#that was *entirely* about her adolescent Desire to Grow Breasts

[aeide-thea]

the thing abt this website (and probably other websites as well) is that like. posters will complain that readers get mad at posts for not encompassing Everyone's Experiences, when they were just talking about their own experiences

and it's like. okay but did you phrase your post in the universalizing second person or.

cue janet-with-cactus gifset.

[girlsgonemildblog]

Valley of the Dolls and Hollywood's Desire to Self-Protect

Poster from imdb.com

Valley of the Dolls (1967) tells the story of three young women working in show business in the 1960s. Originally adapted from Jacqueline Susann’s 1966 book by the same name, the screenplay was written by two women, Helen Deutsch and Dorothy Kingsley. The director for the film, though, was a man, named Mark Robson. The plot centers around three protagonists, Anne Welles, Neely O’Hara, and Jennifer North. Their stories connect and separate several times as they each navigate Hollywood, growing in stardom and fading into oblivion. All three storylines follow two themes, the role of women in the 1960s and the abuse of drugs by these women to deal with the pressures of their culture. The film largely stays true to the novel, but alters some important aspects in order to soften the critique that Susann originally proposed. Valley of the Dolls is an attempted commentary on societal demands on women in the 1960s, but is unsuccessful in its criticism due to continuing to perpetuate several misogynistic standards and Hollywood trying to alleviate itself of guilt.

Valley of the Dolls is one of few movies from its era that centers on multiple female leads without allowing for any male characters to come in and dominate the narrative. The story goes further than to just portray women, and even passes commentary on the harmful expectations put on them by society. There are messages about the workforce, body image, and marriage roles all present. Still, while the film may seem to have a feminist message for most of the plot, it falls short in its final moments. The two women, Neely and Jennifer, who are outwardly ambitious and more sexually promiscuous, are punished for their behavior, while the virginally pure and soft spoken Anne is the one who gets a happy ending, though not in the traditional sense.

The first woman to look at is Neely O’Hara (Patty Duke). Neely, the youngest of the three, is also the most talented and the most ambitious. While her two co-protagonists experience minor stardom, Neely becomes a full-fledged celebrity. As Neely begins her rise to the top, she is forced to work out, despite already being nearly rail thin. During her work-out montage, she even asks her trainer, “you call this acting?” This moment serves to show that for women, being an actor was not strictly about their talent, but also the way they looked. Working out is a part of the job for Neely because if she gains weight, people will no longer want to look at her and thus she won’t be able to be on stage or screen.

The affect of her ambition on her womanhood is also seen through the depiction of her first marriage to her hometown sweetheart, Mel (Martin Milner). When Neely gets her big break, she asks Mel to marry her, flipping the tradition of a man asking a woman. This is the first evidence of the gender role reversal that will be present later. In one scene, after Neely has made it and begun earning more money, the audience sees that Mel is now in charge of keeping house, a job typically meant for the wife at this time. The two get into an argument and Mel, sick of being bossed around by Neely, states, “I am not the butler,” to which Neely retorts, “you’re not the bread winner either.” The two get divorced shortly after. In the beginning of the movie, as Neely is about to be cut out of the broadway show, Mel gives her advice on how to handle the situation in a way that is both best for her career and best for earning money. Mel is more than happy to support Neely’s ambition when she is starting out and he is controlling her success. When Neely grows beyond his grasp, begins to overshadow him, and no longer needs him, the turmoil of their relationship begins. Mel’s male ego cannot handle having a wife who not only is not reliant on him, but who he is reliant on.

In contrast, Jennifer’s fatal flaw is not her ambition but her body. The audience is introduced to Jennifer (Sharon Tate) as she is scantily clad in a leotard with a giant showgirl headpiece on. Her first line is concern that she cannot walk, “I feel a little top heavy,” to which her director replies, “Dear, you are top heavy.” This is met by a chorus of laughter from the men in the room and clear distress from Jennifer’s face. Jennifer’s sin is simply her breasts and her beauty; she is punished for merely existing in her natural form. On the phone with her mother, she states, “I know I don’t have any talent, and I know all I have is my body.” She recognizes that she has no marketable skills, but with the way that society has commodified the female figure, she can use her natural assets to get ahead.

Jennifer’s plot line introduces the character of Miriam (Lee Grant), the sister of Jennifer’s husband, Tony (Tony Scotti). Miriam also manages Tony. This is interesting because all the other women in the film are controlled by men, but Miriam is not only not controlled by a man, but controls one herself. Jennifer, who seems not to have a manager, but operates as an independent, eventually is taken on by Miriam, emphasizing the way that Miriam acts as a male figure, controlling and dominating her world like men normally do. Miriam eventually sells Jennifer into porn. When Jennifer tries to protest, Miriam insists, “Tony wouldn’t know the difference.” Jennifer’s plea of “well, I would,” falls on deaf ears. Miriam views the world like a man, thinking only a husband should be offended by his wife’s immodesty, not recognizing that the woman is also a person with feelings about the exposure of her own body.

Jennifer’s whole life and career is based on her body. When she is diagnosed with breast cancer and must get a mastectomy, she states, “all I ever had was a body. All I know how to do is take off my clothes.” She is realizing that without her breasts, she will have no way of earning a living or supporting herself, as she has done her whole life. This drives her to suicide, deciding she would rather die than lose her body. The message of this scene is clear; despite the fact that society has deemed her figure the only thing that gives her value, her exploitation of it still must be punished by death. Women are supposed to surrender to the forces of the patriarchy, not use them to their own advantage.

The third protagonist, the redeemable protagonist, is Anne Welles (Barbara Parkins). Anne is introduced at the very beginning of the film through her own narration as she tells the listener that her family’s home has been around since the revolution, showing that she represents American tradition. The story of George Washington drinking from their well symbolizes that people like Anne are what give America life. This American idealization is what protects Anne throughout her career. As she enters the office for the first time to the slut shaming of a pregnant cat, the audience immediately knows that this place will not be very friendly to women. This is fortified when her boss tells her she is “too good looking” for her job and talks about getting her “broken in”. This is exemplifying the idea that beautiful women aren’t meant for work while also objectifying them by talking about women like they’re shoes.

Her romantic interest, Lyon (Paul Burke), who is also her boss, calls Anne, “barely pink” when he first meets her, admiring how young she is. He later tells her that jewelry is not for her, and that she should only be gifted flowers, specifically white ones. These are both attempts to preserve Anne’s delicacy, or “pinkness”.  Diamonds and gold are too flashy for a soft spoken woman like Anne, and the white flowers clearly symbolize purity. Constantly throughout the entire film, the audience is reminded of Anne being special and unlike other “bad” women such as Neely or Jennifer. At one point Lyon tells Anne that no other girls compare to her because they can’t “stand up to her image”. Not her actual person or personality, but her image. Anne does not have actual personhood in the eyes of Lyon, but exists only as the idealized woman.

This is further exemplified when she becomes the Gillian Girl. The man who hires her says he wants someone known with Gillian exclusively. The idea here is they want her to be only an image of beauty and innocence; if she works with other brands or as an actress she becomes more than one-dimensional and people can discover that she may have flaws. Anne’s ability to maintain her image of perfection and purity throughout the entire film is why she gets to live happily ever after at the end, unlike her two counterparts. She returns to her hometown and lives out the rest of her life as the embodiment of American tradition.

This movie gets its title from the nickname that Neely gives the pills that she and the other two protagonists all become addicted to. The name, “dolls”, calls to mind a picture of girlhood and female adolescence, highlighting how young Neely is (only 17) when the story begins. Many movies of the 1960s, such as Dennis Hopper’s Easy Rider (1969) were depicting taking psychedelic drugs and having crazy trips. Valley of the Dolls shows a different type of drug use, the abuse of painkillers. Though the main characters are movie stars and models, their drug habit was likely more relatable to the suburban movie-going audience than that of Hopper’s characters. It was all too common for housewives to be prescribed “mother’s little helpers” to deal with what was condescendingly written off as “hysteria”. Another difference between these two movies is that psychedelic trips were portrayed as freeing, eye-opening experiences. In contrast, the painkillers are entrapping for the women and ultimately ruin their careers and end their lives.

The character who has the least interaction with the “dolls” is Anne. This is done to keep the idea of Anne as the “pure”, “good” character. The way she begins to take the drugs is interesting, though; she first picks up the bottle when she realizes that her long-term boyfriend, Lyon, is having an affair with her best friend, Neely. This serves two purposes. This first is that it shows that the pills are not used for pleasure, like psychedelics would be, but for numbing purposes. This also displays the corruptive force of Hollywood; it is not until the plot moves from New York to Hollywood that these women turn sour. Because of this city, Neely betrays her best friend and sweet, innocent Anne is driven to drug use.

Jennifer is seen taking the pills two times, twice as often as Anne is. The first time she takes them is when she learns about Tony’s illness. Again, they are used to numb emotional pain. The second time Jennifer is shown taking the pills is when she purposely overdoses on them to kill herself. This is the most extreme version of numbing difficult emotions a person can take, and the most obvious way that the movie could show that these drugs do not provide enjoyment but rather stop misery. What the “dolls” provide is nothingness, and Jennifer takes this nothingness to its maximum.

Neely is the character whose story is most entangled with drug use. She begins when her trainer gives her diet pills to slim her already thin figure. During this montage, the audience clearly sees Mel, the symbol of her pre-fame life, shake his head and tell her no, but she responds with a shrug, as if to say, “what’s the worst that could happen?” Shortly after, she tells Anne that she takes sleeping pills that are so strong, she has to take red pills to counteract them to wake up in the mornings, but then must take the sleeping pills again at night because the red ones have not yet worn off. Taking the pills is an endless cycle for Neely that will lead her to spiral to rock bottom.

In a following scene, Neely is seen being an absolute mess on the set of a movie, causing them to call for her husband to take her home because she cannot work under such strong influence of drugs and alcohol. When Anne and Lyon go to check on her, Anne lectures her about the danger of drinking while taking the pills, but Neely asserts that she must do so because it makes them work faster. This moment shows the desperation Neely has to stop feeling. Later on, after getting drunk in a dive-bar, having sex with some random nobody, and being robbed the morning after, Neely overdoses and nearly dies. Anne implies that this may have been intentional, despite Neely insisting otherwise. The audience is left to wonder.

During the third act of the movie, after Neely has gone to rehab and gotten clean, her older rival, Helen Lawson (Susan Hayward), brags about how she never needed pills like Neely did. Lawson claims her current sobriety is only temporary and Neely will eventually return to her old bad habits. The character summarizes Neely’s entire story with one line, “nothing can destroy her talent, but she’ll destroy herself.” Lawson’s words come true; Neely’s final scene sees her relapsing on opening night of the show she’s supposed to star in and being replaced by her younger understudy, the very thing she was afraid of. Her story closes on her drunk in an alley, screaming her own name.

To properly analyze this film, one must compare it to its source material, Jacqueline Susann’s novel by the same name. Though the movie stays true to the novel in most major plot points, there are distinct narrative changes and omissions that drastically alter the story. One of the most distinct examples of this is that Lyon refuses to marry Anne until the final scene of the film. In the novel, he marries her when they first reunite in Los Angeles. When he begins his affair with Neely, Anne is pregnant with their first child, which gives Anne a stronger motive to turn to the pills than she has in the movie. The book version of the two women are also much closer friends, which creates a more dramatic change in Neely’s character than in the film. Removing these two extremes makes Neely’s character arc less impactful.

Another aspect that was removed is Tony’s obsession with sex. An important part of Jennifer’s characterization is that she has always been made to feel that her body is her only source of value. This is added to, in the novel, by the fact that sex is the foundation for her relationship with her husband. This is only alluded to in the film with one line when they are walking in the park. In the novel, it is emphasized explicitly at multiple points. One of the reasons Jennifer chooses to kill herself rather than lose her breasts is because she believes she will lose even her husband’s love. The film likely made this change, as well as the marital change, to make the characters of Tony and Neely more sympathetic. While this goal is accomplished, it also softens the harsh realities that Susann was trying to expose in her novel.

One final difference between the film and novel is the ending. In the film, Lyon finally proposes to Anne and she rejects him, getting to move on with her life and live peacefully. She gets a happy ending. The novel ends with Anne and Lyon still married, her discovering that he is having yet another affair with a client, and her returning to the pills. This final note makes it clear that there are no happy endings for women in this city. The change is another example of Hollywood trying to show itself in a more flattering light than the one Susann placed on it.

Valley of the Dolls, the novel, was written by a female author as a way to condemn the mistreatment of women in the 1960s, specifically the mistreatment perpetuated by Hollywood on women in show business. The film adaptation tries to duplicate this commentary, but fails for multiple reasons. The first is that it chooses to save the “good girl” character. In the written work, all three stories ending in tragedy shows how no woman is safe from the effects of the patriarchy. Opting to protect the “pure” character alters the message completely so that it is no longer a criticism but a continuation of the idea that ambitious, promiscuous women deserve punishment and good, virginal women deserve happy endings. In addition, it omits important plot points that provide motivation for the characters self-destructive actions, such as Anne taking the pills for the first time and Jennifer committing suicide. By removing the catalysts, the characters are turned into cliché hysterical women. The film fails to adapt Susann’s novel correctly because it replicates the sensational bits while omitting the message. Unlike the book, the film serves only to entertain and not to critique.

[hyliangrace-a]

ZELDA, HER APPEARANCE & HER FEELINGS REGARDING IT  /  

talking with amber about the differences between the appearances in our respective zeldas got me motivated to finish this headcanon, finally ! i love zelda’s ocarina of time design, because y’know, imprinting on your very first zelda game & all that, but there’s always room for improvement, right ? these are my ( questionable ) improvements ! this headcanon ... got away from me little bit when i started to talk out my reasoning for zelda’s choice in how she presented herself as queen. i intended on talking about how she looks in other verses, too, such as when she’s a spectre in the queen’s shade universe, but i feel that would suit better as an entirely separate post, so, that’ll come in time ! i hadn’t intended on putting this post under a read more, because i feel it’s a fairly important headcanon & i’d like people to read it, but - surprise ! - it’s really long, & it would feel really rude to just leave it uncut, so behind the black it goes - that, & it also deals with body issues & negative perceptions of one’s body, so please keep that in mind if you’re sensitive to that sort of content. that said, & i’m aware of the irony of this sentence after the last, but i hope you guys at least find it an enjoyable read !  ♡

the three basic tenets of her appearance which have appeared in most of her predecessors & descendants ( pale, blue-eyed, blonde-haired ) apply in most, if not all, of my verses for zelda  but there are only a few verses of mine where i would say zelda’s appearance is exactly as it is within the game & the official art provided by nintendo - primarily the earliest arc of my canon verses, when she’s still the little princess, & the au which follows the events of the child timeline, where she never goes on the run & so never becomes sheik. she’s still quite fit, thanks to horseback riding & regular exercise, overseen by impa, but it’s in this au she most embodies the slim, graceful princess look nintendo gave her. one constant in all her adult verses, however, is her height - by the time she’s fully grown, she’s 5′8″.

in my other main, canon-inspired verses, well - zelda goes on the run at age ten, & it’s from that age impa begins to teach her how to fight, as she knows that she cannot protect her forever, & she’s going to need to become self-sufficient if she wants to survive. it starts off with basic things, graduating into an intense regime, but the result is, by the time link awakens from his slumber, zelda, even whilst disguised as sheik, is broad-shouldered & visibly muscled. i choose to interpret the tanned skin, red eyes & shorter hair as part of a glamour zelda put up, out of fear that ganondorf was searching for girls matching her description á la wind waker, but the muscles get to stay because whilst her appearance might be fake when under this alias, her feats are not. she did, after all, manage to survive seven years in a monster-infested hyrule, stay in the heart of death mountain without a visible goron tunic, & for whatever reason, was at kakariko village before link when the seal holding bongo-bongo back began to break, & i choose to interpret that as her being prepared to fight it. she also managed to make it through the haunted wasteland to the desert colossus / the spirit temple, sans lens of truth, & as she presents as an androgynous, masculine-leaning figure, she might have also had to prove her worth to the gerudo in battle, just as link did - after all, even though the gerudo, such as nabooru, openly disavow ganondorf by that point in time, it would be madness to declare her true self in his hometown.

this piece of fanart by lord-lorens is, honestly, the closest thing to how i picture zelda’s body type whilst she masquerades as sheik, & afterwards, when she reassumes her identity as princess. ( is there a gossip stone out there saying princess zelda has an eight pack ? there’s nothing in canon to disprove this, so yes. ) the only thing which stops it being entirely perfect for me is my headcanons of where across her body zelda is scarred ( which could be another, much smaller headcanon, so i’ll leave it for that ) but considering everyone’s interpretation of how zelda lived as sheik is varied, it was bound to happen - but god, minus those, i just want to pin this somewhere on my blog with an enormous sign next to it which says  ❛ this is how my zelda looks, as both sheik & a princess. ❜ but, with that in mind, lets move on.

i think it’s interesting how similar zelda’s outfit is as an adult ( which she ISN’T, she’s SEVENTEEN, but i digress - ) to the one she wears as a child, & my interpretation of it is that it’s very deliberate - & another glamour. ( seriously, where the fuck would she get a dress like that ? ) zelda hasn’t been seen in public, as herself, in seven years. the last people saw of her, as mentioned by those in castle town prior to drawing the master sword, is her fleeing the castle on horseback with her attendant, & that might have been the first glimpse some people had of her at all. when ganondorf is sealed away, & she re-emerges, she’s dressed similarly in order to spark recognition in people’s minds, & also because she knows that it may be difficult to prove she is who she claims to be, considering the king is dead, & impa has ascended as a sage, & can’t vouch for her. surviving nobles who interrogate her on her memories are able to confirm her claim to the throne, but if she had just strolled into kakariko village in casual dress, it’s very likely she would have absolutely been dismissed.

because of this, zelda’s feelings towards her appearance end up... complicated. in the aforementioned child timeline au verse, where she has a privileged, but more normal, adolescent socialization, she’s quite accepting of her own appearance & how feminine it is, because in that timeline, she fits the mold of what people expect a princess to be - she’s tall, she’s graceful, she’s pretty, & she’s rewarded for fitting that ideal. in her canon universe, where a life on the run left her with an entirely different body type, an indifference to feminity, many insecurities about her suitability as queen of hyrule, especially in her first years of being on the throne, & a desire to conform to others expectations of her ... it’s a perfect storm, whose origins can be traced directly to her choice to homage her childhood dress during her reappearance in hylian society. 

insecurity & fear feeds a lot of her choices in how she presents herself at the beginning of her reign. her body type is what some would call androgynous, others vaguely masculine - broad shoulders & small breasts which combine to give the illusion of her hips being narrower than they are, & she though she herself is content with that, she fears scorn by others because of it, so she works to minimize these features, & she plays up to feminity. her wardrobe primarily consists of dresses, gowns & robes, all loose fitting, all sleeved to at least the elbow, preferably in a style which leaves her biceps covered, & indistinct beneath the fabric. the gold pauldrons she wears as an adult feature in most, if not all, of her garments until her official coronation, seven years after ganondorf was sealed away - they provide her a measure of security, give her a regal appearance, & do a lot of heavy lifting, in conjunction with the sleeves of her gowns, to hide her shoulders & biceps, to the point where people are surprised at just how muscled she is when they come off - she hides the results, but even as queen, she still trains as she did when she was in hiding. most people are accepting of how she looks, but as is always the way, the few harsh comments she hears deafen her to the compliments - the only thing zelda wants, in the end, is for hyrule to recover, & for her people to thrive, & for that, she needs to be a good queen to them. to be a good queen, she must live up to their expectations. her attempts to live up to that via her appearance lead to her first breakdown, three months after her coronation.

it’s not just her appearance, of course - there’s enough stress to go around trying to get hyrule back on its feet again in a fair way, whilst trying to make her own mark as queen & live up to her parents’ peacekeeping legacy - but the nitpicking from a few members of her court, & the constant moving of goalposts as she attempts to satisfy their criticisms of her appearance, is the catalyst for her eventual declaration that she is done trying to satisy other people’s unreasonable explanations. the queenly mask she wears for other people’s benefit is suffocating her, so she decides to break it, & forge a new one. if she is going to be feminine, it is because she chooses to be, not because people expect her to be. if she wishes to dress as a man does, who can stop her ? if androgyny is what she feels, she will not deny herself. so, after a good cry, zelda does what every twenty-four year old going through a tough time does - she cuts her hair. she no longer tries to hide her body or disguise her frame. she is the queen, & the people will accept her as she is.

& most do ! hyrule has some strange looking people in it. a queen with a pixie cut is not the end of the world. she keeps it short for a good while, as a symbol of both her & hyrule’s fresh start, but eventually she begins to let it grow out again, with its length varying at ... well, various important points in her life. a short bob when she begins the programme to build new villages & settlements in hyrule. shoulder length when she begins courting to secure the throne for the future. waist length when she marries. she cuts it to above her shoulders once more when her first child is born, & keeps it mostly at that length until the end of her life, mostly for practical reasons. she was never ashamed of her body, before or after she became queen, as it was proof of her survival, but she became a lot more confident in herself as queen after she stopped letting other people, & her own well-intentioned, if misguided, fantasies of what a queen should look like dictate her life. that doesn’t mean to say that was that, every dark thought about her appearance swept away - there were days afterwards where she still despaired of her appearance, of the image she was projecting to others, of the judgements being passed on her & her country that came from her looks alone - but they were infrequent compared to the constant anxiety she felt about her appearance prior to the night she took a knife to her hair. they also weren’t enough to stop her from maintaining her physique, either - the training regime she began as a child continued into her late sixties, when she finally felt confident enough in the kingdom’s safety to stop, but the results of it meant that zelda was powerfully built through her whole life. even the birth of her children, which softened her body, couldn’t diminish much of her muscled appearance. shedding the weight of others opinions ( of her appearance, at least ) allowed her to stand tall until the end of her days. her body told the story of her life, & eventually, she was proud to let people see it.

[unchartedterritoria]

Selfish (Sam Drake x Reader) - Part III

Because Tumblr is now being an ass, I guess I’m just gonna post smaller parts at a time. Good news is it’s more frequent. :)

Part I, Part II

Tagged: @jodiereedus22 , @sparrowspt9851 , @bechobbi

If you want to be tagged, let me know:

Warning: We’re starting to get NSFW!

Sam slides his hand to the back of your neck, cradling the nape in his large palm while he buries his fingers deep in your thick locks. The movement of your hair causes the scent of clean citrus to fill his nostrils.

Mmm, she smells like tangerines, Sam thinks to himself. Citrus was one of the smells he missed the most in the years that he was locked up. Since his freedom, he couldn't get enough, as evident by the grapefruit-mandarin candle that sat on his bedside table that no one knew about. He never thought it would turn him on though.

Sam pushes himself closer to you, his chest against yours. His tongue gently grazes against your bottom lip, coaxing your mouth open until his tongue intertwines with yours. You taste the astringent notes of bourbon on his lips and the nicotine that after years of smoking has become a part of Sam's body chemistry. The rough stubble of his beard scrapes against your skin as the urgency in his kisses grows while his other hand wanders over your denim-clad hip. He travels over the fullness on the side to the hollow of your lower back, his thumb dipping under the hem of your shirt to run along the smooth skin underneath. The sensations envelop you. Your need for more overrides your nerves as you give a slight moan in your throat. You push yourself closer to him, gripping his waist with your knees, commanded by the wetness between your thighs and you willingly comply. The boldness of the act causes Sam to break the heated kiss between you two.

Heeello! He thinks, the natural heat from your pussy against his cock making it harden. With closed eyes, he rests his forehead against yours.

“What?” You ask.

“This is crazy,” He says with a rough chuckle.

“Mongolia crazy or Patagonia crazy?”

He glances away from you to think for a moment. Mongolia was camels, jail in close confines with Sully, and coming home with nothing but bullet holes and bruised egos. Patagonia was an oasis between the dull mountains, getting lost for days and dark caves filled with rough cut gems that gave Sam the cushion to be financially comfortable for once in his entire life.

Bad crazy or good crazy.

“Vancouver crazy,” Sam finally answers, making your brow crinkle. You'd never heard a story or known him to make a trip to Vancouver.

“What's Vancouver crazy?”

His time in Vancouver was a story Sam kept to himself and at the moment had more pressing matters than the two hours it would take to tell it.

“A whole different breed of crazy. Kinda like me and you. Kinda like this,” A warm, contagious smile on his face. You give a little laugh as he grabs the hem of your shirt. With no nerves, you let him peel it over your head. Throwing the shirt on the floor next to him, his cool smile turning into a comic grin as he takes in the sight of your chest, your full breasts encased in a bright orange bra with multi-colored polka dots.

“What? Am I deformed?” You ask him, staring down at yourself with concern.

“No Sweets! It's just that that's-” He stares at your bra intently, “Very you,” He laughs.

You laugh and roll your eyes, pushing him playfully in the shoulder.

“Very colorful.”

"Oh shut up," You cut him off, wrapping your hands around his neck and pull him in for a kiss. His eager lips return it, his body reveling in the moment.

Been a long time since I had this much fun just makin' out with a woman, he realized. Most of his romantic adult life was spent in a flurry of one night stands and week-long romances. Let's face it, it was less romance and more plying their knees apart with free drinks and his boyish charm. In all his years, this was the first time he had ever been intimate with just a friend, and it brought him to a safe and comfortable space within himself he didn't know he could find with another person.

Sam takes your hips in his hands and pulls you tight around him, your legs cross behind him, the heels of your feet resting on the top of the taut muscles of his backside. You feel him smile as he parts your lips again with his tongue, allowing him to explore and caress your own with the gentleness and skill that only came with practice.

Sam's hands travel up the curve of your back and nonchalantly push the straps down your shoulders. He drags his fingernails down your raised shoulder blades with a sensitive, ghosting touch, causing a breathy shudder to escape your mouth. Taking advantage of the moment, Sam captures your bottom lip, he takes it between his own momentarily and sucks it with greed before letting it go with a gentle scrape of his teeth.

The pleasurable sensation overload within your body craving, any sort of release, makes you pull your head back and moan.

“Oh god.”

"No sweetheart, just me," Sam whispers, his low voice in your ear as he nibbles and nips a trail down your ear. You crane your head to the side, allowing him access to the sensitive, sweet spots that his lips desired. The delicate skin over your collarbone is left a faint pink as his mouth makes its way across your body.

Lost in the lusty haze of pure bliss, you suddenly feel the band of your bra go slack. You pull back and stare at Sam, a look of wonder on your face.

“What? Guy never taken your bra off before?” He asks, a boyish grin plastered on his face.

“Not without looking!”

“I got a little experience getting into guarded and highly secured places,” He says with a sly wink, adding your bra to the growing pile on the floor.

A sudden realization pops into your head.

Jesus, I'm topless. In front of Sam. Sam Drake is gonna see my naked body.

Your nerves begin to get the better of you, and you start to bring your arms across your chest. Sam catches your downward gaze and grabs your wrists, holding them tightly to his chest.

“Hey, hey now. You and me. Remember?” His warm eyes reminding you, as well as his words.

"Just leftover self-consciousness," You gesture towards yourself, bringing his attention to your imperfections. Dulled white marks like faded lightning run jagged lines along the sides of your breasts, unnecessary accents left of their accelerated growth, and faint pink blotches mar the tops. Stretch marks and acne scars gave you a constant reminder of the hell that was adolescence.

“We all got war wounds, Sweets,” He assures you. “They show where you've been and prove you made it out the other side.”

“Teenage acne scars aren't war wounds.”

“Might be a different kinda war but it's still a war. Its been a while but I do remember that. Now,” Sam continues, “Now, will you stop tryin' to convince that you aren't beautiful cause it's not gonna work.”

Sam eyes you seriously one last time.

“You sure it's just jitters? You're sure you really wanna do this?”

You had thought about this moment more times than you wanted to admit to yourself. Every person envisioned, every scenario you imagined, none of them had given you the feeling of safety, security, and excitement as you felt right now.

“You and me?”

“You got it, you and me,” He says, kissing your knuckles.

Reaching out, you grab the button of his dark jeans and gently pull him towards you as you scoot back onto your bed.

"Then come take me...and have your beastly way with me," You add dramatically. After all, the last thing you wanted was this moment to be tense.

Sam finally stands up and gets to take in the sight of you, and the realization hits him; A young sweetheart of a virgin wanting him to be her first.

I am a bad man, he thinks to himself smugly while he crawls onto your bed.

[emerald-eyes-8917]

To the Beat of My Heart

This is a response to an anon prompt asking for Dan to react to his partner revealing to be a cardiophile.

It was an interesting scenario to think of, and I hope I wrote the story in a convincing way.  Thank you very much to @lexi-manthey for giving me some guidance about what cardiophilia is and what it would manifest in any one person.  Do give her a follow, she is so talented!

I will be cross-posting this to AO3 as well so feel free to leave some kudos and comments there too.

Thank you as always for reading!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Title: To the Beat of My Heart

Pairing: Dan Avidan x Reader

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Some mention of nudity.

It had never been easy for her to open up.  Maybe it was a fear of rejection, of shame, of being left alone that had tormented her until it became an incessant droning at the back of her mind, a present reminder that she had a desire that was not quite typical.

But somehow it felt different this time.

Dan Avidan was different, somehow.

Since they had become close, progressing at a sure and steady pace from friends to romantic lovers, when she had become more comfortable about sharing her past with him, her own view of herself had changed for the better, maybe for good.

He in turn would tell her stories of growing up, his family, his dreams and aspirations for the future, that would never fail to brighten her days and make the nights less dark.

Yet that secret part of herself was kept hidden away with the ever present dread that she would drive him away.  It had happened before with an ex-partner after she had told them about it who had regarded her with a kind of expression reserved for the truly abnormal beings on Earth.

How could she even begin to tell Dan that she wanted him to listen to her heart beating in her chest, to know that he was making it race and pump lifeblood through her system?

It was not even about playing doctor specifically, but somehow, the very first time that a stethoscope had been pressed to her chest during a routine checkup when she was just an adolescent, the feeling of the cool metal against her skin so the doctor could listen to her heartbeat, had awakened something in her that she longed to have replicated outside of an examination room in a hospital clinic.

It had taken all her resolve, and a measure of liquid courage in the form of a glass and a half of wine, to convince herself to brooch the subject with him as soon as he came home after recording with Brian for the best part of the entire day.

He had given her a bemused look of confusion as she led him to the sofa, holding his hands like a lifeline.

"Danny... I'd like to tell you something, that's been on my mind for a while now."

"Sure, baby.  Is everything alright?"

"Yes.  Yes, everything's fine, more than fine, in fact.  I just... we've been together a while, and I feel that there is something you need to know.  About me."

Dan nods, not letting go of her hands.

"So... this thing about me, it's something I've felt since I was about eleven, and it hasn't left me.  It's not something that I like to talk about because the last time that I even said something about it, it ended badly."

"Whatever it is... I want to listen.  We don't need to keep secrets between us, we trust each other, don't we?"

All she can do is nod, knowing that it was now or never before she made an excuse and ran away to hide, like she always did when looking deep inside herself.

"Just promise me that you won't think I'm strange?"

"Baby, we are all strange.  I dress in blue spandex and sing songs about dicks and video game characters in adult situations.  You are definitely not alone in being strange."

His smile is so warm, so caring, that it prompts her to finally reach her point, "Okay... I'm not sure how else it say it, but give it a name.  I've looked it up and I think this definition is the best one about what I... what I fantasise about.  I think I'm a cardiophile."

Dan blinks several times, "A what?"

"A cardiophile."

Dan mouths the word under his breath, "So... something to do with the heart?"

"Yes."

"But... how can... ?  What does it mean?  Like, you want to listen to peoples' hearts beating or is it to do with your own heart?  Help me out, I really want to understand." 

He does not move away from the sofa or give her a funny look, so she takes this as encouragement to continue.

Now that she is actually speaking about this, her cheeks begin to warm up, "It means... well, for me, specifically... that I have a very strong reaction to having my heart listening to with a stethoscope.  That it makes my heart beat that bit faster, and..."

She huffs a sigh, "I can't explain it very well.  All I know is that it is something that I think about a great deal, that if ever I wanted to be intimate with someone, to be close with someone, that I would like them to do that to me."

Dan appears to be quite thoughtful, looking down at their hands and rubbing his thumbs gently over her knuckles, "I see."

"I hope I haven't weirded you out."

"No, no, no, not at all.  It just... it's just surprising that there is such a thing, and that you picture it and think about it like that."

She dips her head, "Sometimes I just feel separate and apart from everyone else with conventional desires, that can actually be talked about.  It's stupid, really..."

Dan takes hold of her chin, firmly but carefully tilting her head back up so their eyes meet, "It's not stupid, at all.  Don't say that about yourself.  It's what you feel, it's valid, and I see you.  You are not hurting anyone, you are being you, do you understand?"

Her lower lips trembles as her eyes pool with sudden tears, overcome by his caring acceptance when she had been shunned so cruelly, "Yes, Dan..."

"Oh, baby, come here... come here..."

Dan draws her into a soft hug, leaning back against the sofa, taking her with him and holding her close to his chest, "Thank you for telling me this.  You don't have to hide who you are from me.  I want to know you, and that means all of you, okay?"

All she can manage is a nod, burying her face in his chest, letting out a quiet sob of relief that he had not abandoned her, that she had not lost him.

After a few minutes of him stroking her hair and murmuring her name quietly as her breathing evened out, he mumbles, "So... I don't have a stethoscope right now, and I'm sure I could get one..."

"Mmhmm?"  Her bloodstream begins to course with pulsating warmth at the possibility of Dan even talking about wanting to fulfill this vision of hers.

"But can I still listen to your heart?  At least, in a way that is something kind of what you like?"

Dan tips his head down to look into her eyes with an expression that is so open and loving, "Let me try and understand, and make you happy, please?  Will you let me try?"

"Yes..."

Her whisper of agreement is almost silenced as he presses his lips to hers in a soft, slow kiss.

"Let's go to the bedroom, where you'll be more comfortable."

Not being able to formulate so many words at this point in time, she nods as he takes her hands again, leading her to the bedroom where he draws the curtains, switches on the light and invites her to lay up on the pillows after clumsily arranging them behind her back and her head, clearly wanting to do his best to create the right mood.

All she can do is lay there in watchful silence as he meets her eyes again, leaning down to kiss her forehead and her nose, whispering, "I'll just take your shirt off, okay?"

"Okay."

They had been intimate before, and his seeing her without a shirt was nothing new, but now that she was willing to try and fulfill this yearning fantasy of hers made it all the more intense.

Dan's cheeks were flushed and his breathing that bit deeper as he reaches behind her back to unfasten her bra and now she cannot help but shiver.

Dan whispers in her ear, "Sssshh, I have you, baby.  Don't worry, it's just you and me.  I'm right here with you... let me try to make you happy."

"You do make me happy.  You do, Danny..."

Pressing a kiss to his shoulder, she feels him nuzzle into the side of her neck, sliding a knee between her thighs and covering her completely.

"Here... let me lay my head down..."

He shifts until his head is resting on the left side of her chest, right over her heart and she cannot help but arch her spine with a shudder of pleasure.  

His soft curls tickle her skin and his breath gusts over the curve of her breast, his arms holding her securely.

"I can... I can hear it beating.  Wow, it sounds... it sounds so beautiful.  I never thought about the sound before.  It's really... it's really soothing, actually... I can really hear it right now."

She can barely take in his words, so overcome is she with waves of sensation, the closest she had ever come to fulfilling this philia of hers.

"You're beautiful, you know that?"

“I am?”

“Yes, you are.”

A gentle pause.

“Is this okay?  Is this like what you want?”

She swallows thickly, never having been more in love with this man than she was right now, “It’s more than okay.  The fact that you even want to do this with me means the world.”

Dan nuzzles his face in between her breasts, pressing soft kisses to her skin, the scrape of his stubble a pleasing contract to the warmth of his mouth.

“I meant it that I would get a stethoscope for us next time.  We can explore this together, nice and slow, and you can tell me exactly what you want and I can do this right by you.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“No question, baby.  I want to make you happy, that’s what I will do.”

When he lifts his head to gaze at her with a lopsided, charming smile, she winds her fingers around the thick strands of his hair, pulling him down into a passionate kiss as Dan responds with equal fervour, and never before had she felt so safe, so accepted for who she was.

“Love me... please?”

Dan lays his hand over her chest, right over her thumping heart that was coursing with new life’s blood, “With each beat of my heart... you know I will.”

[uzaylibirbeg]

The Top Natural Breast Enhancement Foods To Eat For Larger Breasts

Breast augmentation surgery is a billion-dollar sector with many females willing to go under the knife to have larger breasts. If you are interested in this, here are some of the top all-natural breast enhancement foods you need to consume more of for a larger breast.

Why do I have tiny breasts?

There are numerous reasons that lots of ladies have small breasts and also one of the top factors is having excess amounts of the male hormone testosterone. Yes, females do have testosterone in their bodies but ideally, it must only be in small amounts. The women's hormonal agent is referred to as estrogen typically begins at adolescence to enable breast development as well as the development of contours. Male additionally have estrogen however ideally, it is in percentages that are much less than that in women.

Men with excess quantities of estrogen might have less body hair, hips, bigger butts, male boobs (moobs), and so on. Conversely, along with having small breasts, females with excessive amounts of testosterone might have a lot more body hair, deeper voices, Adam's apple, broad shoulders, etc

. Remember that an excessive quantity of testosterone is just one source of having little breasts. Excess testosterone manufacturing subdues estrogen's breast growing capability.

Hormonal imbalance is usually kept in mind at puberty, during menopause, throughout the menstruation, while pregnant, etc. This imbalance might lead to excessive manufacturing of testosterone which after that supersedes the activity of estrogen.

The exception is that during pregnancy, the breasts grow bigger however it is not due to estrogen. During pregnancy, one more hormone in the women body called progesterone is accountable for expanding the breasts during pregnancy as well as milk production after birth.

Because obtaining pregnant just to have bigger breasts may be out of the question as well as surgical procedure prices way too much as well as includes undesirable adverse effects besides the fake-looking breasts, what can you do to get bigger breasts?

Boosting the levels of estrogen in the body may work if too much testosterone is the factor for your little breasts.

One of the best means to enhance levels of estrogen in your body is to eat specific foods that are abundant in estrogen. This helps to maintain the correct estrogen/testosterone balance which can increase breast size. A few of the top breast improving foods that are abundant in estrogen include the adhering to;

All-natural breast enhancement foods

1. Fruits, veggies, beans, as well as entire grains

These consist of Phyto (plant) estrogens that stimulate the activity of the estrogen created by the body. The increase of estrogen in the body because of consuming these phytoestrogen-rich foods aids to regulate testosterone manufacturing as well as might bring about natural breast enhancement.

Fruits abundant in estrogen consist of cherries, apples, peaches, dried prunes, strawberries, raspberries, etc

. Grains, as well as seeds that are estrogen abundant, include flaxseeds, sunflower seeds, barley, wheat, rice, and so on

2. Green vegetables and leaves

As breasts expand, consuming green veggies and leaves can also help to stop the associated stretch marks as the skin expands to suit the larger breasts. Big breasts are excellent but not when they are covered with stretch marks.

3. Nuts

Nuts such as chestnuts, pistachios, walnuts, etc, consist of high amounts of breast-enhancing phytoestrogens.

4. Herbs

Several natural herbs are generally advised for natural breast development since they consist of some of the richest sources of phytoestrogens. Many of these herbs also consist of more than one type of phytoestrogens. Highly executing herbs for breast augmentation include however are not limited to;

Pueraria Mirifica is belonging to Thailand as well as Myanmar as well as includes more than four various sorts of phytoestrogens a few of which are only found in this herb.

Watercress leaf which is abundant in various phytonutrients.

Red clover is extremely abundant in isoflavones which are water-soluble chemicals that stimulate estrogen.

Fenugreek seeds and sprouts are very valued not only for breast enhancement however, for raised milk manufacturing in nursing women.

Saw palmetto berry oil contains a range of phytosterols which can also aid reverse degeneration (running out) of the mammary gland.

Fennel seeds are abundant in flavonoids which are compounds with estrogenic residential or commercial properties.

Wild yam root has very effective phytochemicals that can assist with natural breast enhancement.

Dong Quai root which ought to be crowned the utmost women natural herb as it uses lots of hats and also is usually suggested for various feminine issues can additionally aid promote breast augmentation when used properly.

5. Poultry

He is just one of the top natural breast enhancement foods as it aids to enhance the production of estrogen. Do try to prevent the chemical-laden hen as well as only consume the meat obtained from free-range poultries that are not pumped full of antibiotics, steroids, as well as various other chemicals that may have unfavorable effects in your body.

6. Drinks

Specific beverages likewise include phytoestrogens that can aid with breast enlargement. These consist of Merlot, Gewurztraminer, environment-friendly tea, etc. This likewise includes soy milk that is generated from soybeans which as already mentioned, consists of high amounts of phytoestrogens.

7. Healthy fats

There misbehave fats (trans fats and also a lot of saturated fats) which should be avoided. But there are also great or healthy and balanced fats that are exceptionally useful for your body along with breast enhancement.

Both types are helpful for the body yet MUFAs are specifically beneficial for breasts and consist of olives, olive oil, avocados, avocado oil, numerous nuts, sesame seeds, sesame seed oil, herring, and so on

. These are a few of the leading all-natural breast enhancement foods that you need to eat if you desire bigger breasts. These help to not only raise the levels of estrogen in the body but also help to regulate various other hormones like testosterone that reduce estrogen and can result in little breasts.

While eating the appropriate foods is essential for breast development, you also require to stop or minimize the usage of junk foods such as convenience foods, drink even more water, get sufficient sleep, exercise, avoid alcohol (besides a little wine occasionally) as well as carbonated drinks, etc .

[keepingupwithfundies]

For anyone new to following fundie families and new to this blog: We are not just another fan blog, we are critically following these families and their offspring. We praise, where praise is due with even the smallest steps in the right direction (pants) we critisize where it is neccessary (religious and sexual discrimination of others, brainwashing their children, sexism, to just name a few.) (Annie)

For an upclose, eye-witness report from Brooke Arnold on how life was growing up in the Duggar church/ under the ATI homeschool curriculum read the following text:

I could’ve been a Duggar wife: I grew up in the same church, and the abuse scandal doesn’t shock me   (by Brooke Arnold)

Like a real-life Kimmy Schmidt, I fled the exploitative and abusive sect into a culture I couldn’t fully understand

Unlike most of the writers covering the Duggar sex scandal, I was raised in Advanced Training Institute (ATI), the fundamentalist Christian organization with which the family is affiliated. Joshua Duggar’s confession of sexually molesting young girls in his family’s home when he was a teenager didn’t surprise me, nor should it surprise anyone with any intimate knowledge about this organization, because ATI’s theological beliefs and practices cultivate an environment where women and children are more vulnerable to rape and sexual abuse. Ironically, the same theological beliefs and practices at the heart of this scandal are the same beliefs that created the Duggars as a media phenomenon, and drew viewers and fans to their TLC show “19 Kids and Counting.”

Non-mainstream religious sects have certainly been enjoying a cultural moment on television: “The Following,” “Sister Wives,” “Breaking Amish.” Netflix’s dark comedy “The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt” explores the media hype around religious cult survivors in satirical detail. For me, though, that show should have come with a trigger warning, because in many ways, I am a real Kimmy Schmidt — a woman who spent her adolescence trapped inside a metaphorical bunker, and then was thrust into a world that she had never been prepared to be a part of.

The Duggars didn’t emerge from a subterranean bunker, though. They’ve been on TV promoting the fundamentalist Christian theology of ATI since their first special in 2004 (“14 Children and Pregnant Again!”). ATI is a Christian homeschool organization that hosts seminars worldwide, provides homeschooling curriculum, and even runs its own paramilitary training center. At one point, it was strongly affiliated with a Christian correspondence course law school. Its members are not concentrated in one area, and yet they maintain insular groups and often form churches in which all members are affiliated with ATI and/or follow its basic principles. Referred to as “Gothardism” within fundamentalist Christian circles, the teachings of ATI form an ideological system of practices based on the extremely strict, fundamentalist, and idiosyncratic Biblical interpretations of the organization’s founder, Bill Gothard – a man who, in 2014, stepped down as head of ATI following allegations of sexual misconduct with young girls.

The allegations against “Mr. Gothard” (as he is respectfully and worshipfully referred to by his acolytes) were an open secret among group members for many years. As a friend who worked at ATI headquarters once said to me with a wink: “The prettiest girls are always chosen to work the closest with Mr Gothard.”

ATI’s teachings trickle down into every single part of its members’ lives. This is not just a homeschool curriculum, it is a fully institutionalized religious sect with incredibly strict demands to conformity — rules that, in my experience, more often reflect Gothard’s personal preferences than actual Biblical teachings. Have you ever wondered why every Duggar woman perms her hair? It’s because Gothard taught us that curly hair brings out a woman’s natural beauty. Other ATI beliefs that I learned range from utterly bizarre to downright barbaric, like the creator of Cabbage Patch Kid dolls is actually a Satanic wizard who implants demons into the dolls that then sneak into children’s bodies while they are sleeping — along with the old standard that rock music is inherently sinful. One boy from our church would walk around supermarkets with his fingers plugged into his ears to prevent himself from hearing it.

And then there are the beliefs that are more central to the portrayal of ATI on TV through the Duggar family, which are also shared throughout the church’s teachings: the antiquated dress codes (especially for girls and women), the required homeschooling, the prohibition on birth control, the strictly gendered division of labor and the absolute and unquestioned authority of the father within the home.

One key difference worth noting between the “reality” show of “19 Kids and Counting” and the actual reality of ATI, though, is the relative affluence of the Duggars compared to most ATI families. The Duggars live in a spacious Discovery Networks-funded home, but it was not unusual, in my church, for two parents and ten children to live packed into a singlewide trailer. These children usually wear threadbare hand-me-downs already passed through several rounds of siblings. Many of them look malnourished due to the abundance of starchy meals necessary on a lean one-parent income. Women and mothers working outside of the home is absolutely forbidden in ATI no matter what the financial situation of the family. Some women are even required to get permission from their husbands if they want to obtain a driver’s license.

That affluence makes the constant growth of the Duggar family — their wildly exaggerated version of a large family upon which their TV fame is built — possible. The foundation of the Duggars’ fame is the fecundity of Michelle Duggar. Even the name of the show changes as she gives birth again and again and again. Each child is another notch on Jim Bob’s headboard, walking and talking proofs of his masculine virility. Despite this fascination with Michelle’s fertility, there is a critical question that no one ever seems to be ask on camera: just how fragile is the boundary between the loss of a woman’s reproductive control over her body and the loss of her sexual control over her body? From my experience in the ATI culture, it is very, very slim.

A cornerstone belief of ATI is that God appoints husbands in an “umbrella of authority” over their wives, who are mandated by God to obey their husbands completely. That includes absolute sexual and reproductive submission. The inevitable result of such a demand is the tacit sanctioning of spousal rape — if a woman’s body belongs to God and to her husband before it belongs to her, then her consent becomes irrelevant.

Women aren’t allowed ownership of their thoughts, either. At annual ATI conferences, married women are separated from everyone else and asked if they are having thoughts about using birth control, or if they feel resentment about having so many children. Answer “yes” to this and someone might tell you that those thoughts come from demons whispering into their ears. Many women in our church looked slumped over from constant exhaustion. My close friend’s mother even refused treatment for breast cancer because she saw the disease as God saving her from her abusive husband, and the burden of caring for her many children.

Like any system of abuse, ATI relies on control to maintain its power, and a critical component of that power is the total indoctrination of its members through its homeschool curriculum. The so-called “Wisdom Booklets” that form the backbone of ATI children’s educations contain more Bible verses than they do information. Particularly lacking, in a religious sect so obsessed with reproduction, is any kind of sex education. This is especially true for young women, who receive very little sex education because the church teaches us that women do not have sex drives. However, the opposite is believed of men: ATI teaches that men have nearly uncontrollable sex drives ready to erupt at the mere sight of a pant leg or a perm. To illustrate this point: ATI families are encouraged to maintain a “no computer” rule for their sons, but not their daughters. Gothard also encouraged men to turn toward the wall when dining at restaurants so as not to be “tempted” by a waitress or a stray attractive woman.

Not that our supposed lack of sex drive absolved us from sexual responsibility. ATI taught us that it is our job to keep men’s desires from erupting into lust or sexual activity. We were taught that it was our sin if we “cause a man to lust after us.” I spent many nights as an early-developed teenager crying and begging God to take away my large breasts, because I noticed men’s eyes had begun to linger on me during church. Modesty wasn’t only about dress, it was also about behavior. Women were taught from a very young age that they are to be submissive in all things: allowing men to open doors for us (even to get out of a car), never initiating conversation with a man and never correcting a man when he was wrong. Essentially, a good ATI woman is sweet, silent, and obedient.

This combination of zero sexual knowledge and deeply-ingrained submissiveness left many young girls in our church especially vulnerable to sexual abuse. As a teenager, I became aware that several of my friends were being molested by their older brothers or fathers. They would start stilted conversations with me about it, but none of us actually understood the concept of sex or rape or molestation enough to actually discuss it, so it stayed on the level of furtively whispered hints.

That vulnerability to abuse increases through the isolation of homeschool. There are no teachers or school counselors for abused children to confide in, so for most of them, the abuse would continue for their entire adolescence. The only hope of escape for young women was through courtship and marriage to a man, who would attempt to immediately impregnate her and to whom she would then relinquish all sexual control.

I didn’t become the victim of sexual exploitation until after I had left my home and the church. Growing up in such an isolated environment, I had only a vague idea of what the world beyond our church would be like. Fortunately, I was both brave enough and naïve enough to try and find out. Most of the people that I grew up with were never that lucky. I try, even now, to figure out how I could have abandoned everyone and everything I had ever known. The only thing that makes sense is this: I believed that there had to be something better than the life I had been raised to have. I believed that there had to be something better than courtship and marriage to a man my father (and “God”) selected for me, followed by a quiverfull of children of my own.

I was both right and very, very wrong.

After I left, I found myself suddenly thrust into a world that I was totally unprepared to navigate. Like Kimmy Schmidt fleeing from her bunker into the sunlight, I suddenly found myself surrounded by people and events that I had never been prepared for. It was nothing like the comically magical larger world that Kimmy Schmidt finds herself in. There were no handsome rich men, no forgiving landlords, no fabulous roommates, and certainly no sacks of cash. I entered a world full of things that I did not understand and a world full of people whose ill intentions I could not interpret or comprehend.

The same sexual ignorance that had made my friends vulnerable while in the church haunted me after I left. The first time I had sex, I didn’t fully understand what was happening to me. When it was over, I noticed that I was bleeding, and I became convinced that God was going to kill me for my sin of causing lust in a man. I lay on the dirty floor of my cheap apartment’s bathroom begging for God’s forgiveness, begging to start over again, and begging for my family’s love, which I knew had now been forever forfeited by my sin. At that point, I had no frame of reference to understand that someone had taken sexual advantage of me, because the concept of date rape wasn’t part of ATI’s “Umbrella of Authority.”

My decision to leave the church caused a permanent wedge between me and my family, who believe that I’m sinful for pursuing an education, for living with my boyfriend, and for everything that I’m proud that I’ve accomplished. Compared to most of the people that I grew up with, I usually think of myself as one of the lucky ones. But I lost 17 years of my life to ATI. And because I was homeschooled, I have to check the GED box on job applications. I feel immodest when I wear a tank top. I still get confused when someone mentions “the ninth grade,” “homecoming” or some movie that everyone my age grew up watching. I’ve spent years desperately trying to put it all behind me, and yet, I still feel like an outsider. I probably always will.

The past week has been incredibly difficult, as I’ve seen my most personal trauma mocked and exploited in the media. I hope this latest religion and sex scandal teaches that religious extremism isn’t entertainment. It is abuse. It is abuse when it is used to manipulate, control and victimize those who are rendered helpless within its confines. We should examine how we allow the most vulnerable members of our society to become prey for power-hungry religious leaders and sexual predators. Yes, the family is to blame. Yes, ATI is to blame. But so are we, for spending the past decade pointing and laughing along.

Article  by Brooke Arnold from salon.com

[aestheticeder-blog]

Breast Augmentation - Before and After Cup Size Measurements - 5 Tips

Most women are pleased with the total dimensions and shape of the breasts. But some girls have always believed that their breasts weren't satisfactory somehow.

The explanations for girls opting for breast augmentation surgery chiefly boil down to those 2: breast size and breast form.

Concerning dimensions: some girls go through their adolescent years anticipating all of the while due to their breasts to grow bigger at a certain stage. However, they never actually do at least not as far as they'd expected.

Meanwhile, other girls are worried more with breast form. For all these girls, they might have been fairly pleased with their breasts when they were in their 20s or their 30s, but "life" occurred. This is: they got along in years, or they'd one or more children, or they obtained a tiny bit of cash - and also their breasts began to shed that attractive contour they had gotten accustomed to.

It's a fact that both women and men think about that the female breast to become emblematic of femininity and attractiveness. Obviously, tastes among the two genders vary with regard to what constitutes perfection and beauty in regards to breasts. There are so many opinions as there are individuals.

This is the area where breast augmentation is sold in.

Breast augmentation operation gives girls that aren't pleased with their body image the chance to enhance it. It permits them to select and then reach the dimensions and shape breasts that they always desired, with the assistance of the physician.

A frequent method for a lady to work together with her plastic surgeon to locate the ideal breast size and form would be to tell her physician her preferred cup size dimensions.

Brust op München Lots of women believe they have a fantastic sense of this before and after cup size of the breasts. But rest assured: heading by cup size is not the best method to explain to a physician the breasts you desire. The main reason is there is not any standard, universal cup dimensions which tells the entire story. Instead, other factors such as ribcage dimensions, chest contour, and present breast amount play a role in how big implants that the physician selects.

Strategies for Obtaining The Breasts You Need After Augmentation Surgery

1. Use images: Find images of how you'd like your breasts to appear and reveal them to your physician. This is only one of the most surefire methods of obtaining the breasts that you desire.

2. Refer to implant manufacturing specifications: Each implant producer provides detailed specifications regarding their implants. Reading them may be useful in picking out the ideal kind and size for you.

3. Pick between smooth and textured implants: That is just another option that will impact the appearance and feel of your breasts.

4. Pick between saline and silicone implants: Both kinds are extremely popular and common, and each has its own advantages.

5. Decide upon the ideal incision place: You and your physician might decide that your incision needs to be drawn up beneath the areola, under the arm, or someplace else. The decision will affect the way your breast looks after operation.

The main point is that you have to learn how to trust your physician. In regards to cup size, inform (and show) your physician what you need and then let them make the final decision. They know how to make you exactly what you desire.

Breast augmentation before and cup size dimensions are somewhat less of a science and more of the artwork. Thus, don't adhere to the cup size , but concentrate instead on the way you would like them to seem. Then, discuss it with your physician.

[raph-fangirl]

A BEAST FROM FRANCE, A BELLE FROM AMERICA

~ crossover between Beauty and the Beast and Gone with the Wind ~

King Raphael is a hideous monster who must marry a young woman to break his beastly curse. Set during the 1860s, after the Civil War, a feisty southern belle named Scarlett travels to France and ends up with more than she bargained for. This is to be a sexy, bittersweet, romantic tale between two unlikely lovers: a beast from France and a belle from America (not for mature audiences).

Also available on Fanfiction.net and ArchiveofOurOwn.org

Chapter One

December Twenty-First Eighteen-Fifty-Five

Le Château du Vieux Duc - St. Augustin, France

What is it that makes a man? the prince wondered.

Was it the blood that rippled through his inconsistently beating heart? Was it his strong, willing hands that longed for a woman's touch? Or was it something more?

Who was he?

He was Prince Raphael Lésagero of France, firstborn of King René and Queen Severina. Yet, at that moment, he did not feel like a prince. The dull, lifeless being dragged himself back to the castle, where he could lay his weary head upon his mother's breast. She would comfort him.

Something had gone terribly awry during his visit to the village, although he could not put a finger on exactly what he had done. Only one week before, he had her in his arms, whispering softly in her ear that he loved more than anything in the entire world. All the wasted years of his youth and being attracted to women were false; he had never felt this kind of love. It was a true one. He knew it was. He wanted to bring her out of her poverty, make her his shining wife. Somehow it would all come together.

But his parents disagreed. She was his paramour, his lady of the night. She belonged to the streets and the muck of the village; she belonged to the brothels and the bars. It was not true love, they assured their son. King René forbade him ever to go back to the brothel again, dressed falsely as a commoner. Guards blocked each portion of the castle through which he could escape. Yet, somehow, the prince still managed to slip through a hidden passageway and into the woods on nights when he yearned for his beloved once more.prince still managed to slip through a hidden passageway and into the woods on nights when he yearned for his beloved once more.

However, that night, on none other than his eighteenth birthday, she was not there. The moment he walked into the scene, the bartender recognized him, as he was a frequent visitor.

"Sorry, friend," he called, pulling a rag through a musty dish. "Naeva left this town earlier today. She did leave you a note though."

Delilah de Beauvoir's Mansion - Savannah, Georgia

A young girl sat in the parlor of her aunt's mansion. She obtained bright blue eyes, with a rim of dark velvety navy encircling it. Her blonde curls trailed down her back, but they were beginning to turn darker. Her Aunt Delilah expected her locks to be completely brown by the time she reached adolescence.

It was her first Christmas without her parents.

Staring at the floor with anguish in her heart, Scarlett Elaine McCullough, only seven, hummed quietly to herself. It was one of the songs from the *Cumberland Gap her father had taught her.

Her mother had perished, but for what reason the girl was unaware. Her father disappeared soon after, and her aunt took her in. Scarlett despised her parents, always griping about being a lady and expecting her to become one. She only longed for the bright hues of the morning sun to lift her away, for the branches of the trees to pick her up and allow her to bask in the silky luminescence.

"Evening, Scarlett."

The girl recognized her aunt's false Savannah accent and husky, almost masculine, voice. She continued to stare at the floor, clutching her dress.

"Aww—now don't be that way! Why don't you play with the other children? You haven't even opened your presents from Ella Mae and Ora yet."

"I don't like either a them *peckerwoods," she spoke spitefully.a them *peckerwoods," she spoke spitefully.

"That's all you ever talk about, who or what you don't like. It's about time you started up with something you do like. And do please use precise language, dear. Enough with the mountain talk."

"I like my home."

Suddenly, a hush fell over the two. The aunt and the niece lounged on one of the settees the room had to offer, glaring at the Christmas tree in the other room. Scarlett had lived in the hills and valleys of Northwest Georgia, miles and miles from the coast of Southeast Georgia, where Savannah was. But now she would never live there again. She would be with her aunt until she found a husband, and then she would live wherever he desired. Never again would she be under the comfort of her own roof, sleeping in the same room she had slept in ever since she was a babe.babe.

"I tell you what, Scarlett," her aunt spoke, taking the young girl's soft, milky white hands in hers. "You, me, and Virgil will visit your old plantation once your grandparents decide what they want to do with it. How's that?"

The girl smiled.

Le Château du Vieux Duc - St. Augustin, France

Crammed into the concise, penetrating letter was Raphael's soul.

He read the white parchment countless times, eventually desiring to rip it to shreds. He had taught Naeva to write; when they first met, she barely knew how to spell any French words at all. As he noticed the usual spelling mistakes she made, he wanted to shout, to spin around and correct her. But she was not there.

It only comprised two or three sentences. The prince read the last word over and over, feeling as though if he took his eyes off it for even a second, another word might appear and fall off the page. There had to be more. After all they had been through, she could not have only left him with this.

Had she ever genuinely loved him? Now that he thought about it, it made sense. Multiple times Naeva told him she was preparing him for a wife, and he believed she was only toying. He would propose to her, and she would be his. All the times she ever had seemed distant to him, all the times he had said, "I love you," and she had not. Was it all leading up to something?

They were supposed to be celebrating together for his eighteenth birthday. As this final moment of pain shot through his soul, his eyes suddenly seemed to widen; he began to feel a tingling in his ears.

Was it the snow? Was the horrific cold playing tricks with him? No, it could not have been. He had just exited the carriage and was now walking through the entrance of the castle.

Then, a sickness. His insides twisted and ripped apart. His fleshy interior segregated and rebuilt itself. He felt his muscles contract and then come together once more. A newfound strength came upon him. Suddenly he felt as if he could take on the world. And then the fatigue again. His skeleton broke in half; all of his bones split and formed back together in a new shape. He screeched in agony, the scream reverberating through the desolate forest. No one could hear his cries. He banged his fists on the ground, pleading with God to let him live. The prince obtained a whole new form. His contorted body, specifically his chest, was sufficiently larger than it had been before.

Instantaneously, the contortions and bendings stopped. Again, his ears tingled, more than before. He reached a hand up to the side of his face and felt pricklings of hair rising. Suddenly, the world became darker; vision was becoming elusive. The castle he could no longer perceive. The hairs grew in new places, now biting his neck and traveling down his spine. It felt as though rocks were being thrown at him, as though thousands of people were stoning him with small pebbles. The sharp edges of the blades tore at his skin, opening his flesh only to allow more auburn-tinted strands to grow. The molding traversed to his pelvis and thighs. He screamed until he tasted blood in his mouth. He raised one of his enlarged fingers up to touch his gums as they bled. Daggers were sticking out of his mouth, piercing his lips.

No, not daggers. Fangs. No, not hair. Fur.

The prince gasped until, once more, an ultimate moment of anguish overcame him. He turned over onto his back, clothing ripping and shredding as his body enlarged. The blood trickled down from out of his mouth and onto his new coat of fur, absorbing into the deep brown tints. Final preparations and decor issued from his skin. His face widened, and a shooting pain shocked his skull. He felt something long and sharp break through his flesh on the top of his head and protrude out. He squealed until the noise changed into a beastly roar. A deep, savage-like tone emitted from his vocal chords. He felt his larynx drop and his throat catch fire as it shifted from a man's to a monster's.

Raphael thought he saw the blurred figure of a man running after him from the castle, the droplets of snow encasing whoever it was. He became a silhouette and disappeared from vision eventually. The prince closed his eyes and wished he would die, sinking faster and faster with each passing second into the pile of snow. The trees encased the monster in their black hands and held him.

What is it that makes a monster? the prince wondered.

Was it the blood that rippled through its inconsistently beating heart? Was it its strong, willing paws that longed for a woman's touch? Or was it something more?

What was he?

*Cumberland Gap – (also known as the Appalachian Mountains) Mountain range on the eastern side of America, stretching from Maine to Georgia. A place of Scots-Irish, natural beauty, various cultures and immigrants, tales of witchery and mysterious creatures, poor, uneducated people; a hard life indeed in these mountains.

*Peckerwood - Appalachian slang for someone you don't like (not to be confused with "Woodpecker")

[ecotone99]

[SP] Gazing at Flowers

https://medium.com/@crepuscular.luminous/gazing-at-flowers-65fa1f4b644c

In this world

we walk on the roof of hell,

gazing at flowers.

- Kobayashi Issa

In Mallorca, a tranquil Spanish island, she perished on the last day before her eighteenth birthday. Next to a small church, red Amapola flowers were dancing voluptuously under the glamour of the setting sun. The Amapola flowers were made of every single red blood cells of her naive yet flamboyant corpse. That night, all the lights on the island went off and all the water surrounding the island transformed into ice.

She was born in a poor village in Peru next to the Andes Mountains and was nurtured by the milk of a ewe. Her expressive eyes possessed the enchantment of a Spanish girl whereas her innocent smile reflected the purity of an Inca girl. Her slightly tanned skin intertwined with the incandescent beams of sunlight. She was mesmerized by the mystique of Chuquiragua flowers on the silvery mountains ever since her early childhood. The flowers were layers and layers of fiery golden flames. A tiny church with white bricks was concealed amid the Chuquiragua. Every Sunday, she came here to sing the holy hymns with her flawless voice in front of the statue of the Virgin Mary. It was a weekly routine for her.

As she became a teenager, the golden hue of the Chuquiragua preoccupied her recurrent dreams as if these flowers were insurmountable torches that lit up the darkness of her distorted land. She was quite intelligent and determined as she solved hard math problems ceaselessly every day until midnight. She was the best at math in her class and many students enjoyed copying her homework solutions. Nevertheless, she always seemed to be pensive because she was cursed to be born in melancholia. Instead of gossiping with other girls in middle school, she spent hours and hours of futility contemplating the tragic past, present, and future of South America as she began secretly reading novels by García Márquez during the absurd and dull English classes. Profesor Lobo, the English teacher, even managed to mispronounce the word “blood” as “blued”! The allure of Chuquiragua flowers seemed to be the only refuge of her adolescent soul full of ineffable solitude.

When she was fourteen, her heart became seemingly less desolate as Matsu moved to her village. Matsu was a boy of her age, whose grandparents immigrated from Japan to Peru. Although he had a Japanese name, he could not speak the language fluently as everyone around him spoke Spanish since he was growing up. Like her, he also possessed a taciturn nature. He never spoke a word when other students were chattering loudly. It appeared that his only entertainment was drawing on his sketchbook. When he was drawing, he concentrated completed on every single stroke made by his pencil so that his mind was in a void of silence. Once during English class, Matsu was entirely immersed in the minute detail of his piece of art that he did not even notice anything when profesor Lobo approached him. Profesor Lobo was extremely furious for his student being so disrespectful, he snatched away Matsu’s stretch book with disdain and revealed what he drew to the whole class — the body of a naked woman, with the perfect shape and silhouette. All the students, except for her, laughed out loud with mockery.

“It’s… it’s just for practicing my skills for sketching.” Matsu murmured helplessly.

Two lonely adolescents souls connected. They talked about literature and art, about unfeasible dreams and desires, about their naïveté…

One day, they were climbing up the mountain filled with Chuquiragua flowers. They were gazing at the flowers. Unexpectedly, he said, “Beautiful flowers. Even though I don’t speak Japanese well, I still memorized a few Haikus. One of them goes like this:

In this world

we walk on the roof of hell,

gazing at flowers.”

“The author of this poem Kobayashi Issa lived a miserable life. He was an orphan since he was a little kid. My parents passed away by cholera right after I was born. Grandpa told me that they named me Matsu, which means pine trees. My parents wanted me to stay strong no matter what. I can’t even remember how they look like. Grandpa raised me all by himself. I’m glad I find such beautiful flowers when I’m almost living in hell.” A few drops of tears appeared on Matsu’s face. He took out his sketchbook and drew a Chuquiragua flower in tranquility. Layers and layers of golden flames were igniting on the paper.

When she was sixteen, her family decided to move to Spain for a better life. “How ironic…”, she thought herself, “They destroyed our land five hundred years ago… and now… but still… I don’t want my family to live in poverty.” Eventually, they arrived at a small island called Mallorca. There were no Chuquiragua flowers on this Spanish island. Chuquiragua only belonged to the Andes mountain. Instead, Mallorca was covered with red Amapola. These flowers created a lustrous yet nostalgic sensation. She missed Matsu.

She started her baccalaureate studies at a Catholic high school in a small town in Mallorca in the hope that her life would get better. However, her lifelong curse of melancholia was twisting and swirling, until it became a menacing red cloud hovering over her vulnerable shoulder. Every day, her eardrums were punctured by all the insulting words her classmates said about her: her cellphone was almost broken, her family was lazy and poor, South Americans were barbaric and inferior compared to Spanish people, her skin tone was as dark as dirty as “mierda”, she was an ugly and disgusting “puta” who slept with many old perverts… They spilled black ink and wrote many words with profanity on her notebooks and then threw her notebooks into the toilet trash can. And after that, they pulled her long dark hair and tore up her collar. Her fragile neck and her delicate breasts were filled with impuissant scars and brackish blood. All she could do was silently wiping off her tears. The horrid voices brutally cracked every single joint of her spinal cord until her brain stem was screaming with diabolic blood flow. Everything around her started their deformation and metamorphosis as the desks, the chairs, the blackboard, the ceiling, and the floor were all swelling with bleeding pustules. The red glistening Amapola flowers outside the window smiled at her with desolation. She wished Matsu was there.

Nevertheless, she attempted to use her intelligence to escape from the hellish reality. She started to learn Catalan at a surprisingly fast pace that after a few months she wrote some poems in the new language she learned. She continued to do all the hard math problems she could find as she believed that the rational steps solving derivatives and integrals could make her temporarily forget about her emotional pain and isolation. She was scrutinizing the techniques of integrating a trigonometric function while the nun started her repetitive and banal lecture about Catholicism. She eventually placed first in a regional math competition but her classmates threw her medal away with sarcasm just like how they threw away her notebooks. She stared at the window and the petals of red Amapola were fading away in the summer sunlight. She knew that she would never see Matsu again.

When her classmates were discussing the popular online romance novels, she viewed their hedonistic taste with despise. She was fascinated by García Márquez’s Strange Pilgrims, a collection of story stories about dissociated Latin Americans living in foreign European countries. When she was reading the stories, she felt some kind of bizarre nostalgia as she reminisced the incandescent Chuquiragua flowers standing vehemently on the Andes mountains.

When she was sitting on a wooden bench in the last row and secretly reading Strange Pilgrims during the Sunday mass, a sentence from the book caught her eyes, “Light is like water. You turn on the tap and out it comes.” All of a sudden, the iridescent facades were deliquescing. Countless beams of sparkling light were splashing down to the ground and kaleidoscopic water was flowing all over the floor of the church. The candles next to the crucifix dissolved into golden water that traversed across the wooden benches. The priest and all the people sitting on the benches vanished abruptly. The benches moved and mingled together. Their shape altered and turned into a wooden boat. She sat on the boat. And the boat floated outside the Gothic church door, across the streets that were immersed in chromatic water. There were no cars, no pedestrians, no dogs barking… Only tranquility like that of the purgatory existed. All the Amapola flowers emerged from the water and flew up to the sky. The hue of the sky transformed into that of the crimson blood. The boat was floating faster and faster and it eventually reached the edge of the island. It went into the profound waves of the ocean. It appeared that the azure waves would carry her to Peru.

Suddenly, she was on her bed and the world became nothing but darkness. The boat and the water were merely her bittersweet hallucinations. She was suffocating as if the long and dusty fingernails of her classmates struck inside her brain and broke her neutrons into pieces. She was so deeply trapped in the vicious abyss of darkness that she could barely open her eyes or move her joints. Her parents yelled at her again and again about how disgraceful she was as their child and how regretful they were of giving birth to her. She screamed back at them with the worst curse words she could think of. After a few days, her parents had no choice but to bring her to a psychiatrist. The psychiatrist examined her aloofly and prescribed her antidepressants that she had to take daily. And she had to attend the mundane psychotherapy sessions weekly in a gloomy and shattered mental institute where the wall, the doors, the ceiling, and the floor were covered with a cadaverous hue and every corner of the building was permeated with ghastly odor. Day by day, she became more and more agonizing as if the veins and bone marrows all over her body were devoured by sulfuric fluid. Her consciousness was demolished by grotesque voices of fallen angels. Until one day, she decided to end her pain by taking all the antidepressants she had at once.

She woke up from a coma with a nauseous and bloody sensation in her mouth. A man in a white coat told her that she had was admitted to the mental institute and she had to stay there until she became stable. He coerced her to take some pills and she soon felt an irksome numbness under her eyelids. She fell asleep and saw her flesh was consumed by avaricious teeth and her skeleton was engulfed in the eternal flames of the inferno. Behind a mirror, she saw her visage contorted in an inexplicable and peculiar form until it became ashes burning in the flamboyant fire. She tried to scream and shout. But her mouth disappeared and she could not even make a sound. When she was awake, she bit her finger until it was bleeding, she drew on her leg her corpse and the red Amapola flowers, the two different images were crossing and interweaving with each other. In the end, she could not differentiate between the two. She then quickly erased what she drew with her saliva so she would not catch the nurse’s attention.

The nurse brought a teenage girl into the room. She said her name was Amalia and she was born to an Andalusian father and a Swedish mother. She also said she was ethnically Jewish but she never practiced her religion because she did not believe in God.

“The reason that they brought me here was that I have an incurable mental disorder and I tried to hang myself after my boyfriend abandoned me.” Amalia murmured.

The Peruvian girl shook her head. She never had a boyfriend and she thought it was ridiculous to end one’s life because of heartbreak. Then she felt guilty for being a hypocrite when the vague silhouette of Matsu flashed through her mind. Then at midnight, Amalia began to sing a song in a foreign language. Her voice echoed with the fading moonlight.

Each day was the same for the poor girl from South America: the nightmares after taking the pills, drawing on her flesh, Amalia’s voice under the moonlight…After a week, or a month, who knows, she was sent back to her high school. Her classmates all ignored her as if she could contaminate them with her sinful soul. The day before she turned eighteen, she told the P.E. teacher that she was sick. So when all the students went to the gym, she stayed alone inside the classroom. Ruminating about the futility and agony of life, she read a verse from the Bible, “Wherefore I praised the dead which are already dead more than the living which are yet alive. Yea, better is he than both they, which hath not yet been, who hath not seen the evil work that is done under the sun.” She then immediately jumped out of the classroom window with the Bible in her pocket. She fell asleep like limbo in a chaotic world as the last beam of sunlight disappeared from the horizon. Her blood dissolved in the petals of red Amapola, so the color of flowers became redder than ever before in the dusk. That starless night, there was no light and there was no water in Mallorca.

On her eighteenth birthday, her coffin was covered with voluptuous red Amapola flowers. The flowers were eternal flames from the inferno. Being a precocious bud, she was destined to wither away before she could turn into a luscious flower. The next day, her school published an open letter stating that she would go to heaven even after sinning because she was a devoted Catholic in life and that everyone should pray for her.

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[allforshow93bsqo476-blog]

Where Will Allforshow93 StripCamFun Be 1 Year From Now?

Greater than a decade in the past, Once i was increasing up in Finland, my product of an attractive female was Pamela Anderson from “Baywatch.” She was my father’s preferred. Every time the boys at school questioned me who I Googled when my mother and father weren’t property, I stated, “Pamela,” and also the identify was greeted by using a unanimous nodding of heads.

I didn’t treatment much for her nude photographs, but I preferred that she was of Finnish heritage.

My nonsexual inner thoughts for Pamela were just one of several things which produced me an outcast. Yet another was that I most popular personal computers to persons. And so, as a youngster who cherished participating in board video games, I quickly discovered I could Enjoy them on the web with strangers with a Finnish gaming Web site.

To obtain the internet site, you typed your user title while in the blank discipline, waited for any slot to open and afterwards uncovered you in the principle chat space, where you could problem folks to your spherical of blackjack, keno or billiards. Other than it appeared not one person else was there to Perform Those people video games critically. The screen was a continuing stream of filthy messages.

I noticed not one person needed http://www.bbc.co.uk/search?q=Allforshow93 to message using a boy in his early adolescence, but a lot of were being clamoring to talk with a sexy woman. And that’s wherever Pamela came in. To desire fellow gamers, I necessary to turn into a woman.

Utilizing Pamela’s age and several of her defining capabilities to create my new persona, I logged in towards the chat home as “CharlottaDD35.” Then the messages arrived pouring in.

I accepted an invite to Engage in billiards from Jarkko25. A screen popped up, and we were being escorted to A non-public area, where by an issue from him appeared inside the message box: “Are you experience frisky?”

“Why do you check with?” I typed.

“Could it be limited?” he requested.

I didn’t fully realize what he intended, but I understood it absolutely was dirty.

I waited a second after which wrote, “Yes.”

“Awesome,” he replied. “Age?”

“35,” I wrote. “But I love younger Adult men.”

“That’s sizzling. What do you seem like?”

I quickly Googled “Pamela+Anderson” and described what I noticed from the search results: “179 cm, blonde. I love to don heels and limited attire.”

“Mmmh. Do you've big breasts?”

“Indeed.”

“D-cups?”

“Yes.” I was firm to provide him everything he wanted.

“What kind of Gentlemen do you prefer?” he questioned.

Considering James Bond motion pictures, I stated: “Another person like Pierce Brosnan. Somebody who requires cost. Anyone trendy.”

“I am able to absolutely take cost,” he said.

I took a sip of my Kool-Assist. “6-pack?” I questioned. Now was time for me to be demanding; usually it wouldn’t seem real. Using a six-pack was a matter I’d listened to was desirable.

“Probably not,” he reported. “But I have one from the fridge.”

I laughed. Probably this man was wonderful.

What followed was my initial-at any time cybersex session, with him typing suggestive remarks and me typing, “Mmmh,” which looked as if it would perform for him.

My masquerade went on for months. I became a learn of giving Gentlemen the things they wished. The sheer amount of fascinated Adult men meant I might be picky, as well. I wished a conventionally handsome and pretty youthful gentleman. And considering the fact that I was a woman of these types of higher caliber, I didn’t Believe it absolutely was an excessive amount of to question.

I personalized my story to suit the opposite participants’ passions. I had been married with two young children. I'd a prosperous husband who couldn’t fulfill me sexually. We lived in a massive glass household with a private Seashore in one of Helsinki’s most distinctive suburbs. And due to the fact I had been a bored, lonely housewife, I normally required anyone to come back around and care for issues.

I discovered newbie pictures of naked women on line to send on the men and patched up regardless of what incongruities emerged: “The picture doesn’t Use a experience simply because I don’t want my partner to understand I’ve been submitting my shots on the net” or “I never give my quantity to strangers right until I’ve gotten to understand them very well ample.”

The back story also authorized me an escape just in case my dad and mom obtained household. “My partner just walked in, so I need to go now,” I would say. “Can’t wait around to talk to you quickly.”

I preferred this online seduction A great deal greater than I imagined I would. I explained to myself it was the Risk: of obtaining caught, of fooling the Gentlemen, of breaking rules. Whatever the scenario, I’d grow to be addicted. Each day right after school, I'd personally keep on my quest for the ideal gentleman.

That’s After i stumbled on Jussi. He described himself as a person who was 23, beloved the gym and had a 6-pack. He played ice hockey and basketball, masculine sports I’d usually wished to be superior at. But he was emotive much too. He despatched me messages such as, “You sound like an unbelievable lady” and “I'm able to feeling these types of heat in these messages of yours.”

He questioned me the usual thoughts: What are you donning? Exactly where do you like to do it? How do you like it?

I provided my standard answers: I used to be donning absolutely nothing (“I just acquired out of your shower and love to cool my body In a natural way”). I preferred executing it on just about every floor of the home and especially in public sites. All of the yoga I did designed me very adaptable, And that i beloved staying lifted up and twisted into adventurous sexual positions.

But then he started to look at what he hoped to uncover on the positioning: specifically, a romantic relationship that was actual and significant. I agreed I had been tired of sleeping all around far too. Typically I blocked a man at the time he began to insist on Conference in person, but Jussi was affected individual and sweet. I desired to continue conversing with him.

We logged in at the same time, day following day. I altered the routine around my school days by expressing, “I’ll ought to fall off the kids initially, so I gained’t be home right until three p.m. tomorrow.” He worked night time shifts for allforshow93 cam a safety guard, so he was constantly on-line Once i desired him being.

After a few weeks, he reported: “Can we meet presently? Please Charlotta.” He explained to me that he was Sick and tired of chatting Which if I didn’t say Sure, he wouldn’t think I was a true man or woman.

What we experienced was serious to me, and I didn’t desire to disappoint him. So I agreed.

We set a date for seven p.m. each week later. We agreed to meet on a street corner in the center of Helsinki, mere blocks from the place I lived. I hoped we'd figure out one another just because we had been chatting for therefore very long and experienced this sort of a powerful relationship.

As the times passed, nevertheless, the impossibility of it started to dawn on me. Even though I were to go meet him and have previous the First explanations, I could never come to be what he imagined me to get. And another thing dawned on me at the same time: I was starting to know I might be gay, and that’s why I was various from everyone else.

At seven p.m. that evening, my mother set sausages and French fries on the desk for dinner. I sat in silence, answering her questions having an absent-minded yes or no. Taking a look at the clock, it strike me: Jussi was now standing out while in the chilly evening, by yourself.

I wondered how long he would wait: Twenty minutes? 30? An entire hour? Would he camp out at a nearby cafe although wistfully on the lookout out of the window, hunting the passing group for Charlotta’s face?

I imagined him sitting around the bus on his way dwelling for the suburbs, hoping there’d been a mix-up: I’d both overlooked the day or mistaken time. I imagined him logging on to the chat room and scanning the checklist for my consumer name, only to return up empty: I’d blocked him to verify I didn’t have to read through by any excruciating messages.

A few several hours just after dinner, my mother came to knock on my doorway to tell me it absolutely was bedtime. As I lay by itself in the dark, I felt a similar loneliness Jussi have to have been sensation.

I would like there had been a way for me to inform him what his on-line companionship intended to me: That he had designed it possible for me to generally be myself inside of a strictly gendered world of Pamela Andersons and James Bonds. That he experienced helped me believe I had been funny, fascinating and price speaking to. That he had, if only by his presence, built it feasible for me to start to approach my sexuality.

By pretending for being somebody I was not, I'd shown him my genuine self, one particular I were too worried to expose to any person else. And in the end, I had been in the position to embrace that true self, an acceptance that may allow me — many years later on, as an Grownup in Ny city — to find real appreciate as an actual individual.

[ouraidengray4]

I Love My Weird Boobs

Would you like a curated list of everything I hate about my body? It is not a pretty list, quite literally, and would be pretty comprehensive, beginning with my super-fine hair—which refuses to grow longer than my shoulders—and ending somewhere around my bulbous little left toe that curls almost all the way under my foot and sports a discolored nail that grows into a gnarled claw.

All the time, I'm conscious of keeping my arms straight so I don't reveal how weirdly sharp my elbows are, and sucking in my rounded stomach, even when I'm not in the company of others. Pretty much every part of my body is on the list. If you think I haven't opened my mouth in the mirror and harshly judged my own tongue (too short, weirdly colored), you'd be wrong. But there is one body part that, strangely, I've never worried about: my boobs.

It's not that I think my boobs are perfect. Objectively, I can see that I may not have the ideal rack. It's just that unlike the rest of my weird body parts, which I worry about, curse, and try to change, I actually like my breasts, despite their flaws.

They are a good size: not-too-big, not-too-small B cups that sometimes spill over into C's depending on the brand. Bras are not absolutely necessary, and most of the time, I can get away with a bandeau, my bra of choice. My nipples are a good color for my skin tone, as far as I can tell. But my breasts are far from perfect. They are strangely far apart. (If I'm braless, I can fit my entire palm between the girls.) They droop weirdly, as if they are trying to take shelter in my armpits, and occasionally grow black hairs.

EDITOR'S PICK

My whole adolescence, I prayed my boobs would never get big, a hope half influenced by Roberta in Now and Then, who tapes herself down to stop her boobs from growing, and half by my high-school hero, Joey Potter of Dawson's Creek, whose barely-there boobs made her sleeveless tops flowy, uncomplicated, and perfect for sitting wistfully on docks.

I just wanted them small, even though according to Victoria Secret ads and magazine covers they were supposed to look better bigger. I like them far apart, even though most of society says "grab a push-up bra and squish those babies together."

But for some reason, I just don't care what society thinks of my boobs.

Normally, I'm a slave to conventional beauty expectations. I want a flat stomach. I want long legs. I shamefully tanned at the tanning salon for years before my hypochondria about having skin cancer outweighed my desire to look like I spent every day of the year at the beach. But for some reason, I just don't care what society thinks of my boobs. I like them they way they are. For once, something on my body looks the way I want it, a way that I specifically think is beautiful, even though it isn't considered perfect.

Lately, I've noticed other women embracing their body parts that aren't conventionally beautiful. I see photos of girls on Instagram without perfectly flat stomachs wearing crop tops, taking ownership of what it means to have a belly you can choose to expose. It's not just that they "don't care" if it looks bad, it's that they like the way they look, even though it's not the standard.

The first time I saw an Instagram photo of a woman who was doing yoga in a sports bra but didn't have a six-pack and a spray tan, I felt a wave of relief wash over me. Folds of her stomach were rolling over the waistband of her pants, but she was just existing, not sucking in, not posing so that her waist looked smaller. It felt, in a way, that that image shouldn't be allowed. Maybe it was because so for so long, it wasn't.

Until recently, we weren't really ever presented with women existing who weren't "perfect": We didn't see it on TV; we didn't see it in magazines; we didn't see it anywhere outside of real life, where strangely, nobody we knew looked like a model but for some reason that fact never really sank in. But then there was Instagram: a platform where anyone could post photos of themselves without having to go through the airbrush-heavy sensors we're used to.

Now, we are able to see beautiful women of all shapes, colors, sizes, and bodies confidently displaying their image. I see girls who show off their stretch marks, their cellulite, women wearing clothes that accentuate the areas of their bodies that ten years ago fashion magazines told them had to be hidden under something A-line. For so long, women have been told there's basically only one way to look beautiful, but I find myself being envious of these women's "imperfect" bodies just as often as I used to be jealous of models' "perfect" bodies—so maybe that's just not true.

So far, for me, it's still just my boobs. Seeing other women show off the body parts they are proud of makes me hopeful I can get rid of that long list of all the things wrong with my body and just display it, but I'm not quite there yet. But if I can love my lopsided knockers, why not my wide hips or my armpit fat? Maybe one day. For now, I'm glad I can enjoy a piece of myself that I like just the way it is. But don't worry... I won't post my boobs on Instagram.

Lucy Huber is a writer, multiple cat owner, and sufferer of Reverse Dawson's Creek Actor Syndrome, which is a disease she made up for when you are 30 but look 15. To see her other work or ask more specific questions about her cats, visit lucyhuber.com. from Greatist RSS https://ift.tt/2KcGwIj I Love My Weird Boobs Greatist RSS from HEALTH BUZZ https://ift.tt/2yMFgGE