ten years. I didn’t pick up the accent until high school, surprisingly. My family moved here for a better life.” 

“Well, looks like we share something in common. My mom is from the Dominican Republic. She moved here after she met my dad at one of his international charity events.” 

Whitley chuckled wholeheartedly, lifting his shot. “Cheers to that.” 

Michael lifted his glass to Whitley’s, the glasses clasping together as liquid splashed about before the two threw them back and cleared their first round. Michael had a soda on hand to sip after his shots, since he didn’t appreciate the taste of liquor. He just enjoyed the fuzzy feeling that occurred throughout his body. Whitley, on the other hand, was drinking whiskey like water. What were the odds that a well-kept man would be an alcoholic? Hell, Michael couldn’t say much. If that was his vice, so be it. It was far better than other options. 

Truth be told, Michael wasn’t just drunk. He was high off his ass. The man’s vice was a needle, and it always had been. Drinking was just a way to keep himself out of the house. In bars like these, no one recognized him. No one would shame such a classy figure for falling into ruin. His addiction wasn’t new, nor was it erratic. After well more than a decade, he’d learnt to manage himself. There was a balance between work and his ‘peace.’ Michael had to have a stable income to support his needs, after all. There was no other way to maintain a habit without having the necessary funding. Sure, his job wasn’t all that, but hell, if the internet didn’t love hot gossip. 

“Do you like gay bars?” Mia asked shamelessly, anticipating a response of disappointment. 

Whitley took a breath, and his eyebrows furrowed in thought as if he were trying to recall something. He scratched at his chin and, after a while, looked down at Michael with a surprised expression.

“I can’t say that I have been to one– but I certainly run that way.”

Michael grinned. “I’d hope so,” he said. “There’s one across the block from here, but it’s more of a club. I think tonight is leather night.”

Whitley couldn’t help but chuckle a bit at the man’s knowledge about the club. He leaned in, but only briefly, to push his shot glass forward. “Let’s go there. I have all night. If you want to, that is.” 

Michael’s breath was taken away in an instant, and from here forward, this man would haunt his thoughts. The smell of fine whiskey, soft cologne, and dry-cleaned linen lingered the closer he got. Something about it made him look even better. He smiled with excitement at Whitley before he grabbed the shot glass. Michael was quick to chase it with his soda and watched as Whitley took back the whiskey as if it were water. He tapped the bar to signal the server and handed a sleek silver card to close out his tab, along with Michael’s. He didn’t ask, and Michael didn’t think it was worth trying to fight it. Plus, he couldn’t lie and say it didn’t feel good to be treated. 

They hurried out of the bar to make their way to the Dollhouse, which Michael was sure to talk about on the way there. It was a promiscuous queer club that Michael had bartended his way through college for. It made more sense now why he knew immediately what day it was, given their schedule hadn’t changed in almost a decade. Michael left no detail out, from coworkers to raunchy customers he dealt with regularly. Normally, it wasn’t his first suggestion for a gay bar. Hell, it wasn’t a bar at all. The Dollhouse was a club, and it wasn’t one for your average person. Michael was almost worried he was going to send Whitley into a warzone. But they couldn’t keep their hands off each other once they got there. Between them and all the leather, the aura of the club was as humid as ever.  Sweat poured off all the members like it was their liquor. There was no shame, and it seemed Whitley was enjoying it more than anyone in that room. Their lips were numb from drunk kisses that lingered between sexually tense dancing. Michael was a tease, but Whitley wasn’t impatient or quick to make any move. 

That was when Michael had the “best” mistake. Calling it an idea made him sound less irrational. 

At some point, they had wound up in the men’s bathroom. If Michael hadn’t thought of something better than sex, he might have just gone through with it. However, he felt something different, and a part of him wanted to go about things another way. Perhaps this time, he would. 

“I want to show you something,” he said, pulling away from Whitley’s lips and dragging him out of the bathroom stall, who was still stunned and processing what was happening. 

“Where are we going now?” He asked as Michael held tightly to his hand, leading him out of the club and back onto the dark sidewalks. 

“You’ll see!” Michael giggled, turning back to Whitley with the biggest smile in the world. It would become a core memory that would stick with Whitley. Michael just looked so beautiful in that moment, under the moonlight, and soaked in sweat. He seemed so excited to get to wherever they were going, so Whitley silently followed along, just happy to be there. For once, he felt alive. That was worth more than anything at a time like this. 

Michael, the dumbass in question, had brought Whitley to the rooftop of his apartment complex. It was a shitty office building that had been converted to fit a few apartments. The quality of the entire building wasn’t great, and the price was something you couldn’t beat, nor was the view. You could see the lake, the bridge, and the city lights from every corner. Both the clubs they had traveled to were starting to die down, and the dark sky was beginning to light up. Michael’s smile never died down, nor did he let go of Whitley’s hand. They stood on the roof of the apartment building watching morning make its way across California. There weren’t many words said as the sun made its way above the buildings, but none were truly needed. Even if Michael didn’t remember it in the morning, for now, he cherished the fact that Whitley didn’t even care about watching the sun rise. He had just watched Michael’s expressions the entire time. There was something about this man that was going to drive him crazy. 

“As much as I’d love to spend forever with you, Mia, I have to be in the office at seven,” Whitley finally whispered, almost disappointed that they had to return to ordinary lives after such an experience. “Could I see you again?” 

“I can give you my number and you can call me anytime. Let’s catch the bus, it runs in thirty minutes and you’ll still have an hour or two. Sorry for keeping you up all night,” he giggled, beginning to make their way down the building. 

Even though he had brought Whitley here, he wasn’t exactly happy about it now that he was coming off the drugs. A man of Whitley’s status would not want to be caught dead near Michael if he knew what he was. Michael was fully aware of that. Most people steered clear of him once they found out about his habits. He was unreliable and reclusive when he wasn’t the life of the party. 

“No-no. If every night is like this with you, Mia, I’m happy to accompany you. Is it sad that it was probably the most comfortable I’ve ever been in my life?” He asked, laughing as if to take away from the pain. It was clear he had much to think about now. 

“Not at all. Sometimes people blossom at different stages. That’s just how it works,” Mia said, sitting down under the bus stop. “I’m glad you felt comfortable. I was worried such a strong introduction would intimidate you. It’s not always like that.” 

Whitley took place right beside Michael, even throwing an arm around him and closing the gap in space. Without a second thought, Michael’s head rested on Whitley’s shoulder. They were both exhausted and yet driven with adrenaline and lust; they had partied until daybreak together. Two smiles on their faces wouldn't have been forgotten if they had been seen. Two fingers encased themselves in Michael’s hair, losing themselves in the coils and following their shape. Whitley was quiet, more often than not. Michael liked that. It wasn’t often someone just wanted to listen, even if he didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t very talkative either, ironically. Maybe it was the presence. 

Michael’s eyes felt so heavy, he could hardly stand it. The bus would be here soon, there’s no way he’d sleep through that noise. Closing them for a while wouldn’t be the end of the world. 

writer's notes

well, I've gone off and done it again! This is the start/continuation of a fleeting sense, the unprogressive love story of Michael Aldene. Michael is a self-insert that I've loved and cherished for almost a decade now. he's by far the easiest character to write for me, although the genre isnt my specialty. please enjoy the story that's been cooped up in my head for years, and be gentle. posting writing publicly is scary!!! but i love sharing my thoughts.

06/08/2025, 1:04pm ~ pyx <3

[ahewlettwrites]

MASTERLIST

(header & dividers by by @saradika-graphics)

The Boss's Daughter

Coming Home

I'll Be Waiting

The Long Walk Home

Secrets of Willowridge

There You Are

[menandwomanofhistory]

John Steinbeck

[fipindustries]

I cannot stand the parodies of modern major general, they're overdone and simply not as good as the original. They've done them about everything, whatever topic, big or small.

And when i notice one of them my eyes will always start to roll.

The diction's always slurry when they rush the complicated words, and adding many fricatives will turn it so cacophonous. The slanted rhymes are silly and they keep just making more and more, please someone stop the parodies of modern major general.

The scanning of the lyrics in the meter is unbearable, they emphazise the syllables in ways that are untenable, in short in matters musical, prosodic and ephemeral, i cannot stand the parodies of modern major general!

[crookedtines]

I finally took the time to photograph my vintage dip pen nib collection, and I need to share with you all how wonderful and diverse their designs are.

These two are my favorite. Just look at them! One of them is named Gorille and the other Mephisto, but to me they're little pumpkins.

And of course you gotta love the Pinocchio nib. You get to write with the nose of a tiny guy! Just not something you get to do anymore.

[ontheothersideofthehill]

2018

https://www.nytimes.com/2018/08/13/books/review-playing-changes-jazz-new-century-nate-chinen.html

https://www.washingtonpost.com/entertainment/books/how-the-internet-transformed-contemporary-jazz/2018/08/14/7ff7635a-9a50-11e8-b60b-1c897f17e185_story.html

[chasewritesonstuffandthings]

Analyzing Dragon Age: The Veilguard's Story Flaws

I recently played through the latest installment of the Dragon Age franchise; The Veilguard. I have a few thoughts – as does the rest of the internet. The game was released only a few weeks ago at the time of this writing, and at the time of this writing, the critical and fan reviews are in. Critical reviews are no surprise to anyone that’s ever looked at a critical review. Every game is always…

[sidollie]

༉‧₊˚. Simon Riley letting reader use him cw// ᴍᴅɴɪ, age gap that's legal? (simon in his early 40's and reader in her mid 20's), heavy somnophilia, creampies

𐙚 Simon Riley never denied his sweet little girl, he gave her everything she ever wanted. You started your periods and needed him to stay home wanting cuddles and kisses? He's calling the captain for a urgent leave. You want him to wear the matching promise rings everywhere? He's being questioned and teased at the base by the sergeants. Want that expensive diamond necklace that you just glanced at? He's purchasing it without a question. Wishing to go to Paris for a romantic getaway? Everything's booked swee'heart just look pretty f'me.

So how could he say no to you when you said you wanted to try somno but you wanted to reverse the roles and get him to sleep while you fucked yourself stupid on his fat cock. He was getting old now, barely being able to keep up with his lovely birdie's high libido like he used to but he still keeps her little cunt fully filled and satisfied.

And here he was, out cold in the sheets just in his sweatpants with his bulge hard and ready for you. You stare at his bare chest that was filled with scars and healed bullet wounds, your admiration and respect for him raising high. You softly breathed out, tracing his scars for a moment your lip between your teeth.

You leaned down and started to lick them with your tongue as you left hot open mouthed kisses he always left on you. You move slowly, carefully pulling down his sweatpants trying not to wake him up as you straddle his hips. His fat cock is already hard , thick and the sheer weight of it is weighing it down against his stomach, begging for your attention. You watch in fascination as his red mushroom tip leaks precum, making it seem like it's almost angry. You run your fingers over the underside, watching his cock twitch to life.

You sink down onto him with a low moan as your whole body shudders at the delicious stretch of your tight cunt. You can feel him deep like this, brushing against your cervix as you whimper out feeling already filled to the brim. You feel him groan beneath you, his hips lifting on instinct but he's still not awake.You start riding him slowly rolling your hips lazily, his large pecs anchors for you tiny hands as you use his fat thick cock to chase your release. You watch him through half lidded eyes, feeling tears build as you try hard not to moan loudly.

You pick up your pace, the bedroom echoing with the slick sounds of your wet cunt being pounded by his hard dick. He grunts lowly, his brows contracting as you clench around him, your tight cunt milking him for all he's worth

"Oh fuck! dovie w-wha'?"

He let's out another groan, his gruff sleepy voice making you drip more onto his cock as he thrusts into you purely on instinct hitting your gooey spot. His head falls back on the bed again, as you keep moving fucking yourself harder now, bouncing on his fat cock while he stares up at you, dazed and wrecked letting you do whatever you want.

"ngh, si-simon? You ah like it when I-"

You mouth falls open in a silent scream as his rough fingers found your throbbing clit, pinching and tugging on it roughly to pull an orgasm from you. His other calloused hand snap to your hips, his grip bruising as he helped you ride him. Rugged moans and grunts falling from his throat.

“c-cum in me s-si, need to feel you!”

"shit lovie, cl-clench around ma cock"

He groans your name like a sacred prayer when he finally spills deep inside your fertile little womb, flooding it with his hot seed. You whimper and cum around him, his cock covered in your mixed fluids , as your body fell forward on his. But he doesn't really have any plans for stopping as he grabs your hips roughly and fiips you over on your stomach as he drives his still hard cock in your filled little cunt.

"gosh swee'heart, 'm not gonna stop till yer lil cunnie is overflowing with ma seed"

@sidollie

༉‧₊˚. masterlist

[presepohne]

Johnathan Price fucking you while he makes you recite your wedding vows all over again because you were being a brat and telling him how you hate him.

@cupidsworstcrime 's version

[the-palelady]

it’s hard for simon to focus on anything other than the way water glides down the expanse of your softened hips, your curves swaying with each move you make.

the man is literally drooling when you bend over to place your bar of soap back where it belongs, breasts bouncing, glistening in the lights of the bathroom when you straighten. residual soap drifts down your arms, legs, the top of your chest, down the planes of your round tummy.

and it’s when you turn that simon realizes you’ll be the death of him.

he knew this from the beginning of course, honeyed eyes watching the curl of your lips when you first graced him with your smile, the sun peaking out from behind the darkest of clouds.

but it’s now, you standing here swollen with his child, that he feels those rain clouds disperse. the final puzzle piece sliding into place.

you turned, eyebrows raised in question as simon looks down at you, his eyes mimicking that of a man starved.

“si? is everything alright?”

he was sure he looked like an idiot, smirking down at you in such a boyish way while he placed his hands at the dip of your hips, one hand snaking down to squeeze the plump of your ass. he was met with a squeak and a playful smack to his arm as you leaned into him, breasts flattening against his chest.

he didn’t mean for his voice to sound so full of hunger, but it was hard when you looked up at him under those fluttering lashes of yours.

“s’nothin’, mama. just thinkin’ ‘bout what i want for dinner tonight.”

[menandwomanofhistory]

John Ashbury

[literatureonthepage]

1987

[thedovesaredying]

Imagine Alpha!Simon, much like all unmated alphas in the military, receives a scent package to help during his rut. It's a simple blanket that has been thoroughly scented by an omega and while normally it doesn't really work for him, this newest blanket smells simply divine. He's salivating and panting the moment the sealed plastic bag is opened and the scent is released, but rather than calming his frazzled alpha, it only makes him desperate to track down the omega it belongs to.

It's almost laughably easy to find out which centre the blanket was distributed from, and from there he only needs to stake out the area for a few days until you to make an appearance. What should have been a simple, anonymous job to earn a bit of cash on the side is turned completely on its head the moment you try to leave.

Simon's here to claim what belongs to him, and he isn't the kind of alpha who likes to share with the rest of the world.

[somnambuletta]

simon loves it when you get your nails done. it’s a simple thing, really— a frivolous indulgence in pinks and sparkles, something that might not mean much to anyone else; but to simon, it’s everything. the moment you step through that door, the world slows just for him, and his gaze snaps to your hands, a hunger in his eyes that doesn’t belong in a man like him. it’s the gleam in your nails that pulls him in, drawing him closer than anything else ever could. (moth to a flame, with the exception being, a flamingo inferno)

he’s kicked back in his chair, uncouth danger, and akimbo angles, looking like a man who’d crush you in his arms without a second thought. his build, thick and powerful, is like steel; unbending. but you? you walk in with the sweet glitter of freshly done nails, and in an instant, the walls around him crumble.

he rises from his chair—abruptly, like he can’t stay seated another second—and your smile catches in his chest. his large hands, usually so firm, so purposeful, tremble just a little when they reach for you. he holds your hand like it’s something sacred.

"let me see 'em," he grumbles, brogue deep and gravelly, more of a plea than a command. he wants to drink you in, to trace every inch of those nails, because he knows each tiny detail was chosen by you. he doesn’t say it, but he adores how they glint with the tiniest hint of rebellion— your rebellion, soft yet fierce, glittering beneath the surface. reminds him of all the times you'd sassed him, sweet-tone bent with a laughable stamp of attitude.

your nails are a galaxy of pink, gemstones catching the light, each shimmer a reason for him to love you more. but it’s that one, that one sweet "s" on your ring finger—pink and delicate, like it’s been kissed by the very breath of spring— that makes him lose his mind. he studies it like it's the most precious thing in the world, his brows furrowed, jaw tight, a low rumble rising in his chest as he presses a kiss to it, reverent.

"..that’s mine," he mutters under his breath, as though it’s the most sacred truth he’s ever spoken. there’s a possessiveness there, sure, but it’s tender, wrapped in a softness you never expected from a man like him. the world could burn around you both, but in this moment, simon riley only has eyes for the pink "s" that reminds him you’re his. completely, utterly his.

he brushes a thumb over your ring finger, over the little "s" that makes his heart beat faster, and his voice drops lower—softer now, filled with something that feels almost like reverence.

"you’re mine, yeah? no one else’s. just mine."

yeah. yeah, you're his.

[bunny-jpeg]

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ i like my men older - simon riley♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

you knew that your friends from school raised an eyebrow when you told them that you were dating a man almost double your age. you were in your twenties, while this 'simon' guy was close to fifty. you told them that he was an army man who had a gooey center for you.

your friends could see the upgrade in your laptop and the new knapsack with a logo that proclaimed it was expensive. the small chain around your neck with a 's' on it that you toyed with when they asked questions about him.

you looked happy, healthier even! you weren't eating minute meals and surviving off of black coffee. there was a little roundness to your cheeks now and you looked more alive. a glow to you that wasn't that while you trudged through your graduate program. so honestly, how could they complain?

if you had a glow to you, it was because you were often fucked out. most women your age through that dating an older man would mean having to go slow. be patient about technical difficulties regarding their cocks. that was what you expected from a man that old. especially one with aches and pains like simon. your poor si, he had been in the military his entire life. barely had the touch of a woman during that time! poor guy! of course you'll teach him all the ways a woman should please a man. the first time you ran your tongue on the underside of his cock he cam all over your head, and while you whined. it made you crazy hot. fucking simon was like fucking a live wire. he hadn't slowed down with age. he fucked like a stallion in breeding season. and he loved when he pulled his heavy cock into you. you once told him that he could be a cervix breaker. and he simply said, "well, if i break it... i can't breed it." which made you go slack jaw for a moment before he continued to rut up against you. you didn't expect a man of his age to have a breeding kink.

you practically begged your doctor to give you birth control, because he was not buying condoms. "don't fit in 'em, lovie." he said as he patted his clothed cock when you started dating. you knew that was impossible, condoms could fit a lot of things and while simon was fairly big. he could fit in a condom. but, no. when you tried to put them on yourself, he simply took it off, tossed it to the side and pinned you under his heavy weight. legs in the air as he rutted against you like a hungry animal.

he was so much bigger than you. wide shoulders, strong thighs and a bit of a gut to keep you folded under him. there was a masculine heft to him. he was strong, picking you up was easy to him even when you tried to tell him your weight. one time he gripped you by the waist with one arm and moved you out of the way. you kicked and squeaked as you were moved. but to simon it was easy as lifting heavy equipment. but that softness to some of his muscles really got you hot all over. it didn't help that part of your role as his girlfriend was to make sure that your man was fed. you cooked him meals and he over devoured in your sweet dessert. he loved you in an apron. all domestic and sweet for him. you were real wifey material. could easily be cooking meals for him and the kids in a few years. you can have a graduate degree and a few riley babies. "look good cookin' for me, darlin'. know how to make a proper meal for your man." you wouldn't admit but his words excited you.

simon can be a little... chauvinistic. it was just his age. while he respected female colleagues in the military and was beyond happy that you were getting your degree. he'd do things for you that you could clearly do on your own. like when you tried to fix the leaky tap in your flat. or when you try to carry all the groceries inside. yes, darling, you're a strong woman. but let him take over. take care of you. that was what a man did right? he'll cut the onions for you and try to fix your buggy wi-fi connection. he's pay for dinner every time and even get you dessert after. he'd wipe your face clear of the sweet treat you'd have. "don't ask her anything too difficult, johnny. she doesn't need to be thinkin' too hard." he once said with his hands over your ears and glared at his teammate. which only made the scotsman laugh. simon didn't mind if he had to take over. he'd never pull the rug out from under you, even when you were under him. you looked prettier under him, letting him take charge of your fucking. he took care of his girl, even when you whined and told him you were capable. there was no need to whine. simon needed to take care of his much smaller, much weaker baby girl. no need to break a nail trying to do stuff that simon could easily do for you.

even with the grey in his blond hair, he still kept up to you. there were times that you were too exhausted from day-to-day that you let simon rut between your thighs until he covered your round ass with his hot cum. you'd whimper which would turn into a yelp when he easily slipped his heavy cock into your sweet pussy. where it belonged. he fucked you heavily as his cum coated your behind, even trailing down your sloped back as you had your head in the covers.

"don't spill a drop off that pretty ass, baby girl. or else i'd might have to mark you again." thank god you liked your men older. <3