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#accounts tuition near me
shanedoesdoodles · 10 days
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I have made some financial decisions that while I can't morally call them bad they have left me with zero dollars in my bank account for the past two day and I don't get my next check for five days :'o)
(This isn't a post asking for money do not give me that it's just a small vent)
#Multiple vetted Palestinian fund raising blogs have started to messaged me directly for funds after I reblog them and#One thing that I don't often mention is i can get really panicked when#someone who I'm not very very close friends with messages me or calls me (not sure exactly why? Might be related to growing paranoia)#Anyways I wasn't sure how to respond since I only had fourty in my bank account and didn't want to just leave the person hanging#But then my brain went “You know what. We just paid for gas for the week we can probably spare a good 20$”#And so I did and then made a post with the messages and the fundraiser attached to try to get it out to more people#And then another account messaged me a lot more urgently and panicked needing 50$ for an upcoming important surgery#They were also vetted and I panicked and decided to send them my last 20#They were a little bit pushy afterwards for more but. again. that's all that was there in my bank#Now two more have massaged me and the surgery one has messaged me again in the past two days and I'm not sure what to say to them#I only get 200 dollars every two weeks and I gotta portion that out between saving up for my upcoming second college tuition payment#(I'm nowhere Near that amount at the moment and it's all out of pocket)#Paying for gas and helping pitch in for food for my family#I'm not sure I can continue paying more than two fundraisers a month but I also feel awful and don't know what to say to the ones still#Waiting in my messages#I might have to try to find a way to turn dms off if it keeps making me not make the best financial decisions but again#I don't want to leave those other fundraising accounts with no answer!! And I don't also wasn't to give them an answer and have it be no!!!
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Summer Breeze 8
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Warnings: age gap (reader is 22, Andrew is mid 40s), dad’s friend, Andy being Andrew, other dark elements. As usual, be mindful of your content consumption.
I also beg of you to leave me some tuppence in the form of a comment and/or reblog. You are cherished!
Enjoy, my loverlies.
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You leave your dad as the doctor goes through some tests with him. You sit out in the hall and stare at the panted brick. It’s so bad. He looks so vacant. He recognises you but he didn’t even remember the cottage. It took him a while to pick out Andy and he just called him the new neighbour. 
Your chest feels constricted and your head pounds each time you catch yourself holding your breath. A gentle weight on your leg startles you. You didn’t even realise Andy was sitting right there with you. 
“You okay?” He asks. You’re getting tired of that question. You’re not. 
“Yeah, uh,” you shake your head and swallow, “I... should call the insurance. The nurse mentioned something about it.” 
“Sure, sure, well, we can go grab your phone and I already gave all your dad’s info at the desk. His wallet’s in the room.” 
“Okay, yeah, I... need all that.” 
You’re just moving through the motions. Those walls are maddening. It’s all you’ve seen for the last day, almost two. You’re going to go crazy from the noise of alarms and call bells and beeping and whirring and everything. 
When you have your dad’s wallet and your phone, you leave Andy. It’s as good an excuse to have some space as it is to actually do something useful. You sit outside on the curb and breathe in the open air. It doesn’t taste like sanitizer and latex. It’s refreshing but chilling. 
You dial out to the number on the back of your father’s insurance card and smooth out the first night’s invoice. You wait on hold, the droning music itchy in your ears. When at last an agent picks up, you answer their questions. 
“Mm, yes, I see here the hospital submitted the claim. The admitting paper work is here on file,” the agent says, “it says the patient had a blood alcohol content above the legal limit. Some sort of motorized vehicle accident?” 
“A jet-ski, yeah,” you answer, blinking as acid brews in your stomach. 
“Right, right, so reviewing everything, the details we got from the healthcare provider and yourself, the cost of the room will be covered up to sixty percent and any diagnostics and testing do not qualify for coverage.” 
“What?” You puff out, “that doesn’t make sense. He has insurance.” 
“His insurance doesn’t cover injuries sustained under the influence of intoxicating substances. It’s typical insurance policy. You can access the terms under his account number through our app. If you have an email, I would be happy to forward a copy--” 
“No, no, this can’t--” You press your palm to your forehead as panic swirls in your chest and chokes you, “how... how are we going to pay for all this?” 
“Ma’am, I’m sorry, I wish I had an answer for that, but I can only speak on eligibility--” 
“I know,” you cut off sharply, “I know. I’m not—I'm sorry, I’m upset. Thank you. Thanks. I... have a good day.” 
You hang up and have to keep from throwing the phone. God, you always knew your dad’s drinking would get him hurt and now it’s going to bankrupt him. You nearly keel over at the thought of your tuition washing down the drain. It’s a selfish concern but you have three years behind you, you’re so close to the finish line. 
Who cares about a degree. You can’t lose your dad. You rub your eyes until they stop tingling and get up. You tamp down your distress and head inside. 
You approach your father’s room and find Andy waiting outside. He sits up as you near. He gives a tight-lipped expression, somewhere between a frown and a smile. You fold up the bill and and your dad’s wallet and clutch it against your phone. 
“Everything okay?” He asks. 
You’re so tired. You blow out between your lips. He’s done enough. He doesn’t need to worry about this. 
“Yeah, uh, yeah, just sitting on hold forever,” you grumble. “How’s dad?” 
“I think he’s doing alright. They said they need to do a bit more. Do some scans. X-rays, MRI, stuff like that. He’s going to be here for a while.” 
“Oh, I... makes sense,” your lips trembles and you make it stop. Each night is more money. You tuck the wallet and phone into your pocket. “I’m going to check on him.” 
“Okay, want me to come?” 
“No,” you say abruptly. “No, I just... want a moment.” 
“Sure, sweetheart, whatever you need.” 
You go inside the room and find your dad with his eyes closed. You stop beside his bead and stare. The large bandage around his head reminds you of the damage done. Damage that likely can’t be undone. 
“What’re you staring at?” He opens his eyes. 
You give a start and cough, “sorry, dad, I... I was checking on you.” 
“You look like crap,” he says in his blunt way. That makes you laugh. “Andy says you been chasing your tail all around.” 
“I... I’m worried.” 
“I hit my noggin, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry, I’ll have you back in time for prom.” 
You shy away as if you’ve been slapped. You search his face. He’s not kidding. 
“Dad, I... I finished high school three years ago.” 
His face slackens and fear ripples over him, “three years?” 
You touch his arm, “it’s okay. The doctor said it will take you some time to get back to normal.” 
“Mmm,” he hums, “yeah, I don’t feel very normal.” 
You’re quiet. What can you say? You’re as scared as he looks. 
“You gotta go,” he says suddenly, “get some sleep.” 
“What? No, I’ll stay and sleep here.” 
“On the floor? Nah, don’t be dumb,” he looks towards the door. You follow his gaze and find Andy watching, “Andy, you take her and make her get some sleep. You can come back tomorrow, kiddo.” 
“But--” 
“Now don’t be stubborn. You get that from me,” he points at you but his hand is weak and shaky. “’sides, I’m tired.” 
“No problem, Doug,” Andy says as he breaks the threshold, “we all need to rest up, huh?” 
You look between them and hide your chagrin. You don’t appreciate Andy listening in like that. You’re sure he’s just concerned but his help is starting to turn suffocating. 
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lexkent · 5 months
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I've been accepted into grad school in a neighboring state and in the city I've lived in for the past 10 years, and I'm rotting from the inside out trying to come to a decision
pros for staying: I love my second floor apartment with a balcony and feel comfortable that the landlord isn't some monster. It would be so much easier to stay put. I have a summer and fall job secured here. the classes are regular M-F. there's a part time option if it gets to be too much. I have 1 cousin moving here for grad school (different school same city). there's a better chance of meeting fellow lgbt people here. this is a fun and diverse city with a never ending selection of things to do.
cons for staying: I already spent 4 years at this school so there isn't that thrill of going to a new university it would almost feel like returning to high school. I don’t feel a ton of school pride. it's not particularly safe here (I regularly hear gunshots, etc from my apartment.) I'm tired of the stress of the Mad Max driving situation here. I can't go on night walks without needing to be aware of my surroundings. I don't think I would want to be a Beginner social worker here (though I do want to return someday with more skills and experience). I feel like 10+ years is a long time to live in just one city. my therapist would be low key disappointed if I stayed. staying might feel like settling.
pros for leaving: it's exciting to go to a new school. smaller class sizes should mean a better chance to connect with professors and better chance to get an assistantship to help cover tuition. I could go on walks at night without needing to look over my shoulder. I would prefer to be a Beginner social worker in this city. new city means new places and parks to explore. my therapist seems to think going here and having a fresh start would be most beneficial to me. some cousins and friends are within 1.5 hours of this city. Ceno should be moving there soon!! I've been approved for an apartment with a deck.
cons for leaving: I hate moving more than anything in the world no matter how much I mentally prepare myself it's always 100x worse than I imagined. classes are Friday and Saturday (how am I supposed to drive home and see family/friends with 2 years of weekend classes?) middle of nowhere city. lack of diversity. I don't have a summer job lined up. there is always risk and uncertainty signing with new landlords because they can make your life total hell. it has been near impossible to find an apartment that allows cats I've been looking every day for months. I was just accepted for an apartment i like (though I learned it is ground floor despite the listed pictures which means my cats won't be able to freely enjoy the outdoor deck space like they could with a balcony and there could be a safety issue considering open windows) but with 1st month rent + security deposit + $600 cat fee + $70 cat rent, my bank account is going to wiped out to nothing (I've been crying lol)
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maxislvt · 2 years
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okay you being bratty with vamp wanda and she grabs her phone and says something along the lines of “all it takes is one phone call and i’ll pull you from that school” “one phone call to have my little vampire friends have their way with you, and believe me. they aren’t anywhere near as gentle”
warnings: Mommy kink, typical vampire!wanda manipulation, bratting, uh accidentally exhibitionism? idk man just read it.
Patience. Something Wanda liked to think she had a lot of. She had to. Dealing with incompetent, untrained vampires required that. Blowing up in their faces and shouting until her lungs were raw was easy — teaching them and guiding them to better was hard. That same mentality had carried over to you. It was easy to throw you over her lap and spank your ass red, but molding you into her obedient little puppy was hard work. Her kindness and gentleness had gotten her very far with you. Long gone were the days of your escape attempts and awful tries at ignoring her. You were her perfect puppy and nothing else.
However, even the sweetest puppies needed a reminder of how to behave. You were no exception. It wasn't entirely your fault. Sometimes Wanda was too vague and would spark your curiosity or maybe she'd leave you unattended for too long without accounting for your need to wander around new places aimlessly. Those were cute little things she had grown to love and found endearing. What she could never find a place in her heart for was your stubbornness. Maybe it was hypocritical, but hearing you talk back and stomp your feet for independence left a bitter taste in her mouth.
Wasn't it enough that she paid for you college tuition, smothered you in gifts, and drowned you in affection? There was no need for anything beyond her and what she allowed you to have. Your constant need to make something for yourself all on your own had a habit of rearing its ugly head at the worst of times. As her luck would have it, she'd be suffering through one of those times.
You both were a little stressed. Your exams stacked high and Wanda's papers were stacked just as high. The lack of time together had started to drain Wanda and you needed a break from writing. So, Wanda made the executive decision to take you with her to work. She didn't bother telling, but you caught on pretty quickly. The attitude picked up the second you realized Wanda had taken a "wrong turn" and had no plans of correcting herself. It had only gone downhill from there.
You refused to wear your collar, didn't sit in your bed, and avoided Wanda's touch like the plague. The day was too busy for Wanda to correct you the way she wanted to. The second her lunch break started, she quickly snatched your laptop away. "Enough work, come sit with mommy. It's time to order lunch." She expected you to protest. Have a temper tantrum or stomp your feet as you make your way to her desk. What she did not expect was you to hit her. By no means did it hurt, but it was a clear sign you need to be taught a lesson.
"You asshole, I wasn't done writing that!" You shot up from your seat and quickly reached for your laptop. You were no match for the unchecked strength of a vampire, but the grip on your face didn't deter you from reaching your precious laptop. "You keep me away from class and then let me work? Bullshit," You were sure the workers outside could hear your telling. None of them were crazy enough to intervene on your behalf.
Your owner merely rolled her eyes and forced you to be over her desk. Her hand firmly pressed down against the small of your back, just firm enough to keep you from pushing up against her. She quickly unlocked her phone and clicked on contact uncomfortably familiar to you. Wanda placed her phone down in front of your face, making sure you could see the contact name as it rang.
"Wanda, what are you-"
"Ms. Maximoff, it's so nice to hear from you again! I sure hope my wife hasn't been causing any issues for your company back home."
Maria Hill, chancellor of your prestigious university and you were about stretched open and fucked sense over the phone.
"Oh, Romanoff hasn't been anything but a delight. When she's not trying to steal my precious pet away from me," Wanda said sweetly. The soft, professional tone heavily contrasted with the filthy, inappropriate actions. Her fingers worked quickly to get you naked and even quicker to bury themselves inside you. "Speaking of, do you know my precious little puppy was smart enough to get into your school?"
You frantically shook your head, but Wanda ignored you. They continued to talk as you got closer to the edge. It was wrong to enjoy something so sinful. Mrs.Hill was your chancellor and certainly wouldn't approve your actions, but god Wanda's fingers felt heavenly. Part of you was sure her ears had picked up on the sloshing sounds coming out of your abused hole, but that thought only added to your wetness.
Wanda and Maria talked for what felt like hours, but the timer on her phone had indicated only fifteen minutes had gone by. "Well, duty calls so I must go now. I hope all is well at the school." Maria had barely bid her goodbyes before she hung up the phone. She littered your neck with soft kisses before she nuzzled into it. "See that? See how powerful your mommy is?" She buried her fingers deep into your cunt, making sure to drag them out as slow as she could. "One phone call and I'll pull you from your precious little school."
You shook your head again, but didn't dare raise your voice to protest. "I'm sorry mommy, I won't be bad anymore. I promise…"
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rot-qng · 9 months
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EMERGENCY🚨🚨 !! rbs appreciated and given a smooch 😔 !
hi hello! I'm sorry to jump everyone with this, but my school is nearing its enrollment phase again. Me and my uncle can only afford around half the down payment of the tuition fee as my dad doesn't have a job as of now
▸ the rest of the half still needs around $400 (380 for the tuition, and 20 for at least 2 weeks of commute) here is my Kofi if you guys don't mind dropping a dollar or two! Any help matters! https://ko-fi.com/kwiiko
▸ here is my carrd for more info about commission details! https://kwiicomms.carrd.co/
▸ if you're not able to cꝋmm or donate a dollar, please don't be afraid to rb! any help/any dollar counts!! I can't afford to stop school this year since it's my final high school year before I go to college!! thank you sm for reading!
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that's all!! I heard Tumblr was also nice with posts like these so I figured to revive this account and shoot my shot! Might as well start posting again here too bc i will always love Tumblr no matter how inactive I go HDSKJHD 🩵🩵🩵 light blue heart emoji for everyone!!
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troutpopulation · 6 months
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Hi gamers hiiiii <333
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post lost traction but hi hello!! If you didn't know, I am a community college student working minimum wage and recovering from pretty bad financial abuse. I just got accepted into a program that would allow me to study abroad in Ireland and participate in an archaeological dig site for the first time as part of a field school I was recommended for. Its really huge for me bc this is my dream and as a nonbinary indigenous latina Archaeology is a field I'm excited to be providing my perspective in. I'll be living near the dig site and immersing myself in history, learning GIS and LIDAR tech and drone surveying as well as excavation of ancient sites.
I've been working my assssssss off at my job and stretching my meals for days to make this work and I have officially saved up all but 2k of my tuition! Any help would seriously be appreciated you are doing me the biggest favor!!
The 2k goes towards the rest of my tuition due: March 31st 2024 which will be my entire bank account and all of my savings, any other donations afterwards go towards my air fare and fnancially recovering! Thanks so much!
Goal: 2k!
pwaypwal.me/delphontheshelf
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embossross · 2 years
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From His Mind to Yours
Chapter 5 >> Chapter 6 >> masterlist
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✣ Pairing: Hanma x AFAB fem!Reader
✣ Warning: 18+, minors DNI; unhealthy relationships & dark content
✣ Chapter CW: Exhibitionism (Hanma), Voyeurism (reader), oral (m receiving – not with reader), conversations about drugs (meth)
✣ Story CWs: patient/doctor relationships; smut (oral, ptv, pta, etc.), degradation, stalking, torture (not of y/n), murder, discussions of trauma and abuse, drug use, and more
✣ Synopsis: Forced into therapy, Hanma expects to waste his time and yours, but you’re not about to let the chance of a high-profile and higher paying patient slip through your grasp. The fact that you’re both attracted to each other doesn’t hurt either.
✣ Word Count: 7.5k+
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Diners line up outside the door of the ikazya, only to be turned away. You were lucky to secure a low table for two with tatami mat seating. On a Tuesday at seven in the evening, the bar hums with office workers sharing an obligatory after-work drink. The dim lights force a strange kind of intimacy among colleagues that could not survive under the artificial LED lights of the office. You hoped some of that intimacy would possess you and your companion, but you are disappointed.
Half-empty dishes of gomae-ae, kushiyaki, and hiyyayako litter the table. Sake and beer sweat through glass cups to leave wet rings on the wood. There is a bunched-up napkin from where you spilled soy sauce earlier.
The meal is ending, but you have yet to bridge any of the distance between you and your companion: Miyasato Rie.
A senior of just one year at university, Miyasato has existed at the periphery of your existence for over a decade. In school, your classmates considered her a conscientious senior if a little disingenuous. She purposefully sought out all the first-year psych students, offering study tips, the best spots for a cheap beer, a sympathetic ear for the homesick. She helped you find your first apartment. With her advice, you survived the first few years of university. You are pretty sure she detests you.
“You didn’t finish your dinner,” Miyasato chastises, gesturing at the dishes you picked at earlier.
“I don’t have much of an appetite,” you say.
“Hmm, I suppose that was always true. Remember in school? You would never accept invitations to go out with everyone to dinner,” Miyasato says.
“I couldn’t afford it,” you say.
It was true then, when every yen you earned was shuffled straight into tuition or rent payments. With a full bank account, it’s no excuse now. You lost your appetite ten days ago along with your dignity in the back of a town car. You can’t eat. Coffee and chocolate parfaits are all you can manage. Like your stomach will only accept the very sweet or the very bitter.
“Well, I was surprised when you called me, but we should do this more often. We live so near each other, and it’s lovely to talk to another therapist. My husband tries, but he just can’t understand what it’s like to listen to patients’ problems all day! I don’t want to come home and listen to his next,” Miyasato laughs.
Angular cheekbones and premature sunspots age Miyasato by at least ten years, and you think the lovely young woman who would bully you into attending social get-togethers is gone. You feel sorry for forcing your company on an old acquaintance, not sure what you hoped to get out of this encounter.
Following your brush with death, the emptiness in your life echoes. The unlived in apartment, the cold office, the uncelebrated weekends. You want to regain some connection with the outside world. During university, at Miyasato’s prodding, you were almost a person in the world with acquaintances that bordered on friends.
Now, when you reflect on your life, you feel like you are at an airport, helpless as everyone whisks by you on a moving walkway. No matter how you hurry to catch up and join them, they glide further out of reach. Some people were born on the moving walkway, but you were born on the cold, hard ground. No father, a mother who refused to love you, no money to survive. How could you hope to ever join the moving walkway and its inhabitants, loved from the moment they were born?
The bill paid, you exit onto a quiet street. The red paper lantern above the shop casts Miyasato in a flushed glow.
“Remember what I told you,” Miyasato says. “About Dr. Kasai. If he doesn’t immediately have any openings, tell him that it’s at my referral. He’ll definitely book you then.”
Dinner was not a complete failure, and you thank Miyasato sincerely for sharing Dr. Kasai’s contact info. He is a therapist specializing in the treatment of other therapists. With no appetite and insomnia that stretches the night into little eternities, you recognize that you need help.
A car door slams, loud enough on the quiet street that you glance up and freeze. There is Hanma. You look away and back, but he is still there, looking at you. No illusion. No coincidence.
You make your excuses to Miyasato, who blinks in offense at the abrupt dismissal before heading in the direction of the subway station. Then, you hurry across the street to where Hanma waits for you.
He is dressed down for the heat in a white t-shirt that highlights the easy flex of his arm muscles and black jeans. The tail of a tattoo peaks from the collar, curling at the base of his throat. He isn’t wearing glasses either, and you wonder whether he is currently blind or wearing contacts that so eerily resemble his own natural shade. One side of his lip is red, too full, a little bruised.
“What are you doing here? How did you find me?” you demand.
“You cancelled our appointment,” Hanma says, eyes trailing your figure. Dressed up in a little black dress that ends a few scant centimeters above your knees, you are exposed.
“I did,” you agree.
Hanma sighs. “Look, I wanted to give you something.”
His head and torso disappear into the backseat of his car, and then he returns with a bouquet of flowers tucked into a tall porcelain vase painted with red and gold flowers. Your face must show your skepticism because Hanma forcefully places the offering between your palms. It is heavy.
You aren’t well-versed in flowers or their meanings, preferring to grow herbs and vegetables on your balcony garden, but you can pick out several in the overflowing bouquet. There are sprigs of deep purple lavender, blushing hydrangeas, and most of all, there are rich blue morning glories that look clipped straight from the garden.
“You got me flowers?”
“I’ve been taking the lithium as prescribed for eight days now, and I’ve been filling out your little app, and I’ve even made plans with Hakkai for later this week,” Hanma says.
“So, what is this supposed to be? An apology? A peace offering?” Your nose grazes a petal, seeking a sniff of morning glory, but you rear back at the feeling of plastic. “These are fake. They aren’t even real?”
“Exactly. They’ll last longer,” Hanma says.
The dead thing – no, not dead, because dead implies they were ever alive – weighs heavily in your hands. You don’t trust Hanma’s act of contrition. Every piece of this act is calculated to some purpose, most likely to convince you to resume your sessions.
When you reach for a kernel of the rage that drove you before, you can’t find the spark of it. All your anger towards Hanma was used up when you fucked him like a thing possessed, lapping at his blood like milk. You thought of him in the days since, wondered at your next step, but mostly you moped about your unfulfilled life, not much energy spared for Hanma’s place in it.
“This is not appropriate. I cancelled our session for a reason. Now, please call my office during business hours, and my receptionist will help you reschedule,” you say.
“But we’re both here now,” Hanma says, and he smiles in a way that is likely meant to charm, but only makes your stomach twist. You remember he smiled when he pulled the trigger, too.
“I cancelled because I have plans, Hanma-san. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
You move to step off the sidewalk and cross the street, but a bike hurtles past and stops your progress. That one moment of pause is enough for Hanma to try again.
“What plans do you have now?” Hanma argues. “Your only plan was to get dinner with your friend. If you leave now, you’ll have hours with nothing to do but sit in your empty apartment and wait for the sun to rise. Why not come with me instead? At least that way you won’t be lonely.”
There are no pedestrians on the secluded street, but you can hear the low rumble of conversation and laughter slipping through the cracked door of the bar. You live on the tenth floor of your apartment building. The only sounds that reach you there are car horns, sirens, and the roar of an airplane drifting overhead.
You know that you and Hanma are not alike. Not really. The differences stack up like used plates at a sushi bar. He is mercurial, dangerous, uncaring. He feels strongly and acts just as strongly in turn. But, beneath those differences lies a camaraderie, a shared emptiness. You are both life’s window shoppers, looking in through dirty glass at the lives you can’t afford to lead.
Nothing waits for you at home.
“Besides, I have questions about the lithium. Surely, you don’t want me to get lithium toxicity. It sounds dangerous,” Hanma goads.
“You want to discuss your medication?” you say slowly.
Hanma bends at the waist until his face is level with yours. “Yes.”
“I suppose I could accommodate you this once.” Seeing Hanma’s smile tilt too close to satisfaction, you rush to add. “But you’ll need to pay me double for this session. Out of your pocket, not Kisaki-san’s, as it’s your fault I cancelled the session.”
Hanma thumbs a stack of bills, so crisp and pretty you salivate, from his wallet. “This should do it.”
“And I have conditions,” you add, though you wait to pocket the money before continuing. “First, you will never again so much as indicate, no insinuate, that you have a gun while you are with me. If I see it, we’re done. If you gesture to it, we’re done. And I mean completely. Failure to meet these conditions, and I will call Kisaki-san myself to terminate our arrangement for good.”
“A gun? How would I even get a gun in Japan?” Hanma jokes, a tacit acceptance.
“Second, I have a safe word. And get that look off your face. A safe word for our sessions. If I say…Anpanman the session is immediately over. No discussion, no debate. You leave, and I call you to reschedule not the other way around.” You wait for Hanma’s solemn nod before continuing. “Third, no following me around like a stalker. I don’t know how you knew I’d be here today, but that’s the last of it. We meet at my office or a previously agreed upon spot. No finding me on the streets like a creep.”
“It’s really just a coincidence,” Hanma argues.
You shift the vase onto your hip so that you can point a finger at him. “And finally, and most importantly, you do not touch me.”
“Without your permission, yeah, yeah.”
“No. You do not touch me. Period. Ever. Do we understand each other?”
“Perfectly,” Hanma agrees.
He opens the passenger door with a chivalrous flourish, and you worry that he accepted your deal far too easily. Today he drives neither the Bentley from Hell or the town car from Hell…and actually, why do you keep getting in cars with this man when nothing good ever seems to come from it? You wonder if he isn’t running a chop shop with the number of vehicles he flaunts.
Hand on the top of the door, you pause. “Wait. Are you wearing contacts? Or are you blind right now?”
Hanma smiles widely. “Just get in the car, Doc.”
Against your better judgment, you do.
--
There are two Tokyos. During the day, one hides beneath the other, but at night they converge. The intersection where Hanma belongs squarely to the seedy underbelly when the sun goes down, the Tokyo of nightmares. Touts throng among the crowd, waving flyers and promises of pussy. Every face is underlit in neon, a sinister glow to their features.
Hanma leads you towards a storefront with blacked out windows. Hanging on each is a poster of women in bathing suits, posing with their tongues out or eyes crossed. This is the pleasure district.
“Absolutely not,” you say, stalling to a halt outside the entrance. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I refuse.”
“Oh, come on, Doc. I don’t mean anything by it. I just have business with the owner. We will be in and out,” Hanma says.
“In and out,” you warn.
Hanma slips away to speak to the owner, leaving you seated at the bar. You have never been in a strip club before, and the interior provides a feast for your eyes. Arranged in the western style, there is a single stage at the center of the room and table seating for patrons around it. The only other place to sit is the bar, where rows of liquor hang in glass cabinets. Panels of mirrors surround the stage, so that as a woman toys with the hem of her slip, drawing the fabric higher and higher, the mirror reflects her image out in every direction.
You should have refused Hanma at the door. Already, you are slipping back into the pattern of conceding too much to this man. Despite his claim that he needs therapy today, you barely spoke on the car ride over, merely discussing his recently improved sleeping schedule. Now, he has left you to fend for yourself at a strip club.
The woman on stage shimmies out of her slip entirely, revealing a lithe body and two impossibly large breasts. You don’t consider yourself a prude, but you find yourself staring hard at the bar, anything to avoid looking at her bullseye-shaped nipples.
A shadow appears at your side, tall and lean. You glance up expecting Hanma, but this is a stranger. Dressed in an impeccably tailored suit and towering over you at well over 180 centimeters, he looks like a model. How else to explain the hair-dyed violet?
“Can I buy you a drink?” the man asks. There is a special mortification in being propositioned at a titty bar.
“I can’t. I’m working,” you say, and then cringe when you realize what that implies. “I mean, I don’t work here…I’m a…never mind. I just can’t drink right now.”
The stranger motions to the bartender, who drops the customer he is actively serving to hurry over.
“A bottle of water for the lady,” he orders.
The gesture of respect is ingratiating enough that you shift on your bar stool to open up your space a bit. He slots into the opening without hesitation. It is the subtle language of flirtation, and you can tell he is fluent.
“I saw you come in with a man. Who would leave a woman like you all alone in a place like this?”
“An asshole,” you mutter under your breath, and then louder for this man’s benefit. “We’re not together, and we’re not staying. He has business with someone here. He’s going to be in and out.”
“What kind of business would a respectable man have at a strip club?” he laughs.
You shrug. The intricacies of Hanma’s work are interesting, but you make it a point to know as little as possible about the incriminating details.
“Is this your first time here? You seem…uncomfortable,” the man says.
“You can tell?” you ask dryly. Your fingers dance up and down the side of the water bottle, painting patterns in the condensation. “This isn’t much of a place for a woman. I feel sorry for the girls who work here.”
The man turns around, so that his elbows lean against the bar and casts a surveying eye around the club and the stage where a woman is now griding her panty-covered crotch into the hardwood. Sweat and glitter cover her body in a filthy sheen. Her eyes are closed, and you can only imagine what she thinks in moments like this.
“It’s true that many of the women here are exploited. But there’s something raw, something free about their work, isn’t there? To strip away all of society’s pretenses and reveal the base animal underneath? She knows the truth about men, about people after working here. She knows who the devoted family man truly is, who the buttoned-up businessman hides beneath his tie. And that knowledge equals a kind of freedom, a kind of power. It’s up to her how she wants to use it. That’s freedom.”
“Maybe for some women, but not for me,” you say coldly. This stranger is a honeyed devil in your ear, promising that at the other end of abandoning self-control and dignity lies paradise. It is a convenient myth, and he makes it sound dangerously convincing.
He smiles at you, eyes hooded and attentive, no different than when he trained on the stripper’s naked body, but then he nods. “Well, it was nice to meet you. Maybe you’ll let me buy you a drink next time.”
The man leaves, and you watch him walk right through the front door and out of sight. Very charming, you think, but off somehow. He reminds you of someone, but you can’t quite place it.
No one else approaches you in the five minutes you wait for Hanma to conclude his business. You polish off the water bottle in four, grateful to the stranger as you gulp down the final drops.
When Hanma returns, he doesn’t even meet you at the bar, beckoning with his head for you to join him at a table near the stage. The silent nod, disrespectful, arrogant, sets your teeth on edge. He is so confident that you will participate in your own shame, let him make a mockery of your work, that you won’t ever pull the trigger on him, the way he will on you. You don’ want to go home to your apartment, but you know you can’t stay here any longer.
“This is not in and out, Hanma-san,” you say through gritted teeth as you approach him.
“The owner is getting something for me,” Hanma says. “We just have to wait. Sit down and enjoy the show.”
A new woman saunters on stage to jeers of appreciation from the crowd. Hanma grins wickedly at her legs as they strut by.
“Anpanman,” you blurt out.
The club doesn’t quiet at your invocation of your safe word, but the turmoil in your chest does. You have the power to set your own boundaries. Like a child, Hanma may hurtle himself bodily at each one to test for weakness, but you can reinforce yourself like a castle and stay tall.
“Fair enough,” Hanma says, and the easy submission sends your mind reeling. You thought he would kick and scream and break your conditions. “Do you want a ride home? Or can you make it to the subway alright?”
“I can make it to the station,” you say slowly.
“Alright, I’ll wait for your call to reschedule,” Hanma says.
Already, his eyes return to the dancer on stage. Without his glasses, his scrutinous eyes are twice as intense. You can see the stage reflected in the black pupils; there is no reflection of your own face.
“Why…why do you want to stay so badly?”
“Like I said, I have to wait for the owner. Plus, believe it or not, but this place serves good food. I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday.”
Once you watched a documentary that compared pre-modern and modern hunting styles. The trick of trap hunting, it explained, is to camouflage the trap so well that the animal stumbles straight into its death with a smile. Your stomach rumbles from days of fasting. You see the trap, yet you still edge closer.
“I’ll stay but only if we sit over there,” you say, gesturing to the empty table furthest from the stage and its performer. “You need to face away from the stage, too…and you’re buying dinner.”
Hanma snorts, genuinely snorts, a puff of sound from his chest expelled from his nose and says, “Have you considered a career change, Doc? Because you would make a hell of a negotiator. I’ll even put in a good word for you.”
“You can’t afford me,” you sniff.
Stuffed into the corner, you can almost pretend you aren’t at a strip club. The flashing lights are no different than any club you would find in Roppongi, and if you fix your neck in place and focus on Hanma, you can’t see the stage. The music breaks your immersion somewhat, a low, griding bass that settles in your stomach, but the little table where you sit is innocuous.
Hanma orders a plate of chicken wings to share, a beer, and steamed vegetables. He is right that the food here is delicious. Fried and greasy, so that flavor drips onto your tongue. Your hunger must finally be getting the better of you because you find it simple to eat your half of the wings.
“So, you said you wanted to discuss how you’re feeling on lithium,” you prompt as you pick a piece of meat from bone.
“Yeah, or rather, how I don’t feel on lithium.”
“Is it numbing you out?” you ask.
“No, I don’t feel any difference. It’s like you gave me sugar pills or something. I’m going to the damn lab and getting stuck like a pig for bloodwork, and all the while, I don’t feel a damn change,” Hanma says.
“I know you’re used to popping a pill and feeling the effects within the hour, but lithium isn’t like that,” you say. “It takes a month for it to take effect for most people. We want to monitor in the meantime because the difference in dosage between what’s prescribed and lithium toxicity is so narrow, but I don’t expect you to have any real benefits to report for a few weeks yet.”
“And when it does kick in, what should I expect? Because I read through the side effects, and they’re a doozy, Doc. These things better make my dick rock hard and help me grow wings, or I’m going to be disappointed,” Hanma says.
There is a spot of sauce staining his upper lip, which he seems unaware of. He chews on without a care, smearing it further with each bite. You wonder if you should tell him. Decide it’s not your place. Discretely, you wipe your own lips with a napkin.
“The point is to moderate the wild swings up and down that you have in any given day. I looked at your log, and you are all over the place. My hope is that they will help you achieve a more manageable average. Most people remain at a steady baseline from day to day without all these big variations.”
You assigned Hanma the daily log before he threatened both your lives, so you had not expected him to actually follow through. For the past ten days, however, he has steadily logged his moods with little notes to indicate the source of the shift. Favorites include an eight on Friday with the note, ‘pussy,’ and a ten on Sunday with the note, ‘good pussy.’ Other sources that trigger a high or manic episode appear to be hearing a song he likes on the radio, seeing a middle schooler trip on a curb and eat asphalt, and evading a speeding ticket. There are just as many dramatic valleys in his log. Causes range from something as simple as running out of beer or missing a boxing match on TV. What concerns you is how often a peak of ten is followed mere hours later by a craterous one.
“Most people, huh? In my line of work, you don’t see a lot of steady. We must have gathered up all the neurotics in Tokyo,” Hanma says. “What about you though, Doc? Are you most people here?”
“I would say so. I spend most of my day at a steady five with some minor dips up to a six or down to a four. Unless there’s a big exception, I’m not going to leave that zone,” you explain.
A half lie hides in your answer. If you were honest, your baseline dropped to a four recently with a mere papercut pushing you down to a three. Good exceptions are few and far between to the point that you can’t quite remember the last time you were as happy as a six.
Time with Hanma breaks the scale entirely. You can’t say that you are happy or enjoying yourself in his company, but neither can you say that you sustain a bland four like you do throughout the rest of your day. You find your time with him exists in a completely different universe, one with reverse gravity where up is down and north is south.
“Sounds pretty fucking miserable if you ask me,” Hanma says. “Yeah, I sometimes hope a truck takes me out, but I also get to feel the opposite, like the world was made for me. Don’t you wish you spent more time at a ten? Or even just a seven?”
“I guess you’re kind of edging up against that age old question: what is the meaning of life? You actually sound like the Cyrenaics.”
You explain that the Cyrenaics were a Socratic school of thinking in ancient Greece that believed the meaning of life was to maximize the pleasure of every single moment. They argued that because the future was not guaranteed – you could die tomorrow, the unpredictable could tear your best laid plans asunder – it made no sense to do anything but live in the moment.
“It makes sense on paper,” you continue. “If I die tomorrow, don’t I wish I enjoyed every moment of today? But…my mom kind of lived that way, and it ultimately ended with her dying in poverty and agony. The future makes me too anxious. I need to prepare for it, even if that means denying myself something in the moment. Otherwise, I’ll get too worked up to enjoy anything in the present. So, sure I would like to be at a ten more often, but I can’t get there if I’m risking a future one. My brain just doesn’t work that way.”
“I think you just haven’t experienced true pleasure,” Hanma purrs.
“You might want to think that through,” you tease and then remember that you don’t want to remind this man of the pleasure and terror he inflicted upon you.
“I mean it. Real pleasure…it’s addictive. Pain and pleasure have a lot in common. They’re the only two forces in this world that make you exist fully in the present. And I’m talking about true pleasure here, not just a little jolly here or there. True pleasure wipes out everything else. If you have any room in your brain to worry about the future, then you’re feeling something different,” Hanma says.
Once upon a time, you would have dismissed these pretty, seducing words altogether, but you know what he means now after the mind and body games of your last session. There was no moment but the present when you rode his cock, no fear of what came next as you bit through skin to return a fraction of the hurt you felt to him. Thinking back to that time, you don’t remember it being pleasurable in any sense of how you would normally describe the term. Rather, it was transcendent. Not all good, but all-encompassing instead.
“If you never mitigate risk, you will find yourself in a situation where you can’t experience pleasure anymore. Say tomorrow, I quit my job and blow all my money on a shopping spree, that will feel good for a day, and then I’ll be living on the street when rent comes due.” Another example of this philosophy crosses your mind. A necessary reminder that despite the multiple men who have urged you to throw your inhibitions to the wind tonight, there would be consequences to dropping your professional mask. “I think the Epicureans had the right idea of things. They were another school of thought, said that one should maximize pleasure and minimize pain. Though even that I struggle with. No human being could ever get that equation right. Only an omniscient god could aspire to that.”
“You have a tiny, and truly, Doc, I mean miniscule, point there. Delayed gratification is only worth it if the prize is big enough. If I did what I wanted most right now because I might take a bullet tomorrow, that would stop me from getting something one hundred times better in the days to come. Sometimes we have to work for our meal,” Hanma says.
You catch a glimpse of the stripper on stage as she lifts one of her breasts to her mouth and suckles on the nipple. A cacophony of hoots rises up at the lewd act. Heat blossoms in your chest. Hanma’s mouth looks wet from where his beer lingers on his lips, sauce licked away.
“And I plan to eat well,” you toast him, tipping your can of grape soda in his direction. Sometimes you look at Hanma, and all you see is zeroes in your bank account.
“Is that your meaning of life then, Doc? Enriching yourself? And then one day you finally relax and enjoy it?”
“Maybe. I’m more interested in what your meaning of life is,” you counter.
Hanma picks around the bone of a chicken wing, teeth precise as they tear through flesh. A man of endless appetites, he reaches for another.
“I haven’t studied any fancy ideas like you. I don’t know the Epicureans or the whatevers. I don’t know the meaning of life. What I know is what gets me out of bed in the morning. And that’s that there is no alternative. I can’t stay in bed all day, or I’ll die. I can’t stay in bed all day, or I’ll die of boredom. Even if getting out of bed offers nothing better, I have no choice. I don’t think there is a meaning. People just are. We live because we have no choice but to live unless something kills us. And then, we’ll be dead with no choice but to remain dead, same as living.”
You are less studied in “fancy ideas” than Hanma imagines, only taking one elective philosophy course in university. One of your professors suggested you dabble in that side of the human condition as patients often require a grounding purpose to guide their recovery. Still, you recognize in Hanma’s musings the shadow of a real philosophical framework.
“That sounds like pessimistic naturalism. Some nihilist thought considers boredom the inevitable foundation of life. They say nothing humans do is ever meaningful enough to matter, so we suffer from boredom as a result. I don’t know if that’s true or not, but it’s definitely not helpful. So many things already bring you joy, so isn’t it better to recognize that those things are inherently meaningful because they matter to you? That goes back to the mood stabilizers. I want to get you to the point where you can suffer a low period because you know that a high – which is the whole meaning of your life – is around the corner,” you explain.
Inconsiderate of everyone around him, Hanma lights a cigarette. He nods along as he puffs a plume of smoke that dances erotically overhead before disappearing into the neon lights. There is no ashtray at the table, so he dabs the stub into a table napkin.
“Sounds good to me. I know good things are coming,” Hanma says with a nerve-inducing smile.
“What is your goal exactly?”
“Oh no, Doc. That’s classified information,” Hanma tuts. More seriously, he adds, “I’m not sure what I’m going to do after I finally…get what I want. If I still have years of life ahead of me, I can’t picture myself old. I look around at other people and how they define their lives around money or success or family. I already have money and success, have had it since I was young. Nothing left to do there. And, I never had a loving family. Once I’ve done everything there is to do…I don’t know what’s next.”
Sharp pain slices through you, and you realize you were picking the skin of your cuticles raw. A bead of blood wells on your ring finger, and you pop the wound into your mouth. The bleeding stops, but the wound sits open and red. Pointedly, you fold your hands in your lap.
Without a family as a template for how to interact in the world, you often feel formless. There is a very clear schedule that women are expected to follow: it’s okay to worry about your career in your twenties, but your primary responsibility is to become a wife. Then, your thirties and forties are defined by the role of mother. Maybe a short break in your fifties to focus on yourself as a person, but then you’re hurtled back into the role of grandmother to wait for death. Even more career-minded women, like Miyasato, capitulate to the template and tell you their families come first.
Every choice you make is dedicated not to family but the accumulation of a fat nest egg that will keep you secure in your advanced years. Never mind that you don’t know what you will actually do with yourself once you retire and money is no longer the motivator.
Would you find a hobby? You love to cook, already dedicating two hours every evening to the preparation of multi-course meals, researching new recipes, and shopping around for rare ingredients. In retirement, you could embark on some kind of cooking challenge, like learning a dish from every country in the world. And then, you could set those scrumptiously prepared dishes out to a table of one, eat a few bites, and watch the garbage consume the rest.
You are aware that you are feeling sorry for yourself, but it is hard not to when even the bartender at the titty club is laughing and bantering with customers who know him by name.
“Well, I think you’re in no danger of doing everything life has to offer,” you say after too much time passes. “Focus everything you have on your goal for now, and then, if you achieve it, you’ll find something else to look forward to.”
The conversation draws naturally to a close. Good timing, as you see a man moving in your direction. He is dressed in a white button-down and gold jewelry, limp black hair combed to conceal a receding hairline. A waitress smiles solicitously as he passes, and you know he must be the owner.
“Hanma-san,” the man greets with a blow. To you, he gives a half nod, like he is unsure what courtesy you merit. “I spoke to my colleague about the situation, and we are in agreement. Thank you for trusting us with this. As a token of our appreciation, please enjoy your time here to the fullest. On the house, of course.”
He passes Hanma a folded-up napkin. Inside is a baggie filled with white crystals, almost pretty in the light. You have never seen drugs in person, but you can recognize crystal meth from your textbooks.
“Don’t mind if I do,” Hanma says.
“Um, I mind,” you say immediately. The owner starts like he’s heard a gunshot. “You absolutely cannot take that while on lithium. You are going to overdose and die, and then where will you be?”
Hanma rolls his eyes. “Ten feet under, I suspect.”
“We just had an entire conversation about how you have to live to achieve your goals,” you snap, and then turning to the owner. “Thank you for your…generosity but take it back.” The owner is so pale his black eyes stand out like bugs on his face. He does not move to confiscate the meth.
“You have a point. How about a quid pro quo? If I can’t have my fun now, you need to help me have my fun some other way,” Hanma suggests.
“Not just tonight. All the time. You absolutely cannot take any drugs while you’re on lithium. I shouldn’t have let you even drink that beer, but I allowed it because it was just one. You need to be careful,” you snap.
“Let me…” Hanma rolls the words around on his tongue consideringly.
“Let you,” you restate firmly.
“Well, then, if my life means so much to you. I’m sure you’ll agree to a little something in return.”
Disastrously, you do.
--
There are nine beautiful women working the club tonight. Every one of them is paraded before Hanma for his selection. Each woman is as beautiful as the last, one for every imaginable type: curvy, lithe, glamorous, oxymoronically demure. Hanma picks a woman with long dark hair, dressed more like an idol than a stripper in a frilly multi-colored dress, who calls herself Naomi.
Officially, the club offers lap dances in a row of cubicles partitioned by black curtains that are mere bolts of fabric. Naomi confidently leads you past these seedy receptacles to a private backroom.
The room is dark, lit up by the same pink and purple lighting as the rest of the club. There is a small stage at the front – presumably for private shows, but you suspect is really covers for the illegal activities conducted here – and a three-cushion couch opposite it, where Hanma immediately seats himself. You demure from joining him, choosing instead to sit on the stage. The platform is raised, so your feet dangle off the floor.
“How should we start, Doc? What would you like to see first?” Hanma asks, voice battling the loud EDM music blaring from a TV in the corner.
“I want no part in this. I’m here per our agreement. That’s it,” you say.
“Why did I figure you’d say that?” Hanma laughs.
“Pretend I’m not even here.”
“Does that mean I shouldn’t even look at you?”
“Yes.”
Hanma agrees easily, which surprises you, makes you wary. You wrap your arms around your body protectively to ward off the cold. A fan winds listlessly above your head and an HVAC blows cool air directly onto your skin. Dancing must be sweaty work.
With no regard to the cold, Naomi shimmies out of her garish dress, revealing a pair of panties and no bra. You try not to look but instinctively catalogue the curves of her exposed body and judge it against your own.
You look up, anything to avoid leering at the two of them. But, above their heads, is a mirror mounted to the ceiling that reflects the action back to you. From this angle, you can’t see the expression on Hanma’s face, but you have an unfettered view of his dick, hard and wet.
Naomi lowers to her knees in front of the couch, so that you are presented with her back. She unbuttons Hanma’s pants. This is the first time you’ve see the cock that was inside you. Hanma’s cock sits tall and curved against his stomach. Black hair, the same color as what trails down his stomach thatches at the base.
The head of Hanma’s cock is red and angry, more inflamed than Naomi’s pink tongue as it strokes along the underside.
Long, wet brushes of tongue. Barely started and strands of thick saliva already cling to Naomi’s chin as she slobbers all over the shaft. The impressive length of him becomes glaringly obvious when Naomi holds his cock against her cheek. The tip extends beyond her forehead, the cock taller than her entire head. And that fat, angry, red cock, had been inside you.
As Hanma receives a professional grade blow job, he leans back like nothing is happening. He lights yet another cigarette. The smell of smoke is eaten up by the air freshener that pumps away from an outlet near the stage.
Even as Hanma’s cock is worshipped, you are undeniably aroused.
Naomi moves to suck on Hanma’s balls, face tilted upward, so that you can make out her features through the ceiling mirror. Now that you look closely, there are some surface-level similarities between the two of you. Something in the line of her jaw, similar age. Glancing down, you think the way her ass sits, dimpled as it rests on her high heels is similar as well, the shape of it.
The similarities are enough that if you squint, you can almost imagine that is you on your knees. That you are seated before Hanma like a supplicant.
Naomi abruptly swallows half of Hanma’s cock, making space for something that should not possibly fit.
You touch the base of your neck carefully. Feel the hard cartilage beneath the flesh.
Hanma is different than you might have imagined. Not that you did. Somewhere instinctually, you simply envisioned that he would be rougher with a lover, forcing a woman’s head down and ignoring the choking. The kind of thing you see in porn. Instead, he dominates Naomi’s movements with a casual certitude that doesn’t require roughness. He makes little corrections to her technique with a tug of her hair or a push on her head. Never enough to make her gag, just a signal to adjust.
Your earlier conversation about the pursuit of pleasure returns to you. Perhaps it’s his confidence in the value of pleasure that grants him this effortless ability to pursue it now. You remember nights in the dark, when a lover missed your clit over and over, mashing uselessly at your labia, and you simply let him. Too detached to correct his form.
The intensity of the blow job increases by degrees. First, Naomi’s throat opens up, more of Hanma’s length caressed and sucked with each bob of her head. Then, her hands join in a sticky rhythm to massage the base of him. A line of spit dangles off his shaft every time Naomi returns to the head and is then swallowed up again on the downward descent.
Throughout, Hanma never glances in your direction. His eyes stare to the side and the door, or they study the woman on her knees. He follows your instructions to pretend you’re not there to the letter, and you desperately wish he would stop.
For the first time since you saw him on the street tonight, you feel a yawning distance, like there’s a glass wall, between you both. He is having an experience completely separate from you that you can’t hope to touch. You can’t reach him. You hate it. No different than if you were alone in your living room, scanning through cable TV for lack of anything better to do.
Because he is not looking, you don’t think too carefully as you uncross your arms, and let your fingers trail down the exposed skin of your arms. It tickles a little, a tease that chills your body and heats the spark in your stomach. You shouldn’t do this, vowed that you would not let him touch you again, but you deserve pleasure, too. Don’t you?
Again, you rub tenderly at the flesh of your neck, the shell of your own ear. You watch Naomi as you do. No matter how bored he looks, Hanma must feel good with Naomi laboring over his cock, and now you do too. You feel the distance between you shrink a little, a crack in the glass that separates you from him.
The look on Naomi’s face galvanizes you. Shimmering in her eyes are unshed tears, a furrow to her brow as she forces past her gag to satisfy him. Hanma’s cock must be a battering ram in her throat. You wonder if she is soaked through at having such a big cock inside her. If you were in her place, you would be.
You can’t resist escalating when such simple touches light your blood from within. You rub your bare thighs together to put pressure on your cunt. You pinch your nipples through the fabric of your dress. They are painfully hard, and you bite your lip to contain a gasp at the excruciating contrast.
If Hanma looks at you now, honest and shameless in your feelings, you will combust.
He doesn’t look. Emboldened by his continued obedience, you ruck your dress up over your hips, revealing your panties. They are damp, hardly a barrier as the fabric presses into your folds. You search for your clit and find it peeking (and peaking) through your clitoral hood. Sparks fly in your stomach at the barest graze of your fingertips over the fabric. Greedy, you rub it firmly.
Already, you are close to an edge and desperate to tip over. You imagine Hanma might be as well. You imagine that you are on your knees with that hard cock battering the inside of your throat. He was piercing in your cunt, and he would be in your throat, too, no matter how gently he treated you. He wouldn’t pull out. He would blow his load down your throat, and you would swallow him down with a smile. He would return the favor, drinking from the source of you, eating your pussy with no mercy until you cried.
You couldn’t stop your orgasm now if you wanted to. It approaches with terrible certainty. Your thighs quake before the crest and you close your eyes against the demand it makes of your body. Heat flares, and you whimper pathetically. When you cum, it will damn you.
Your eyes flutter open at the height of the peak and find Hanma’s staring you down. Not through the mirror. Direct eye contact as he strokes his own cock while Naomi mouths at his balls. You cum on the spot.
Your whole body seizes up with it, pussy begging as it flutters around nothing. Waves of euphoria wash from your stomach to your cunt to your fingertips as you buck and moan and continue to rub your aching clit through it. Just as you think the waves are weakening, Hanma grunts and cums on Naomi’s face. The sound incites you, and two more waves of pleasure burst unnaturally from your clit.
Later, you will castigate yourself for your choices today. If only you showed more self-control. If only you remembered your responsibilities as a therapist. Using your body has worked to a degree in capturing his interest and maintaining his focus, but it is not sustainable. You can’t sell your body and pleasure to Hanma in exchange for cooperation.
But, for now, as you slump backwards on the stage, back cold and chest heaving, you can only think that you are doing a damn good job at maximizing your pleasure.
And a damn bad one at minimizing your pain.
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mohabbaat · 3 months
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Hey buddy! Hope you're doing great
Im a 2yr clg student in DU studying Literature. I want to support my family monetarily but I have zero exp so cannt get paid internships for now
There are no tuition centers near me so that i can join , i have no knowledge in stocks so cant invest or trade , what do u think can be other good sources of income??? Not in dire need but I want to
Help!
Thanks🫶
join an online tutor platform (superprof works well) if you are okay with taking online classes.
if you don't wanna interact with anyone, you can become a subject matter expert for your subject with chegg, bartleby or coursehero (personally chegg worked best for me but that was for math).
make an internshala account. there are multiple content writing internships posted on there every day. and some of them are paid. it won't be much but it's honestly a good starting point. and it will go well with your degree.
become an ai trainer (this is basically just prompt writing but it's very good money if you get in). just search ai trainer on linkedin. there are multiple companies which will hire freelance. if not you can just try signing up for remotasks. 👍🏻
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anjalisssi1 · 2 years
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What is Accounts?
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It is very obvious for running a household a systematic accounting of expenses of household is important. When a person runs a household they need to keep the proper measurement of everything is purchased and how it is spent so that it is run appropriately. Therefore, for simple understanding when a record is maintained for various money related or financial activities such as creation of assets, responsibility, income and various spending is fairly known as accounts. There can be variations in the records as the needs and demands or expenses in a household or in any business increases or decreases.
Class 12 Accounts introduces the basic concept of accounting to students.  Students studying in class 12 learns that accounting is called a process though which all the monetary transactions related to any firms and business.  Accounts online classes help students studying accounts and clearing its concepts.
Syllabus of class 12 Accounts
Students studying in 12th often looks for class 12 accounts coaching classes near me so that they can learn from the best guides who will help them in completing the class 12 accounts syllabus. Now, let us see what is there in class 12 accounts syllabus.
The syllabus has 5 parts including various topics.
Part A includes accounting for partnership firms and companies in unit 1, it deals with various types of deeds, Indian Partnership Act 1932, following fixed and fluctuating capital accounts, also past adjustments and Goodwill all the topics are included in the unit. In unit 2 it discusses about accounting for companies which includes accounting for share capital and types of companies and its features, accounting for share capital, it also includes Private Placement and Employee Stock Option Plan and its details in the syllabus. Further this unit includes accounting for debentures and every aspect of it is discussed. , private accounts tutor for class 12 online covers all these concepts quite well and it helps students to get a clear understanding of it.
In part B of the syllabus discusses about the financial statement analysis. In this part concepts such as Financial statements of a Company it meaning and types and all the acts related to it are discussed in detail. Later in this unit it also discusses about the cash flow statements which also discusses Cash and Cash Equivalents.
Part C of the syllabus includes project work for which CBSE have given proper guideline.
Students get stressed about this often but Accounts online classes and its experts assist students in creating the project as well.
Further In the syllabus there is another part B which deals with computerized accounting. This includes topic of computerized accounting system and its all features. Concepts such as Data entry, validation and verification etc. it all provides a clear understanding of the computerized accounting system.
Later in another unit it includes practical work as well.
For students studying in class 12 who study accounts subjects for them Best online tutor for accounts class 12 in India are available at SSSI online tutoring services. They have some best subject experts who will complete the whole syllabus within the given time and prepare students to score shining scores in the board examinations. 
Online learning for accounts in class 12
Online tuition classes are best for students studying accounts in class 12. They get to learn anytime they feel like and all their doubts can be solved at their convenient time and whenever they want.  They provide 24/7 online tuition services for the students and best developed content for the students which help the students to understand the concepts very clearly with best practical examples.
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first video script
Script for 1st year video of mext
My background: Hi, My name is Rina. I’m currently in japan right now, and I actually came japan in 2019 through mext scholarship specialized training program . So for Socialized training program. It's actually a 3-year program. That includes one year of Japanese language study and 2 years of a major of choice. So in this video I want to talk about my real experience here like the first year only and the other 2 years. Maybe I'll make another video about it. Some make scholarship actually pays for the airplane and everything like tuition fee and so they give you monthly allowance to pay for your food and rent. And normally we get to leave our country and maybe the end of March or the start of April. So that's when we get to Japan. So I actually left my country on April 1st, 2019 against Japan and April 2nd 2019. And for my category it's called specialized training. We actually have get to be assigned to schools in Japanese language school. It's either we're going to be in Tokyo or we in Osaka. In the year that I came here, I was the only one to be selected into Tokyo
April
My first day here. So I landed in Tokyo and I met a few teachers from my school and I remember at that time I didn't have any internet or I didn't buy any like Sims on my phone so I didn't have internet at all. I just saw them with a sign holding like saying that's my name so I just saw them and the moment I saw them they just handed me a ticket like a bus ticket and for me and Cambodia didn't use a lot of buses or public transportation. It was a little bit confusing for me. So I just got a ticket. I just hop on to the bus without knowing anything. Thinking that you know like never guide me into the dorm. You know the bus will take me directly into the dawn but no it did not and I actually were sent into Shinjuku station and back then I didn't know about Shinjuku station or anything at all. I was just like lost hair for like a whole hour until we finally got someone from the dorm to come bring us to the dorm. Let's just say it's better for those of you who are coming. It's better to contact people who you know. Who can you know guide you around the city or at least from the station to the dorm. Or maybe have your own internet and do not be like me. You know just come here without knowing anything.
So the next two days we just went to the city hall. It was tsuginami City Hall and we just went to register my residency. You know like making my residence card and also like during the first week we went to register the city hall and also making my own bank account.
And during that time the school hasn't started yet. I think I got here on April 2nd and the school actually started like 10 days after. So I actually have 10 days to prepare my life. You know like my new life in Japan and just I'm getting everything that I need for school or just you know getting near the daily necessity like all my soap and detergent and all like the pots and pans because the dorm didn't provide any of that. So yeah because of that I recommend you get like you bring some money with you like at least 200,000 yen you know just to get by here. Or if you do not have enough maybe you can just bring less and you can contact people for there and use stuff. Because later on some of the stuff that I don't use and my Junior like my cohide that came afterwards. I just give my stuff to them so it also helps them a lot on the financial side.
Adapting to culture differences
Making bank account and register residency
Japanese test at school
And during the first week we also had to go to our school just to do like a Japanese placement test. You know to see how you know like what's our level and stuff. So actually if I'm not sure how many level they are but I got place in the lowest level like the beginner level because I only had like 6 months of Japanese education before coming to Japan and it was like once a week. So I only know some hiragana in katakana so you know like it also helps if you know a lot of Japanese before coming so you'll end up in you know like higher level classes.
May
And afterwards you know for the next 2 months I think nothing much really happened. We just you know like wake up around 7:00 or 8:00 and just preparing ourselves to school and you know like studying until 3:00 3:00 p.m. until the class ends and then we just go home. And during that time I also you know like trying to get my stem. You know like I want to do like a part-time job to earn some extra money so I can go out actually go out and I had to you know request for a stamp from the bureaucracy center or I don't know what that's called, it's called in Japanese. So the year that I came in the end of May they actually took us to a trip to Nagano. So we had like camping with our classmates for like two nights. It was really amazing. You know the school paid for everything and I don't know I get the full experience before pandemic. It was really nice. I'm not sure if I still have any photos of it but like the school actually owned a resort like in the mountain in Nagano area and they told us there and it was really fun and it was one of the highlights I have in language school.
June so June was also the same. There was nothing much going on there was you know a lot of schools but also like one highlight was the they gave us tickets to go to the school provided us tickets like each of us all of us to go to Disneyland so they chose the day and we just you know didn't have school and they paid for. You know all tickets but just have to pay transportation by myself and got to go to disneylands that I had so much fun with my classmates and my doormates. It was also one of the highlights that I have
July and then July starts. That was when we started. You know preparing for the Japanese language proficiency test. It's called jlpt and starting from July. We just you know like study like a bunch of textbooks about jlpt. So my level I was the lowest level we were studying like M3 going into n2 but because I think because of my score I got to level up a little bit and I got to move on to a higher level class and I was actually studying n2 and also during that time we have to apply for the test for the jlpt and we can choose what level we want to take like and then we have the freedom to choose and I chose them and two and and some of my classmates shows and one some of them chose M3. So it really depends on the level that you were in the moment. But I feel like I want to challenge myself a little bit so I chose n2
August and August came so the rule was during the first first three months. Here in Japan we cannot do any part-time job and after that we can just do any part-time jobs we want. But they will rule for students that we can only work 28 hours a week. So yeah that's just that. A few rules that we have to follow but the main one was that and I just applied for a job at a restaurant in kingsa. It was recommended by a friend. So for those of you are coming and you want a job and you don't know much Japanese so I recommend you. You know asking your friends whether you can work at their places so it's a better like you get the job faster.
And during this time it's also our summer vacation. It's called naziestemi. I don't remember how long we got if it's I'm not sure if it's 2 weeks or 3 weeks. If I remember correctly might have been 2 weeks so we had 2 weeks off. So those who want to you know visit their own country. They can do it during that moment. But you know I didn't have enough money so I just stayed in Japan for the whole 2 weeks. And you know it's been 5 years since I got here now and haven't really been back at all. It's really fine so it's really you know like depends on you how much you want to visit your country Anna. It's your choice. I was just doing my part-time job like 7-8 hours the day during that time. Just trying to get money so I can have money to go out and visit Japan.
So drink natsu yasini like summer break some of our next school. So after we graduate from the Japanese language school we actually have to go to you know like the next school like the vocational school. So during that time some schools they have their you know open campus which we can just go check which you know like they have showcase of which department you know like other students work and stuff and we can talk with the teacher. So that's the time that we can go check that out. And also some of the teacher theirs you know are really nice are really understanding so we can just go there and just ask them what is it like studying there? How is it for foreign students and stuff? Because they're not many foreign students in those vocational school like in the school that I went to there was not many so that was the time. You can just go check and see and we can see whether the school really matches what we want to study. And I had a few of my friends that you know got selected into the school. They were not what they want to study fine. So they actually had a chance to recheck the essay that they submitted to the next comedy and ask them to change the school or the department in the school. You know what I mean. So yeah that was the time you know just the time. You can just confirm if if that's what you want to study or not. So yeah.
September and at the start of September I think before school start I went to climb on Fuji with a bunch of my friends like three not a bunch just three of my friends and it was a really nice experience. I got to go to the top and the top of the mountain and it was just like one of one of a lifetime experience. I think I don't want to do it again because I nearly died. So yeah, after climbing the mountain and I also applied for homestay program during the Nazi yesterday during the summer break I went to do a homestay and on the west side of Japan it's called ishikawa prefecture. I went to stay there with two host family. They really greeted me well. You know they showed me around the city and also like you know I get to integrate it myself more in the Japanese culture so it was a really fun summer break for me. After all of that it was just more of school.
October
November and in October and November and December there were not much happening but it was just a lot of preparation for jlpt and you know like jlpt is actually on December. So we went to take the test and unfortunately I did not pass the n2. I had to try again the next year
December
January then starting from January I think that's when the time that we start to. You know looking for you know. Decide whether we want to stay at the next school storm or we just going to rent our own place because in by the end of March we have to move out of the dorm so we have to decide with everyone to stay in the new school storm or we're just going to run our own place. You know some schools just have dormed first but some's done so you have to really confirm with the the next school that you're going to study in and also the process of moving in and out of Japan like moving from one place to another. If you decided to live by yourself, it might get very expensive. Like for example, if your next place rent is going to be 50,000 yen the first moving in fee will be at least 200,000 yen or 250,000 yen. So you need to get yourself prepared for that. I don't know. Like since you get to Japan, I think it's better if you start saving like money like kind of at least 300,000 or 400,000 yen so you can actually move. You know to a place that you want to live or even just move to Durham in myself. Get like expensive so I recommend you save like a lot of money for that.
February and their places in here in Japan that do not accept foreigners and there's like really like small amount of places that except foreigners to move in. So I recommend you use like agency that are specialized to find places for foreigners. So it's easier for you. And also you know the agency themselves because it's really hard to find those places. You know because most Japanese here have bad experience before I know moving into their places so the kind they kind of stop renting it out to foreigners. So yeah you also have to keep that in mind too. And we finally get to move out at the end of March you know and it's going to be like on all over process again so you have to.
March
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kccitmblog · 2 months
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B Tech Artificial Intelligence colleges with low fees
There are about 40 B Tech artificial intelligence colleges in Delhi NCR that offer robotics, machine learning, AI and DS, and other programs. Of them, over 90% are private engineering colleges in Delhi, 5% are government-run, and the remaining colleges are hybrids of the public and private sectors. KCC Institute of Technology and Management is one engineering college in Delhi with low fee. It charges the lowest possible tuition fees. 
Artificial intelligence is a field of study that uses computers and software to mimic human behaviour. The B Tech in Artificial Intelligence colleges teach students on the conception, design, building, and use of robots. However, students who pursue a B Tech in Artificial Intelligence and Data Science learn how to extract valuable business information. These days, a lot of students are keen to pick up these new skills.
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B Tech in Artificial Intelligence Colleges: Top Specializations
The B Tech Artificial Intelligence colleges in Delhi NCR provide many specialties in Robotics, Data Science, IoT, and Machine Learning degrees. These are a few of the most well-known:
Computer Science Engineering
Robotics Engineering
Electronics and Communication Engineering
Embedded Systems and VLSI
Mechanical Engineering
Cyber Security
Signal Processing
Wireless
Communications Engineering
Control Systems
Soft Skills taught at B Tech in Artificial Intelligence Colleges
Every year, more students apply to colleges near me for B Tech in Greater Noida since the fields of AI and ML are growing. There are always new developments in these domains to observe. Students who wish to be successful in this field need to possess the following skills in addition to a degree:
Comprehensive knowledge of Mathematics and Algorithms
Familiar with Probability and Statistics
Expertise in programming languages
Good command over Unix tools
Sound knowledge of advanced signal-processing techniques
Stay updated and learn about novel ideas
B Tech in Artificial Intelligence Colleges: Admission Requirements
There are plenty of private engineering colleges in Delhi available for students who want to pursue this program. The prerequisites for each course vary based on the modality and level of education. Check out the list of prerequisites to be taken into account for admission to the best engineering college in Delhi with low fee:
Courses for undergraduates: To be admitted to the private engineering colleges in Delhi that offer B Tech programs in Artificial Intelligence, Data Science, Robotics, and Machine Learning, candidates must have completed Class 12 with the Science stream from an accredited board.
Courses for Post-Graduate level: Students must have graduated from an approved university or institute in an appropriate engineering or science stream to be admitted to private engineering colleges in Delhi.
Scope of Study after B Tech Artificial Intelligence Colleges
The students can join B Tech in Artificial Intelligence Colleges to pursue undergraduate programs in robotics, machine learning, and data science after completing their 12th-grade schooling. Popular undergraduate programs include BE in Advanced Robotics, B Tech in Automation, Robotics, B Tech in AI and ML, and B Tech in Artificial Intelligence and Data Science.
After graduating, students have the option to enroll in postgraduate programs like the M. Tech. in Mechatronics or the M. Tech. in Automation and Robotics.
For individuals who choose to continue research-based studies or additional education, a PhD in robotics is the best option. With the help of this course, students will acquire a comprehensive understanding of the domains of artificial intelligence, robotics, and machine learning.
Prospects for Employment for B Tech Graduates in Robotics, Machine Learning, Data Science, and Artificial Intelligence
There are numerous B Tech Artificial Intelligence Colleges in Delhi NCR that offer on-campus employment to their graduates. Candidates in robotics, machine learning, and artificial intelligence usually get salary packages of Rs.5 to 6 LPA after graduating. Nevertheless, the salary rises to Rs.12–15 LPA after graduating from one of the top-ranked private engineering colleges in Delhi. Following completion of the AI and Robotics, Machine Learning course, candidates might pursue the following job profiles:
Machine Learning Engineer
Data Scientist
Robotics Scientist
Business Intelligence Developer
Software Developer
AI Research Scientist
How affordable are the B Tech programs in robotics, machine learning, and artificial intelligence at private engineering colleges in Delhi?
The following table shows that enrolling in private engineering colleges in Delhi for a B Tech in robotics, machine learning, and artificial intelligence and data science is probably going to be less expensive. Approximately 39% of the colleges charge less than Rs 5 lakh for a course or an annual subscription. These universities include:
KCC Institute of Technology and Management
Bennett University 
Shiv Nadar University
Maharaja Agrasen College of Technology
Gautam Buddha University
Robotics, machine learning, and artificial intelligence are among the B Tech specialties.
Private engineering colleges in Delhi NCR offer a wide range of specializations, such as robotics engineering, computer science engineering, electronics and communication engineering, embedded systems and VLSI, mechanical engineering, cyber security, signal processing, wireless, communications engineering, control systems, and so on. The most popular engineering fields include computer science, robotics, electronics, and communication.
B Tech in Artificial Intelligence Colleges: Career Prospects
You can get some of the following significant jobs through the placement drive of the colleges near me for B Tech; each has a detailed description and annual salary package.
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Also read :
AKTU’s Top 10 Public and Private engineering Colleges for b tech
Conclusion
B Tech Artificial intelligence Colleges in Delhi that offer a B Tech are highly sought after, as the field is expanding globally at an unprecedented rate. Measurements show that during the last four years, it has climbed by 75%. Soon, over 2.3 million job opportunities are expected in India due to industry initiatives to improve machine-human interaction and adapt to the nation's growing digitization.
It's time to enroll in one of the private engineering colleges in Delhi and begin your AI career. One of the best places to enroll in B Tech Artificial Intelligence courses without having to pay an entrance exam or donation fees is the KCC Institute of Technology and Management.
KCC Institute of Technology and Management is one of the best B Tech artificial intelligence colleges offering a four-year B Tech in AI program. The large campus, spanning 40 acres, is home to a state-of-the-art infrastructure that includes a sports complex, cafeteria, air-conditioned classrooms, dorms, and more. We offer admission based on a number of factors, such as entrance tests, management quotas, and direct admissions.
In addition, we offer school loans, internships, scholarships, and placements to assist students in pursuing their careers and landing fulfilling jobs. With years of experience and expertise, our faculty members are the greatest. They can teach students to the best of their ability and offer them all the theoretical and practical support they need. 
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hindustangold11 · 2 months
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Jewellery buyers near me Families living in the tier1 and tier2 cities have more expenses compared to the families living in the villages and towns of India. The Immediate Family expenses includes the tuition expenses, hospital expenses are getting higher and most of the families require immediate funds for their expenses.
After the Covid, Many Families have realized the importance of saving the money and investing in the appreciating asset. Gold is an important asset which is growing exponentially in value.
Many of the Families when they are in the financial crunch, They would prefer to sell their gold and come out of the problems. Some people also prefer to pledge the gold to any Pawn Brokers as well. Pledging the gold has several disadvantages compared to the selling of the gold.
If you are already struck in any financial issues, Why again get into the problem of paying the monthly interest rate for the Gold Jewel you have pledged.
At Hindustan Gold Company, We buy your Gold in any form whether it is old gold, used gold or any pieces of old gold. We also buy the Diamonds as well. We are in the Gold Buyers business for the past several years and we have supported our customers to sell the sell gold at the current price of the gold.
We follow very transparent process in buying your gold, You can completely see how our technological machines would check the purity of the gold you sell to us. 24 Karat Gold is valued high compared to the 22 Karat Gold.
Gold is the most asset which has low volatility and risk free. Always Investing in the Physical Gold would be safer for you as a customer.
Never Pledge your Gold, Many people who would pledge the gold are unable to take back their gold from the pawnbroker. People in the Financial Problems would feel better and stress-free if they sell the gold.
The Monthly Interest on the Pledged Gold would only add the more Stress to you. Selling the Gold during the problematic situation and buying or investing in the gold again once your problems are sorted out would make you to feel ease.
Why Should you Sell your Gold for Cash to HGC?
We are located across different cities of India and the process of selling the gold is instant cash For Gold Immediate cash is provided to you when you sell your gold to us. Hassle free documentation process. Instant Cash or Immediate NEFT Transfer to your account. If you are looking for better profits on the gold, Always consider buying the 24 Karat of Gold in the form of the Gold Bars. Gold Bars are made with 24 Karat of Gold and the value of the 24 Karat Gold which is Hallmarked is higher.
Always make sure if you have the BIS Hallmark in the Gold Bar you buy. The Gold Coins will have the making charges and the wastages associated with the Gold and hence the Gold Bars have high return on the investment compared to the Gold Coins or Gold Jewels.
Are you Facing any Hospital Emergency? If Yes, Selling the Gold would be the right option for you as you might also face more medical and hospital expenses even after the discharge of the patient.
Always make sure that you and your family are saving gold every now and then even if it is a small investment. Investing in the Gold would be the right option for small emergencies and large ones.
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seolawchef · 2 months
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What to Include in Your Divorce Settlement Agreement
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A divorce settlement agreement is a crucial document that outlines the terms of your divorce. It covers various aspects such as asset division, child custody, and spousal support. Drafting a comprehensive agreement can help prevent future disputes and ensure a smooth divorce process. At Lawchef, our experienced divorce lawyers in Delhi and Noida are here to guide you through this process. This article provides a detailed overview of what to include in your divorce settlement agreement.
1. Division of Assets and Liabilities
Identifying Marital Assets
List all assets acquired during the marriage, including real estate, vehicles, bank accounts, investments, and personal property. Ensure you account for both tangible and intangible assets.
Allocation of Assets
Decide how these assets will be divided between you and your spouse. The division should be equitable, considering factors such as contributions to the marriage, financial needs, and future earning potential.
Division of Debts
Identify all liabilities, including mortgages, loans, credit card debts, and other financial obligations. Clearly specify how these debts will be divided and who will be responsible for each liability.
For expert guidance on asset and liability division, consider a divorce lawyer consultation with our team.
2. Spousal Support (Alimony)
Determining Spousal Support
Specify if one spouse will provide financial support to the other. This may depend on factors like the length of the marriage, the standard of living during the marriage, and the financial situation of each spouse.
Duration and Amount
Clearly outline the amount and duration of spousal support payments. Include provisions for modifying or terminating support based on changes in circumstances, such as remarriage or significant changes in income.
Our divorce lawyer online consultation service can help you determine fair spousal support terms.
3. Child Custody and Support
Custody Arrangements
Detail the custody arrangement, specifying whether it will be joint or sole custody. Include a visitation schedule, outlining when each parent will spend time with the children.
Decision-Making Authority
Clarify which parent will have decision-making authority on important matters such as education, healthcare, and extracurricular activities. If joint custody is agreed upon, specify how decisions will be made collaboratively.
Child Support
Outline the amount of child support to be paid by the non-custodial parent. Include details on payment frequency and method, as well as provisions for modifying support based on changes in financial circumstances.
Consult with a divorce lawyer in Noida to ensure your child custody and support arrangements comply with Indian laws.
4. Health and Life Insurance
Health Insurance
Specify which parent will provide health insurance for the children. Include details on how medical expenses not covered by insurance will be shared.
Life Insurance
If life insurance is part of the agreement, detail the amount of coverage and the designated beneficiaries. This ensures financial protection for the children in case of the untimely death of a parent.
5. Education and Extracurricular Expenses
Education Expenses
Clarify how education expenses, including tuition fees, school supplies, and extracurricular activities, will be shared between both parents. This includes provisions for higher education expenses.
Extracurricular Activities
Specify the responsibility for costs associated with extracurricular activities such as sports, music lessons, and other hobbies. Include a process for approving these expenses.
Our divorce lawyer office near me services can help you draft a comprehensive agreement that covers all necessary expenses.
6. Tax Considerations
Filing Status
Decide on the tax filing status for the year of the divorce and future years. This can impact the financial situation of both parties significantly.
Dependency Exemptions
Determine who will claim the children as dependents on their tax returns. This can affect eligibility for various tax credits and deductions.
Property Transfers
Include provisions for any property transfers to ensure they are handled in a tax-efficient manner.
7. Dispute Resolution
Mediation
Include a clause specifying that any future disputes will be resolved through mediation before going to court. This can save time and reduce legal costs.
Arbitration
If mediation fails, specify whether arbitration will be used as a binding resolution method. Outline the process for selecting an arbitrator and conducting arbitration proceedings.
For advice on dispute resolution methods, consult with a divorce lawyer in Delhi.
Conclusion
A well-drafted divorce settlement agreement is essential for ensuring a smooth and fair divorce process. By including detailed provisions for asset division, spousal support, child custody and support, insurance, education expenses, tax considerations, and dispute resolution, you can minimize conflicts and protect your interests. At Lawchef, our experienced divorce lawyers in Delhi and Noida are here to help you draft a comprehensive agreement tailored to your needs. Contact us today for a divorce lawyer consultation or use our divorce lawyer online consultation service for expert legal support.
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iitianscuriousminds · 3 months
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JEE Coaching Classes Near Me in Dharavi
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Selecting the Finest Coaching Center to Prepare for JEE
The first step to a successful engineering career is preparing for the Joint Entrance Examination (JEE). Getting the correct guidance and support is essential to thriving in this challenging exam because of the fierce competition and huge stakes. Your JEE experience may be greatly impacted by your choice of coaching center.
This article aims to offer beneficial insights into the factors to take into account when selecting the top JEE Coaching Classes Near Me in Dharavi.
Things to take into account before choosing the right coaching facility
Looking into Coaching Institute
Look into the different institutions in your community. The institute need to be close to your home and school. You’ll save a ton of time and be able to manage coaching and the school at the same time with minimal effort.
After selecting an institute like IITian’s Curious Minds, do a thorough investigation to find out about the courses offered and any other services they provide, including study guides, practice exams, test series, crash courses, and foundation courses. You will gain important insights from this information and be able to select the best program for your needs.
A Comparison of the Best Coaching Schools
You might have a number of coaches’ names on your priority list right now. Create a checklist and use it to compare various institutes using these criteria. Select the one that most closely satisfies your needs. Important milestones to include are the faculty, study materials, additional resources, pricing structure, success rates, and so forth.
Conversing with academic staff and counselors
Attend demo classes to learn more about the instructors and their methods of instruction as well as the study materials offered by the institute. You should also consult with counselors to seek career guidance.
Engage in conversation with current students to get a complete understanding of the instructional strategies and classroom setting. This will help you select a facility that will offer you a better learning environment.
Examine the Success Stories of the Institute
Discover the success stories of students who achieved perfect scores on their JEE exams. Learn from their stories and interviews. Ask them questions to find out more about the institute. It’s important to look at a coaching center’s performance throughout the course of the last 5-8 years, not just the present one, while making your decision. Select a JEE Coaching Classes Near Me in Dharavi that has demonstrated success over an extended period of time.
Think About the Realistic Aspects
In addition, take into account the payment options and the pricing schedule. To reduce your tuition costs, find out if the institute offers scholarships and how to apply for them. Additionally, confirm that the institute provides the facilities if you plan to utilize the hostel.
In summary
Selecting the best JEE Coaching Classes Near Me in Dharavi is a crucial choice that will have a big impact on your exam results. It is crucial to take into account factors like the institute’s reputation, the experience of the staff, the study tools available, and the convenience of the location. By doing research and comparing multiple coaching centers, you can choose one that best suits your needs and objectives. Remember that you can get invaluable advice and support from a respectable coaching center as you work toward your ideal engineering position. Students in grades 11 and 12 can receive assistance from IITian’s Curious Minds to help them do well on the JEE exam. IITian’s Curious Minds team of seasoned teachers’ crafts meticulously crafted study resources just for students preparing for the JEE.
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samarthtutorials · 4 months
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Samarth Tutorials: Commerce Tuition Near You
Samarth Tutorials offers top-notch commerce tuition near me/You, providing personalized and effective coaching in all commerce subjects. Our experienced tutors specialize in Accounting, Economics, Business Studies, and more, ensuring thorough understanding and exam readiness. With a focus on individual learning needs and academic excellence, Samarth Tutorials helps students achieve their educational goals. Choose Samarth Tutorials for reliable and expert commerce tuition that brings out the best in every student.
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embossross · 2 years
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From His Mind to Yours
Chapter 5 >> Chapter 6 >> masterlist
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✣ REPOSTING because it got eaten in the tags
✣ Pairing: Hanma x AFAB fem!Reader
✣ Warning: 18+, minors DNI; unhealthy relationships & dark content
✣ Chapter CW: Exhibitionism (Hanma), Voyeurism (reader), oral (m receiving – not with reader), conversations about drugs (meth)
✣ Story CWs: patient/doctor relationships; smut (oral, ptv, pta, etc.), degradation, stalking, torture (not of y/n), murder, discussions of trauma and abuse, drug use, and more
✣ Synopsis: Forced into therapy, Hanma expects to waste his time and yours, but you’re not about to let the chance of a high-profile and higher paying patient slip through your grasp. The fact that you’re both attracted to each other doesn’t hurt either.
✣ Word Count: 7.5k+
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Diners line up outside the door of the ikazya, only to be turned away. You were lucky to secure a low table for two with tatami mat seating. On a Tuesday at seven in the evening, the bar hums with office workers sharing an obligatory after-work drink. The dim lights force a strange kind of intimacy among colleagues that could not survive under the artificial LED lights of the office. You hoped some of that intimacy would possess you and your companion, but you are disappointed.
Half-empty dishes of gomae-ae, kushiyaki, and hiyyayako litter the table. Sake and beer sweat through glass cups to leave wet rings on the wood. There is a bunched-up napkin from where you spilled soy sauce earlier.
The meal is ending, but you have yet to bridge any of the distance between you and your companion: Miyasato Rie.
A senior of just one year at university, Miyasato has existed at the periphery of your existence for over a decade. In school, your classmates considered her a conscientious senior if a little disingenuous. She purposefully sought out all the first-year psych students, offering study tips, the best spots for a cheap beer, a sympathetic ear for the homesick. She helped you find your first apartment. With her advice, you survived the first few years of university. You are pretty sure she detests you.
“You didn’t finish your dinner,” Miyasato chastises, gesturing at the dishes you picked at earlier.
“I don’t have much of an appetite,” you say.
“Hmm, I suppose that was always true. Remember in school? You would never accept invitations to go out with everyone to dinner,” Miyasato says.
“I couldn’t afford it,” you say.
It was true then, when every yen you earned was shuffled straight into tuition or rent payments. With a full bank account, it’s no excuse now. You lost your appetite ten days ago along with your dignity in the back of a town car. You can’t eat. Coffee and chocolate parfaits are all you can manage. Like your stomach will only accept the very sweet or the very bitter.
“Well, I was surprised when you called me, but we should do this more often. We live so near each other, and it’s lovely to talk to another therapist. My husband tries, but he just can’t understand what it’s like to listen to patients’ problems all day! I don’t want to come home and listen to his next,” Miyasato laughs.
Angular cheekbones and premature sunspots age Miyasato by at least ten years, and you think the lovely young woman who would bully you into attending social get-togethers is gone. You feel sorry for forcing your company on an old acquaintance, not sure what you hoped to get out of this encounter.
Following your brush with death, the emptiness in your life echoes. The unlived in apartment, the cold office, the uncelebrated weekends. You want to regain some connection with the outside world. During university, at Miyasato’s prodding, you were almost a person in the world with acquaintances that bordered on friends.
Now, when you reflect on your life, you feel like you are at an airport, helpless as everyone whisks by you on a moving walkway. No matter how you hurry to catch up and join them, they glide further out of reach. Some people were born on the moving walkway, but you were born on the cold, hard ground. No father, a mother who refused to love you, no money to survive. How could you hope to ever join the moving walkway and its inhabitants, loved from the moment they were born?
The bill paid, you exit onto a quiet street. The red paper lantern above the shop casts Miyasato in a flushed glow.
“Remember what I told you,” Miyasato says. “About Dr. Kasai. If he doesn’t immediately have any openings, tell him that it’s at my referral. He’ll definitely book you then.”
Dinner was not a complete failure, and you thank Miyasato sincerely for sharing Dr. Kasai’s contact info. He is a therapist specializing in the treatment of other therapists. With no appetite and insomnia that stretches the night into little eternities, you recognize that you need help.
A car door slams, loud enough on the quiet street that you glance up and freeze. There is Hanma. You look away and back, but he is still there, looking at you. No illusion. No coincidence.
You make your excuses to Miyasato, who blinks in offense at the abrupt dismissal before heading in the direction of the subway station. Then, you hurry across the street to where Hanma waits for you.
He is dressed down for the heat in a white t-shirt that highlights the easy flex of his arm muscles and black jeans. The tail of a tattoo peaks from the collar, curling at the base of his throat. He isn’t wearing glasses either, and you wonder whether he is currently blind or wearing contacts that so eerily resemble his own natural shade. One side of his lip is red, too full, a little bruised.
“What are you doing here? How did you find me?” you demand.
“You cancelled our appointment,” Hanma says, eyes trailing your figure. Dressed up in a little black dress that ends a few scant centimeters above your knees, you are exposed.
“I did,” you agree.
Hanma sighs. “Look, I wanted to give you something.”
His head and torso disappear into the backseat of his car, and then he returns with a bouquet of flowers tucked into a tall porcelain vase painted with red and gold flowers. Your face must show your skepticism because Hanma forcefully places the offering between your palms. It is heavy.
You aren’t well-versed in flowers or their meanings, preferring to grow herbs and vegetables on your balcony garden, but you can pick out several in the overflowing bouquet. There are sprigs of deep purple lavender, blushing hydrangeas, and most of all, there are rich blue morning glories that look clipped straight from the garden.
“You got me flowers?”
“I’ve been taking the lithium as prescribed for eight days now, and I’ve been filling out your little app, and I’ve even made plans with Hakkai for later this week,” Hanma says.
“So, what is this supposed to be? An apology? A peace offering?” Your nose grazes a petal, seeking a sniff of morning glory, but you rear back at the feeling of plastic. “These are fake. They aren’t even real?”
“Exactly. They’ll last longer,” Hanma says.
The dead thing – no, not dead, because dead implies they were ever alive – weighs heavily in your hands. You don’t trust Hanma’s act of contrition. Every piece of this act is calculated to some purpose, most likely to convince you to resume your sessions.
When you reach for a kernel of the rage that drove you before, you can’t find the spark of it. All your anger towards Hanma was used up when you fucked him like a thing possessed, lapping at his blood like milk. You thought of him in the days since, wondered at your next step, but mostly you moped about your unfulfilled life, not much energy spared for Hanma’s place in it.
“This is not appropriate. I cancelled our session for a reason. Now, please call my office during business hours, and my receptionist will help you reschedule,” you say.
“But we’re both here now,” Hanma says, and he smiles in a way that is likely meant to charm, but only makes your stomach twist. You remember he smiled when he pulled the trigger, too.
“I cancelled because I have plans, Hanma-san. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
You move to step off the sidewalk and cross the street, but a bike hurtles past and stops your progress. That one moment of pause is enough for Hanma to try again.
“What plans do you have now?” Hanma argues. “Your only plan was to get dinner with your friend. If you leave now, you’ll have hours with nothing to do but sit in your empty apartment and wait for the sun to rise. Why not come with me instead? At least that way you won’t be lonely.”
There are no pedestrians on the secluded street, but you can hear the low rumble of conversation and laughter slipping through the cracked door of the bar. You live on the tenth floor of your apartment building. The only sounds that reach you there are car horns, sirens, and the roar of an airplane drifting overhead.
You know that you and Hanma are not alike. Not really. The differences stack up like used plates at a sushi bar. He is mercurial, dangerous, uncaring. He feels strongly and acts just as strongly in turn. But, beneath those differences lies a camaraderie, a shared emptiness. You are both life’s window shoppers, looking in through dirty glass at the lives you can’t afford to lead.
Nothing waits for you at home.
“Besides, I have questions about the lithium. Surely, you don’t want me to get lithium toxicity. It sounds dangerous,” Hanma goads.
“You want to discuss your medication?” you say slowly.
Hanma bends at the waist until his face is level with yours. “Yes.”
“I suppose I could accommodate you this once.” Seeing Hanma’s smile tilt too close to satisfaction, you rush to add. “But you’ll need to pay me double for this session. Out of your pocket, not Kisaki-san’s, as it’s your fault I cancelled the session.”
Hanma thumbs a stack of bills, so crisp and pretty you salivate, from his wallet. “This should do it.”
“And I have conditions,” you add, though you wait to pocket the money before continuing. “First, you will never again so much as indicate, no insinuate, that you have a gun while you are with me. If I see it, we’re done. If you gesture to it, we’re done. And I mean completely. Failure to meet these conditions, and I will call Kisaki-san myself to terminate our arrangement for good.”
“A gun? How would I even get a gun in Japan?” Hanma jokes, a tacit acceptance.
“Second, I have a safe word. And get that look off your face. A safe word for our sessions. If I say…Anpanman the session is immediately over. No discussion, no debate. You leave, and I call you to reschedule not the other way around.” You wait for Hanma’s solemn nod before continuing. “Third, no following me around like a stalker. I don’t know how you knew I’d be here today, but that’s the last of it. We meet at my office or a previously agreed upon spot. No finding me on the streets like a creep.”
“It’s really just a coincidence,” Hanma argues.
You shift the vase onto your hip so that you can point a finger at him. “And finally, and most importantly, you do not touch me.”
“Without your permission, yeah, yeah.”
“No. You do not touch me. Period. Ever. Do we understand each other?”
“Perfectly,” Hanma agrees.
He opens the passenger door with a chivalrous flourish, and you worry that he accepted your deal far too easily. Today he drives neither the Bentley from Hell or the town car from Hell…and actually, why do you keep getting in cars with this man when nothing good ever seems to come from it? You wonder if he isn’t running a chop shop with the number of vehicles he flaunts.
Hand on the top of the door, you pause. “Wait. Are you wearing contacts? Or are you blind right now?”
Hanma smiles widely. “Just get in the car, Doc.”
Against your better judgment, you do.
--
There are two Tokyos. During the day, one hides beneath the other, but at night they converge. The intersection where Hanma belongs squarely to the seedy underbelly when the sun goes down, the Tokyo of nightmares. Touts throng among the crowd, waving flyers and promises of pussy. Every face is underlit in neon, a sinister glow to their features.
Hanma leads you towards a storefront with blacked out windows. Hanging on each is a poster of women in bathing suits, posing with their tongues out or eyes crossed. This is the pleasure district.
“Absolutely not,” you say, stalling to a halt outside the entrance. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I refuse.”
“Oh, come on, Doc. I don’t mean anything by it. I just have business with the owner. We will be in and out,” Hanma says.
“In and out,” you warn.
Hanma slips away to speak to the owner, leaving you seated at the bar. You have never been in a strip club before, and the interior provides a feast for your eyes. Arranged in the western style, there is a single stage at the center of the room and table seating for patrons around it. The only other place to sit is the bar, where rows of liquor hang in glass cabinets. Panels of mirrors surround the stage, so that as a woman toys with the hem of her slip, drawing the fabric higher and higher, the mirror reflects her image out in every direction.
You should have refused Hanma at the door. Already, you are slipping back into the pattern of conceding too much to this man. Despite his claim that he needs therapy today, you barely spoke on the car ride over, merely discussing his recently improved sleeping schedule. Now, he has left you to fend for yourself at a strip club.
The woman on stage shimmies out of her slip entirely, revealing a lithe body and two impossibly large breasts. You don’t consider yourself a prude, but you find yourself staring hard at the bar, anything to avoid looking at her bullseye-shaped nipples.
A shadow appears at your side, tall and lean. You glance up expecting Hanma, but this is a stranger. Dressed in an impeccably tailored suit and towering over you at well over 180 centimeters, he looks like a model. How else to explain the hair-dyed violet?
“Can I buy you a drink?” the man asks. There is a special mortification in being propositioned at a titty bar.
“I can’t. I’m working,” you say, and then cringe when you realize what that implies. “I mean, I don’t work here…I’m a…never mind. I just can’t drink right now.”
The stranger motions to the bartender, who drops the customer he is actively serving to hurry over.
“A bottle of water for the lady,” he orders.
The gesture of respect is ingratiating enough that you shift on your bar stool to open up your space a bit. He slots into the opening without hesitation. It is the subtle language of flirtation, and you can tell he is fluent.
“I saw you come in with a man. Who would leave a woman like you all alone in a place like this?”
“An asshole,” you mutter under your breath, and then louder for this man’s benefit. “We’re not together, and we’re not staying. He has business with someone here. He’s going to be in and out.”
“What kind of business would a respectable man have at a strip club?” he laughs.
You shrug. The intricacies of Hanma’s work are interesting, but you make it a point to know as little as possible about the incriminating details.
“Is this your first time here? You seem…uncomfortable,” the man says.
“You can tell?” you ask dryly. Your fingers dance up and down the side of the water bottle, painting patterns in the condensation. “This isn’t much of a place for a woman. I feel sorry for the girls who work here.”
The man turns around, so that his elbows lean against the bar and casts a surveying eye around the club and the stage where a woman is now griding her panty-covered crotch into the hardwood. Sweat and glitter cover her body in a filthy sheen. Her eyes are closed, and you can only imagine what she thinks in moments like this.
“It’s true that many of the women here are exploited. But there’s something raw, something free about their work, isn’t there? To strip away all of society’s pretenses and reveal the base animal underneath? She knows the truth about men, about people after working here. She knows who the devoted family man truly is, who the buttoned-up businessman hides beneath his tie. And that knowledge equals a kind of freedom, a kind of power. It’s up to her how she wants to use it. That’s freedom.”
“Maybe for some women, but not for me,” you say coldly. This stranger is a honeyed devil in your ear, promising that at the other end of abandoning self-control and dignity lies paradise. It is a convenient myth, and he makes it sound dangerously convincing.
He smiles at you, eyes hooded and attentive, no different than when he trained on the stripper’s naked body, but then he nods. “Well, it was nice to meet you. Maybe you’ll let me buy you a drink next time.”
The man leaves, and you watch him walk right through the front door and out of sight. Very charming, you think, but off somehow. He reminds you of someone, but you can’t quite place it.
No one else approaches you in the five minutes you wait for Hanma to conclude his business. You polish off the water bottle in four, grateful to the stranger as you gulp down the final drops.
When Hanma returns, he doesn’t even meet you at the bar, beckoning with his head for you to join him at a table near the stage. The silent nod, disrespectful, arrogant, sets your teeth on edge. He is so confident that you will participate in your own shame, let him make a mockery of your work, that you won’t ever pull the trigger on him, the way he will on you. You don’ want to go home to your apartment, but you know you can’t stay here any longer.
“This is not in and out, Hanma-san,” you say through gritted teeth as you approach him.
“The owner is getting something for me,” Hanma says. “We just have to wait. Sit down and enjoy the show.”
A new woman saunters on stage to jeers of appreciation from the crowd. Hanma grins wickedly at her legs as they strut by.
“Anpanman,” you blurt out.
The club doesn’t quiet at your invocation of your safe word, but the turmoil in your chest does. You have the power to set your own boundaries. Like a child, Hanma may hurtle himself bodily at each one to test for weakness, but you can reinforce yourself like a castle and stay tall.
“Fair enough,” Hanma says, and the easy submission sends your mind reeling. You thought he would kick and scream and break your conditions. “Do you want a ride home? Or can you make it to the subway alright?”
“I can make it to the station,” you say slowly.
“Alright, I’ll wait for your call to reschedule,” Hanma says.
Already, his eyes return to the dancer on stage. Without his glasses, his scrutinous eyes are twice as intense. You can see the stage reflected in the black pupils; there is no reflection of your own face.
“Why…why do you want to stay so badly?”
“Like I said, I have to wait for the owner. Plus, believe it or not, but this place serves good food. I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday.”
Once you watched a documentary that compared pre-modern and modern hunting styles. The trick of trap hunting, it explained, is to camouflage the trap so well that the animal stumbles straight into its death with a smile. Your stomach rumbles from days of fasting. You see the trap, yet you still edge closer.
“I’ll stay but only if we sit over there,” you say, gesturing to the empty table furthest from the stage and its performer. “You need to face away from the stage, too…and you’re buying dinner.”
Hanma snorts, genuinely snorts, a puff of sound from his chest expelled from his nose and says, “Have you considered a career change, Doc? Because you would make a hell of a negotiator. I’ll even put in a good word for you.”
“You can’t afford me,” you sniff.
Stuffed into the corner, you can almost pretend you aren’t at a strip club. The flashing lights are no different than any club you would find in Roppongi, and if you fix your neck in place and focus on Hanma, you can’t see the stage. The music breaks your immersion somewhat, a low, griding bass that settles in your stomach, but the little table where you sit is innocuous.
Hanma orders a plate of chicken wings to share, a beer, and steamed vegetables. He is right that the food here is delicious. Fried and greasy, so that flavor drips onto your tongue. Your hunger must finally be getting the better of you because you find it simple to eat your half of the wings.
“So, you said you wanted to discuss how you’re feeling on lithium,” you prompt as you pick a piece of meat from bone.
“Yeah, or rather, how I don’t feel on lithium.”
“Is it numbing you out?” you ask.
“No, I don’t feel any difference. It’s like you gave me sugar pills or something. I’m going to the damn lab and getting stuck like a pig for bloodwork, and all the while, I don’t feel a damn change,” Hanma says.
“I know you’re used to popping a pill and feeling the effects within the hour, but lithium isn’t like that,” you say. “It takes a month for it to take effect for most people. We want to monitor in the meantime because the difference in dosage between what’s prescribed and lithium toxicity is so narrow, but I don’t expect you to have any real benefits to report for a few weeks yet.”
“And when it does kick in, what should I expect? Because I read through the side effects, and they’re a doozy, Doc. These things better make my dick rock hard and help me grow wings, or I’m going to be disappointed,” Hanma says.
There is a spot of sauce staining his upper lip, which he seems unaware of. He chews on without a care, smearing it further with each bite. You wonder if you should tell him. Decide it’s not your place. Discretely, you wipe your own lips with a napkin.
“The point is to moderate the wild swings up and down that you have in any given day. I looked at your log, and you are all over the place. My hope is that they will help you achieve a more manageable average. Most people remain at a steady baseline from day to day without all these big variations.”
You assigned Hanma the daily log before he threatened both your lives, so you had not expected him to actually follow through. For the past ten days, however, he has steadily logged his moods with little notes to indicate the source of the shift. Favorites include an eight on Friday with the note, ‘pussy,’ and a ten on Sunday with the note, ‘good pussy.’ Other sources that trigger a high or manic episode appear to be hearing a song he likes on the radio, seeing a middle schooler trip on a curb and eat asphalt, and evading a speeding ticket. There are just as many dramatic valleys in his log. Causes range from something as simple as running out of beer or missing a boxing match on TV. What concerns you is how often a peak of ten is followed mere hours later by a craterous one.
“Most people, huh? In my line of work, you don’t see a lot of steady. We must have gathered up all the neurotics in Tokyo,” Hanma says. “What about you though, Doc? Are you most people here?”
“I would say so. I spend most of my day at a steady five with some minor dips up to a six or down to a four. Unless there’s a big exception, I’m not going to leave that zone,” you explain.
A half lie hides in your answer. If you were honest, your baseline dropped to a four recently with a mere papercut pushing you down to a three. Good exceptions are few and far between to the point that you can’t quite remember the last time you were as happy as a six.
Time with Hanma breaks the scale entirely. You can’t say that you are happy or enjoying yourself in his company, but neither can you say that you sustain a bland four like you do throughout the rest of your day. You find your time with him exists in a completely different universe, one with reverse gravity where up is down and north is south.
“Sounds pretty fucking miserable if you ask me,” Hanma says. “Yeah, I sometimes hope a truck takes me out, but I also get to feel the opposite, like the world was made for me. Don’t you wish you spent more time at a ten? Or even just a seven?”
“I guess you’re kind of edging up against that age old question: what is the meaning of life? You actually sound like the Cyrenaics.”
You explain that the Cyrenaics were a Socratic school of thinking in ancient Greece that believed the meaning of life was to maximize the pleasure of every single moment. They argued that because the future was not guaranteed – you could die tomorrow, the unpredictable could tear your best laid plans asunder – it made no sense to do anything but live in the moment.
“It makes sense on paper,” you continue. “If I die tomorrow, don’t I wish I enjoyed every moment of today? But…my mom kind of lived that way, and it ultimately ended with her dying in poverty and agony. The future makes me too anxious. I need to prepare for it, even if that means denying myself something in the moment. Otherwise, I’ll get too worked up to enjoy anything in the present. So, sure I would like to be at a ten more often, but I can’t get there if I’m risking a future one. My brain just doesn’t work that way.”
“I think you just haven’t experienced true pleasure,” Hanma purrs.
“You might want to think that through,” you tease and then remember that you don’t want to remind this man of the pleasure and terror he inflicted upon you.
“I mean it. Real pleasure…it’s addictive. Pain and pleasure have a lot in common. They’re the only two forces in this world that make you exist fully in the present. And I’m talking about true pleasure here, not just a little jolly here or there. True pleasure wipes out everything else. If you have any room in your brain to worry about the future, then you’re feeling something different,” Hanma says.
Once upon a time, you would have dismissed these pretty, seducing words altogether, but you know what he means now after the mind and body games of your last session. There was no moment but the present when you rode his cock, no fear of what came next as you bit through skin to return a fraction of the hurt you felt to him. Thinking back to that time, you don’t remember it being pleasurable in any sense of how you would normally describe the term. Rather, it was transcendent. Not all good, but all-encompassing instead.
“If you never mitigate risk, you will find yourself in a situation where you can’t experience pleasure anymore. Say tomorrow, I quit my job and blow all my money on a shopping spree, that will feel good for a day, and then I’ll be living on the street when rent comes due.” Another example of this philosophy crosses your mind. A necessary reminder that despite the multiple men who have urged you to throw your inhibitions to the wind tonight, there would be consequences to dropping your professional mask. “I think the Epicureans had the right idea of things. They were another school of thought, said that one should maximize pleasure and minimize pain. Though even that I struggle with. No human being could ever get that equation right. Only an omniscient god could aspire to that.”
“You have a tiny, and truly, Doc, I mean miniscule, point there. Delayed gratification is only worth it if the prize is big enough. If I did what I wanted most right now because I might take a bullet tomorrow, that would stop me from getting something one hundred times better in the days to come. Sometimes we have to work for our meal,” Hanma says.
You catch a glimpse of the stripper on stage as she lifts one of her breasts to her mouth and suckles on the nipple. A cacophony of hoots rises up at the lewd act. Heat blossoms in your chest. Hanma’s mouth looks wet from where his beer lingers on his lips, sauce licked away.
“And I plan to eat well,” you toast him, tipping your can of grape soda in his direction. Sometimes you look at Hanma, and all you see is zeroes in your bank account.
“Is that your meaning of life then, Doc? Enriching yourself? And then one day you finally relax and enjoy it?”
“Maybe. I’m more interested in what your meaning of life is,” you counter.
Hanma picks around the bone of a chicken wing, teeth precise as they tear through flesh. A man of endless appetites, he reaches for another.
“I haven’t studied any fancy ideas like you. I don’t know the Epicureans or the whatevers. I don’t know the meaning of life. What I know is what gets me out of bed in the morning. And that’s that there is no alternative. I can’t stay in bed all day, or I’ll die. I can’t stay in bed all day, or I’ll die of boredom. Even if getting out of bed offers nothing better, I have no choice. I don’t think there is a meaning. People just are. We live because we have no choice but to live unless something kills us. And then, we’ll be dead with no choice but to remain dead, same as living.”
You are less studied in “fancy ideas” than Hanma imagines, only taking one elective philosophy course in university. One of your professors suggested you dabble in that side of the human condition as patients often require a grounding purpose to guide their recovery. Still, you recognize in Hanma’s musings the shadow of a real philosophical framework.
“That sounds like pessimistic naturalism. Some nihilist thought considers boredom the inevitable foundation of life. They say nothing humans do is ever meaningful enough to matter, so we suffer from boredom as a result. I don’t know if that’s true or not, but it’s definitely not helpful. So many things already bring you joy, so isn’t it better to recognize that those things are inherently meaningful because they matter to you? That goes back to the mood stabilizers. I want to get you to the point where you can suffer a low period because you know that a high – which is the whole meaning of your life – is around the corner,” you explain.
Inconsiderate of everyone around him, Hanma lights a cigarette. He nods along as he puffs a plume of smoke that dances erotically overhead before disappearing into the neon lights. There is no ashtray at the table, so he dabs the stub into a table napkin.
“Sounds good to me. I know good things are coming,” Hanma says with a nerve-inducing smile.
“What is your goal exactly?”
“Oh no, Doc. That’s classified information,” Hanma tuts. More seriously, he adds, “I’m not sure what I’m going to do after I finally…get what I want. If I still have years of life ahead of me, I can’t picture myself old. I look around at other people and how they define their lives around money or success or family. I already have money and success, have had it since I was young. Nothing left to do there. And, I never had a loving family. Once I’ve done everything there is to do…I don’t know what’s next.”
Sharp pain slices through you, and you realize you were picking the skin of your cuticles raw. A bead of blood wells on your ring finger, and you pop the wound into your mouth. The bleeding stops, but the wound sits open and red. Pointedly, you fold your hands in your lap.
Without a family as a template for how to interact in the world, you often feel formless. There is a very clear schedule that women are expected to follow: it’s okay to worry about your career in your twenties, but your primary responsibility is to become a wife. Then, your thirties and forties are defined by the role of mother. Maybe a short break in your fifties to focus on yourself as a person, but then you’re hurtled back into the role of grandmother to wait for death. Even more career-minded women, like Miyasato, capitulate to the template and tell you their families come first.
Every choice you make is dedicated not to family but the accumulation of a fat nest egg that will keep you secure in your advanced years. Never mind that you don’t know what you will actually do with yourself once you retire and money is no longer the motivator.
Would you find a hobby? You love to cook, already dedicating two hours every evening to the preparation of multi-course meals, researching new recipes, and shopping around for rare ingredients. In retirement, you could embark on some kind of cooking challenge, like learning a dish from every country in the world. And then, you could set those scrumptiously prepared dishes out to a table of one, eat a few bites, and watch the garbage consume the rest.
You are aware that you are feeling sorry for yourself, but it is hard not to when even the bartender at the titty club is laughing and bantering with customers who know him by name.
“Well, I think you’re in no danger of doing everything life has to offer,” you say after too much time passes. “Focus everything you have on your goal for now, and then, if you achieve it, you’ll find something else to look forward to.”
The conversation draws naturally to a close. Good timing, as you see a man moving in your direction. He is dressed in a white button-down and gold jewelry, limp black hair combed to conceal a receding hairline. A waitress smiles solicitously as he passes, and you know he must be the owner.
“Hanma-san,” the man greets with a blow. To you, he gives a half nod, like he is unsure what courtesy you merit. “I spoke to my colleague about the situation, and we are in agreement. Thank you for trusting us with this. As a token of our appreciation, please enjoy your time here to the fullest. On the house, of course.”
He passes Hanma a folded-up napkin. Inside is a baggie filled with white crystals, almost pretty in the light. You have never seen drugs in person, but you can recognize crystal meth from your textbooks.
“Don’t mind if I do,” Hanma says.
“Um, I mind,” you say immediately. The owner starts like he’s heard a gunshot. “You absolutely cannot take that while on lithium. You are going to overdose and die, and then where will you be?”
Hanma rolls his eyes. “Ten feet under, I suspect.”
“We just had an entire conversation about how you have to live to achieve your goals,” you snap, and then turning to the owner. “Thank you for your…generosity but take it back.” The owner is so pale his black eyes stand out like bugs on his face. He does not move to confiscate the meth.
“You have a point. How about a quid pro quo? If I can’t have my fun now, you need to help me have my fun some other way,” Hanma suggests.
“Not just tonight. All the time. You absolutely cannot take any drugs while you’re on lithium. I shouldn’t have let you even drink that beer, but I allowed it because it was just one. You need to be careful,” you snap.
“Let me…” Hanma rolls the words around on his tongue consideringly.
“Let you,” you restate firmly.
“Well, then, if my life means so much to you. I’m sure you’ll agree to a little something in return.”
Disastrously, you do.
--
There are nine beautiful women working the club tonight. Every one of them is paraded before Hanma for his selection. Each woman is as beautiful as the last, one for every imaginable type: curvy, lithe, glamorous, oxymoronically demure. Hanma picks a woman with long dark hair, dressed more like an idol than a stripper in a frilly multi-colored dress, who calls herself Naomi.
Officially, the club offers lap dances in a row of cubicles partitioned by black curtains that are mere bolts of fabric. Naomi confidently leads you past these seedy receptacles to a private backroom.
The room is dark, lit up by the same pink and purple lighting as the rest of the club. There is a small stage at the front – presumably for private shows, but you suspect is really covers for the illegal activities conducted here – and a three-cushion couch opposite it, where Hanma immediately seats himself. You demure from joining him, choosing instead to sit on the stage. The platform is raised, so your feet dangle off the floor.
“How should we start, Doc? What would you like to see first?” Hanma asks, voice battling the loud EDM music blaring from a TV in the corner.
“I want no part in this. I’m here per our agreement. That’s it,” you say.
“Why did I figure you’d say that?” Hanma laughs.
“Pretend I’m not even here.”
“Does that mean I shouldn’t even look at you?”
“Yes.”
Hanma agrees easily, which surprises you, makes you wary. You wrap your arms around your body protectively to ward off the cold. A fan winds listlessly above your head and an HVAC blows cool air directly onto your skin. Dancing must be sweaty work.
With no regard to the cold, Naomi shimmies out of her garish dress, revealing a pair of panties and no bra. You try not to look but instinctively catalogue the curves of her exposed body and judge it against your own.
You look up, anything to avoid leering at the two of them. But, above their heads, is a mirror mounted to the ceiling that reflects the action back to you. From this angle, you can’t see the expression on Hanma’s face, but you have an unfettered view of his dick, hard and wet.
Naomi lowers to her knees in front of the couch, so that you are presented with her back. She unbuttons Hanma’s pants. This is the first time you’ve see the cock that was inside you. Hanma’s cock sits tall and curved against his stomach. Black hair, the same color as what trails down his stomach thatches at the base.
The head of Hanma’s cock is red and angry, more inflamed than Naomi’s pink tongue as it strokes along the underside.
Long, wet brushes of tongue. Barely started and strands of thick saliva already cling to Naomi’s chin as she slobbers all over the shaft. The impressive length of him becomes glaringly obvious when Naomi holds his cock against her cheek. The tip extends beyond her forehead, the cock taller than her entire head. And that fat, angry, red cock, had been inside you.
As Hanma receives a professional grade blow job, he leans back like nothing is happening. He lights yet another cigarette. The smell of smoke is eaten up by the air freshener that pumps away from an outlet near the stage.
Even as Hanma’s cock is worshipped, you are undeniably aroused.
Naomi moves to suck on Hanma’s balls, face tilted upward, so that you can make out her features through the ceiling mirror. Now that you look closely, there are some surface-level similarities between the two of you. Something in the line of her jaw, similar age. Glancing down, you think the way her ass sits, dimpled as it rests on her high heels is similar as well, the shape of it.
The similarities are enough that if you squint, you can almost imagine that is you on your knees. That you are seated before Hanma like a supplicant.
Naomi abruptly swallows half of Hanma’s cock, making space for something that should not possibly fit.
You touch the base of your neck carefully. Feel the hard cartilage beneath the flesh.
Hanma is different than you might have imagined. Not that you did. Somewhere instinctually, you simply envisioned that he would be rougher with a lover, forcing a woman’s head down and ignoring the choking. The kind of thing you see in porn. Instead, he dominates Naomi’s movements with a casual certitude that doesn’t require roughness. He makes little corrections to her technique with a tug of her hair or a push on her head. Never enough to make her gag, just a signal to adjust.
Your earlier conversation about the pursuit of pleasure returns to you. Perhaps it’s his confidence in the value of pleasure that grants him this effortless ability to pursue it now. You remember nights in the dark, when a lover missed your clit over and over, mashing uselessly at your labia, and you simply let him. Too detached to correct his form.
The intensity of the blow job increases by degrees. First, Naomi’s throat opens up, more of Hanma’s length caressed and sucked with each bob of her head. Then, her hands join in a sticky rhythm to massage the base of him. A line of spit dangles off his shaft every time Naomi returns to the head and is then swallowed up again on the downward descent.
Throughout, Hanma never glances in your direction. His eyes stare to the side and the door, or they study the woman on her knees. He follows your instructions to pretend you’re not there to the letter, and you desperately wish he would stop.
For the first time since you saw him on the street tonight, you feel a yawning distance, like there’s a glass wall, between you both. He is having an experience completely separate from you that you can’t hope to touch. You can’t reach him. You hate it. No different than if you were alone in your living room, scanning through cable TV for lack of anything better to do.
Because he is not looking, you don’t think too carefully as you uncross your arms, and let your fingers trail down the exposed skin of your arms. It tickles a little, a tease that chills your body and heats the spark in your stomach. You shouldn’t do this, vowed that you would not let him touch you again, but you deserve pleasure, too. Don’t you?
Again, you rub tenderly at the flesh of your neck, the shell of your own ear. You watch Naomi as you do. No matter how bored he looks, Hanma must feel good with Naomi laboring over his cock, and now you do too. You feel the distance between you shrink a little, a crack in the glass that separates you from him.
The look on Naomi’s face galvanizes you. Shimmering in her eyes are unshed tears, a furrow to her brow as she forces past her gag to satisfy him. Hanma’s cock must be a battering ram in her throat. You wonder if she is soaked through at having such a big cock inside her. If you were in her place, you would be.
You can’t resist escalating when such simple touches light your blood from within. You rub your bare thighs together to put pressure on your cunt. You pinch your nipples through the fabric of your dress. They are painfully hard, and you bite your lip to contain a gasp at the excruciating contrast.
If Hanma looks at you now, honest and shameless in your feelings, you will combust.
He doesn’t look. Emboldened by his continued obedience, you ruck your dress up over your hips, revealing your panties. They are damp, hardly a barrier as the fabric presses into your folds. You search for your clit and find it peeking (and peaking) through your clitoral hood. Sparks fly in your stomach at the barest graze of your fingertips over the fabric. Greedy, you rub it firmly.
Already, you are close to an edge and desperate to tip over. You imagine Hanma might be as well. You imagine that you are on your knees with that hard cock battering the inside of your throat. He was piercing in your cunt, and he would be in your throat, too, no matter how gently he treated you. He wouldn’t pull out. He would blow his load down your throat, and you would swallow him down with a smile. He would return the favor, drinking from the source of you, eating your pussy with no mercy until you cried.
You couldn’t stop your orgasm now if you wanted to. It approaches with terrible certainty. Your thighs quake before the crest and you close your eyes against the demand it makes of your body. Heat flares, and you whimper pathetically. When you cum, it will damn you.
Your eyes flutter open at the height of the peak and find Hanma’s staring you down. Not through the mirror. Direct eye contact as he strokes his own cock while Naomi mouths at his balls. You cum on the spot.
Your whole body seizes up with it, pussy begging as it flutters around nothing. Waves of euphoria wash from your stomach to your cunt to your fingertips as you buck and moan and continue to rub your aching clit through it. Just as you think the waves are weakening, Hanma grunts and cums on Naomi’s face. The sound incites you, and two more waves of pleasure burst unnaturally from your clit.
Later, you will castigate yourself for your choices today. If only you showed more self-control. If only you remembered your responsibilities as a therapist. Using your body has worked to a degree in capturing his interest and maintaining his focus, but it is not sustainable. You can’t sell your body and pleasure to Hanma in exchange for cooperation.
But, for now, as you slump backwards on the stage, back cold and chest heaving, you can only think that you are doing a damn good job at maximizing your pleasure.
And a damn bad one at minimizing your pain.
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