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[no-questiond-askd]

Her first reaction when finding women’s underwear, that did not belong to her, in her husband’s briefcase was what you’d expect: shock, jealousy, anger.

Her second reaction, however, was one that surprised even herself…

The scent of a woman

[no-questiond-askd]

Tinder Date

“Honey, please stop being so intense! Just because I finally agreed to download Tinder and go on this date doesn’t mean anything is going to happen. I’m just doing this so you can get this dumb little fantasy out of your system. Besides, remember our first date? You know I’m not the type to do anything on one, we didn’t even kiss! Oh that must be him outside! Gotta go, babe. I’d give you a kiss goodbye but I don’t want to smear my makeup. See you soon!”

[no-questiond-askd]

“Oh yeah, no, Dad’s girlfriend has definitely been much less of a bitch lately. I guess maybe it was my fault for being rude to her from the start? I dunno. But she was persistent and now we even do fun things together sometimes.

What? Omg, Mom, of course I’m still on your side! You know that. It’s not like she has me wrapped around her finger or anything”

Taste yourself…

@kittensmag

[no-questiond-askd]

Feminist

“Women’s Rights History”, “Feminism in the 21st Century”, “Gender Discrimination in Modern Society”. These were a few of your fiancée’s courses as part of her post-graduate degree, underlining her intellectual passions. You were very supportive of her views, and the two of you applied them to your everyday lives, with her taking more of a leadership role in your relationship (and the same roles applied in the bedroom, of which you were very respectful).

But it was your fiancée’s thesis professor who knew what she really wanted deep down, and in those late-night “editing sessions” would put her in the place she so desperately craved…

[no-questiond-askd]

Taking the Game

This story was written by @no-questions-asked who has given me permission to post it on my blog. Apart from the pictures, I've contributed nothing to his story.

The students of each of St. Andrew's and St. Thomas' Schools were exemplary gentlemen and proper ladies. A polished upbringing rarely seen these days. Even their sports rivalry was chivalrous. One example was the Homecoming Game and the Homecoming Party. Each school would always host the other for its respective annual football game, and as a "gentleman’s wager" if the home team lost then the players would have their girlfriends or dates go with randomly picked members of the winning team to the party and they would stay home. However it was all in good fun because if the visiting team won they would just dance with the girl and at most give her a kiss on the hand at the end of the night when escorting her to her home. Like I said, old-school manners.

Gary, St. Andrew's starting quarterback, couldn't believe what he was hearing at the end of practice. “What do you mean we don't play St. Thomas for Homecoming?” Their coach had just informed them that the district school board had done away with what they deemed as practices that went against inclusion and had mixed other schools into the schedule, including public schools. They would instead be hosting Central High, an inner-city school, with a predominantly black student body.

The other St. Andrews players took this in stride and decided to keep their tradition for the dance going. They were confident they could best this opponent as well (they were a good team, after all). Gary had seen highlights of their defense though, and a little queasiness plagued his stomach.

Julia, Gary's high school sweetheart, looked like she had seen a ghost when she heard about these developments. "What?? It's one thing to be accompanied by guys like John and Tyler from St. Thomas. We know them socially after all. But guys from Central?? They're not like us, babe! You can’t just wager me like that."

"Jules, it would be racist and dishonorable if we treated them differently. This is about including them in all of our practices, even the symbolic dance wager. Besides, we'll win." Jules had no response to this. His words made sense, but she didn't have to like it. She did not respond to Gary's advances on their subsequent dates.

Gary ran for his life as the vicious Central defense went after him yet again. The score was close, but St. Andrews was losing. One player in particular, who Gary had learned was called Jay, had been pounding him into the ground all night. With each hit Julia had cried out from the sidelines in worry. After a nasty hit that Jay gave Gary right after he released the ball, Jay stood over him tauntingly and loudly boasted "I'mma take this game and then I’mma take your bitch!" before looking up and winking at Julia. Julia shuddered in disgust and looked away.

"Baby, please beat them!" Gary heard Julia plead from the sidelines during a timeout. But Gary's confidence wasn't so high anymore. Ironically, the game came down to the last play with the ball in Gary's hands, and as he prepared to make the throw he saw Jay approaching fast and flinched as he released the ball, throwing a horrible pass. Jay laughed at not even having to hit him to make Gary lose the game for his team.

That smile was still on Jay’s face as Gary "handed over" Julia at her place (as tradition dictated). Julia hadn't uttered a word all afternoon. Gary was hardly surprised that Jay had been "randomly chosen" to be her date. He was lost in thought about that when he suddenly saw Julia's eyes bulge out as Jay got close to her. When they turned to leave he saw what caused that. Jay's hand was firmly gripping Julia's ass. Gary was still to haunted from all the hits he received to say anything as they walked away.

Gary hardly slept a wink that night. He had left several messages and missed calls to Julia’s phone. There were no stories on her Instagram to give him a clue as to how the dance had gone. After scouring he finally found a girl's Instagram story that made him stop dead in his tracks. It was from late last night, probably near the end of the party. Julia was dancing with Jay pressed up behind her, very close. She did not look distressed at all. The camera then panned away and that was all Gary found. He couldn’t take it anymore and called her house.

"Ummm, Julia didn’t come home last night, Gary." Julia’s mom said in a nervous voice. She then changed her tone to a more hopeful one "she probably stayed over at a friend’s house." His heart sank.

He finally saw her Monday at school, but it was obvious she was uncomfortable talking to him. She said the dance was fine and she had just gone to Steph's house where her phone had died. "I've actually got plans afterschool" she told him before going quickly to another class. Gary stood speechless as an old car with tinted windows and blasting bass-heavy music pulled up to school and Julia hopped quickly inside. She didn't answer his numerous calls and texts.

"I heard you're transferring to Central!! Julia is this true??" Gary said a couple of weeks later. In that time, he had barely been able to get a word in with Julia. He had also noticed that she had now committed several dress code violations in the past days, and each day she’d hop into the same bass-blaring vehicle.

"Yeah, fuck this school. It’s so lame. Full of little prisses and whiteboys." She didn't seem phased by her own vulgar language.

It wasn't until several weeks after transferring that Julia finally unblocked Gary from Instagram, probably not considering him relevant. Gone were their pics in Martha’s Vineyard and the Hamptons. They were replaced by pics of a much different-looking Julia, sporting some alluring hairbraids, and usually with her hands all over her boyfriend: Jay. One picture he zoomed in on featured him flexing his arm while Julia gave the hulking bicep a kiss. Jay was looking at the camera with the same face of the time Gary had told him "…and then I'mma take your bitch!"

[no-questiond-askd]

This story was written by @no-questions-asked (original version here). He has given me permission to post it on my blog, with SFW pictures, so that SFW blogs like my own can share it. Apart from the pictures, I've contributed nothing to his story. PS. Go follow him! Prima Nocta One of the mandates in the Reparations Acts sounded extreme at first, but people quickly learned to live with this much-watered down version of an old medieval law. After all, it’s intention was to generate social contact which wouldn’t otherwise occur. It read: In order for an all-white couple to be legally married (and enjoy any government or tax benefits from that marriage), the bride-to-be must, a couple of months prior to the wedding date, go on a date with a black man, who would be chosen by the relevant agency from a pool of single, similarly aged men, and spend the night within the premises of his home. However, she would not have to do anything she didn’t want to do, and any accusation of rape would be harshly dealt with. Other Reparations laws had already allowed the great majority of single black men to own or rent multi-bedroom apartments so women could simply choose to sleep in any one of those. In the end this was meant more to allow her spend some meaningful amount of time invested on this date rather than just a meal.

Instead of dreading or shunning this practice, women began to treat it like rite of passage similar to a bachelorette party. More conservative couples and families simply didn’t talk about it and tried to pretend that night didn’t happen. “It was fine” these shy girls would later tell their anxious fiancés. More liberal mothers, relatives and friends would giggle and ask the blushing bride to be all about it, where they had gone and whether she had put out as many women eagerly (or more than eagerly) seemed to do, unbeknownst to their respective boyfriends. These mothers and aunts would smile and reminisce about their own “Date Night” with that special man all those years ago.

For many others, the night was far more significant. Provided with and emboldened by this experience and clear opportunity to do so, many women opted to call off their engagements. Caterers even started accounting for that possibility in their contracts. The ex-groom would often just be given a sympathetic pat on the shoulder by a close relative or friend but the shame and awkwardness was clearly there. Nothing was more gutting to a whiteboy’s self-esteem. Not surprisingly, the number of interracial relationships dramatically increased as a result, oftentimes shortly following the respective Date Night. The agency prided itself with the standard of its matchmaking.

It was understandable you’d be nervous and apprehensive as your fiancé’s Date Night was coming up. She had already received the guy’s full profile and pictures (which she had chosen not to share with you). “Babe, don’t worry. I’m not like those other girls. For me I see it more like a fun dinner with some drinks and nothing more.” But the queasiness in your stomach remained. Deep down, your gut told you something else.