miscellaneousmeditations

[miscellaneousmeditations]

Our evening

A gift from my pet

Chapter XX: Dinner & Dessert

As we sit to eat dinner together, we take a short reprieve from the sub/dom play to simply enjoy each other’s company. We talk about our weeks, our theories for the latest show we’re watching, take turns going on nerdy rants, and laugh at inside jokes together in between bites of food. Occasionally the conversation shifts to what we both enjoyed so far about today in between sips of wine, but for the most part the conversation remains largely wholesome. It would be a slightly odd sight if someone were to walk in on us in this moment: the two of us laughing and chatting together over dinner while I sit wearing nothing but a skimpy maid apron and collar, and you sit without any panties in nothing but a corset. But despite the juxtaposition between our outfits and our actions, or perhaps even because of them, it makes the dinner feel all the more romantic knowing that only we are getting to share this experience together. This moment is ours, and nobody else’s.

The candles have gotten a bit lower by the time both our plates and our wineglasses are empty. I feel a warm, tipsy buzz bouncing throughout my body from the wine as I stare dreamily into your eyes. As you swallow your last bite, you let out a satisfied sigh and praise, “Dinner was absolutely delicious! Thanks for serving it to me, my pet” Like a switch getting flipped, my sub nickname lets me know that our play is about to resume, and I feel myself warming up in anticipation. 

My tongue feels tingly from the wine as I reply, “Thank you so much, Mistress, I’m glad you thought so! But I think you look even more delicious right now…”

You raise an eyebrow, a devilish scheme brewing. “Which parts of me look so delicious, pet?” 

“All of you,” I reply with genuine honesty and wonder. You look so beautiful right now behind the flicker of the candlelight. 

With a smirk, you pull your chair back from the table. With a gesture, you order me to approach you on all fours. I crawl towards you, the path from my end of the table to yours feeling terribly long. As I finally reach your chair and look up at you, I can see you smiling down at me, pleased. You reach down a hand and start petting my head gently, the simultaneous humiliation and praise setting off fireworks of happiness in my brain. I feel myself beaming with pride over having pleased you. I’m so lost in your smiling face and soft touch that I almost don’t even notice you spreading your legs until you stop stroking me and rest your hand gently on my head.

At eye level, I finally notice how wet you truly are. You still aren’t wearing any panties, so a sizable puddle of your juices have started to form on the leather seat of the dining room chair. I’m about to lean my face forward to clean you up, when I feel your hand stop my head from coming closer.

I look up at you with pouting, hungry eyes, like I didn’t just eat a delicious meal and was a starving yet again. You simply smile and begin stroking the side of my face, “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you pet? You truly think all of me looks delicious?” 

“Yes, Goddess!” I answer gleefully. 

Your grin widens, you were planning this all along. “Prove it.” I feel my head thrust downward until I’m eye-level with your foot “Prove to me just how delicious you find your Goddess, first. If you do a good enough job convincing me, then maybe you’ll earn a chance to taste my more special parts for dessert.”

We both soak in the humiliating scene as I start kissing and licking your bare foot. Foot fetish isn’t really either of our things and we both know that. This is about power. This is about you showing me my place. Both this honor and anything above it is a privilege only offered to me by the grace of my Goddess. As I feel myself getting hard, as if reading my mind, I hear you say “And I know I don’t have to tell such a good boy like yourself, but no touching yourself until I say so. Okay pet?” There’s a certain predatory growl to your voice. Perhaps it’s the wine, or perhaps it’s just the arousal building ever higher within you, but I feel myself getting drunk off it all the same. If I listen closely, I start to hear the subtle squishing sounds of you playing with yourself as you stare down at me. You resume petting my head, this time with your other foot, rather than your hands. Bending over to pet me with your hands is beneath you right now, even if your hands weren’t busy elsewhere. 

“Switch sides” you order, and without skipping a beat I obey. My vision is cast downward, dutifully obeying my Goddess’s orders, so I can’t say for certain, but I imagine you biting your lip as you stare down at me debasing myself just to prove my devotion to you. 

To mix things up, you interrupt my licking to start wiping the saliva off your feet by rubbing it back into my face. Using your feet, you angle my face to look back up at you. My face is flush and I have a glazed over look in my eyes that unmistakably light up when our eyes meet. You’re so focused on getting yourself off that you don’t say it out loud, but you can’t help but think I look kind of beautiful with my face covered in saliva and the leftover filth from walking around the house barefoot all day: so pitiful, but so… right. You feel yourself growing even wetter… 

All of a sudden I feel myself pushed back. At first I’m afraid I’ve displeased you, but then a heady “Good boy” coming from above puts me at ease. You stand up from your chair and kneel down beside me. I feel my heart start to flutter from your presence. “I still think you have a bit more work to do in order to prove that you truly meant what you said,” you whisper softly into my ear, “but I’m a kind Goddess, so I think devotion like that deserves a mini treat.” I feel your hand rest on my back. Your hand feels wet, and it takes me a short moment to realize that it is the same hand you were using to touch yourself. You guide me over to the seat once more, and I can now see that the once-small puddle of arousal has grown to miniature lake. The imprint left behind in the leather by your asscheeks has formed a natural reservoir where your juices have begun to pool. You give me a mocking smile and run your cum-covered hand up and down my back. “I made this just for you, it would be rude to turn down such a gracious gift from your Goddess, don’t you think?” 

You raise a good point, that would be awfully rude of me, wouldn’t it? “Thank you so much for this gift, my Goddess,” I squeak out as I bend forward to start licking the seat clean. 

Your slow rubbing becomes a gentle scratching up and down my back. “Good boy…” you croon, your voice getting heavier as you watch me lick the cum-covered chair where your bare ass once sat. You stick around to watch for a moment longer before giving my hair a tussle and telling me, “Keep going, I’ll be right back.” 

The thought of stopping never crossed my mind, even before your order. Your distinct flavor and smell has mixed with the smell and taste of the leather to create an intoxicating new sensory mix that I can’t help but want to drink in. I’m not sure how much time has passed before I hear the *click* of a leash being attached to the collar and a gentle pull to let me know that you’re there. “You’re really going to town, aren’t you, pet? I was standing back here for quite some time watching you, but you looked so happy I almost didn’t want to interrupt,” I look up at you as I feel the leash tighten, “but… while I’m so very glad you enjoyed my gift, I believe you still have work to do, pet”

You lead me back to the bedroom. You strip off my apron and take your time stripping the last of your clothes in short strip-tease before laying face-up the bed. Despite lying naked before me, your grip remains firm on the leash to remind me who’s in charge. “For your next task, I want you taste every part of me that you haven’t already tasted today to prove you weren’t lying before. If you think you’ve tasted everything and you’re right, you get a prize! But if you miss or avoid a spot, you get a punishment. Think you can handle this game, pet?”

I can’t help but give a stupid grin. “Yes Goddess, this sounds like a fun game!” I reply, thoroughly enthusiastic about being able to worship your body like this. 

 You smirk evilly as you reply, “We’ll see… Also, as a ‘thank you’ for enjoying my gift so thoroughly, I’m feeling generous: you’re allowed to touch me, but only as long as it doesn’t get in the way of your tasting. Now get to work, pet!”

I thank you profusely for your kindness before getting to work. I start from your stomach and slowly kiss my way up to your breasts, bypassing them for a short moment to kiss my way up through their valley and up to your neck. When I reach your lips, you grip my hair to keep me in place for a long moment, forcibly making out with me to yet again remind me that you’re the one in charge here. When you finally release me, my face is flush and it takes me a short moment to catch my breath. Kissing down the opposite side of your neck, my hands massage your sides as I make my way back down to your tits. I take my time kissing and licking around each breast before finally wrapping my lips around your nipple. I gently massage your shoulders while I alternate between sucking each tit, taking pride as I notice your muscles begin to relax under my touch. Eventually, I move on to the arms, kissing my way down and back up each. I can still taste the dried pussy juice on your fingers when I reach your hand, and I take my time savoring the flavor as I suck it off your fingers. You writhe and giggle a little bit when I reach your armpits, but you did ask me to lick every part, so you can’t quite punish me for following orders. As I make my way back down to your legs, I take a short detour to plant a loving kiss on your second pair of lips and lick away some of the wetness that has formed there. A subtle tug stops me before I dig in fully, “Ah ah, the order was to taste the parts of me you haven’t already tasted today. Keep it moving, pet.” I let out a pitiful whine at being unable to savor more of your taste. As I resume kissing and licking my way down your thighs, I can see more wetness quickly replacing what I licked away almost immediately before your pussy is once again out of sight. 

I spend the next 20 minutes rubbing my hands along your body, kissing and licking every inch of you I can reach. When it’s all over, you’re a relaxed puddle on the bed, staring up at me with sleepy eyes. Upon hearing that I’m done, you stretch and stand up once more, “So, pet, do you think you got every part?”

I mentally retrace my steps and am fairly sure that I did. “Yes Mistress, I think I did.”

You answer with a warm smile that makes me think I got it right. You guide me down onto the bed for what I imagine will be my reward. This time, I’m the one lying face-up. You climb on top of me, slowly lowering your pussy down to my hard cock. You lean forward to put your face next to my ear. Just as I feel the wetness of your entrance kiss the tip of my cock, I hear you whisper “Wrong.”

Shifting your weight to hold me down, I let out a sad whine as you lift yourself away from my needy cock. “Sorry pet, you missed a part. It’s a shame too, because I was really looking forward to rewarding you just as much as you were.” Despite your words, your face makes no attempt to hide that you are just as happy with this outcome as you would have been with the other, “Oh well, at least I’ll get to enjoy your punishment just as much.”

You spin around and orient yourself to sit on my face once again, though the excitement in your voice lets me know there’s something more to this punishment than just some simple pussy-eating. 

“Your punishment, my little toy, is to finish tasting the part you missed.” Gripping the leash tightly in one hand, you spread your asscheek with the other, and I immediately realize what part you’re referring to. We both know that anal play isn’t your favorite, but once again this isn’t about the enjoyment of the act itself, this is yet another power play. And once again, you had planned this outcome from the very start.

For a small moment, I hesitate. But this is a punishment, and any hesitation is yet another sign of disobedience. Disobedience is not acceptable. “That wasn’t a question, toy, that was an order!”  Pulling the leash up between your legs and sitting your full weight down on me, my face is thrust between your perfect ass. It isn’t until my nose is forced between your gorgeous asscheeks that I realize it actually doesn’t smell that bad at all. With a revelation, I realize that you must have freshened up when you stepped away to grab the leash earlier. The inevitability of this moment hits me all at once and I feel myself heating up at not having realized sooner. ‘My Goddess put extra effort in to make this experience as pleasant for me as possible, and I was going to go on without even stopping to appreciate her kindness’. Even as you force me to kiss your ass, I can’t help but think of how lucky I am to have such a kind and thoughtful mistress. And despite my initial hesitance, it doesn’t take long for me to get turned on by the thought of being forced– no, given the privilege of getting to even lick my Goddess’s asshole. 

You can’t help but smile as you notice my cock twitch the instant my tongue makes contact. “I know you have your mouth full at the moment, but it looks like you were telling the truth after all. I’m sorry for ever doubting you, my pet.” You never truly had any doubt, but it’s fun to be reminded of your pet’s devotion every once and a while. “Tell you what, as a reward for being such a good and honest boy, despite failing to taste everywhere on your own, I’ll let you touch yourself. BUT, only as long as you keep licking, and you can’t cum until I give you permission. How does that sound?”

You can’t make out any of the words, but you can feel the vibrations of my speech rippling between your buttcheeks and the licking intensify, so you assume it words of agreement. You expected nothing less.

My cock is painfully erect by the time I grab onto it and start stroking. It’s like the outside world no longer exists as my world has become enveloped by ass. I wholeheartedly lick everything within reach, feeling out and tasting every inch of the smooth and elastic flesh with the tip of my tongue. After a few minutes, the only smells and tastes are my own saliva mixed with your sweat. Wetness on my chin and throat let me know that I’m not the only one touching myself. Occasionally, I feel your cheeks flex around my face. Sometimes they’re involuntary, but other times they’re strong and intentional. 

Above me, you’ve let go of the leash, knowing it’s no longer necessary to keep me in place. You’re very much getting off to bullying me with just your ass, watching me jerk myself off like a horny degenerate to nothing but the taste of your ass-sweat and an intense desire to please you. Even though you’ve offered me the dirtiest part of yourself, I still continue to worship you like you have offered me the greatest treasure imaginable. In a way, you have, since anything offered by my Goddess truly is the best gift I could ever ask for. Such devotion just makes you want to bully your pet even more, and the rubbing of your clit intensifies…

I feel your flexing become much more intense and sporadic as you almost begin bouncing on my face. I just barely make out a muffled order to cum within the chaos as I feel you begin to shudder above me. I’ve been close to the edge for quite some time now, so it doesn’t take me long to catch up to you. I keep jerking my cock as cum erupts all over my stomach and legs, both of us riding out our orgasms together until we’re left out of breath and panting. You wait a moment longer before finally lifting your ass off my face: a reminder that you could keep me there all night if you wanted to. You cuddle up beside me and wrap your arms around me, staring into each other’s eyes and smiling. We give each other a warm kiss, (despite where my mouth has been), and just lay together, enjoying each other’s warmth while we both catch our breath. It isn’t until a minute or two later that I finally have the breath to speak as I nuzzle up to you, 

“Thank you so much! A perfect dessert for a perfect meal, Goddess!”

[miscellaneousmeditations]

Gym fantasies

Missed romantic thoughts...

There is the repetitive pounding of my feet hitting the rotating platform. It’s loud, but not louder than my heavy breathing. Or the shitty pop music playing in the background. I think I may actually die this time. It was even worse that there’s a giant mirror where I could see my sweaty forehead, bouncing fat, and frizzy hair. I am convinced that the person who designed this room wants to constantly remind people of the lazy slobs they are. I definitely need to invest in better work out clothes. The guy next to me looks like he’s meditating during his run, not even sweating, and here I am going through a mental crisis trying to get through my 2 kilometers.

I can’t believe I forgot my headphones at home. I hate the treadmill. I need to pick up tennis or basketball again. 

I run for the last kilometer and give up. Last week I only exercised once, so this week I am suffering. I pace myself down slowly and then stop to stretch. I get off the treadmill and it’s not busy, so there’s no one waiting after me. This is a shock, it’s actually quiet. The meditating guy finishes shortly after me. I say hello to him and he politely smiles at me. He’s probably thinking I’m out of shape. I almost joke and say, “I’m getting ready for a marathon.” But then I realize it’s too deprecating and he may not get it anyway. Behind the exercise equipment is a small shelf where I pull out my cheap workout bag and realize that I left my damn water bottle at home. I let out a dramatic sigh. Maybe I’ll stop exercising all together. I think it’s a sign. 

The meditating guy sees me whining and asks “What’s wrong?” I look at him and shake my head. “I forgot water. I can’t believe it.” He immediately goes into his bag in the cubby next to mine and grabs his. “Here, help yourself.” He offers it to me. I accept gladly and almost finished the whole bottle. Let me not be greedy. I save him half. He laughs. “Are you thirsty?” I laugh... if he only knew. 

“My name is Josiah.” He says and offers his hand to shake. Fuck. He’s hot. 

“Collie.” 

—————————

I’m studying tourism. I’ve definitely thought about changing to something more poetic like map making or graphic design. 

I enjoy being a student. I think this may be my prime and I don’t want to think about paying rent and living like an adult. That sounds miserable. 

I love that there are clubs to join, people to cook me food, and a routine but only enough to give my life stability but not enough to suffocate me.

——-

Josiah was breathing steadily in my bed. My silky black sheets made soft sliding noises against his dark skin as he fidgeted. His eyes were blindfolded and his lips slightly open. His arms were tied behind his back with red nylon rope and his head was faced down with his knees underneath him. 

I climbed onto the bed and sat on my knees behind him. 

I graded my hands along his skin and I could feel him shaking and getting excited just by his Goddess’ touch. “Thank you, Goddess.” He was trained so well that I sometimes was shocked by how impressed I was. It still took me by surprise even though I taught him a lot of what he knew.” “Good boy.” 

I spread his plump ass cheeks to find a red gemmed anal plug inside his lubed ass. I massaged my hand around his ass and he shivered against my touch and I could see his hard on. 

I pressed my finger onto the plug and could hear him quietly moan against the pain. I started playing with it. Pulling it slightly out and back in. I enjoy watching him squirm. “Thank you, Goddess.” He says again. I know his hard on was growing and I reached around his front and stroked it while I continued playing with the plug behind him. His breathing rate increased and his precum was increasing. 

“Oh God.” He wasn’t talking to me... I stopped and spanked his ass. “What did you just say?” I sparked again. “There’s no God here. Only your Goddess, understand?” I sparked again a bit harder. “Yes Goddess, I’m so sorry Goddess.” 

I softly rubbed my hands against his ass again and began to pull out the anal plug. He was such a good boy for me. He did his enema on time and even shaved for me. I think tonight will be a reward night for him. 

[miscellaneousmeditations]

Rich Coffee

The year was 1929 and Beth took her morning walk to the library. The sun was peaking over the New York skyline fog. She had read her two books that were dreadful and dull, titled "The Scarlet Letter and some rubbish about Great Expectations by some Charles Dickens." Her overprotective and malicious mother forced her to read books. Books weren't the end of the world to Beth but she hated the books her mother picked out. However lovely the novels, Beth despised reading. 

Walking down the street two drunken homeless men were following her. It was practically every day now that she was being harrassed by these desperate, poor individuals. She hated them, she wish they would all go away. To her, these pesky old men and women were burdens to her streets. She wasn't going to let these monsters stop her from taking her strolls on a beautiful day like this. She had walked passed an abandoned building and heard two men begging for assistance, that they were dying, that they needed money for doctors. She couldn't pay them any mind. She could tell that those men wanted to take her money and spend them on more alcohal. These people were not people, they are animals. They will do anything for money. She had returned her books and gotten the others that her mother told her to check out. She went to the park. Afternoon was descending upon her and the day was magical. A breeze in the air to put icing on the perfection around her. As she sat on the steps of the entrance and flipped through the pages of her new books. In the corner of her eye she noticed a man sitting on the steps beside her. 'Another homeless wierdo following me?' She scoffed to herself. 

She could feel the eyes of the man on her. She felt even more uncomfortable as the seconds on the clock ticked. She looked up at him to politely ask him to stop. He looked startled. 

"Sir," She asked in a plump, cheerful tone. 

"Bethany." He muttered under his breath. 

She was one of the richest kids in New York. Everyone knew her.

"Aren't you Tomson's kid?" 

Everyone knew her mother, she was the most powerful entrepaneur and one of the richest people in New York. 

Beth always wondered what modesty was.

She stood from the steps and backed away from this unusual man she was sure that would rob her. This strange guy already knew too much about her.

This man stood and defensively apologized.

"I'm sorry, don't go." He took a step towards her. Out of panic, she ran full speed away from the park. She dropped her books and as she jumped the stairs her heel got caught in the hole of the concrete and her ankle contorted swideways in an odd, disturbing twist. She let out a scream and looked at her bleeding ankle and saw the bloody white bone, exposed.  Sharp. Pain. That was all she knew. Like white hot fire in her bloodstream. Right until she saw an aged woman sprint  towards her as fast as she could, which wasn't much.

"I'm calling a doctor!" She cried in her dusty out-of-breath voice. She kneeled by Beth and asked if she was okay.

"No! Why would you ask such a stupid question like that?" She shook her head, "Help me up you old bat!"

Her arms were scratched and bleeding as the doctor helped her home. Miss Abby, the house maid, had accomodated to her needs, she had bandaged her and aided to her many pains. She had even convinced the physicians to not amputate her foot. The next few weeks passed as she was eating oatmeal and her coffee. She was reading the newspaper and there was a story in the editorial section about a family escaping a fire in Virginia. At the word family she wondered why a father never manifested himself in her life. She never even heard a mention of him from her mother. She had always wondered why.

Once she started healing and making progress, her mother encouraged her to walk, for her ankle's benefit, so she had taken it upon herself to walk to the bakery. She was going to buy pasteries for her mother and herself. Along the way, once again, the homeless were asking what had happened to her ankle. 

"Why are you wearing those bandages, my dear?" An old, crippled lady inquired. Beth's nose was up in the air, ignoring the poor's questions. She did not want to even look at them. She felt as though it was their fault she was in this cast.

As she walked down the alley she heard the cries of a man, "Help!" She slowly inched into the darkness of the buildings to see what the piercing cry was. She was venturing simply out of curiousity and also because the cries sounded strangely familiar. 

Her limping steps echoes from between the two dirty and damp apartment buildings. Trash bags and garbage was scattered everywhere. The smell was revolting like old meat and rotting fruit. She could see the figure lying on the ground, a miniscule puddle of blood beneath his arm. This was the same cat who scared Beth to death and made her break her ankle. Break was an understatement.

His arm was bleeding. He must have cut it while working, or more realistically, scavenging for food, it was a deep gash but nothing close to what her ankle had experienced. She looked at him in anger. She wanted revenge. She wanted to jab her heel into his cut and curl her shoe so deep he could feel just an insufficient amount of affliction.

Their eyes met and a sad shine was unseen by Beth. "Please, go tell a doctor, go tell someone! I need help. I'm loosing too much blood. I'll be out in minutes"

She nodded, her skills in acting had not failed her. He was assured she would go tell someone. He was assured this girl would help him. But he was left waiting. And waiting. Beth had continued walking to the bakery as though she had not seen a thing. She had arrived back home with a smile on her face and enjoyed coffee smiling with her mother. Laughing as though nothing had happened. Because nothing really did happen. He was just another man faking an injury to get money out of the richest kid in New York. 

Weeks had passed, she had read her countless books, taken her walk and before she knew it, her ankle was now perfectly healed and back to new. She had headed back home from a trip to the library.

She sat at the dining table enjoying her lunch. Her mother laughed with her about the weather and politics. The newspaper was layed out on the table in front of her, but she ignored it. She wasn't interested in the newspaper today. She was talking to her mother about her family. She wanted to know more about them but her mother wouldn't say much about it.

Soon her mother had gotten bored with the discussion and walked into the living room. Miss Abby sits in front of Beth and smiles at her. 

"So how are you today, Beth?" The question takes her aback and she responds to a hesitant and cold, "Shouldn't you be cleaning something?" And Beth crosses her arms over her chest like the thirteen-year-old that she was.

Miss Abby chuckles and sips at her coffee, eyes intent on Beth. They continue small talk.

Meanwhile, the day was astonishing. The city of New York was glowing. A leaf floats on the light breeze in the wind. Suddenly, the gentle leaf hits a hard metal gate.

The entrance of Bethany's home was not a grand mansion, nor a house at all. It was labelled in large rustic letters New York's State Foster Home for Abandoned Children. Bethany was no weathly fortunate child, but a lost soul. An orphan. At Bethany's birth there were complications in the pregnancy causing an arduous chronic heart failure leading to burdensome death, just as Bethany was delivered.

As Beth left Miss Abby to have her daily medications, she put skip into her hop and hummed an old tune. Miss Abby smiled, she was the foster home's guardian and she watched over all of the children. Most of them under medication for various reasons. Beth was not the only one convinced their parent might still be alive. Miss Abby knew it was better this way. 

 Miss Abby looked down at the newspaper on the table. The front page labeled in large black print, HOMELESS MAN DEAD IN ALLEYWAY MARKS START OF GREAT DEPRESSION.

The picture looked darkened and scruffy, bad quality but still visible. She drops her cup of coffee and it shatters at the tiled floor and she lets out a large gasp. The picture was clear enough for Miss Abby to recognize it as Beth's father. FIN.

Edit:

The year was 1929 and Beth took her morning walk to the library. The sun was peaking over the New York skyline fog. She had read her two books that were dreadful and dull, titled "The Scarlet Letter and some rubbish about Great Expectations by some Charles Dickens." Her overprotective and malicious mother forced her to read books. Books weren't the end of the world to Beth but she hated the books her mother picked out. However lovely the novels, Beth despised reading. 

Walking down the street two drunken homeless men were following her. It was practically every day now that she was being harrassed by these desperate, poor individuals. She hated them, she wish they would all go away. To her, these pesky old men and women were burdens to her streets. She wasn't going to let these monsters stop her from taking her strolls on a beautiful day like this. She had walked passed an abandoned building and heard two men begging for assistance, that they were dying, that they needed money for doctors. She couldn't pay them any mind. She could tell that those men wanted to take her money and spend them on more alcohol. These people were not people, they were animals. They will do anything for money. She had returned her books and gotten the others that her mother told her to check out. She went to the park. Afternoon was descending upon her and the day was magical. A breeze in the air to put icing on the perfection around her. As she sat on the steps of the entrance and flipped through the pages of her new books. In the corner of her eye she noticed a man sitting on the steps beside her. 'Another homeless wierdo following me?' She scoffed to herself. 

She could feel the eyes of the man on her. She felt even more uncomfortable as the seconds on the clock ticked. She looked up at him to politely ask him to stop. He looked startled. 

"Sir," She asked in a plump, cheerful tone. 

"Bethany." He muttered under his breath. 

She was one of the richest kids in New York. Everyone knew her.

"Aren't you Tomson's kid?" 

Everyone knew her mother, she was the most powerful entrepreneur and one of the richest people in New York. 

Beth always wondered what modesty was.

She stood from the steps and backed away from this unusual man she was sure that would rob her. This strange guy already knew too much about her.

This man stood and defensively apologized.

"I'm sorry, don't go." He took a step towards her.

Out of panic, she ran full speed away from the park. She dropped her books and as she jumped the stairs her heel got caught in the hole of the concrete and her ankle contorted sideways in an odd, disturbing twist. She let out a scream and looked at her bleeding ankle and saw the bloody white bone, exposed. Sharp. Pain. That was all she knew. Like white hot fire in her bloodstream. Right until she saw an aged woman sprint towards her as fast as she could, which wasn't much.

"I'm calling a doctor!" She cried in her dusty out-of-breath voice. She kneeled by Beth and asked if she was okay.

"No! Why would you ask such a stupid question like that?" She shook her head, "Help me up you old bat!"

Her arms were scratched and bleeding as the doctor helped her home. Miss Abby, the house maid, had accommodated to her needs, she had bandaged her and aided to her many pains. She had even convinced the physicians to not amputate her foot. Bethany was the type to complain. She enjoyed criticizing the way Miss Abby and the other maids of the house. She claimed they hated and her and treated her roughly as punishment. Falsely accused, the maids were offended. They easily grew annoyed with her.

The next few weeks passed, even though it felt like years, she was eating oatmeal and her coffee. She was reading the newspaper, as usual, and there was a story in the editorial section about a family escaping a fire in Virginia. She had loved reading the newspaper. it was something her mother had always told her to value. She always did, she read them every day. 

Once she started healing and making progress, her mother encouraged her to walk, for her ankle's benefit. She had decided to go to the beach. Not many people visit the beach, but she thought she'd enjoy the sight. Truly, the beach was not even quite a beach. It was more like a large lake that had sand. The view was nice. It over looked the grassy fields of Baltimore. Bethany could have stayed out there forever. But it was getting dark, and the streets are dangerous.

She slept well that night. It was eight when the yells of her mother awoke her. She was upset that she had not been going to her piano lessons for the past month. It was close to two hours before she had finally calmed down.

That afternoon she felt a tension in the house and needed to get out so she had taken it upon herself to walk to the bakery. She was going to buy pastries for her mother and herself. Along the way, once again, the homeless were asking what had happened to her ankle. 

"Why are you wearing those bandages, my dear?" An old, crippled lady inquired. Beth's nose was up in the air, ignoring the poor lady’s questions. She did not want to even look at them. She felt as though it was their fault she was in this cast.

As she walked down the alley she heard the cries of a man, "Help!" She slowly inched into the darkness of the buildings to see what the piercing cry was. She was venturing simply out of curiosity and also because the cries sounded strangely familiar. 

Her limping steps echoes from between the two dirty and damp apartment buildings. Trash bags and garbage was scattered everywhere. The smell was revolting like old meat and rotting fruit. She could see the figure lying on the ground, a miniscule puddle of blood beneath his arm. This was the same cat who scared Beth to death and made her break her ankle. Break was an understatement.

His arm was bleeding. He must have cut it while working, or more realistically, scavenging for food, it was a deep gash but nothing close to what her ankle had experienced. She looked at him in anger. She wanted revenge. She wanted to jab her heel into his cut and curl her shoe so deep he could feel just an insufficient amount of affliction.

Their eyes met and a sad shine was unseen by Beth. "Please, go tell a doctor, go tell someone! I need help. I'm losing too much blood. I'll be out in minutes."

She nodded, her skills in acting had not failed her. He was assured she would go tell someone. He was assured this girl would help him. But he was left waiting. And waiting. Beth had continued walking to the bakery as though she had not seen a thing. She had arrived back home with a smile on her face and enjoyed coffee smiling with her mother. Laughing as though nothing had happened. Because nothing really did happen. He was just another man faking an injury to get money out of the richest kid in New York. 

Weeks had passed, she had read her countless books, taken her walk and before she knew it, her ankle was now perfectly healed and back to new. She had headed back home from a trip to the library. Summer was ending and school would start soon. She had to go shopping for clothes. She needed to get more shoes with thicker heels.

She sat at the dining table enjoying her lunch. Her mother laughed with her about the weather and politics. The newspaper was laid out on the table in front of her, but she ignored it. She wasn't interested in the newspaper today. She was talking to her mother about her family. She wanted to know more about them but she wouldn't say much about it.

Soon her mother had gotten bored with the discussion and walked into the living room. Miss Abby sits in front of Beth and smiles at her. 

"So how are you today, Beth?" The question takes her aback and she responds to a hesitant and cold, "Shouldn't you be cleaning something?" And Beth crosses her arms over her chest like the thirteen-year-old that she was.

Miss Abby chuckles and sips at her coffee, eyes intent on Beth. They continue small talk.

Meanwhile, the day was astonishing. The city of New York was glowing. A leaf floats on the light breeze in the wind. Suddenly, the gentle leaf hits a hard metal gate.

The entrance of Bethany's home was not a grand mansion, nor a house at all. It was labelled in large rustic letters New York's State Foster Home for Abandoned Children. Bethany was no wealthy fortunate child, but a lost soul. An orphan. At Bethany's birth there were complications in the pregnancy causing an arduous chronic heart failure leading to burdensome death, just as Bethany was delivered.

As Beth left Miss Abby to have her daily medications, she put skip into her hop and hummed an old tune. Miss Abby smiled, she was the foster home's guardian and she watched over all of the children. Most of them under medication for various reasons. Beth was not the only one convinced their parent might still be alive. Miss Abby knew it was better this way. 

  Miss Abby looked down at the newspaper on the table. The front page labeled in large black print,

 HOMELESS MAN DEAD IN ALLEYWAY MARKS START OF GREAT DEPRESSION.

The picture looked darkened and scruffy, bad quality but still visible. She drops her cup of coffee and it shatters at the tiled floor and she lets out a large gasp. The picture was clear enough for Miss Abby to recognize it as Beth's father. FIN.

[miscellaneousmeditations]

The first time...

For years, the staleness of Indiana gave me a terrible taste in my mouth. Indiana’s unfortunate weather and lack of color put me into a depression I thought my duloxetine could never get me out of. I decided to move to Texas in 2011. Finally, I was living a life full of color and life and opportunity. 

In 2014 I began working for a company that leased out materials for farmers and ranchers. Everyone wore boots and denim to work, that was business casual. I loved who I worked with and I made some incredible friends. My sister, Amanda, saw how happy I was and moved into the town next door. She met her, now husband, and she has three boys.

Texas just made sense for me and I never looked back. A few months ago, I thought that I would move closer to the city and saved for a bungalow in Dallas. My neighbors were young and very liberal. My best friend, Sierra, pulled me along to an underground party on a Saturday night. She made the reservation ahead of time and everything. She kept it a secret because she knew it was far out of my comfort zone, but I went along anyway. Sierra always introduced me to some amazing, creative people. 

It was a country-style bar, but it had a different atmosphere than I’ve ever experienced. The people there seemed so open about their sexuality and I had about three or four men approach me. I did not necessarily oppose, but I whispered to Sierra, “Is this some type of swingers club, Si?” I called her Si, short for Sierra. 

“Not quite.” She said with a smile I’ve never seen on her before. “But I do want to introduce you to someone.” Oh great, I thought. 

I can tell you it was definitely not one of those moments where I could see him from the other side of the room and he glowed. He was an average looking man in his late 30’s with a little bit of gray peeking from underneath his rodeo hat. He wore a pair of Wrangler’s that didn’t hug his ass quite right and a button down dress shirt that I’ve almost most definitely seen on about 100 other men before. 

“Margie, this is Tom. He’s from Austin, originally, but moved to Dallas last year and has been meaning to get to know the area a bit better.” Sierra was setting me up on a blind date! Though I smiled politely, I gave her a look in my eye that screamed, I’m getting you back so hard. 

Tom pulled out his hand to shake mine politely and I shook it. “It’s a pleasure.” He said cooly. His hand was rough and warm and I tried hard to make sure my grip was firm but not too hard. I made eye contact and his warm brown eyes scooped me up and my heart dropped. 

“How did you two meet?” I asked Sierra to warm up the conversation. “It was at a mutual friend’s house. Do you remember Saul? I introduced you guys a while back, he owns his own bar in Richardson.” I nodded, though, I wasn’t quite remembering. 

Tom nodded as he sipped a dark brown liquor. I wasn’t sure if it was whiskey, bourbon, or something else. “Yeah, Saul and I sometimes get together and work on some carpentry projects. He’s a great guy.” Tom said with a soft smile. 

Sierra leaned over the bar and ordered two tequila shots and two margaritas. I guess I’m drinking tonight. 

[miscellaneousmeditations]

Tallen

The hotel was nice. Allen thought the beds were clouds. Ton thought the food sucked, and there was nothing good on t.v. Ton and Allen slept in seperate rooms, but they were right across the hall from one another.

"Hey," Allen said as they left their rooms at the same time. Behing ton was a woman half the size of him. Allen tried to greet her as well, but 

They started out early, woke up at four a.m. to make it to Miami at seven. 

[miscellaneousmeditations]

TASK

Dreams of future self...

Faceclaims, Kid Cudi – James, Scott Cohen – 

She does not attempt to cover herself up. She is proud of her uniform; the requirement of nudity. Nich is a beautiful tan skinned and brown eyed amazon woman of 25. She loves her lifestyle; every day and every moment, even when she gets angry. She loves the roller coaster ride. She loves that every moment is an addictive high. She loved that her servitude makes her feel like royalty. She loved the way Dominants would look at her. She craves it, her body a molten volcano always ready to erupt in orgasms by rough and intimate touch. She loved it especially when it was the hands of James, the Master of the house she served at. The Aphrodisiac Society of Kink (TASK) is James’ heart and soul. He puts everything into the club and it’s become a beautiful place, with almost 500 members. He said he wants to keep it a private affair, but that didn’t last long once the bills piled up. 

The interior of TASK was majestic. The walls were lined up with books and paintings. Some were erotic, some were classics. The floor was a soft red carpet. The lighting was always soft and intimate, yet dark and intimidating. The grand table in the dining hall was a polished mahogany wood. It was the centerpiece of the room and it sat 30 people. 

Nich had to serve drinks tonight. She brought a glass of red wine to Lady Lillian, a very voluptuous blonde of 30 something. She feels someone is staring at her from across the table. She knows she is not allowed to look into the eyes of the guests, but for a brief moment she disregards the rule. She turns her gaze to a pair of dark green eyes. (Scott Cohen) He observes her carefully and gives her an almost undetectable smirk. The entire scene plays out within James’ vision. Nich meets James’ gaze and her eyes go wide with horror.

The windows were slightly frosted over and she could see her own breath. She looked into his face and saw his age, she really came to the conclusion that she wouldn’t be in some world where it was all romance. She was in a world where she was too young and acted too old. She was too self-aware and too self-accomplished. She was too thought-provoking and asked toom nay questions. She had a hard time listening to anybody she felt had no say and she was mean. She felt she knew it all, and she had too much of a brain on her. She wanted to become better and this man in front of her, who was just waking and yawned. His morning breath clouded her and she smiled. She thought he was so imperfect that it made her staisfied. She wanted someone who was a little broken, but well ajusted enough to not bcome dependent completely on someone else. He could live without her and he could very happily live with her. But he wasn’t so perfect that he couldn’t sleep in front of her and had to stand up straight at every moment of the day. She didn’t want some Edward Cullen. She wanted a man, a real man that she could rely on and trust. They met each others eyes and they could read each others mind. She knew he was thinking about all the work he had to do, but how miuch he wanted to stay here and just lie with her. If he could ust stay with her for the whole day,. He would be the happiest man alive. 

He set out the candles just as she liked them. Smelling of lavender and a musk she could never really describe. It smelled like him in the evenings when she’d touch his chest; perfectly hairy and comfortable, and especially warm. The music was lovely, exotic Stateless. Chris James had the most relaxing voice. It put her in the mood. He had an old movie on mute. It was a 1960’s classic, her favorite kind with Elizabeth Taylor. She couldn’t really enjoy it because she was tied to the bed in a soft silk-like rope and he was right in front of her, blocking the view. He was wearing jeans. Sometimes he’d do that, refuse to show her his body. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of it, but she liked the tease. He knew she hated the feel of jeans when she was trying to relax. She got a quick glance of the movie. There were elephants and African dancers. Elizabeth’s love interest was handsome… There was a burning across her face. He had slapped her to knock her out of her trance. She tried to move, but wasn’t able to due to his weight right on top of her. “Sir, will you touch me?” He crossed his arms over his chest. 

Oh how she loved his arms. Strong, and big. Shit, she could have an orgasm just looking at him. But not really. She wanted more. She tossed her head back into the pillow.

She looked back at him. “Please, Please. Pleasy, Please.” She joked.

“Alright.” He smiled. Then grabbed the blindfold and put it on her. 

“No!” She protested lightly, then pouted. “That’s not what I meant.”

Faceclaims:::

Kid Cudi – James

Scott Cohen – 

She does not attempt to cover herself up. She is proud of her uniform; the requirement of nudity. Nich is a beautiful tan skinned and brown eyed amazon woman of 25. She loves her lifestyle; every day and every moment, even when she gets angry. She loves the roller coaster ride. She loves that every moment is an addictive high. She loved that her servitude makes her feel like royalty. She loved the way Dominants would look at her. She craves it, her body a molten volcano always ready to erupt in orgasms by rough and intimate touch. She loved it especially when it was the hands of James, the Master of the house she served at. The Aphrodisiac Society of Kink (TASK) is James’ heart and soul. He puts everything into the club and it’s become a beautiful place, with almost 500 members. He said he wants to keep it a private affair, but that didn’t last long once the bills piled up. 

The interior of TASK was majestic. The walls were lined up with books and paintings. Some were erotic, some were classics. The floor was a soft red carpet. The lighting was always soft and intimate, yet dark and intimidating. The grand table in the dining hall was a polished mahogany wood. It was the centerpiece of the room and it sat 30 people. 

Nich had to serve drinks tonight. She brought a glass of red wine to Lady Lillian, a very voluptuous blonde of 30 something. She feels someone is staring at her from across the table. She knows she is not allowed to look into the eyes of the guests, but for a brief moment she disregards the rule. She turns her gaze to a pair of dark green eyes. (Scott Cohen) He observes her carefully and gives her an almost undetectable smirk. The entire scene plays out within James’ vision. Nich meets James’ gaze and her eyes go wide with horror.

The windows were slightly frosted over and she could see her own breath. She looked into his face and saw his age, she really came to the conclusion that she wouldn’t be in some world where it was all romance. She was in a world where she was too young and acted too old. She was too self-aware and too self-accomplished. She was too thought-provoking and asked toom nay questions. She had a hard time listening to anybody she felt had no say and she was mean. She felt she knew it all, and she had too much of a brain on her. She wanted to become better and this man in front of her, who was just waking and yawned. His morning breath clouded her and she smiled. She thought he was so imperfect that it made her staisfied. She wanted someone who was a little broken, but well ajusted enough to not bcome dependent completely on someone else. He could live without her and he could very happily live with her. But he wasn’t so perfect that he couldn’t sleep in front of her and had to stand up straight at every moment of the day. She didn’t want some Edward Cullen. She wanted a man, a real man that she could rely on and trust. They met each others eyes and they could read each others mind. She knew he was thinking about all the work he had to do, but how miuch he wanted to stay here and just lie with her. If he could ust stay with her for the whole day,. He would be the happiest man alive. 

He set out the candles just as she liked them. Smelling of lavender and a musk she could never really describe. It smelled like him in the evenings when she’d touch his chest; perfectly hairy and comfortable, and especially warm. The music was lovely, exotic Stateless. Chris James had the most relaxing voice. It put her in the mood. He had an old movie on mute. It was a 1960’s classic, her favorite kind with Elizabeth Taylor. She couldn’t really enjoy it because she was tied to the bed in a soft silk-like rope and he was right in front of her, blocking the view. He was wearing jeans. Sometimes he’d do that, refuse to show her his body. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of it, but she liked the tease. He knew she hated the feel of jeans when she was trying to relax. She got a quick glance of the movie. There were elephants and African dancers. Elizabeth’s love interest was handsome… There was a burning across her face. He had slapped her to knock her out of her trance. She tried to move, but wasn’t able to due to his weight right on top of her. “Sir, will you touch me?” He crossed his arms over his chest. 

Oh how she loved his arms. Strong, and big. Shit, she could have an orgasm just looking at him. But not really. She wanted more. She tossed her head back into the pillow.

She looked back at him. “Please, Please. Pleasy, Please.” She joked.

“Alright.” He smiled. Then grabbed the blindfold and put it on her. 

“No!” She protested lightly, then pouted. “That’s not what I meant.”

She disagreed with him a lot today. She just wanted to listen to Lana del Rey and look at him. They sat at a diner. Cindy brought her a slice of apple pie, he gave her a certain look that clearly stated that she was not allowed to have sweets until he decided differently. This was not a recent rule. If it was “cheating” or something against her normal diet, she would need to have permission. Today she didn’t care, she wanted to savor her rebellious actions. She moaned while putting the spoon of apple filling into her mouth. He looked at her with a devilish smirk. This might seem to anybody a normal smirk, but she would be stupid to just think that. Tonight, she’d hate him. He would torture her until she’s in her corner crying, only to be embraced by his love once again. And after that night, things would regenerate itself into what they were accustomed to as a normal relationship once again. But right now, they were still at that diner table, while she was enjoying her apple pie right in front of his eyes. In plain view, he was proud that she did not hide anything; she wanted him to see everything in plain view. He took her exactly how she was, and happily molded her. He was thinking about slapping her until she might slip the safe word. He wanted her to beg.

Faceclaims:::

Kid Cudi – James

Scott Cohen – 

She does not attempt to cover herself up. She is proud of her uniform; the requirement of nudity. Nich is a beautiful tan skinned and brown eyed amazon woman of 25. She loves her lifestyle; every day and every moment, even when she gets angry. She loves the roller coaster ride. She loves that every moment is an addictive high. She loved that her servitude makes her feel like royalty. She loved the way Dominants would look at her. She craves it, her body a molten volcano always ready to erupt in orgasms by rough and intimate touch. She loved it especially when it was the hands of James, the Master of the house she served at. The Aphrodisiac Society of Kink (TASK) is James’ heart and soul. He puts everything into the club and it’s become a beautiful place, with almost 500 members. He said he wants to keep it a private affair, but that didn’t last long once the bills piled up. 

The interior of TASK was majestic. The walls were lined up with books and paintings. Some were erotic, some were classics. The floor was a soft red carpet. The lighting was always soft and intimate, yet dark and intimidating. The grand table in the dining hall was a polished mahogany wood. It was the centerpiece of the room and it sat 30 people. 

Nich had to serve drinks tonight. She brought a glass of red wine to Lady Lillian, a very voluptuous blonde of 30 something. She feels someone is staring at her from across the table. She knows she is not allowed to look into the eyes of the guests, but for a brief moment she disregards the rule. She turns her gaze to a pair of dark green eyes. (Scott Cohen) He observes her carefully and gives her an almost undetectable smirk. The entire scene plays out within James’ vision. Nich meets James’ gaze and her eyes go wide with horror.

The windows were slightly frosted over and she could see her own breath. She looked into his face and saw his age, she really came to the conclusion that she wouldn’t be in some world where it was all romance. She was in a world where she was too young and acted too old. She was too self-aware and too self-accomplished. She was too thought-provoking and asked toom nay questions. She had a hard time listening to anybody she felt had no say and she was mean. She felt she knew it all, and she had too much of a brain on her. She wanted to become better and this man in front of her, who was just waking and yawned. His morning breath clouded her and she smiled. She thought he was so imperfect that it made her staisfied. She wanted someone who was a little broken, but well ajusted enough to not bcome dependent completely on someone else. He could live without her and he could very happily live with her. But he wasn’t so perfect that he couldn’t sleep in front of her and had to stand up straight at every moment of the day. She didn’t want some Edward Cullen. She wanted a man, a real man that she could rely on and trust. They met each others eyes and they could read each others mind. She knew he was thinking about all the work he had to do, but how miuch he wanted to stay here and just lie with her. If he could ust stay with her for the whole day,. He would be the happiest man alive. 

He set out the candles just as she liked them. Smelling of lavender and a musk she could never really describe. It smelled like him in the evenings when she’d touch his chest; perfectly hairy and comfortable, and especially warm. The music was lovely, exotic Stateless. Chris James had the most relaxing voice. It put her in the mood. He had an old movie on mute. It was a 1960’s classic, her favorite kind with Elizabeth Taylor. She couldn’t really enjoy it because she was tied to the bed in a soft silk-like rope and he was right in front of her, blocking the view. He was wearing jeans. Sometimes he’d do that, refuse to show her his body. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of it, but she liked the tease. He knew she hated the feel of jeans when she was trying to relax. She got a quick glance of the movie. There were elephants and African dancers. Elizabeth’s love interest was handsome… There was a burning across her face. He had slapped her to knock her out of her trance. She tried to move, but wasn’t able to due to his weight right on top of her. “Sir, will you touch me?” He crossed his arms over his chest. 

Oh how she loved his arms. Strong, and big. Shit, she could have an orgasm just looking at him. But not really. She wanted more. She tossed her head back into the pillow.

She looked back at him. “Please, Please. Pleasy, Please.” She joked.

“Alright.” He smiled. Then grabbed the blindfold and put it on her. 

“No!” She protested lightly, then pouted. “That’s not what I meant.”

[miscellaneousmeditations]

Harlem to Manhattan

This WIP is in dire need of editing, please hang in there.

Christmas never smelled so sweet and it was never so warm. Jason was smiling and the house smelled of turkey and sweet pastries. Marty had turned on the Christmas Edition of Sinatra. The days had flew by quickly.

The streets of Harlem were eerily vacant. Dark, with a blackened sky to match the dirt that hid white snow on the streets. Like everything else in the city, beauty was buried deep underneath all the filth. This wasn't just Harlem, this wasn't just New York, this was the world. 

While most people were sleeping in their warm beds, Calvin Moore, a man in his twenties screams outside the glass window of a pharmacy. The old man inside refuses to open his doors. Calvin prays to the midnight sky that the old man has some sympathy, with his fiance and his infant child standing behind him, he became desperate. He beated on the windows with his thin, malnourished hands, determined to get this old man to help his crying child. 

"Shut that little brat up, Margaret! I can't take this shit anymore!" He screamed without looking at her. 

"He's hungry, Calvin! What do you want me to do? He's gonna freeze to death!" She pleaded, shivering.

It just had to be the coldest goddamn night in December. The infant cried for its mother's milk, but her breasts were dry and all they could do was give him formula.

When finally giving up crossed through Calvin's mind the old man treaded towards the door. 

"What the hell!? What do ya'll kids want?" He glanced over at Margaret.

"The baby, please, let us in." Calvin muttered, reaching for Margaret and wrapping an arm around her. 

The old man sighed, "Alright, get you're asses in here, I'm freezing my balls off." 

Margaret soothed the baby the second she got inside. Calvin spoke to the old man alone. 

"Please," He begged "We have no money, we just want to get him some food. Can you please help us? We just need some water."

The old man gave an apologetic look, "I'm sorry, I can't." 

Automatically, both Margaret and Calvin looked at each other and Calvin nodded. 

Calvin pulled the gun from his left pocket and demanded for him to turn around and put his hands on the wall. 

"Give me your cell phone." Calvin bellowed.

"What?" The old man questioned.

"You heard me, you old giezer. Give me your phone."

"I don't have one." He said, frightened. 

"That's bullshit, old man!" Calvin tood the initiative to search for any phones. He smashed them and searched the old man for any communicating devices while Margaret tossed diapers, two tins of formula and a couple bottles of water into her bag. Meanwhile she stuffed a couple hundred bucks into the baby's blanket. She thought she was done so she grabbed a couple lighters while waiting for Calvin and lit a smoke. Calvin destroyed the cameras and he gave Margaret the gun while he searched for some blankets for the baby. He found a fur coat and took the gun behind the counter. They left and it only took approximately three minutes for all of the previous actions to occur.

Margaret tossed her cigarette and held the baby close to her chest.

They ran.

It was only a couple alleys they ran before they decided they could rest.

Calvin told her they should separate, "Go to St. Paul's. Stay there. I'll be there in an hour, if not. You know what to do." He paused and kissed her.

"And honey," She looked up. "I love you, take care of him." He kissed the infants' forehead and he ran.

"Go!"

She held the baby to her chest once again and she ran. She stayed close to the wall, the black fur coat that Calvin gave her was helpful. She could blend in and keep the baby quiet in the warmth.

Calvin noticed the cops weren't around, but he knew they wouldn't be long. Maybe the old man would just file a report, but he doubted that. He discarded his disguise, his thick fake mustache and his large glasses, he put them into his pocket and continued to run away. He peeked around the corner to see what was going on at the pharmacy, the place was empty. No cops, nothing. He turned and headed to the church.

Margaret walked into the majestic Catholic sanctuary. She observed the place around her and whispered sweet words to Jason. 

"This is the place people convince themselves that god is real, Jason." She put a smile on her lips and the baby looked fascinated by the gold and stained-glass windows. She hasn't believed in God in years. Not since she's been in this shit-hole of a life.

She sat towards the front as she made dinner for the baby. He slept so peacefully it almost made her believe in God. She thought maybe that she saw God in Jason's sleeping face. She thought to herself, 'Maybe I wouldn't mind the idea of God if this is what it looks like.'

She fed him and he stared at her, his eyes shining, a full head of hair already. She admired his skin, wishing she was sleeping like that. She doesn't even remember the last night she had a good night's rest. She made a bed for him in her coat. She hugged her legs and observed the altar. The large ivory bleeding man on a cross haunted her. She thought about how much she missed her perfect childhood when Calvin sat next to her silently.

"They aren't coming." Calvin said quietly, looking at the altar and at the display. They didn't look at each other but they felt close. 

"I can't do this anymore Calvin," She muttered almost to herself, her voice was cracked like sidewalks. "We can't raise him like this."

"What the fuck were we thinking?" He turned and kissed her jawline. She turned.

"I'm serious. What are we going to do?" There was a glisten of tears in her beautiful brown eyes.

They both turned to the front again, his arm wrapped around her affectionately, he petted her hair and soothed her almost to sleep; but the conversation was no where close to conclusion.

"I want him to be somebody. I want him to be smart. I want him to be a good man and have a family one day. Someone to love as much as I love you. I want him to just be happy. But that means that we have to stay together no matter what. I'm going to find a way to get some cash. I promise, you'll have everything you've ever dreamed of. Jason will go to the best school in the Upper East Side and he'll go to Harvard. I promise, Margaret. It'll be okay in the end, and if it's not... then that's how we know that it's not the end."

She kissed him and then announced. "Then I'm getting a job."

"And I'm opening up a savings account," He whispered to her.

"We can do this. No matter what," He said. "At any cost." 

They both accidentally fell asleep, with Jason in Margaret's arms.

It was five a.m. when Jason's cries awoke Calvin.

He gave him a bottle while Margaret slept a little more, and then they headed out.

It was cold, but they stayed close to each other and by the time the reached the stores it was about 7 am. Calvin left her job hunting while he took the baby and headed to the bank.

It took him forever, but he finally opened up a bank account and some scholarship/college bank bullshit for Jacob.

One month later...

It was almost Christmas and Calvin was at the mall with the baby. He had a couple bucks to get the baby something and so he took him around to see what he would like. 

Margaret was working at Sylvia's now, full time. 

Calvin was walking out of a kid's toy place when he bumped into a much taller man than he. 

"I'm sorry, Sir." He looked up and was startled to see that it was his old friend Marty.

"Hey!!" He let his greeting drag on. "What's up, man." He laughed when he saw the baby in his arms. "What's with the kid? You a dad now!?" 

"Let's go sit down, man. I haven't seen you in so long."

They got to talking about all the fun trouble they used to get into when they were kids in the neighborhood. Marty was quieter than most. When they were growing up, Calvin used to get teased all the time for being one of the rare white kids in town. Marty though he was lost when they first met, that always made Calvin laugh every time people mistakes him for "one of the rich folk". He just thought it was ironic.

"Margaret?! The biggest nerd girl in the school? Damn, you got a good one man, she’s hot. You better not let her go." Marty laughed.

“Yeah man. But it ain’t easy. I got to pull in some money, man. I got to get a house for my kid. I want Marg to have the weddin’ she wants. She can’t pull that shit out of her ass at Sylvia’s, man. I don’t know what to do.”

Marty sighed and looked around, he was reassured no one was listening and moved closer to speak to Calvin.

“Calvin, Man. I had the same issues you’re having now, but worse.” He leaned back, relaxed now. “I had three kids and Charlene taking money from me left and right. I wasn’t going to live with that bitch. I had rent of my own.” He leaned in close again, and this time Calvin did, too. “I met this guy, rich as hell. He was dealin’, man! Making twenty grand a month!” He loosened up. “So I wanted in.” 

“I can’t do that, man. Margaret would kill if she found out.” He shook his head, but he thought about it and truly considered, twenty grand a month. 

Marty continued, he could tell Calvin was interested. “All you do is buy from big dealers at a decent price then sell it to the desperate overpriced. Just get to know your clientele, make sure they aren’t the type to rat. Look, lets say you buy out 20 pounds of pot for 10 grand. Then you over price to the stoners, you give 5 ounces for 100 dollars more than what you bought it, that shit adds up. 10 grand in profit. Easy.”

Calvin leaned back, shook his head but tightened his lips and thought about it. He looked up at Marty. Marty was dressed in expensive slacks. His watch was nice, his hair was slicked back and he looked well put together, with a loosened white button up.

“I can’t start broke, man. And I’m not taking a penny from Margaret.” Calvin held Jason closer to his chest.

“We can work together man, I need a partner anyway. I’ll show you the ropes. Get you some clients and show you the big bosses. Before the dealing, I got to show you how things work.”

Calvin’s heart was pumping heavily and he knew he couldn’t keep this from Margaret. 

“I’m telling my girl, I can’t let her think I’m doing this shit with Jason in my arms.” He looked at Marty. And for a moment they looked at each other in silence, both understanding this was real. He could get time for this, time away from Margaret, away from Jason, his only son. 

“Tell her if you want, but once you do, she’s in this too. We need to make sure she knows how to defend herself and she knows how shit works too. This ain’t something to play around with.” Calvin looked away, now worried.

Marty responded, to his manner “It might even be better with her knowing, as long as she knows what to do when shit gets scary. It’ll be good, it’ll get your skin thick. It’ll be good in the long run, if you do it right. Put your money away, invest. You can save enough and put him in any school you want. You’ll have any house you want. You’ll have everything. You just have to listen to me.”

 “What do I do about Jason?” Calvin gave him his bottle while sitting at the table. “He can’t be around this. He’s too young right now.”

Marty crossed his arms over his large torso. “You can stay with us for a couple months while I get you situated. 

At this point, Marty got up and they both headed out for Marty’s place. He put the sleeping child on a bundle of blankets in a secure spot where Marty and he could speak in peace. 

“I have a couple deals today; I’ll bring you with me. Show you how to read people.”

“Read people?” questioned Calvin.

“Yeah, you’ll see. Everybody is about appearance. Your face, the way you dress, how you speak and the way you move. Like look at me right now and tell me what observations you can conclude from me so far.”

Calvin shrugged and leaned against the counter, “I don’t know man. I’ve know you for so long.” Marty reached into the fridge and grabbed two beers.

“Look at my movements, do I look nervous, do I exude confidence or look like I’m faking it?”

“You appear to exude it.” Calvin shrugged off nonchalantly.

“Then why do you think I exude it. Come on Calvin, think outside the box. Talk it out.” Marty smiled.

“Alright, don’t get offended now. You exude confidence because good things have happened to you, obviously it’s because you’ve been making so much money from dealing. Dealing automatically means that you can get yourself into trouble, and it looks like you haven’t yet. So then that means you’ve been doing something right… or you think you’ve been doing something right. You think you know it all, but perhaps you don’t…”

Calvin drifted off, hoping that he didn’t insult, but realizing what reading people really meant. Coming to conclusions about what you know about them already and then judging whether or not you should trust them or you should keep an eye out for them.

Marty looked satisfied, “Good, now what’s even harder to find out is whether or not I’m a cop. Like try this, I’ll act like I’m a cop undercover and you tell me what you think changed.”

He leaned back against the kitchen counter and sipped at his beer. Calvin looked at him with a quizzical brow.

“Nothing changed.” Calvin answered.

“Exactly my point, cops will act like your friend, try to get close to you. Ask you a lot of questions, but just so that it’s not obvious. They ask the W’s Who? What? When? Where? Why? You have to listen and observe them, if you stay quiet and you see that it frustrates them. You know that there’s something fishy going on. You just have to keep your mouth shut and just observe. When you see people look around a lot, you know they’re hiding something, or they’re looking for something. The latter doesn’t necessarily mean they’re looking for something innocent. They could be looking for a person, maybe they’re reading you, you never know. You have to look, but make it look like you aren’t. Get it?”

Calvin nodded, absorbing knowledge like a sponge. Marty went on for a couple hours until the baby awoke. Calvin asked tons of thought-provoking questions that helped his mind go even further; Pushed his thought-process that much more outside the box. 

Calvin left to fetch Margaret from work and told her everything.

They sat on the bench in a close park. After he finished, she just stared. She stared at the baby, stared at Calvin.

“Do you know what this could do to our family if we got caught?” Margaret said, tears gleaming in her eyes. Calvin knew it was not from sadness, but from her fear.

“Do you what this could do to our family if we didn’t get caught? He could go to Harvard, learn math or somethin’. You could have the wedding you wanted. We could maybe have another kid. Maybe a girl. We’ll have a huge house in the East Side. We’d be rich and then when I have enough saved, we could get normal jobs and get away from all this crazy bullshit.”

“And who the hell is this Marty?” She asked, obviously satisfied with Calvin’s previous comment.

“Remember from high school? The Playa Marty? He was in our sophomore Geometry class, failed it twice. The one who dated Barbara.”

Margaret let out a bellowing, “Ohh!!!” and smiled. “It’s kind of predictable that he’d get himself caught up in this type of situation. He’s always been into all that gangster shit.” 

“He’s offering for us to stay at his place. So we’d better go, let’s go talk to him and see what we can do.” Calvin informed and offered a hand after he stood from the bench.

On the way, Margaret and Calvin huddled close inside of her fur coat. They kept the baby warm and spoke of plans while they stay at Marty’s. 

In his pockets, he had a .44 Magnum and a .32 pistol. He decided to keep them both.

When they arrived at Marty’s, Margaret was in awe. She thought the place was massive. Anything was massive, when you’ve been homeless for 3 years.

Marty had made dinner inside, the smell of chicken brought his mouth to water. There was an appetizer on the dinner table, deviled eggs, and Calvin grabbed one.

“Marty!” Calvin greeted him, and pulled Margaret next to him as he grabbed the baby.

“Margaret, Marty.” He introduced them, however, it wasn’t quite an introduction as they have already been acquainted with each other. Margaret and Marty caught up and talked about Charlene and the babies. 

Meanwhile, in the living room the sounds of discussion and the smell of a Christmas meal brought a smile to Calvin’s face. He gave Jason a bottle, and spoke to him.

“This is our home now, kiddo. Don’t you love it? Nice and warm, with food and friends. It’s nice, huh?” Calvin didn’t like doing the whole baby talk. He felt that you should talk normally, why act like a baby if you’re not. Get the kid used to talking normally, Margaret agreed. Even though, sometimes, she liked to talk baby for fun, what Mom doesn’t? 

Underneath the bottle, Jason had a smile on his face, his big eyes looking up at his father. It made Calvin proud, like there was a piece of ice in his chest that had finally melted.

--

The next week went smoothly. Margaret decided to keep her job, for now, she felt satisfied with it and didn’t want to give up her chance for independence. She said this herself. She wasn’t always busy, when she came home late, she’d always hang out with the boys and learn a thing or two about what they were doing and she’d always make time to play with the baby.

Marty and Calvin would go out late at night, or early in the morning, when Margaret was home to watch the baby, and go deal. Calvin wouldn’t do or say anything, but he’d watch. 

“Watch, observe, listen and read them like a book. Yeah?” Marty asked before they walked into the front door.

Calvin nodded.

They walked in and the interior was gorgeous. It wasn’t an apartment; it was more of a condo or a duplex, but not an apartment. Calvin really wasn’t sure exactly what to call it. Marty – jokingly – called it a half-way house.

They walked in quietly, Calvin made sure to keep quiet. There was an air of professionalism from both of them, while from the client there was fear. It must have been his first time. You could tell.

His nervous eyes, searching for something he’d never find. He awkwardly introduced himself, and offered a hand for both of them to shake.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Caldwell. My name is Marty and this is my assistant, Cal.” Marty offered as Calvin moved in to shake Caldwell’s hand.

“You have the cash?” said Marty, calmly. The man nodded his head furiously as he moved around his kitchen table quickly like a rat. Marty and Calvin gave each other a look, in their heads, they were laughing at this poor man.

The man handed Marty the white envelope of cash, but in his haste, he drops it. Before Calvin handed over the case of pot, he waited until Marty counted all the cash. The silence was unbearable and Calvin smiled gently at the nervous Mr. Caldwell.

When Marty gave the nod of approval, Calvin handed over the case.

“Security measures, Sorry about that.” Marty exclaimed.

They shook hands and departed. Once they got into Marty’s Cadillac, they both cracked up.

“What the hell was that?” Calvin laughed.

Marty said, through hysterical laughter, “I don’t know, but he’s a weirdo.”

He put the key in the ignition and they drive off, still laughing.

“I wonder what his story is.” Calvin muttered to himself after the car got quiet.

They both thought in silence. Marty became gentle, “Someone probably told him about us, he probably wants to start his own business. He wouldn’t domesticate that much weed. He doesn’t look like he smokes.”

Calvin shook his head and sighed. “He’s never gonna make it…” It was quiet for a moment until Calvin spoke again.

“I don’t know, man. Maybe I won’t make it.” He rubbed his hand against his forehead. 

“Don’t say shit like that, Cal. You haven’t done anything. Not yet, you will eventually. But you got to get your head in the game. You have to learn to do it right. 

Calvin grimaced, “But what if, let’s just say I do get time. What do I do? If I’m in jail, maybe 10 years… Oh god, if I got 10 years, I’d fucking shoot myself; but what if I do?”

If the conversation wasn’t strange enough already, Marty’s expression was. Marty was grinning, like there was some joke only he was in on. “Then you gain connections.” He said simply.

They drove home in silence with Marty’s Armstrong cassette playing. 

The Christmas tree was huge and the house felt warm. Marty brought a date, his girlfriend Jasmine, was an Italian woman in her 30s that looked like she was 23. Her hair was long and her accent was sweet. Marty was lucky, but Calvin knew his reputation with women and knew he probably wouldn’t see her for New Year’s. Jasmine, however, was the same, and didn’t look like she was in love. 

But that didn’t matter. Calvin and Margaret were in love and had friends to enjoy the season with. 

Jason received toys from Marty, Jasmine and his parents. There was books and a little baseball outfit. There was a ___ that he could hang above his crib decorated with a baseball, a baseball bat and a mitt. Calvin also found a doll that looked like Captain Kirk, Calvin couldn’t resist. He had started with Star Trek ever since he was a kid. The doll had a string that you’d pull and it’d say all of his catch phrases.

Jason let out a happy scream of excitement when Kirk exclaimed, “Beam me up, Scotty.”

“This couldn’t get any better.” Calvin whispered in Margaret’s ear right before he kissed her. After everyone ate, they sat around the tree to exchange gifts. Marty went first, giving Jasmine a pearl necklace and a dress. Jasmine was flattered and gave him a 300 hundred dollar watch and a new suit.

Afterwards, while Jasmine and Marty adored each other for the gifts, Margaret and Calvin exchanged gifts simultaneously. Calvin opened his gift, revealing a whole set of Star Trek videos. While Margaret opened up her gift so see a new coat and a pair of cute heels that she’d been eyeing for a while. They both embrace and smile.

“I have more.” Said Margaret, as she stood.

Calvin grinned, “Really?” Margaret was beaming.

Margaret brought over the records. _________________________

“I love them, sweetie, but you know I don’t have a record player.” Margaret smiled.

“Why are you smiling?” Calvin said, Margaret looked at Marty and Calvin followed her lead.

“No way, man. You didn’t have to. I know that player means a lot to you.” Calvin was so excited.

“You deserve it way more, man.” They embraced and he changed the record to his new ___

The rest of the day was calm and they went out that evening for a dinner wearing their new clothes.

The ladies looked gorgeous and the men looked great. Marty treated them to a reserve-two-months-ahead four-star restaurant. It was huge and they looked like a million bucks. They walked in and the piano was being played. It was a grand piano, shiny and black. After they ate and they all started laughing and telling stories to embarrass Calvin. Margaret noticed Marty staring at the piano, left alone. 

Their eyes met and Margaret nodded him on. Everyone went quiet when he stood and walked towards the piano. The restaurant had mostly cleared out. Marty locked eyes with the manager, and they both tipped their heads in agreement. 

The second he sat down at the piano bench and his fingertips grazed the keys, Marty was relaxed. _______ filled the room and people were quiet and observing him. Some whispered words of encouragement and adoration. Marty planted a smile on his face as his sonata transformed into ____ and people started applauding. He finished with a bang and everyone cheered. He bowed and smiled.

“Thank you.” And Marty went. 

Jasmine, Marty and Calvin clapped as he sat. 

“Beautiful!” said Margaret.

“You were great!” praised Jasmine.

While everyone was charmed by Marty, Calvin was in awe of the piano. 

“You gotta teach me that sometime,” Calvin and Marty laughed, but Calvin was serious.

The night was great; Marty went to Jasmine’s house. While Calvin and Margaret lied in bed with his new record playing _____, there were candles lighting up the room as Jason slept soundly.

Margaret was lying naked on the fur coat that Calvin stole for her those couple of months ago. Those days felt like years and she was so glad those days were long gone.

Margaret was a beautiful Cuban girl. She had soft, tanned skin and a gentle face. Her eyes were a deep green and her hair was long, thick, and curly. She was not thin, but she had a beautifully formed body. Her breasts fit perfectly in Calvin’s large hands.

Calvin was a well-built Caucasian man. He had light skin, but he wasn’t pale. He wasn’t as well-tanned as Margaret but he was naturally darkened, which was rare for New York. His hair was long and slightly blonde. His eyes were dark and daunting. He was strong and average in height; and he was handsome.

His hand drifted from her stomach to around her neck. She breathed in his scent of musk and felt his body hovering above hers. He whispered sweet, dirty things into her ears as his grip tightened around her neck. He made sure to never choke her, or cut off her oxygen flow. Never too long, at least. However, his hand held her firmly, reminding her that she was his and that she wanted his touch to be like this. She craved him like this more than she craved any man. 

They fucked. It was as blunt as that, they rarely called it making love. It was always a hot fuck or a romantic fuck, sometimes even sweet sex, but never making love. He dominated her, this was her serving him. She wanted to serve him as much as he wanted her to serve. This was a dynamic between them, which they have always kept intact. It tightened their bond.

With permission, she came. The word Master softly lingering on her lips. He pet her hair and told her she was a good girl.

“Did you enjoy your reward, little one?” He whispered as he held her close to his chest. 

“Yes sir.” She responded before falling into a deep sleep.

Until about five o’clock am, when Jason decided to wake up and want a bottle.

Calvin was not only learning how to fight, he was learning how to play the piano.

When Marty played, something had just stuck. The sound of the piano was in his head all the time. Calvin let him have an old keyboard and let him practice on it. He gave him some sheet music and taught him how to read it. 

In less than two weeks he was playing ___ 

Calvin had worked his way up to doing all the talking during one of the deals. Marty had even introduced him to Mr. Jeremiah ____. He was one of the leading weed suppliers. Marty had been planning on buying large sums of seeds and plants. Marty had told Calvin that he had bought an underground growing facility in a confidential location. He wanted to start his own business. So while loading up the plants, Calvin had been speaking to Jerimiah. Calvin was comfortable enough with him to ask about the cocaine buisness. He told him that.

When Calvin gets out of jail, they make Sam. Jason’s little brother.

"Wait, I'll give you a blanket for the kid, alright? But that's all I can do."

Margaret and Calvin gave each other a look and she walked towards him. Margaret acted as though she heard none of the conversation and looked as sickly as possible.

"Honey, what are we going to do?" She started crying.

"I'll give the baby a couple blankets, they're in the back." The old man turned his back and headed towards the back room. The second his eyes left them Calvin and Margaret moved quickly and smoothly. She gave him her bag, and made it seem, to the cameras watching, like it was just a casual exchange and she went into the back room with the old man. Smoothly, he drifted nonchalantly right below the camera and moved it away from view. He did the same for the second camera, making sure his face is never in view.

10. When introduced to a new client, never admit to having any drugs on you.

You have to always, “go get it from your friend.” You do this so that no one starts spreading rumors that you walk around with drugs on you. People who walk around with mass quantities of drugs on them get beaten and robbed. Shocking, I know. 

9. When purchasing large amounts of drugs, you must make sure that the purchase takes place in the dealer’s home.

You do this so that everyone knows that you know where to go if you get stiffed. Basically, it’s just good to know where the guy (or girl) to whom you just paid ten grand happens to live. 

8. When purchasing large amounts of drugs from a dealer’s home, show some tact and respect your dealer’s privacy. 

Do not ask the dealer where he or she is from, or what his or her favorite hobbies are or anything like that. One of the reasons that movies and television always depict dealers and thieves having funny conversations about odd topics is because that’s all they can really talk about. They talk about TV, sports, the way the government fucks them over and where to get good food. They almost never talk about themselves. So don’t ask. You’ll only make them feel uncomfortable. 

7. Know how to fight. 

Or know a lot of people who do. (If you're going to carry a weapon, at least read my guide on "How to Get Away with Murder". You never know...) 

6. Never front anything to anyone for any reason unless you would trust them to watch your house for an entire week. 

I’m serious here. I mean, if you’re gonna front something to someone, you better wish you were related to that person. He or she better be the best person in the world. 

5. Don’t drink much. 

This is not a job for drunks. Drunks are sloppy. 

4. If you get high off your product, make sure you’re only smoking profit. 

Everyone knows this. Few people do it. Kinda like how people used to treat seatbelts back in the ‘60s. And we all know how important seatbelts turned out to be. 

3. Don’t get pets and little kids high. 

This one really isn’t a rule for dealers, so much as it is just an opinion of mine that needs to be voiced. Leave the animals and children alone. Trust me, they don’t need to be any dumber. 

2. If ever arrested, don’t say a thing until advised by a lawyer. 

And never rat. There is nothing worse than a rat. 

1. Don’t get a boyfriend/girlfriend who is a total druggie. 

Not only will you never know if you can trust or love him or her, you also will be losing money when he or she steals products from you. It’s a lose-lose relationship. Kinda like the US in the World Cup. 

Drug dealing is a great profession, but like all great professions, there are more applicants than successful professionals. If you really want to make money as a drug dealer, you can do it. But you must follow the rules. Remember, the rules exist for your benefit. Now, I hate to sound all condescending and preachy but folks, you just gotta respect the rules. 

[miscellaneousmeditations]

Men, Women, Sex, and Violence and How All Men Can Help by Jackson Katz Review

I personally very much enjoyed Dr. Katz’ presentation. It was relevant. It was high energy. There was good turnout. There was a lot of great feedback from the audience. I think it was vital to have a campus like (redacted) bring speakers like Dr. Katz. I think that he brought some really controversial points to the table and it pushed a lot of people’s buttons, which is great. I loved the points he brought up but took some issue with a few I noted:

The Bystander Approach is an educational model to approaching sexual violence/bullying/harassment incidents. He advocates for being the person to stand up for people in times of need. Lots of times, there will be incidents where multiple people do feel uncomfortable, but no one will want to speak up. This is all true. But Oh man, is that easier said than done, or what? I, on many occasions, have been to family events with my boyfriend’s parents and brother. I am disgusted by the language my boyfriend’s father and brother use on a regular basis and their attitudes towards women and respecting others. It is absolutely disgraceful. But it is not my place to say anything to a family that isn’t mine. There’s no way for me to step in and be an advocate for those women that are being disrespected by their language, values, and arrogance. It isn’t easy to be an advocate.

Dr. Katz also made it a point that when men of color are found guilty of sexually violent crimes, they are labeled as just a product of “black culture”. That’s how “black men treat their women”. But when white men are found guilty of sexual violence, it’s usually a result of “depression”, “alcoholism”, “anxiety”, “he lost his job”, or some other random excuse. My problem with this is culture does come into play. Ethnicity, race, class, and sexuality are all factors in how abuse plays out. We cannot ignore the fact that rich white men abuse very differently than poor black gay men, for example. It doesn’t take away from the fact that victims are still victims and are equally experiencing trauma. But those relationships – between the rich white man and his victim and the poor black gay man and his victim – are going to look extremely different. The reasons that they abuse and the reasons their victims may stay with them are going to vary. However, I understand that maybe Dr. Katz didn’t have time to dive into this topic. But I’m very interested in the intersectional analysis of social issues like this.

I also loved the video he showed. I was very interested in his film clip. He is a filmmaker and I thought the clip highlighted some very over masculinization of mass media and culture has a tremendous effect on young boys. But, some of those hyper-masculine films ARE GREAT FILMS! Good Fellas, Godfather, Pulp Fiction, and Inception are some of my favorite films of all time! They are fun, and film is supposed to be a way to escape from reality and imagine a world that is beyond imagination. Big guns, being a stud, or being a high-class assassin are fantasies. I don’t think the solution is to have films like these be censored, or discourage people from watching it, but rather be highly critical and observant of the stereotypes and fantasy of the story. It is very important to inform, especially very young people, the line between expectations and fantasy/fiction. But also, pornography. I feel the exact same. I don’t want to limit people’s ability to fantasize about perhaps taboo things and enjoy them privately. It’s okay for people to enjoy super kinky and maybe rough BDSM-type movies as long as they know how to approach the real world in a safe and healthy way. And how to explain to your partner what you enjoy and how they can enjoy it with you. We need to talk about those things too. We shouldn’t just tell people to not watch porn. 

Anyway, that’s what I thought. I wanted to also ask about how the current administration has changed the dialogue of sexual violence. I think that Mr. Trump is a sexist, a perpetrator of sexual violence, and a reinforcer of sexual violence and it has completely damaged the respect of the office and has created a damaging precedence for young boys. I want to know if the #MeToo movement would have even happened if Mr. Trump wasn’t our president, similarly to the Anti-Gun Student Movement in Florida. Would the current reaction have been the same under Trump?

I also really wanted to say this to him but didn’t. I appreciated his passion and his frustration for this issue. If you aren’t outraged by what’s going on in the world, you just aren’t paying attention. #StayWoke.

[miscellaneousmeditations]

Controversial Gender Questions

Gender Jargon: Why is “transsexual” not popularly used anymore?

Introduction: International Relations, focus in gender issues and international movements

How do I see myself (gender-wise)? What things do I do that’s gendered (masculine and feminine)?

My Dad: how is he feminine and masculine? How is he conflicted? Does he have self-expectations?

You’re a feminist (name redacted). You are not an equalist, nor an egalitarian. You go to college, you want a partner that respects you and wants you to succeed then you’re a feminist. I’m not telling you who you are, I am just defining what you believe, there’s an actual word for everything you are saying. 

A bit off-topic: What about players? Romantic to everyone, genuine to multiple women simultaneously. 

Equalizing power

Talking to make it better

Believing in freedom of choice

Being open-minded and willing to change

Treating another person as an individual

Improving skills. The problem is the fact there’s not enough sex-ed and conversation in high school. 

My Dad: What makes him a man? Is he a man, by traditional definition? What makes him strong? What makes him weak?

Jean Paul Satre: You make yourself. You design your own destiny. Simone Bouvoir.

What kind of woman is my mother? What kind of woman is my sister? What kind of woman is (name redacted)?

If men are hard-wired for organization, why are there so many women with planners, organizers, why do companied advertise for women to have organization supplies, etc. Why are more women seen organizing events, having cleaner rooms?

As a Hispanic woman, my mother always told me that Hispanic women make the best wives, because we naturally serve our husbands. It’s a natural habit, it’s what we do. So, when I find myself cleaning my boyfriend’s apartment, I think that ‘oh, well. I can’t help it’

(name redacted) had lots of masculine toys as a child, but still has lots of feminine traits/characteristics

My sister is far more gender-neutral with her second child. She has more masculine or gender-neutral baby prints, toys, and tv shows. 

When is it okay to pay for your own bill on a date?

When your boss wants to buy you dinner but you’re not sure his motivations? But you also don’t want to come off as standoffish. You want him to like you but know that it’s still professional.

Fun fact: Because men don’t ask for help. Al Capone got syphilis really bad for years and never got medical attention.

Extra Credit: Do something you’ve never done. Thoughts on trans gendering. Discuss the activity, why do you think females don’t do this? Will you do this again? 

[miscellaneousmeditations]

“A woman’s emotions can not run this country... I’d rather a woman’s emotions than a man’s ego.

Unknown

[miscellaneousmeditations]

TVD Universe Life Lessons

Life lessons from The Vampire Diaries / The Originals / Legacies

1. Believe in redemption for anyone, but don’t force it or expect it. (Klaus)

2. Sometimes letting people go allows you to grow. (Bonnie)

3. The world shouldn’t revolve around you and your problems. (Jeremy)

4. Protect your family, and family doesn’t always mean blood. (Elena)

5. As new challenges come into people’s lives, it’s okay for priorities to change. (Stefan)

6. Try to understand what others might be going through. (Hayley)

7. It’s okay to not let people walk over you, and when people walk away when you’ve walked over them don’t be surprised. (Bonnie)

8. Trust is earned. (Klaus)

9. Sometimes sacrifices must be made for the greater good. (Elijah)

10. There’s no perfect time there’s just right now. (Freya)

11. There’s always a loophole. (Lizzie)

[miscellaneousmeditations]

Facebook really has taken it too far with the ads and random videos.

Like literally, the mobile app is now trash

[miscellaneousmeditations]

I should be more committed to less things.

[miscellaneousmeditations]

Should it be a red flag that I'm so hesitant about this relationship? Is it my anxiety?

[miscellaneousmeditations]

Professional Writing Sample 264

Professional writing sample for an application.

Under the hot summer sun, I spent hours delivering vegetables to women in rural [REDACTED]. Meanwhile, my desire to have a [REDACTED] career was blossoming. My time in [REDACTED] was the most eye-opening experience in my journey to empower women, and strengthen relationships with disenfranchised communities internationally. I intend to employ my personal experiences as a [REDACTED] with a strong commitment to international [REDACTED] to work in [REDACTED]. With the support of the [REDACTED] to earn an MA in [REDACTED] from [REDACTED], I want to capitalize on an intersectional curriculum to establish an expertise in global [REDACTED].

In the field I delivered vegetables, but in the office, as a [REDACTED] volunteer, I was tasked to collaborate with a local community to develop a strategic plan to improve upward mobility. For example, after addressing reporting discrepancies due to female clients not disclosing their daughters’ teenage pregnancies, I facilitated workshops for the staff on monitoring and evaluation that encompassed gender issues. I seek to apply a gender lens when approaching problems, and I believe that with my perspective as a woman of color, I offer [REDACTED] the opportunity to challenge groupthink when addressing complex sociopolitical issues.

With a specialization gained from intersectional [REDACTED] electives that discuss contemporary challenges facing gender, strategy, and security, I can broaden my perspective on how implementing [REDACTED] can effectively build stability, prevent terrorism, and secure strong economic relationships worldwide. With practical application, I can better identify gaps in embassy operations and address global issues that encompass my personal and professional experiences. [REDACTED] offers me the chance to mobilize my unique skills and perspectives as an experienced public servant to lead the pursuit of transnational stability, not only in the classroom but around the world.

[miscellaneousmeditations]

Political Fallacies during the 2016 election

Written 9/8/16 (before the end of the world)

Donald Trump Fallacies

“An ‘extremely credible source’ has called my office and told me that Barack Obama’s birth certificate is a fraud" This is not only shady that he’s not quoting his source properly, but it’s a fallacy of authority because he’s wanting more credibility for his statements and he thinks people will fall for false authority.

“One of the key problems today is that politics is such a disgrace. Good people don’t go into government.” In a way, he’s insulting himself but I also feel like he’s giving us both circular reasoning and post-hoc-ergo-proctor-hoc he’s really saying there’s only bad people in politics but he’s running for president. He’s only saying what’s on people’s minds but there’s no logic behind the claims.

“It’s freezing and snowing in New York – we need global warming!” This is not only a non-sequiter but it’s nonsense. What makes this statement even more hilarious is that he denied global warming as any real threat and now he’s embracing it as a joke. It doesn’t make any sense.

“I have so many fabulous friends who happen to be gay, but I am a traditionalist.” This is a little bit argumentum ad populum because he’s saying this because he’s trying to get more votes, not because he genuinely believes it.

The only card [Hillary Clinton] has is the woman's card. She's got nothing else to offer and frankly, if Hillary Clinton were a man, I don't think she'd get 5 percent of the vote. The only thing she's got going is the woman's card, and the beautiful thing is, women don't like her." I believe that Trump’s statement that women don’t like her is an opinion of fact and he can’t assume that women don’t like her and that she doesn’t accomplish anything without any evidence or proof.

“Democrats want to confiscate all guns, which is a dumb idea because only the law-abiding citizens would turn in their guns and the bad guys would be the only ones left armed,” Not only is this statement false and it doesn’t have any evidence or basis it is obviously a hasty generalization.

“As president .... I would be very, very tough on the borders, and I would be not allowing certain people to come into this country without absolute perfect documentation,” He’s bifurcating the issue when he says perfect documentation. Not even regular Americans can keep perfect documentation. Nor can he or Clinton for that matter, so how can you say that an immigrant looking for help in a new country where the language isn’t the same can keep “perfect documentation”.

“I believe in clean air, immaculate air, but I don't believe in climate change.” I believe that this statement is circular reasoning because the concern with clean air is climate change but without climate change problem there would be no clean air act.

He writes that sources of “green energy” are “really just an expensive way of making the tree-huggers feel good about themselves.” I feel like this is a hasty generalization and really has nothing to do with each other. It’s a bit of a non-sequitur because there really is no connection between tree-huggers and green energy. Honestly, he is trying to connect the two because that has become the stereotype.

“It's the only thing the government makes money on -- college students,” This is a false dilemma not only is it an obvious lie, but it’s putting weight on one problem and not even offering a solution.

Hillary Clinton Fallacies

“Yes, we've cut the maternal mortality rate in half, but far too many women are still denied critical access to reproductive health care and safe childbirth, and laws don't count for much if they're not enforced. Rights have to exist in practice — not just on paper. Laws have to be backed up with resources and political will. And deep-seated cultural codes, religious beliefs and structural biases have to be changed.” I feel like this has a sense of post-hoc-ergo-proctor-hoc and taking the problems of women’s reproductive health and limiting it to only a few causes. I think that she could have gone farther to expand on the causes of illegal abortions in the U.S.

“There are rich people everywhere. And yet they do not contribute to the growth of their own countries...They don't invest in public schools, in public hospitals, in other kinds of development internally” I don’t feel like this claim is true. It sounds a lot like Argumentum ad populum and because a lot of Democrats see the rich as immoral and selfish she is playing to that portrayal of the aristocracy.

“If you have guns in your home, tell your parents to keep them away from you and your friends and your little brothers and sisters." -- to middle school students. To give hasty generalized advice to children is very shady. I don’t think that she should give advice to kids about gun safety when she doesn’t know anything about their personal lives. Perhaps the parents are extremely cautious and well-educated gun owners.

Hillary Clinton recently commented, “The man who killed Treyvon Martin should've never had a gun in the first place.” I think by using Treyvon Martin was a Red Herring and as an Ad Misericoridum because she’s using a controversial murder as a defense for her gun control issues. This rare occurrence is blown out of proportion to the actual problems of gun ownership.

“A majority of Americans support universal background checks. In fact, a majority of gun owners support universal background checks,” Clinton said. Obviously this is an opinion of fact and an argumentum ad populum because there are not factual claims in this statement. It is purely going off the popular beliefs to support something that is very controversial and important and could violate the essence of the 2nd Amendments.

She continued, “It's really easy to say, 'yeah, let's ban all these fossil fuel extractions,' and forget about all the people who are employed, who have jobs, who rely on the energy.” In a way this is a fallacy of division and there are a lot of people who don’t actually rely on energy jobs.

Clinton said: “I strongly oppose voucher schemes because they divert precious resources away from financially strapped public schools to private schools that are not subject to the same accountability standards or teacher quality standards.” I’m honestly not sure if this is appeal to irrelevant authority or circular reasoning but Clinton is known for working with very shady scheming people and the fact that she’s saying that it’s not going to get in her way makes the audience feel very skeptical.

“Let's make sure that every child in every ZIP code gets a first-class education,” I feel like since it is impossible to have a first class education in New Orleans and Brooklyn, this would be a fallacy of definition and a dilemma because this can easily bite her in the butt. If she doesn’t fully explain what her plans are for schools in areas with high poverty rates, then she cannot have any credibility in her plans for education.

“Imagine (Donald Trump) in the Oval Office facing a real crisis. A man you can bait with a tweet is not a man we can trust with nuclear weapons.” Using Twitter as a red herring made her foreign policy sound more credible.

“Whether a woman's running for office or she's supporting her husband who's running for office and she gets criticized for wearing open-toed shoes or for the color of her coat, there's just a lot of history that you bear if you are a woman who puts herself out in the political arena.” Her comparison to the female struggle and politics is a fallacy of composition. She compared her experiences to all of the other women in politics.

[miscellaneousmeditations]

Aspiration

Aspiration Statement Botswana, Africa July 26th, 2019

From a young age, I was exposed to community development programs. One of the community initiatives I was exposed to was promoting sexual health. My mom worked for the Health Department, educating young teens and families on STDs and HIV/AIDS. Now, she works for a nonprofit funded by the Ryan White program, providing financial resources to AIDS patients who cannot afford their medication. For many years, I have sought out opportunities to contribute to communities as she has. I learned about being a public servant from my mom and I want to continue this type of work by her example. I see my Peace Corps post in Botswana as my opportunity to finally give back some of the knowledge that I have acquired through the years.  

Through Peace Corps, I seek opportunities to contribute to the communities in Botswana. Eventually, I would like to establish a career where I can continue this type of work in communities all around the world.

The Civil Society Capacity Building assignment provides me the space to create and improve programs that will provide better services to affected populations. Forming partnerships between civil society organizations widens the net and reaches communities that isolated organizations cannot. I graduated from my university in the top of my class, I volunteered hundreds of hours to student organizations and community service, I interned in Washington, D.C., and studied abroad in Mexico, researching politics, elections, and education. Through these experiences, I gained insight into problem solving, professionalism, and working effectively in teams. I expect that my knowledge of international politics and my experience with conflict management will enhance my experience in Botswana and contribute positively to the Peace Corps mission.

I pride myself on flexibility and improving my ability to adjust to changing predicaments. Being adaptable means that I can work with different types of beneficiaries, like women, children, men, and families. I plan on adapting strategic plans to allow young women to be self-sustainable and independent, as providers to their families. If women are prepared, empowered, and educated, they are more likely to have healthier relationships, healthier families, which leads to healthier communities. I want to make the most of my Peace Corps assignment. That is why I am committed to gaining proficiency in Setswana during my 27 months of service. I hope to attend church services, community events, and government meetings to practice Setswana and get to know the Botswanan culture.

I believe that my assignment in Botswana as a Peace Corps volunteer will give me credibility in my professional career. After college, I wanted to work for the State Department.  However, it takes experience, connections, and learning from mistakes before I can begin working what I consider to be a dream job. I know that my time with the Peace Corps will change my life forever because of the demands of the service and the amazing lessons I will learn along the way. I will be immersed in a culture, a lifestyle, and a language that I am not used to. Though, despite these challenges, I know that I am working an assignment that will impact lives and communities for years to come. Not everyone after college gets that experience.

I expect this service to be incredibly challenging, which is why I applied. I plan on journaling and communicating with other volunteers and local community members to reflect on obstacles I face and how I plan to overcome them. I believe that I will return home with a very different perspective on the United States. This diverse view of the U.S. and international relations will make me an asset to the U.S. government, as a diplomat, a humanitarian, or a public servant.