#this came to me in the car on my way to a mexican restaurant

[m1d-45]

1.4k words of how well i think genshin characters would do in a slapfight competition

summary: what it says on the tin. here’s an example if you’ve never seen a slapfight. skip to ~3 min in.

i delayed the second part of ‘dearly beloved’ for this. /srs

spoilers for albedo, diluc, and childe lore. technically also for mondstat’s archon quest. i swear excessively and have heavy biases.

cast, in no order: beidou, albedo, kaeya, diluc, childe, kujou sara, tighnari, heizou, shenhe, xiao, kuki shinobu, ayato, hu tao, yanfei

masterlist

beidou

- don’t think i need to explain this one. number one, she’s a sailor. number two, she’s a claymore user.

- she’s built like a brick and i do not take criticism on the subject. you’re wrong.

- she’ll walk in, taking a wide stance and crossing her arms, staring down whatever unlucky individual is her opponent. doesn’t matter how cocky they are, how many comments they make about “i thought this was supposed to be a real challenge!” or whatever. as the guy passes off his coors lite beer and prepares, she doesn’t say a word.

- she’ll just lift her chin, maroon eyes daring them to move.

albedo

- “ooo but albedos made of chalk, he’ll just shatter”

- nope. as funny as that image is, you’re wrong. incorrect. false. he has the bone structure of a person, he bleeds, he bruises, all of it. even if he isn’t organic in nature, everything that he is is human.

- now that we’ve got that aside, he can take a slap. absolutely. he probably has in the past, for whatever reason.

- his skin is pale—what with being chalk—so the redness shows up easier, but that’s the only evidence he ever got slapped, really.

- the most reaction you’ll get from him is a small flex of his jaw, maybe his eyes will slip shut or flutter. besides that, it’s like he never got hit.

- god forbid his opponent try and taunt him. i don’t know if that’s allowed within the rules but it is an awful idea to try.

- every movement of his is calculated, the careful fold of his gloves as he slides them off not betraying any emotion. the countdown starts but he doesn’t even try to wind up, barely giving his opponent time to prepare before it hits.

- don’t let the pretty boy alchemist look fool you. that opponent is walking out bruised, both on his cheek and his ego.

kaeya

- need i go on /hj

- can and will talk shit. it’s a given, sorry

- doesn’t matter if his opponent is a wall of muscle, he’s putting a hand on his hip and flipping his hair back, a scary gleam in his exposed eye. even if he has to tilt his head up to make eye contact, he will not let that stop him.

- when the slap comes, his shoulders will turn and it’ll definitely twist his body—he’s thin, lean instead of bulky, that’s expected. what isn’t is the laugh that immediately comes out of him, his stare as sharp as the spikes on his wrist when he lifts a hand to cover his mouth.

- “oh, is that all?”

- such a shit talker he gets the only line of dialogue in this piece. i love him.

- firm believer that he would give a better punch, just because his hand is probably better built for that, but his slaps still hurt like a bitch.

diluc

- so many opinions on this guy.

- first point, he’s a claymore user. automatically gets a leg up, just because his arms are used to swinging quickly with a lot of force behind them. he’s built beneath that jacket, and it shows.

- another that would make a display out of taking off his gloves, except his is less dexter level clinical and more ‘quiet victorian man winds down for the evening with a cup of tea and his latest read.’

- i think he’d have a hard time regularly swinging with intent behind it, but then he starts imagining his opponent with a fatui’s mask and it gets a lot easier.

- speaking of: his batman darknight duties?

- he literally spends his nights swinging around a claymore, you think he can’t hit one (1) guy??

heizou

- i encourage every heizou-haver to reread his story about the martial arts competition or whatever at the tenryou commission.

- his fists were his weapon and he was the undisputed winner. it’s the exact same here. another pretty boy that hits harder than you’d expect.

- sorry his section is short but i cannot elaborate. it’s so obvious.

- he’d get far, but maybe like. top 15? he’s not built for the heavier hits, and would definitely get dazed after a hit from, say, beidou.

- he couldn’t tackle the harder hitters, he would 100% pass out if he went into like top 5 territory, but everybody up until then better pray.

shenhe

- need i go on pt2

- she would 100% crack a man’s jaw. straight up.

- her face barely moves from a hit, and her opponent’s hand? its like they hit concrete.

- another short section just because i don’t feel the need to explain myself.

- she’s like the better version of childe: all the intent and strength, but with enough concentration to follow every rule, even when it looks like she doesn’t.

xiao

- xiao

kuki shinobu

- she is the literal definition of ‘talk shit, get hit’

- replay her story quest and go down the option that has her saving the gang members. the whole ‘gang rules’ arc??

- her only barrier would be taking off her mask, and though i’m not gonna touch on that specifically, were she to compete?

- she’d get far. she’s not really built for giving out or taking slaps, but she’ll do pretty good. 6.75/10

yanfei

- similar vein to shinobu.

- not really one that’ll get far, but will compete for bragging rights and get a respectable distance through the tournament.

- definitely nothing to scoff at, she may be a catalyst user but she’s also half adepti.

- she’s also a lawyer, so you can bet she’s following every single rule and still kicking your ass.

- also, that giant book she lugs around everywhere? the one in her idle? she has to have some sort of strength to her slap.

honorable mentions:

tighnari

- he could tank hits!! but he cannot give them out

- could take a slap like he was made to do it. would have to put away his hair but that won’t stop him. it would look like it hurt, but he waves off whoever asks if he’s fine.

- however, he could not slap hard enough, i don’t think. bows aren’t really brute force weaponry, and he’s more a healer in practice

- (not in-game, like in-lore)

kujou sara

- same problem, really.

- could take a slap, could not dish it.

- probably has a lesser chance at it than tighnari, really.

- it’s not her fault! she’s a ranged fighter! bows just don’t require the same muscle

childe

- i know what you’re thinking and the answer is no.

- now, he can take a slap. wont be fazed. he can give a slap. his opponent will be knocked out instantly.

- but he could never compete in a slapfight.

- he’d walk up, his face probably barely moving from its spot. but when it’s time to hit… he could not follow the rules at all.

- he’s too eager! he’s gonna play dirty! instinct can and will kick in and he’s either gonna slide his foot for a better stance or just fuckin deck the other guy.

- if he were to follow the rules, he would win hands down. but he cannot follow the rules, and so he is disqualified.

- sad days.

hu tao

- do not get me wrong. she could and would do excellent in a slapfight.

- she has the strength, the muscle, she could take a hit, the only thing she’s lacking is the will.

- in lore, she is not one for fighting. that is the one and only thing keeping her from wrecking every other competitor.

- she literally wrangles spirits day to day. she’s a polearm user—dude the strength required to spin those things around daily, especially with her kit?? she drains her own hp daily and still does it

- she’s not here because of a skill issue, but because of her beliefs. and that’s fair.

ayato

- dainty pretty boy that would be more affected by slaps than he’d let on, but it’s obvious in the way he sways and his hand shakes.

- he’d do well initially, but would 100% lose to even heizou.

- sorry king :/

[sideysvault]

˖⁺‧₊The 5 times Deadpool calls you ‘babygirl’₊‧⁺˖

Pairing: Wade Wilson x fem!reader

Established relationship

Warnings: Minors dni. Foul language, canon typical violence, and explicit content ahead.

────────

1. The apartment was dimly lit. It was a chilly September afternoon. Both of you were parading around, frantically looking for all the flyers and menus that local restaurants have left at your door and car ever since you moved into the neighborhood. You had been arguing about what to order for dinner for approximately forever. And you guys were starving.

“Thai.”

“Not so quickly, hot stuff. We had that shit last week. Mexican.”

“We have Mexican food all the time. I love it but enough is enough”

The man let out a theatrical gasp and exclaimed “Enough Mexican food? What’s next?” Taking a deep breath, he began making a poor imitation of your high pitched voice “Enough of you! Enough of us!

You held in an amused giggle. He had the ability to make mundane endeavors quite entertaining.

“Ugh, fine. I’ll be an awesome boyfriend and cook for you tonight. Sounds good, babygirl?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the sound of that word.

“What did you just call me?”

Wade got up from his seat and started to make his way into the kitchen. Just as he is walking behind you, he smacks your ass while giving your temple a soft kiss.

“Stop being difficult”

By the time he arrived at the kitchen counter, you had him trapped with a hug from behind. Leaving soft, sloppy kisses all over his back, neck and shoulders. You really loved it when he cooked.

2. Wade had no plans of introducing his partner to what he considered nothing more than losers in spandex. But now that he was presented with the opportunity, he was quite pleased with himself. A sense of pride filled his chest with a feather-like sensation. He still wasn’t sure of how a woman like you could even date him, but he was glad you did.

“Baby, this is the russian tin man and his teenage sidekick, Guys, this is my beautiful sexy babygirl”

You immediately feel your face heating up with embarrassment. Luckily, the duo seems to be very accustomed to your boyfriend's antics. They quickly laughed it off with a roll in their eyes.

At the end of the day, he may be the biggest asshole in the world, but they are happy to see Wade in a good, normal relationship. Or at least, as normal as you could get with him.

3. He could feel you wince in pain with every step he took. Your nails were digging into his skin with such force that Wade was pretty sure it was making him bleed. But as long as he got you to the hidden safety offered by the forest near the road, nothing mattered. He tried to put you down as gently as he could. No matter his efforts, as soon as he laid you on the humid duff, you let out something stuck between a gasp and a scream. And as soon as Wade heard it, he felt his heart stop.

It was your very first time getting shot. And it has been his fault.

“It’s okay baby girl, I got you. Just look at me, okay?”

“I know it hurts, baby. We’ll fix it. Brand new. I promise.”

He did not soften the hand which he used to apply pressure on your wound. And he did not let his protective hug soften either.

4. The bed sheets felt humid. You assumed it came from the salty sweat on your body. The woman had been awoken by a nightmare for the third time this week. You panicked for a second, feeling the warm sensation of breath behind your neck. But you soon realized that it was Wade. He had his arms around your waist and you could hear a light snort coming out of the man. You let out a breath you did not know you were holding.

You two were together, at home. Turning around to face him and hide your face in the crook of his neck, pulling yourself as physically close to your boyfriend as you could. He woke up with a groan. Wade kissed your forehead and sloppily rearranged the messy hair out of your face. You could hear him mumbling sweet nothings as he tighten his grip on you and softly tracing invisible lines on your back.

“Go back to sleep, baby girl. You are safe”

- 5 -The cold sensation of the wall against your nipples was completely intoxicating.

Your head felt dizzy because of the constant stimulation. You were pretty sure you were about to pass out. But Wade’s hand kept your head in place, while he left a thrilling trail of kisses all over your neck and back.

The woman lets out a whine almost every time she feels the thrusts. Her pussy was filled with the overwhelming tingles of a denied orgasm.

“You can do it, babygirl, you are so fucking tight. Keep it up, honey”

Your hand reached for the back of his head, pulling his head closer as he pounded into you with more strength than before.

His hand covered your mouth as he mumbled into your ear “Bite it. We are not over yet”

Notes: Hi pretty! Thank you so much for your follow and your requests! I hope to write them all soon. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy reading this one. Take care! -Sidey xxo

Based on this request.

[ashleysmessyjourney]

22 Months Messing Challenge Update

Okay, so today I learned that 1 cup of coffee helps move things along and helps make me do my thang in my diaper. However, adding a glass of cranberry juice throws my tummy into overdrive and totally clears me out in a way that I don’t like. You ever feel like you totally clear yourself out then your body is like, “Go back to the potty right now cuz you’re gonna poo right now!” twenty minutes later?

Guess how many diapers I went through because of that? Four. Four diapers because each time I thought I was good. I waited in my third diaper after messing to make sure that I was as empty as I could be, then changed. I’ll give you one guess as to what happened next.

Since I have sensitive skin, I used gobs of Desitin rash cream down there so I could practice staying messy for longer and longer periods of time. I want to be able to tolerate being messy for a bit longer than I’m comfortable with because there may be situations in the future that keep me from changing as soon as possible.

I’ve started making notes of places that have bathrooms that are “safe” for me to change in, saving a long list of places on my phone with Google Maps for my local area. I wear plastic panties every time I go out if I’m anticipating a messy accident. Even then, I sometimes wear one just to be safe. Feeling safe, and using things to help me feel safe, have been really helpful in this challenge because it gives me the peace of mind to keep pushing forward. It’s been almost two years and I have not given up.

I know I need to get over myself and stop worrying about changing a messy diaper in public but it’s so nerve-wracking. It’s scary; just as scary as it was getting over changing a wet diaper in public. However, I’ve been searching for single room bathrooms where only one person can be inside at a time. Changing a messy diaper in a stall would just suck and be so scary.

I went out to a local Mexican restaurant with my parents last week. I’ve always loved eating nachos, especially if they’re drenched in queso. I’ve been eating them less and less as of late because I have a near-immediate negative reaction to them now. Yes, I know I’m stupid for eating them but I can’t help it sometimes; I just have a need to eat nachos. After we had finished eating dinner, my stomach was twisting itself into a knot so tight that I knew I was going to make a mess in minutes. With my home so far away, I was glad when they got up to go. I scurried back to my car with a slight waddle, praying that I would be able to make it home in time so I could mess in the safety of my home.

I didn’t make it.

It’s been getting really hard to hold #2 these last several months because I’ve conditioned myself to let my body take care of its needs. It’s what the diaper is for, after all, and I no longer view messing as a negative thing. I was able to make it to the fourth stop light from home before I tried to pass a little gas. I think you can guess what happened. Since I felt so much relief from letting some out, and since the light was still red, I lifted my butt off of the seat and pushed as hard as I could. The relief came almost immediately, though my stomach still churned like it was telling me I wasn’t done yet. I winced as I sat down in the hot mess, trying to keep it from squishing up front where my sensitive bits are. It wasn’t the solid kind of mess that I prefer; it was the complete opposite. 

I will admit that the sheer helplessness of the whole situation was a huge turn on. Being unable to keep myself from using my diaper like that, even though I fought hard and valiantly, was all useless in the end. My body knows that I’ve been wearing diapers for so long that it just knows by now that it can do whatever it wants and I’m fine with that.

I showed up to my home with a very full diaper. Thankfully, I had worn a pair of plastic panties, so I wasn’t smelling anything at all. I was super grateful that I didn’t notice any of my neighbors out and about; I would have avoided them like the plague at all costs if they came near me.

Lastly, I've been considering doing challenges to lessen my time since I have so much time left. I'm thinking about doing erotic hypnosis tracks that'll help keep me going in pursuit of my messing goals. Some may include messing on a trigger word, messing at night, and more. I'm still looking around. I was thinking listening twice would take off a week's worth of time and once the effect has taken permanent hold, I'd take off a month's worth of time. I want to keep this challenge fun and interesting.  

If you’d like to keep this challenge going, you can send me gifts to add time onto the timer. Check the pinned post for how much time stuff adds.

Wishlist

Thanks for reading!

Current Ending Time: April 11, 2026 (2 years, 10 months more!)

[patdkoala]

Meant To Be Yours

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x female reader

Warnings: smut, riding, bottom!Pedro, nicknames

I am not an actress. I am not a model. I am not famous in any way shape or form.

I met Pedro at a Mexican restaurant. Not at a convention, not at a concert, not even at some premiere. We met by accident.

I was at the bar ordering drinks for me and my friends who were all seated at the table close by. It was my best friend's bachelorette party.

"Hi, can I get 8 shots of your cheapest tequila? We have got a group of horny women that need to drink," I said as the bartender smiled at me and then he started pouring the drinks as I handed him the cash.

I dropped one of my dollars and so I went to pick it up off the floor but instead this handsome man bent down on the floor and picked up my money and handed it back to me.

"Here you dropped this, sweetheart," He said as I rolled my eyes and took the money from him, and handed it to the bartender.

"Sorry, did I say something wrong?" The man asked as I just stood there and ignored him. "I'm not your sweetheart," I said as he chuckled to himself and then he ordered his drink and walked away.

I took the shots that were on a tray and walked back over to my group of friends.

"Who was that hot guy talking to you?" My best friend asked as I looked back at the bar but the man was gone. "I don't know. He gave me the ick," I said as they all groaned.

"No! Gross, what did he do?"

"He called me sweetheart," I said as a couple of friends groaned and a couple made cute faces. "What? I think it's kind of nice. How old is he? He probably just was talking to you like you are a daughter," One of the friends said as I laughed.

"Yeah, or granddaughter," I said as they all laughed and then we downed our shots and made small talk or had conversations about the upcoming wedding.

The night went on. The restaurant got more crowded and we were all getting overwhelmed.

Ubers were called, boyfriends came to pick them up ( as well as fiancés), and I was the last one standing outside the restaurant.

"Fuck," I muttered to myself as I watched my phone die in my hands.

I looked across the street and saw that there was a pay phone. As I was about to leave the restaurant parking lot, the man from inside the bar stepped outside into the moonlight.

He looked well over 40 but not really 50 yet. No wedding ring meant either divorced or single which was sketchy because of his age.

His hair was dark brown with light grey pieces popping through in the light. His dark brown eyes glistened when he looked at me.

He was tall. Well, tall compared to me. And well dressed. He wore a nice pair of trousers and a nice button-up shirt with a t-shirt underneath. He looked clean and well kept so either this man is gay or the world is finally sending me a message about my impending doom with being an old maid.

"Hey, I'm sorry for calling you sweetheart back in there. I meant it as just a thing to say to a young lady, not something creepy to hit on a lady with," He said as I just stood there and I realized that I had been staring at him.

"No, it's ok. I'm sorry for seeming rude. I thought you were some ugly guy," I said and then I quickly turned red for saying that. Not because I was blushing but because I felt like such an idiot for saying that.

"So it would have been ok to be rude to me if I was an ugly guy?"

"Yes?" I responded now even redder than before.

He laughed it off as I searched my purse for loose change so I could use the payphone.

"I hate to ask but do you have some quarters I could use for the pay phone? My phone died and I need to call a taxi," I said as he just straight up handed me his phone.

"I would offer to drive you home but I don't want you to think I'm a creep."

"I wouldn't think you were a creep," I lied. I totally would. If he was an ugly guy.

"Right. Only if I was an ugly guy," He added.

"So, where is your car?" I asked as I stepped closer toward him and handed him his phone back.

He smirked and then offered his arm for me to take since I was a little wobbly in my heels at the moment.

We walked to this nice big black SUV.

"Damn, either you are a drug dealer or a pimp because I don't know anyone with a badass car like this," I said as I got in the passenger seat.

"You really don't know who I am?" He asked as he got in the driver's seat.

"No? Am I supposed to?"

"You ever see the Mandalorian?"

"No."

"The Last of Us?"

"No."

"Game of Thrones?"

"No."

"Law and Order?"

"No."

"Damn, What do you even watch?"

"I don't have time for tv," I said as I smiled at him.

"Oh. That's cool I guess."

"So, what's your name?" I asked as he pulled out of the parking lot.

"José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal. But, you can just call me Pedro. That's what everyone else calls me," He said as I smiled.

"Well, I want to call you something that no one calls you. So I'm going to call you José. Or brown eyes," I said as he smiled at me as he stopped at a stop sign.

"Well funny enough, someone does call me both of those things," He said as I turned to him. "My mother," He added as I laughed at him.

"What's your name? Because as far as I'm concerned, it's giggles," He said as I laughed again.

No one has ever made me laugh this much.

"(Y/N) (L/N), but you can call me giggles. No one has ever called me that before," I said as he nodded.

We talked the whole drive. He drove for two hours. All over LA.

It wasn't until we noticed that it was 3am.

"Oh my god, I never told you where my house was," I said as he and I laughed so hard.

"Well, are you hungry?" He asked as I shook my head. "Always," I said as he then pulled into a drive-thru.

We ordered the food and laughed at each other the whole ride up to the window.

"Oh my god, you're Pedro Pascal!" The woman at the window screamed as we drove up.

"See? I told you," He said as he took a selfie with the sweet girl.

We ate in the dark parking lot.

We laughed. Talked some more. Ate some more. Laughed some more.

Before we knew it, the sun was rising.

"I wish this night would last forever," I said as he rested his head back on the headrest.

"Yeah, me too," He said as we then just looked at each other.

"I mean, it can. Where do you want to go now? I'll take you anywhere you want to go," He said as I smiled and laughed at him again.

"Home, José. I have to go to work in a few hours," I said as he nodded then I told him my address and he took me home.

The car came to a complete stop in front of my house and I turned to smile at him.

"Thank you for hanging out with me, José," I said as he smiled back at me. "My pleasure, giggles," He said with a wink.

I got out of the car and then as I walked up the front steps to my house, I realized that he was staring at me as I walked up the steps.

I never told him where I work. I hate to sound clique but I work at a coffee shop in downtown LA.

I clocked into work and started my day with 0 hours of sleep. My boss was annoying per usual. Customers were mean per usual.

Except for the one customer that walked in and made my day 100 times better.

"What are you doing here, giggles?" He asked as he walked up to my register. "I could ask you the same thing, José," I said as he smiled and then ordered his INSANE coffee order.

"How are you not dead?" I asked as I handed him the cup. "Dude, I have no idea. My brain is so fried right now."

I laughed at him again and this time he just stood there smiling at me.

"I don't mean to sound so forward but we did spend all night together so, can I get your phone number?" He asked as I continued to laugh.

"Well, then I should probably tell you the truth."

"What are you talking about? Oh no. Are you married or something?" He asked as I shook my head.

"No, but I lied when I said I didn't know who you were. I wanted to humble you." I laughed as he then laughed.

"The truth is that I was late to the bachelorette party because I was sitting in the parking lot watching your hot ones episode and then last night I watched your SNL skits. I also binged all of The Last of Us last week," I said as he stood there and then he nodded.

"Right, well. I won't ask again."

"Ask for what? Do you still want my number? Are you sure? Even though I lied to you?"

"Everyone deserves to be humbled every once in a while," He said as I smiled.

I then turned toward my coworker. "Hey, can you cover me? I'll be back in 30 minutes," I said as she nodded and then I handed her my apron.

I took Pedro by the hand and dragged him outside toward his car.

We go in the back seat.

I pushed him into the car so it was only fitting that he be on the bottom.

"What are we doing here exactly?" He asked as he held onto my hips.

"I am going to ride you before I have to go back to my shift and then you are going to pick me up from my house tonight and take me out on a proper date," I said as I undid his belt. "Is that okay with you?"

He just nodded and then shimmied out of his jeans just enough for me to sit on his dick.

He felt so good.

"God, you feel so good," He said as I moaned and felt my whole body clench around him.

He held onto my hips as if I was filled with helium.

"Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere," I said as he bucked his hips up and moved further into me. "Good, because I won't let you," He said as I screamed out in ecstasy.

I felt him jolt inside of me which was a sign that he was close.

I got off of him and I went back to work.

I just fucked José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal.

Like a girlboss.

[blue-sadie]

The Revengeful

Cecil Dennis x Birthday Girl Reader

Series Masterlist

Prt 8 of the Different Versions Series

Summary: waking up on yours and your doppelgangers shared birthday and getting the best gift ever

Warning: table sex

Yn/3rd person pov

I woke up to the soft voices and illuminating glow of the TV, I shifted further back into the couch clutching the blankets tightly as I yawned blinking the sleep away my eyes drifted towards the uncovered window up to the dark stary sky.

I stretched out my arm to grab the phone that was on the table groaning as the brightness blurred my eyea it was 00:47 "what the fuck is wrong with me" I whined slowly sitting up yawning one last time I looked around the room it was a connecting lounge that had the dining room and kitchen on either side.

I stared dead ahead at the TV a boring horror was playing, I perked up hearing a car door shut was it in the movie or outside, it couldn't be in the movie because they were in the sewers and the sound effects didn't suit it "princesa".

I turned my head to the voice hearing keys jiggle and the door unlock "I got you presents" my eyebrows frowned but softened as I saw him walk down the corridor with a small box in one hand and in the other a take away back that looked to be from a mexican restaurant.

"Happy birthday" he smiled stopping a few feet away from me, my lips twitched as I snatched the phone from the table looking at the date "we all share a birthday" I whispered I quickly shook my head before turning to him smiling up at him "thank you" I murmured, he quickly came over placing the food on the small table and gave the box to me the smell of cheap beer and cigarette smoke filled my nose makingit crinkle a bit.

I took it carefully admiring the large bow that was settled on top a little note on it 'love you my birthday girl, love cecil', my mind wondered back to the boys my eyes fluttered shut as I breathed in deeply would they even remember my heart ached as I thought about it "hey what's got my birthday girl down" he murmured wrapping his arm around me as he sat next to me.

I turned my gaze to him smiling sadly "nothing just thinking" I said, he nodded and smiled again as he gestured to the gift "open it" I slowly slipped off the bow before turning off the gift to peel off the tape each time I got closer to the gift he got more excited his knee bouncing in anticipation, I took off the wrapping paper placing it beside me and stared at the black box.

I held it by the sides before flipping the lid up, my breath caught in my throat as I came face to face with a beautiful full necklace that sparkled in the dim glow of the TV "w-wow" I was amazed by the gift my finger tips glazed over the jems my eyes moved between the necklace and him "I don't know what to say" I paused "thank you" I smiled and he smiled back.

"I'll do anything for my birthday girl to be happy" he murmured moving a bit closer "but I'll ask just for a kiss for a thank you" he grinned leaning towards me, I rolled my eyes playfully before leaning in as well intil our lips met in a calm yet passionate kiss my hands slowly moved to his shoulders and his to my waist as I moved to straddle him, my legs settling on either side of him.

"But I could take something else as well" he said pulling back as his eyes slowly moved his way up my body only stopping when our eyes meet "could see it as interest or an early pay on your next gift" I laughed making him raise his eyebrow "what I think that's a great idea" he chuckled as he moved his hand to the curve of my ass.

He moaned into my mouth as his hands tightened their hold on me slightly pushing my bearly covered core against his bulge "maybe this can be your second gift" he groaned moving his lips to my neck his cainies slightly grazing my skin as he sucked on it surely leave a hickie or two "fuck Cecil" I groaned my hands slightly into his clothed shoulders.

"That's it birthday girl say my name" he grinned nipping at my skin making me gasp and turn my head to the side giving him more access to my neck "that's it" he growled as his hands slightly massaged my ass inching down my pj shorts his finger tips dragging themselves down my bare skin of my ass as he guided the shorts down my thighs.

"Even though I fucking love this position I think we need to get our clothes off" I whispered pulling my neck away from his lips he sighed deeply and bit his lips as he stared at the marks he made on my neck, his hands linked under my thighs as he stood up forcing me to lock my legs around him "fuck I don't think we can make it to the bedroom" he groaned pressing his bulging cock into my pussy.

He slide me onto the table and stood back, his hands pulled off my shorts and tank leaving me bare against the cold wood, a shakey breathe Leaving my lips as a shiver run up my spine and my hand clasped the edge of the table my eyes watching his hands drop my clothes to the floor before removing his own.

He slide off his shirt with ease dropping it onto the pile "you love watching me don't you" he grinned as he slowly slid his hands down his chest his nails slightly digging into his skin leaving a light red trail down intill it came into contact with his belt, his eyes stared at me as he undid his belt and pulled it out with a powerful pull he stared at the belt his eyes flickering to mine and a big smile pasted onto his lips as he shook his head placing onto the table beside me.

"I'll save that for another day" he said quietly as he slide off his pants and boxers kicking them off and into the pile, "now where were we" he murmured and stepping back in between my thighs his hands gripping them tightly "I think your about to fuck me" I grinned leaning forward and pressing my lips to his, he chuckled against my lips as one of his hands left my thigh and grabbed his cock running its head up and down my slight.

A wavering moan left my lips as he slowly pushed the head inside he clenched my thighs and pushed in further my hands went to grip his arms as we moaned, he slowly pulled out and pushed back in his thrusts slowly increased as I got used to his size "fuck baby" he groaned dipping his head down to my chest his lips latching around my perky nipples giving them a few licks and sucks before moving onto the other one giving them each a term.

"You are so good for me" Cecil muttered breathlessly as he threw his head back, his thrusts sending jerks through my body, I moaned out my hands tightening their hold on his arms "c-cecil" I whined clenching around him fueling his thrusts "keep doing that for me" Cecil muttered.

My eyes slowly went cross eyed as I slowly layed back down onto the wooden surface the coldness of the wood making me quiver I could feel myself getting closer to the edge "fuck" I cried my thigh muscles tensing as I felt the knot inside me break, my pussy clenched around him hard making it harder for him to do his final thrusts before cumming, he yelled out in pleasure buring himself deep inside.

"Fuck fuck fuck" he groaned as he slowly pulled out and leaned down to watch his cum leak out as sleep started to take over me I felt him dip his hands underneath me picking me up and pushing me against his chest my head laying in the crook of his neck as he slowly walked his way back to the couch my eyes slowly fluttering shut.

"If I get this as I thank you I'll make sure to get you a Dimond ring next time, I love you my pretty baby I hope you had the best birthday ever and remember it's not over yet"

[callisto-died]

gojo x reader

crossposted from my ao3.

Hear me out.

A guy with white hair that works with you in a Home Depot. 

Perfect jawline, perfect blue eyes, perfect hair, perfect everything.

You got carried away, bumping into his back and dropping the box full of materials on the floor.

"Shit. Gojo, I'm sorry, I wasn't looking and I- I'm sorry." He turned to look at your small form, cocking a brow.

"My back is that sculpted? Huh, guess all that going to the gym shit worked out for me all along. Don't worry, I'll take the blame."

He knelt down, picking the box up from the floor, picking up the broken pieces of the vases and dumping them in the box. "Say, I've caught you staring at me a couple of times. What's your name?"

Your face. Saying it was red would be an understatement, and you covered it with your hands.

"My name is Y/N."

He extended his hand, you held it and shook it.

"Hey, I got a question."

Your eyes traced him as you leaned in closer to listen.

"So, asked a girl out and apparently she couldn't make it, so now I have a reservation for two at this fancy restaurant. Wanna come with me?" He cocked his head and started walking, he walked over to the gardening section, taking a watering pot in his hand. You followed behind him sheepishly like a puppy.

You froze momentarily, his form disappearing into the distance. 

You chased after his, patting his back. 

"So you're asking me out on a date is what you're doing, right?"

He nodded, seeming carefree. That was what attracted you so much to him. His wit, his determination to water those damn plants and get his hands dirty by using the forklift. You melted on the spot.

"I'll go. What's your number?"

You both exchanged numbers, and you took your leave to do your work.

You paced around your room, you were anxious. You wore a tight (f/c) dress that hugged your curves perfectly, curled your hair, and applied some mascara and lipstick. You had a (f/c) bag, and it had everything you needed, pads, tampons, and just in case, condoms. You checked your phone constantly, you finally got a notification.

Gojo Work - im outside

You didn't know what to save his contact name as, so you just stook with the obvious.

You - omw, r u at the front entrance or back entrance

Gojo Work - back

You left your apartment, not before double checking the mirror to make sure you looked nice.

You admitted, you looked beautiful...

You scurried downstairs, opening the passenger door to his car, it was fancy, cold and slick, clean and...

"So are you gonna get in or are ya gonna walk there?"

"Right."

You nodded, slipping into his car, closing the door next to you. 

"So, what's this restaurant you're taking me to?"

"You'll see."

He drove, his eyes carefully traced on the road, his glasses on his face. He wore a black tight shirt and you couldn't help but stare at his...

Anyways, along with the tight black shirt, he had his sleeves rolled up, a belt, and some black tight dress pants.

You finally arrived, and Gojo stepped out of the car, opening your door.

"After you."

He closed the door behind you, and took your hand in his. "You look great, by the way." 

You blushed, "Thanks, you look nice too."

You walked into the restaurant, mexican music blasting through the speakers. "This is my favorite restaurant, I know I said it was fancy, but that was just a bluff. Sorry."

"How can I help you?" The waitress walked up to you two.

"Reservation for two please, Satoru Gojo."

She led you to a private dining area, where she locked the door right after.

"For privacy, you know?" Gojo stated. "Last time I came here this weird homeless guy walked in and started yelling at me and my date."

"Oh."

"Anyways, what do you want to eat?"

After ordering your food, you leaned your head on the palm of your hand. 

"You're so hot."

Gojo perked up. "Am I?"

"What?"

"You said I'm hot." He scooted closer to you, caressing your cheek. "Do you really believe that?"

You nodded sheepishly, "Who wouldn't?"

Gojo leaned in for a kiss, lips connecting with each other.

He leaned in closer, putting his hand behind your head. You tilted your head, allowing his tongue to enter your mouth.

There was suddenly a knock at the door. Gojo pulled apart from you in an instant, and your food was served.

A while later, you two began making out again, he lay you on the table, and you gave him a toothy grin as he held you softly.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, and you pulled him closer. Gojo had just locked the door, as you laid on the table, Gojo spreading your legs with his strong arms. "Spread for me, baby."

He started massaging your inside thighs, rutting his hardness between your core, it made you shudder and moan in pleasure. 

"Is this okay?" He unbuttoned your dress and slid them down to your ankles, admiring your favorite pair of panties beneath him. "Yes." You whispered huskily.

"Alright." He stuck his fingers through your panties, tracing your clit with small circles, eliciting a moan from you.

He pushed a finger inside you, stretching your insides slowly. "Ah- Gojo.."

He unbuttoned his own pants, taking his own length out and stroked it twice before coating it with your slick.

Gojo pumped his length once or twice and you took a second look at it, it was too long. Way too long.

He pushed another finger inside you, taking them out and thrusting back in at a medium pace.

"Fuck, Gojo."

"Soon."

He brought you in for a rough, yet passionate kiss, running his hand along your waist, squeezing it a couple times. He pulled his fingers out of you, and licked them free of your pre-cum. He pulled your panties down, and aligned himself with your hole. "Just let me know if it hurts, okay? Don't be too loud."

You nodded, letting him slowly slip inside you. You felt his member poke your stomach, and you pressed a finger there, which made Gojo squirm. He grabbed a fist full of your hair, and looked into your eyes. "Do that again." He waited patiently, but you just stared at him dumbfoundedly. "Be a good girl, go on, do it again." You finally gave in, pressing against him, causing him to groan. "Good girl, yes, good...mm." He leaned into your neck, leaving sweet kisses and bites, he was so mesmerizing, you couldn't get enough of him.

You enjoyed the praise, so you did it again. 

He thrusted deep inside you at this, shaking the table in the process. "Ow!" You winced, which made him pause.

"Sorry, nevermind. I'm fine now. You can.. go faster."

He stared into your eyes, you couldn't help but stare back, getting lost in his oceanic gaze. "I'm sure, please."

He nodded, and held onto your shoulders. 

He started slow, easing himself out only to thrust himself back in faster.

At this point, the only thing that could be heard was the table shaking, his balls bouncing on your ass, and the pants and groans that would come out of Gojo's mouth. 

You felt your core tighten, you moaned loudly and Gojo put a hand over your mouth to keep you quiet. "Be a good girl for daddy and shut up, won't you?"

You came inside him, but Gojo seemed to still be hard. You tapped his shoulder which made him stop, and you slid off his dick. 

"I want to suck you off."

His face went beet red when you said this, but he obliged, carrying you off the table and placing you on your knees gently. "Be good for me."

You nodded as you held his dick with your hand, your cum pooling down beneath you, dripping on your thighs.

Licking a stripe up his dick, tasting yourself, you squeezed his length twice before taking him halfway. 

"Gnnnhm.." You made a weird noise when you took him, amazed by his hugeness.

At the noise, Gojo thrusted upward, taking your hair in his hands. 

"Fuck, do that again, baby!"

Stuffing your mouth hole, you choked on it, letting out a gagged noise.

You did as he asked, slowly taking him out and sucking him with lust.

You started pumping his cock faster, sucking him faster, everything just to make him cum. He squirmed in your touch, his dick twitching in your mouth.

"I'm so close, Y/N, baby. Oh, I'm so close, keep being a good girl for daddy and suck me off just like- hnnng!" He came unexpectedly in your mouth, pulling your hair, forcing you down.

...

"God, we should go on dates more often."

[fishylipsblubblub]

The Silent Observer, Chapter 1

When you get hired at El Michoacano, you quickly discover that not all is as it seems...

A/N: This one has been marinating in my google docs for a long ass time because i wasn’t really sure how i felt about the beginning, but i kinda just realized theres no point in writing fanfic if im not gonna post it, so here y’all go. btw i’m planning for this one to be long AF

Pulling out of the McDonalds drive through, I turned onto the road. I tried for a second to open the lid of my coffee, but decided it was a bad idea and set it in the cup holder. I exhaled and gripped the wheel until my knuckles were white. Rain drops pummeled the windshield as I drove onward. The weather was uncharacteristically rainy for New Mexico, but the rain was a welcome sight. The constant heat got on my nerves all the time since I’d came here.  

“Hi, my name is y/n l/n,” I practiced. “I’m here for the interview. Yes, I would like some water, thank you. My biggest weakness? I’m too hard working. No, wait, that’s cliche. And not even true. No, my biggest weakness is.. I usually wake up after 12, and employers don’t generally like that.” I heaved an exasperated sigh. “They’re never going to hire me.”

My intention was to collapse my head into the steering wheel dramatically, but instead I hit the horn with my forehead and scared myself. I sat up straight immediately, and timidly waved an apology at the driver next to me who was now giving me a dirty look. 

I reached over to the cup holder to grab my coffee without taking my eyes off the road. The rain was unceasing, and I didn’t want to run the risk. Instead of grabbing the coffee, I hit it with my hand and knocked the entire contents onto the back seat and all over my phone. I looked back just in time to see it light up one last time, the screen glitching and malfunctioning. Then, it turned to black, dead. 

“Oh, no! Come on, there’s no way.” My lip quivered threateningly, but I took a very deep breath, stopping any tears that might have come. Looking back to the road, I realized I was drifting into the other lane. Without a thought, I swerved, but lost control on the wet road and went straight into the ditch.

My chest slammed into the steering wheel. I sat in the car for a moment, just waiting. I knew there was nothing I could do, and that what’s done is done, but I still waited. Finally, I got out of the car. I was right in front of a small Mexican restaurant called El Michoacano. Maybe I can use their phone, I thought.

When I entered the restaurant, it was almost completely empty. There were three men sitting in the dining room, each at different tables. Two of them looked like gangster types, and one looked like he could possibly be a chef, with his apron. I walked past them and toward the counter. Another man was back in the kitchen, and it looked like he was cooking something but he had stopped when I came in.

The man was tall. His hair was black, with a single streak of silver. He was dressed in the least conspicuous clothing imaginable. A silk button down with some of those pointy leather shoes.

“Excuse me,” I choked, realizing that there were tears falling down my cheeks. He came over and leaned on the counter.

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t know. I just ran my car into the ditch outside. Do you think I could use your phone to call a mechanic or something?”

“It’s just back here, in the kitchen. Here, this way,” he said, leading me into the kitchen. When I got to the phone, it was one of those old fashioned wall-mounted things. As I dialed the number, I turned back to lean on the wall. With a full view of the dining room, I saw the gangster’s heads both whip around so that they weren’t looking at me.

With a tow truck on the way, I sighed and wiped the mascara off my cheeks.

“I’m sorry about your car,” the man said. 

“It’s okay. Nothing I can do now. Thanks for the phone.” 

“Hey, take a seat. I just finished some tacos, you want one?” He asked. 

“Yeah, thanks.” I sat down, and he followed with two plates and sat down across from me.

“Rough day? I get it. Eat your taco, it’s getting cold,” he said gesturing at the food in front of you.

“So much for my interview,” I said, swallowing a bite of the taco. “Sorry, ignore me. I haven’t had such a good couple of days. Oh, my name is y/n, by the way.”

“My name is Eduardo. Did you say you were looking for a job?”

“Yes, why?” I asked, looking up from my food.

“I’m looking for a server. You think you might be up for it?” He got up and went over to the kitchen, coming back with a paper.

“Fill this out, and bring it back to me,” he said, giving me the application.

“I don’t know what to say. Thank you, Eduardo.”

“Please, call me Lalo.”

“Thank you, Lalo.”

The moment was almost shattered by a contemptuous gaze that one of the men in the dining room was giving Lalo. He pretended like he didn’t see, and continued.

“I think that’s your truck pulling up.”

***************

It was sort of a plain dress. Black, short sleeved. The skirt went down maybe halfway to my knee. Of course, a small “El Michoacano” was printed over the breast. I flattened the front of my uniform and checked my bag. Yep, I have everything, I thought. Then, I was out the door, down the street, and at the bus stop. My car was taken to the junkyard when I couldn’t pay for the repairs.

“Hey, you made it,” shouted Lalo from the kitchen over the wafting sound of Mexican music. He tossed a towel over his shoulder on his way over to me and turned down the music slightly.

“You excited?”

His enthusiasm was contagious, and I grinned a smile in response.

“Of course I am.”

“Alright, let’s get to it. That guy over there,” he said, pointing at the middle-aged man sitting at a table in the corner. “He’s the chef around here, and honestly, should be training you. But, he doesn’t speak too much english. So, you’re stuck with me.”

“So what should I start with?” I asked, looking around the dining room. It was empty today, excluding the man in the corner.

“I was thinking we’d take a look in the kitchen, see where things are kept. Then, you and I will have a chat about the rules here. You know, it doesn’t usually get too busy around here, so there isn’t much for you to worry about.”

Lalo walked back into the kitchen and showed me the cupboards. He listed off what they contained, and opened some of them to show me.

“The plates and bowls go here,” he said, opening one of them. “Make sure you stack the little bowls on the little bowls and the big ones on the big ones. Don’t mix them.”

“Okay, got it. And the cups..?”

“-Go right here,” he finished swinging another cupboard open. “I don’t expect you to remember all of this. It’s gonna take some time. Don’t hesitate to ask me a question.” He started toward the door to the dining room, tapping my elbow as he passed to tell me to follow. I complied. On the way out, I looked back at the cupboards and silently quizzed myself. Bowls, plates, cups.

“Have a seat,” Lalo said, gesturing toward a chair. I sat down and looked up at him as he sat across from me. 

“So you really weren’t lying when you said that it doesn’t get busy in here,” I said looking around at the nearly empty dining room. The man in the corner seemed to be completely in his own world as he read a week-old Mexican newspaper.

“Nah, not really. The guys that were in here last week? They’ll be back in…” he checked his watch. “About an hour or so.”

“What, are they regulars or something?” I asked, remembering the odd way they seemed to be together but sat at different tables.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. So, you’ll notice people coming in and out of here a bit. You’ll know what I mean when you see it. There’s not many rules here, but the one you need to remember is this.” he leaned in closer as he continued. “Don’t worry about them. You don’t even need to take their order. Just stay back and leave them alone.”

He said it all in a calm, even tone. His eyes were fixed on mine the whole time, and they didn’t move.

“Who are they?”

“Friends.” The tension in the air as he said those words was so tight you could have cut it with a knife. His expression was so deadly serious, and he had this way of perfectly controlling the emotions of his words as he said them.

 “The tough looking guy sitting in the back yesterday? His name is Nacho. You’ll get to know him eventually, but he’s a little shy. The other one is Domingo. I’m sure he’ll introduce himself when he gets here.” 

Suddenly, Lalo leaned back and broke the tension in half with a smile.

“That’s my little lecture. Bored yet?”

“Not yet.”

“You don’t talk much, do you?”

“Really? You think I don’t talk much?” As I said that, I realized my mouth was sort of dry. “Usually people tell me I’m a chatterbox.”

“I’ll have to see that to believe it,” he laughed. “It’s about noon. You hungry? Another perk of this job. Free food.”

Without even waiting for my affirmation, he was back in the kitchen and the music was turned up again. Determined to make myself useful, I followed.

“Want help?” I called over the music.

He turned around from the tomatoes he was chopping, surprised.

“Yeah, you can do this,” he said, pointing to the chopping board. “There’s some lettuce over there, and the steak will need to be chopped too. I have to cook the meat first, so I’ll give it to you once I’m done.”

I got going, messily dicing the tomatoes. I tried my hardest to make them all at least even shapes and sizes, and I did decently okay for someone who has absolutely to idea what they’re doing. With the blade of the knife, I slid the tomatoes to the side of the board and took up the lettuce. 

Lalo was, to say the least, enthusiastic about his cooking. He was loudly singing along to the music on the radio, and his excitement was spreading to me. Even if I didn’t know the words, I was singing along with him. It was impossible not to.

As Lalo warmed the tortillas on the frying pan, he was passing them to me and I was building the tacos. 

“This is something I need to do again,” I said as we carried the plates out into the dining room.

“I can show you a thing or two about cooking, if you want. Like I said, there’s not a whole lot that needs to be done around here. You’re gonna have a lot of free time.”

The door to El Michoacano swung open, and in walked one of the men I saw yesterday. Lalo walked up to him and clapped him on the back.

“Ocho loco, you remember this girl from last week?” He looked at me and smiled slightly.

“Hi, I’m Domingo,” he said, shaking my hand.

“Y/n,” I responded. Lalo handed him the plate in his hand.

“Here, this is for you, made especially by y/n,” Lalo said with a cheeky smile in my direction.

“Oh come on, I barely helped.”

“Thanks, y/n,” said Domingo, walking over to the table he was sitting at the other day.

“Does he always sit there?” I whispered to Lalo as we sat down at the table closest to the counter.

“Yeah. Remember what I said earlier? About leaving them alone? That goes for Domingo too.”

“So, you want to me to like, ignore him when he comes in?”

He laughed and said “No, nothing like that. Just don’t go up and bother him while he’s working. And don’t eavesdrop. Especially don’t eavesdrop.”

I sat in silence and ate my taco, mulling over what he’d said. ‘Don’t eavesdrop’? What was that supposed to mean? What could Domingo and the other guy, Nacho, was it? What could they be doing that was so secretive?

I jolted my head up when I heard the door swing open again, this time with more force.

“What’s up Nacho,” Domingo greeted the man walking in.

He didn’t even look in my direction. He walked straight to the table he was at last time I saw him and sat down.

“He’s like that,” Lalo whispered to me. “Nachito, come say hi to the new waitress,” he said, raising his tone.

Nacho turned his head toward me and simply said “Hi.” I could tell he already didn’t like me, but I couldn’t tell why. Suddenly, I remembered the look he gave to Lalo when he offered me the application. 

“Why don’t you sweep the kitchen floor? The broom is back there,” he said, waving his hand toward the kitchen but not looking away from Nacho.

I followed his orders, but the strongest sense of suspicion guided me toward the kitchen.

This is when I broke my first rule. I stood as close as I could to the door so I could hear what they were saying. Lalo’s eyes followed me toward the kitchen and watched me carefully before he got up and sat directly next to Nacho and started speaking very quickly and quietly in Spanish.

I risked a look up at the pair, trying to figure out what they were saying from their expressions. Nacho was sitting cross-armed and looking up at Lalo with a quirked eyebrow. Words were exchanged, but the only ones I could pick out were “quieres” and “tienes”, “you want” and “you have” respectively. Unsurprisingly, these were some of the only Spanish words I knew. 

Lalo was leaned forward on the table, his gaze fixated on the man across from him. 

“Compredes?” He said at last. “Understand?”

“Sí, Lalo,” Nacho responded. I leaned my broom against the wall and came back into the dining room. Domingo was just sitting still, staring directly at the wall. He had the look of someone who had just sat through a very uncomfortable conversation. Lalo sighed and patted Nacho rather aggressively on the shoulder. Then I heard tires on the pavement outside, and a giant truck pulled up outside the restaurant.

“Y/N, you can do some stocking in the cupboards. There’s not much work for you out here.” 

I had the distinct impression that this was going to be one of those times in which I should not be eavesdropping. I disappeared into the pantry behind the kitchen and tried to ignore the man walking in as much as possible. 

That was the rest of the day. I hid in the back while men came in and out of the restaurant, from time to time Lalo would ask how I was or what I was getting up to. No customers came in. Not one. The bus ride home felt so much longer than the one there. My mind was racing with ideas as to what could be going on there.  

No matter what I thought of, the same thought kept returning to me. Something dark must be going on, and somehow I had gotten caught up in it. 

***************

“Why don’t you sweep the kitchen floor? The broom is back there,” I said. I studied Nacho carefully. Out of my peripheral, I saw her hesitate and then turn around. I turned to watch her leave, double checking to see that she was out of earshot before snapping my head back toward Nacho.

“You know exactly why I hired her,” I hissed softly in Spanish.

“I meant you should hire someone connected, not an outsider! Someone’s daughter or niece. You don’t even know this girl, she could be an FBI agent,” Nacho retorted, wrinkling his nose in distaste. The corners of my lips twitched upward.

“I’ve been following her since she first stepped foot in this building. Believe me, she isn’t FBI. I didn’t choose her at random. The look of pure desperation on her face told me she needed money, fast. She’d do anything for it. She won’t tell, believe me.” Nacho raised an eyebrow at me, a frown forming on his face.

“I’m just saying that you shouldn’t put your trust into someone who you don’t even know. She has no reason to be loyal to us. She could turn at any minute.”

“I have a plan,” I said simply, looking back at the girl. She was staring very decidedly at the floor where she was sweeping.

“What’s that, then?”

“All in good time, Nachito,” I smiled at him. “But now, you must be civil to her. I don’t care if you don’t like her, you must be polite, comprendes?”

Nacho sighed and responded “Sí, Lalo.”

[oldbutnotyetwise]

My Last Happy Birthday To My Dear Elizabeth

     As my ALS marches on stealing more and more from me, the lists of my “Lasts” continues to grow.  In the past few weeks I had my last Christmas and my last New Years.  This week I shared my daughters birthday with her, the last one I will ever share with her.  Next year by the time her birthday rolls around I will be long gone from this earth.

     I enjoy my time with Elizabeth, this year for her birthday Robin and I ordered in food from her chosen restaurant, had desserts from an area bake shop, watched a movie and then played some Mexican Train Dominoes, which is a bit of a family tradition.  It was a quiet but nice afternoon and evening.  As much as I was enjoying this time I will admit that I was struggling a bit, but I managed to hold it together until after Elizabeth had left to go home.  Elizabeth had just gone out the door to go home when the emotional floodgates burst open, the devastation of knowing that I will never again be with her on her birthday sharing the joy of her reaching another age milestone.  No more birthday cards or gifts to buy for her, it’s done, it’s over, she will carry on without me as she should, just as I have after losing my own parents.  I suppose it’s this whole circle of life thing.

     While Elizabeth was here I had joked with her that I was struggling with this whole having a Middle-Aged Child.  Earlier in the day I had shared this lament with my Step-Mother, but I gained little sympathy from her as she pointed out that all of her offspring are well into their senior citizenship.  Intrigued or perhaps depressed at this thought when I shared it with her, Elizabeth pulled out her phone and goggled the average life expectancy of a female in Canada, and learned it is 84.47 years, so having just turned 42, she was indeed “Middle-Aged”.  There is no disputing that she does actually look 10 or 15 years younger than her actual age.

     There was a time Elizabeth and I would plan adventures for her birthdays.  For her twenty-third birthday I flew to New Zealand to spend three and a half weeks touring the south island with her in an old rental car we named Sputter.  On her actual birthday we were backpacking across lush green mountaintops, going from warm sunny weather into an ice storm and back to warm temperatures as we came down out of the mountains.  This was only time I ever had Elizabeth all to myself on her actual birthday, it also lives on as one of my favourite memories.   For her twenty-fifth birthday I picked her up in Ottawa and we drove to Quebec City for a few days, this also coincided with a brutal cold front that was setting record low temperatures for the month of January there.  We booked a walking tour and the poor guide must have thought us crazy, it was only the two of us on the tour, he added a lot of church interiors to the tour just so we all didn’t freeze to death.  When Elizabeth’s twenty-seventh birthday was rolling around she was living in England and we decided to meet in Paris for her birthday adventure.  I met her at the Charles DeGaulle Airport and together we hauled our suitcases onto the subway and found our way to our rented apartment for the week.  Okay if I’m being honest here, Elizabeth found our way to the apartment, I just followed along like the well behaved parent I was.  We walked all over Paris for the entire week, and on Elizabeth’s actual 27th birthday were standing on top of the Eiffel Tower together, another life highlight for me. 

     I would like to introduce you to the amazing woman who has the good fortune, or perhaps misfortune of sharing half my DNA,  Elizabeth Louise entered this world on a cold January day at 3:58 p.m. at the Niagara Falls General Hospital.  She was named after two of her great-grandmothers.  If memory serves me correctly she was 6 pounds 8 ounces and measured 17 inches tall.  I was there when she made her entrance, but in all honesty it’s all a bit of a blur to me now.  

     She grew up being a happy child, an active child and a pretty well behaved child, yes and dare I say it, a very cute child. 

          We moved to a country home where Elizabeth stayed with my wife and I, until she moved to her Mom’s the summer she was fourteen.  Elizabeth and I always got along very well, she was a good helper and like to learn so she and I would be building or fixing things in the workshop, or changing electrical fixtures in the house or working on the truck or tractor.  I was a runner and when I would go for a run Elizabeth would often join me on her bike, carrying my water bottle.  During the run we would have the nicest conversations, away from all other worldly distractions.  It is one of the things I am very grateful for, that Elizabeth and I were always able to talk.

     When she finished the University of Ottawa she went to New Zealand and Australia living in each country for six months.  Later she moved to England and lived in Leeds for a year, using her grandparent’s British Lineage to get her a work Visa.  After returning to Canada she lived in Toronto before meeting a partner who she followed out to Victoria for several years, and then down to Colorado for several more.  

     She has worked for Ikea in four different cities and three different countries.  Then in her thirties she decided to go back to school where she qualified as a welder which is the career she continues to pursue.

     Elizabeth has always been somewhat fitness oriented, maybe she thought it looked like fun all those years earlier when she rode her bike beside me as I ran.  One year she gave me the gift of running with me in a Father’s Day 5K in Ottawa, it was her first race.  It was cold, it was raining and there was a large hill on the course.  We finished that race side by side but she was in tears and physically spent.  I thought that might have been both the start and the end of her running pursuits, but it turned out she was no quitter.  We ran numerous other races together over the years, and in time I no longer had to wait for her, it was her waiting for me.  In time she has beaten just about all my running records, and done several marathons compared to my one.  If that wasn’t enough she then took up Triathlons and eventually completed an Ironman, finishing under her goal of fourteen hours.  Now days she is also competing in fitness competitions through her gym, in her last one she won her age category and was the third female overall.  She was, and continues to be a fitness machine.  

     Now the person behind all these achievements also happens to be one of the nicest, kindest, most thoughtful people you could ever meet.  Yes, you’re right I am very biassed, but I’m also right about this.  She makes me so very proud, she will live on long after I am gone, and where she goes, a part of me will always go with her.  

     Sometimes in life we search far and wide for inspiring people or great stories, but sometimes we should stop and look a little closer to home, because sometimes those around us have stories just as amazing as those we seek out.  Such is the case with Elizabeth, this beautiful, kind, wise, world traveller, adventurer, athlete and all round incredible person.  She also happens to be my daughter, my legacy, and my best contribution to trying to make this world a better place.

[paisholotus]

Now playing: All To Me~ Giveon

Brian's Pov

Miami, Florida

I decided to take Ashia to this Mexican restaurant, Tej, told me she's been wanting to go. I was actually really nervous. Which is new for me because I've never felt like this about any woman. I genuinely didn't see her as a piece of ass. I wanted to get to know her.

Once we got to the restaurant, I pushed in her chair, then walked back around the table and sat the opposite of her. We ordered our food, and I smiled at her as she looked around the restaurant, sipping her drink.

"So, tell me about yourself." I said to her. She looked at me and smiled lowly.

"Well, I'm Trinidadian and Haitian. My mother, Trini, and my dad, Haitian. I have three sisters, but you already met two of them. I also have four brothers. I told you I'm a teacher already. I'm 23 years old.....um I don't know what else to say."

She said, awkwardly laughing, making me smile wider at her.

"That's okay. Were you born in America?" I asked, biting into my food.

"Actually, no, I was born in Trinidad and moved to Texas when I was 14 and around when I turned 16. My dad got a job offering here, and I've lived here ever since."

I smiled and listened to her intently about her childhood and how she met Suki and Tej. I wanted to learn everything about her. Her aura just pulled me in, the way she smiled, the way she talked, the way she knew so much about cars. I admired her for being a teacher and loving kids, I could see she was patient and caring the way she talked about her students.

I watched her talk but I wasn't paying all that attention. As bad as it sounds, I couldn't help it. I just stared into her pretty brown eyes and looked down at her glossed lips and back into her eyes. She was insanely beautiful, without even trying. I was usually a focused man, but around her it's like my brain turned to fucking mush.

"Brian...Brian...BRIAN!" She called my name tapping the table.

"Shit, I'm sorry. What did you say?" I asked, looking at her slightly embarrassed. I needed to pull myself together.

She giggled and sipped her drink, smiling at me. Fuck, that laugh. It was doing things to me. I bit my bottom lip and waited for her to speak.

"I asked, what about you?" I nodded and took a bite of my food and hummed at the taste. This place actually had good food.

"Um, well, I'm 26 years old. I'm from California. Don't really have any siblings. Um..." For some reason, I wanted to tell her everything. Down to my past and my childhood, but I honestly didn't want to scare her away.

"So, it was just you and your parents?" She asked quietly. I looked down at the table and nodded. I really didn't like talking about my childhood. Considering mine was complete shit.

"Actually, just me and my mom." I said, looking back into her eyes, as she looked at me and frowned.

"Did he pass?" She asked as I shifted in the chair.

"You don't have to answer if you don't want to. I respect your boundaries." She said quickly, probably making sure she didn't offend me.

I smiled softly at her and shook my head, "You're okay. My dad was very abusive to me and my mom. Verbally and physically. When I would come home, he would find any reason to call the cops on me. Till one day, he just left and never came back."

She frowned at me sadly but gave me a small smile, "Well, that's his loss. He didn't deserve to be in your life. Your mama seemed to do a fine job on her own." She said, giving me a big smile.

I felt myself blushing and looked back down at my plate, taking a bite, as I heard her laugh again.

"Awe, did I make you blush, blondie?" She asked, making me look back at her. She was smiling and biting on her straw.

She leaned over the table and placed a small kiss on my cheek, making me more flustered than I already was.

"You're so sweet, Bubba." She said, more of her accent coming out.

I sharply exhaled and waved down the waiter. My voice came out high-pitched, as if I was back a virgin. "Check, please."

[the-foolish-scholar]

Two of Pentacles

In the Two of Pentacles, a youthful individual dances while juggling two coins in their hands. The infinity symbol links the coins, suggesting that this person can handle unlimited problems so long as they manage their time, energy and resources well. In the background, two ships sail the high seas, bobbing up and down on the huge waves – another sign that the ups and downs of life are manageable with focus and attention.

-

Hellur. I’m finally forcing myself to sit down and write. It’s been quite a month… But I finally feel like I’m firmly standing on two feet.

The municipal election’s delegation was… an experience. I helped out as the ‘call center’ on the day of elections, logging every big observation that happened during the day. I also helped to make a slideshow for the CIS’ press conference. I was a brave girl!

A journalist asked to speak to a few of observers outside in the parking lot where we were having the press conference. They wanted to meet in the parking lot because they were concerned about their security. They told observers that few members of the press came to the conference and that those that came didn’t really ask questions because they had been intimidated and didn’t want to write anything that could be perceived critical of the government. So, take from that what you will.

After we finished speaking, everyone came up to me and said that they thought that the slideshow was really powerful and that it was good we showed it; but Leslie cautioned that they could come and arrest us for showing it, which made me spiral out of control.

Buying produce at the market and having conversation in the car on the way to the beach grounded me into reality and helped me to calm down as best as I could.

Tom, in his old age and with his wisdom, very dryly told me that one day, my grandchildren would ask me about what I was doing when democracy was dying in the 2020s and that I’d gleefully tell them about my various stints in jail. Roberto distracted me by asking me about my theological studies; which actually really helped me to develop the paper I was working on for my socio-theological analysis of the Latin American reality. 

Being at the beach was like taking one big benzo. I swung myself in the hammocks. I drank a lot of coconut water. I worked on one of my Paint By Diamonds projects. I watched the sunset. I had delicious seafood. I swam in the pool. I drank rum. I laid out in the sun. I walked on the beach. I ate junk food. I looked up at the stars. I made a very strange vegetarian meal for Tom and I. I released baby sea turtles into the ocean. I listened to music. I learned a lot about Mormonism and gossiped about my love life with Roberto’s sister. I got a massage. I enjoyed air conditioning.

When we got back home from the beach though, it was like life slapped me in the face. I struggled to balance my school work along with my volunteer work. My sleep schedule was all over the place. And then, I was away again, in Suchitoto.

Brooke, Tom, and I went out there because Tom was teaching a women’s self defense class to women a part of the feminist collective. He taught me some moves too so it’s safe to say I could beat some asses.

A lot of time away was dedicated toward work; both in the academic sense and the volunteer sense. Analyzing observer data on the elections gave me a headache and Brooke and I went back and forth for hours.

When we weren’t working though, we were soaking up all of life’s special moments. On the first night we went to one Mexican restaurant which had subpar food but entertaining characters. I stopped at the tienda afterward and got myself some peach yogurt, which was delicious. The next night, we went out to a fancy restaurant, Casa Flamenco. We sat in this little cabana which had a table for three.

Brooke got us a bottle of wine and boy did we drink ourselves into a delight! We split cauliflower wings with a buffalo and a tamarindo sauce, had the silliest portion size of this creamy tomato pasta, and enjoyed coffees with brownies a la mode for dessert. The restaurant also had a little store and I got Paulo Freire’s The Politics of Education. On our walk home, we got a little lost but I made a friend in the park and he drove us home for 50 cents each. The next night we went to another nice restaurant overlooking the town square, but I don’t remember what it was called. I had a delicious smoothie and veggie sandwich. After we finished eating, Brooke and I checked out the church.

They were just wrapping up mass when we walked in and a very young, dare I say Fleabag-esq, priest came up to us. He was blown away that Brooke was Jewish, Tom was Buddhist, and I was an agnostic theology student at the UCA. It was fun to chit chat with him. We then hung out just the three of us in the park, people watching, sharing stories, recommending movies and shows. Thankfully, we did not get lost on our way back to the hotel. The next morning, we had breakfast (I especially enjoyed the partly frozen orange juice) and packed up. We were extremely lucky to get the last three seats on the bus back home. I arguably had the best seat, I was in the back corner, with leg room.

A man preached on the bus and we made eye contact with each other practically the whole time he spoke. I always end up doing that, which is unwise, but it’s in my nature! I gave him my contact information so that he could reach out to me for an interview if he wanted one for my book. The Faith Across Identities project is alive and well! I’m also going to be interviewing a woman from the island whose son was wrongfully imprisoned… She has a very interesting faith.

When we got to the bus terminal we bid our farewells and I got in an Uber to take me home. I was tired and wanted silence on the ride home, but my Uber driver wanted dialog… We had a whole discussion about the flaws of the church and organized religion. I think he expected me to be against him because it felt like he wanted to fight me the entire time… By the time I got home, I was glad to be in bed. I lazed around, took a nice shower, and ordered takeout, spending the rest of the day watching my shows.

The next week I finally completed my first big paper as a graduate student! I sound like a church elder throughout the entire thing, but there’s just this sense of security I get writing about the Salvadoran reality from a spiritual stance instead of a purely sociological stance… Which makes no sense, considering how the government has an extremely violent past with the religious… But still, I feel sheltered and protected by the church… It’s the strangest thing.

Speaking of the spiritual, I’ve started one of my more spiritual oriented classes. It’s titled, The Mystery of God. It’s pretty chill to be honest. We’ve just been analyzing different pieces of art debating how it depicts God. I choose to focus on Nezahualcoyōtl’s poetry, specifically his poem Inside Heaven. He was an Aztec ruler right before the conquest; he is known for making the first Aztec temple that prohibited blood sacrifices, among many other things! I’ve also been reading a lot of church documents that have originated from Latin American clergymen. I am continually amazed by how the church as an institution operates as such a fierce advocate for justice down here. It is such a privilege to study this subject and I can’t wait to one day share all that I’ve learned with students back home.

But, I’ll admit, it has been hard to reach this point. While those closest to me support me unequivocally, some have given their unsolicited advice and really soiled my spirit, making me feel like the way I’m choosing to do things is the wrong way to do things. I know that what I do doesn’t make that much sense. But does it really have to make sense to people if it’s not their life?

Someone I got dinner with told me to drop out of my program, unprompted. I was pretty perplexed by their perspective, especially given that I had earlier stated how exciting the challenge of studying in Spanish was and how I felt like I was finally finding answers to questions I had begun to ask myself in 2021. I brushed their commentary off and reminded them the reasons why I was doing what I was doing and then they seemingly got angry with me, invalidating my choices once again.

On my walk home from the dinner, I started to spiral out of control and second guess myself. Afterall, I’m some white woman in my 20s all alone in some other country studying in a program that’s mostly made up of retirees who are devoutly religious. I’ve had to deal with so much red tape, from both the Salvadoran and the US government. It is not easy.

But, I’m doing what I want to do! And on the bright side, that spiral that they sent me down brought me lots of revelations. I can confidently say that I’ve got a damn good solid plan for my future. One that seeks to serve others and not just myself, too!

Anyway! I met up with Joel, one of my contacts from the national university, and we went to the market together. I bought some pretty colored candles and crazy glue. After we left the market we went back on campus and chatted. He told me to think of fear like it was an invasive instinct; something that didn’t belong in our lives and that if we didn’t take steps to eradicate it, it would take over, destroying everything. He also invited me to attend a conference with him! It’ll be my first ever academic conference. Three days where I just get to be a huge fucking nerd. I can’t wait!

Mmmmm I’m trying to think of what else to tell y’all.

In a great big contrast from last year, I spent most of Semana Santa shut in my room studying, instead of being out in the field doing research. I was kind of bummed that I didn’t participate in any of the festivities but I really needed to spend time catching up on work. Though I did observe things here and there! Which was refreshing! It’s crazy how seriously Easter is celebrated here…

My one roommate, who has since moved out, and I had a lot of fun while we lived together. We ate lots of Chinese, got close with our vigilantes, found some good vintage pieces for them to sell on their Depop, talked a lot of shit about our landlord, sang a lot of karaoke, contemplated contemporary politics, and experienced life as two idiots abroad. I’m gonna miss them but I’m sure our paths will cross again.

Speaking of roommates, my other roommate and I are going to start going on walks together which is so refreshing because I’ve missed going on walks!

Though, today I did have a really nice walk by myself at dusk. It had finally cooled down a little so I plugged in my headphones and listed to Court and Spark and just walked and walked. I felt like Forrest Gump.

I’ve made some pieces of art that I’m pretty proud of. I’m so glad that I’ve had bursts of creativity after what feels like such a long stint without any. I just really hope I can get more on top of things and start throwing on the wheel again. I love my collages and I find peace through my poetry, but there’s nothing like making stuff out of mud!

I’m also starting to offer my spiritual services to people to have more spending money for myself and to support projects my peers and I are pursuing. If you want a reading or need some type of spiritual work done don’t hesitate to reach out to me!

Oh!!! I also have finally gotten all the paperwork that I needed to get in to prove that Miami University is a real and legally operating institution of higher education in the US!!! Now I just must wait for approval from the Salvadoran government. Fingers crossed!!!

I think that’s it??? Lots to juggle, lots to look forward to! Miss and love you all lots. I hope that I’ll get to see those of you that actually read this when I come home. Take care of yourselves and know that I’m always just a call away if you need anything. XOXO!

Z

[captainknell]

Very long and random personal rant/back story. Feel free to skip.

A decade ago, if you would have asked me where I'd see myself in 10 years, it would not be where I am now. My husband and I are married and have 3 kids, we've bought 2 houses since and several cars, and have a large Napoleonic collection. Back then, I had just moved over 200 miles away from my family to move in with my new boyfriend (now my husband). I moved into an apartment that he shared with his sister. He had his own place, car, paid his own bills,a good job, and a second job for extra money. So that was way ahead of my previous boyfriends already. The thing was, I had never had a job and didn't know that I was spoiled. I tried to get a job and it took forever. I was 19 looking for a first job and there were 14 year olds out there working already. So although my husband could support himself, money soon became tight with me in there as well. Sometimes we would scrape by to the next paycheck with mere cents in the bank. This was back when McDonald's had a dollar menu and we lived mostly off of that and ramen noodles. His sister got mad at me one time because I ate her box of moon pies. I stretched it out for the whole week and didn't eat much else. She moved out not long after. I cried one time when we had enough money to cook and we were going to have spaghetti and I was used to having shredded parmesan cheese on top but my husband said we couldn't afford the cheese. On Tuesdays, his grandpa invited us to a Mexican restaurant to see a band play. We would eat the free chips and salsa. He noticed that we never ordered food and soon began paying for a meal for each of us. Unfortunately, he got injured at work and couldn't afford to feed us anymore. He'd get some guacamole and that would be my food on Tuesdays. Sometimes I'd drive to his Grandma's house to do the laundry so we didn't have to pay for it at the apartment. She would feed me. We'd go to parties that friends would have, just to eat some food. Eventually I got a fast food job and our situation improved. We got married and had a baby, bought a house, moved in, and had another baby. Due to a very bad situation, we lost our baby sitter and I was unable to work. We lived off of baby food sometimes. We always made sure we had food for our babies so when our food ran out... Well that was the only option. I can tell you which ones taste good and which ones I would not recommend. We had to cut something out of our budget to survive so I picked paper towels. I know how to sew, so I just made some cloth ones that could be washed and reused. His grandma came over to visit and asked for a paper towel. I gave her a cloth one and explained. She said she would buy us some. I said no, we needed food, not paper towels. She bought paper towels and I was mad. (Looking back, my husband didn't initially remember this but when I reminded him, he got mad at me and said I should just have said thank you.) My husband took a second job once again and was gone for 16 hours a day, most days. He was making great money but he was so exhausted and I was losing my mind trapped in the house with two babies but at least we could afford food. Finally, we decided to move in with my parents to get our money situation under control. As much as I didn't want to live with them, the amount of relief that came over me when we left our first house was overwhelming. My husband transferred from his job there to one here and quickly quit. His new store was toxic and he wasn't having it. He told me that he walked out as I was walking in to an interview. "I just quit. No pressure." Yikes. Somehow I got my second job and have been there (with several promotions, I might boast) for almost 6 years now. I was able to put him thru nursing school and just last year we were able to buy a place of our own again. And have another baby.

[ofsiincorazon]

                      hello fellow mun's , my name is tatia and here i bring my sad boy rafael , who is just seriously a whole ass mess and the underboss for the cortazar cartel . below is his back story , if you have any questions or any wc , just let me know but that is all and let's start plotting !

tw : death, violence , assassination , heart defect  , murder .

rafael mariano santamaria   was born on a cold Friday morning in Medellin , Colombia at two am , the second oldest out of the santamaria  siblings. his journey into this world wasn’t the easiest , a premie baby with a heart defect. something that he had got from his father and his amazing gene pool . three months in the NICU and various surgeries but he was in the clear and it wasn’t long until he was brought home.

his father dotted on him and his father taught him how to play soccer, his mother watched him like a hawk . scared that he wouldn’t exceed himself too much but if anything , it was quite the opposite . he worked twice as hard as anyone did and when the time came to follow through with his fathers business , he didn’t hesitate . his father wanted a better life for his son , than a criminal  . now his mother was a different story , she wanted him to be the best at whatever he wanted and if that was the life of crime , then so be it.

as he slipped into his late twenties , they moved to the sunshine state that is, miami florida. things turned rather dark ,  his father had sent him and his eldest sibling to venezuela  to do some business with the guerra family , thinking that they would be welcomed with open arms . that wasn’t the case , he got out with only a few wounds but guillermo ( his oldest brother ) died on the way home to miami.  all the power and all the money in the world , couldn’t save his life. something changed in him that day , something dark and twisted . his trust for people became non - existent and the only two people who saw a shred of the man that he used to be , were his mother and his baby sister.  

nothing else mattered , not even when his father decided that his life had to be spent with a women he didn’t even know , a women that he didn’t even love but he didn’t have a choice , people like them weren’t privileged enough , to have a home and a family to raise but bloodshed and loss . Right before joining the Cortazar cartel ,  the more that the years passed , the more he realized that his wife was becoming a problem and what better way to get rid of a problem ? a tragic , tragic death at the hands of. Car bomb that was supposed to be for him . he played the grieving husband and she’d a few tears . it wasn’t long before he was the underboss for the Cortazar cartel .

everything seemed to be going good ,his family opened up a nice little Mexican - Colombian restaurant , somewhat portraying a wholesome family but at the end of the day , a snake can shed it’s skin but their still snakes .  The only family he ever knew was the cartel , was the business that his father tried his best to rip him apart from , that was who he was and no matter what . no one could ever change that , he was irrevocably and ultimately broken and there was no fixing him : in his mind this was who he was , he was powerful and he’d rathe have someone fear him ….. than love him.

[ofsincorazon]

hello fellow mun's , my name is tatia and here i bring my sad boy rafael , who is just seriously a whole ass mess and the underboss for the cortazar cartel . below is his back story , if you have any questions or any wc , just let me know but that is all and let's start plotting !

tw : death, violence , assassination , heart defect , murder .

rafael mariano santamaria   was born on a cold Friday morning in Medellin , Colombia at two am , the second oldest out of the santamaria  siblings. his journey into this world wasn’t the easiest , a premie baby with a heart defect. something that he had got from his father and his amazing gene pool . three months in the NICU and various surgeries but he was in the clear and it wasn’t long until he was brought home. 

his father dotted on him and his father taught him how to play soccer, his mother watched him like a hawk . scared that he wouldn’t exceed himself too much but if anything , it was quite the opposite . he worked twice as hard as anyone did and when the time came to follow through with his fathers business , he didn’t hesitate . his father wanted a better life for his son , than a criminal  . now his mother was a different story , she wanted him to be the best at whatever he wanted and if that was the life of crime , then so be it.

as he slipped into his late twenties , they moved to the sunshine state that is, miami florida. things turned rather dark ,  his father had sent him and his eldest sibling to venezuela  to do some business with the guerra family , thinking that they would be welcomed with open arms . that wasn’t the case , he got out with only a few wounds but guillermo ( his oldest brother ) died on the way home to miami.  all the power and all the money in the world , couldn’t save his life. something changed in him that day , something dark and twisted . his trust for people became non - existent and the only two people who saw a shred of the man that he used to be , were his mother and his baby sister.  

nothing else mattered , not even when his father decided that his life had to be spent with a women he didn’t even know , a women that he didn’t even love but he didn’t have a choice , people like them weren’t privileged enough , to have a home and a family to raise but bloodshed and loss . Right before joining the Cortazar cartel ,  the more that the years passed , the more he realized that his wife was becoming a problem and what better way to get rid of a problem ? a tragic , tragic death at the hands of. Car bomb that was supposed to be for him . he played the grieving husband and she’d a few tears . it wasn’t long before he was the underboss for the Cortazar cartel . 

everything seemed to be going good ,his family opened up a nice little Mexican - Colombian restaurant , somewhat portraying a wholesome family but at the end of the day , a snake can shed it’s skin but their still snakes .  The only family he ever knew was the cartel , was the business that his father tried his best to rip him apart from , that was who he was and no matter what . no one could ever change that , he was irrevocably and ultimately broken and there was no fixing him : in his mind this was who he was , he was powerful and he’d rathe have someone fear him ….. than love him. 

[cheatingwifelover]

Restaurant Guy

Part 1 of their relationship

Once our kids reached their teens my wife's days began to free up and she had more opportunity to cheat. Once they were grown and on their own she not only had more opportunity, while I was at work she didn't have to worry about anyone unexpectedly walking in on her should she let something happen at home. So, weekdays were wide open for cheating fun.

One weekend after we'd gone to the local Sam's and were back home my wife told me she'd gotten hit on after we'd separated for a few minutes to look at things in different parts of the store. A middle aged Hispanic man had approached her and told her how sexy she looked, and that he hoped her husband knew how lucky he was. She thanked him and he told her he owned a couple Mexican restaurants in town and invited her to drop by for lunch some time when she was out shopping....on the house.

She had told me about being hit on before because she found it flattering and I think she wanted me to know there were guys out there still interested in order to keep me on my toes. What I didn't know until years later was that every time she told me about being hit on, it was because she was actually interested in the guy and ended up fucking him. This time as it turns out, was no exception. She told me she wasn't going to go of course, but she had appreciated the interest and the invitation.

She did go. About two weeks later she was in town shopping while I was at work and on impulse decided to stop by one of his restaurants. She told herself if he wasn't there, that would be that, she'd have lunch and move on. If he was, she'd let things play out and see what happened. He was there. She didn't even have to ask for him because he saw her come in, recognized her, and personally guided her to a table. He told her to enjoy lunch and stick around until the rush was over and he'd come by later to talk.

While my wife patiently waited for the crowds to clear he started having martinis, her drink of choice, sent to her table. By the time he finally did sit down to talk she was pretty much at the 3 martini line: 2 martinis under the table, 3 martinis under the host. He asked where her husband was and she told him I was at work. After chatting awhile he told her he didn't think she was in any shape to drive and said he thought it would be best if he drove her home in her car and had one of his employees follow to take him back to the restaurant.

When they got to our place there was no sign of an employee following and he told her his ride back got delayed by a problem at the restaurant and would be there shortly. He told her “let me make sure you get settled ok and I'll call and get him to hurry up. Once inside he said “you're home safe now, let me pour you another drink. My ride should be her soon and I'll be on my way.” She told him where to find the liquor and he sat down beside her on the living room sofa, handing her another martini.

He told her he was glad she decided to take him up on his lunch offer and drop by the restaurant. The door is always open to you he said, any time you're out and about and decide to get lunch just drop by, and if I'm not there, ask the waitress to have someone call me. My wife was wearing the same short dress as in the photo at the top of the story and he told her she was looking especially lovely. Then he leaned over, wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her toward him to kiss her.

He kissed her and she pulled away saying “I can't. I don't know why I stopped for lunch, I didn't mean for anything like this to happen.” “It's just some harmless kissing,” he responded, pulling her closer and kissing her again. “You have such luscious full lips, I wanted to kiss you that day in Sams.”

“Oh God,” she said quickly weakening and dismissing her previous lie, “I wanted that too.”

She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him on top of her, kissing him back. “So tell me why you came to the restaurant,” he demanded, “you had to know this is why I invited you, is this how you imagined it would go?”

“I didn't really know what would happen,” she said, “but I guess this is how I hoped it would go.” Restaurant guy, RG...she never has told me his name....lay atop her on our sofa, kissing her deeply, as he worked a hand up under her dress between her legs and found her sopping wet married cunt soaking through the crotch of her pantyhose. He rubbed her clitoris as they made out and her hands searched for and found his belt, unbuckled it, pulled down his zipper, and with some difficultly extracted his large thick rock hard cock.

“I've thought about this for the last two weeks,” he told her, “I was beginning to think it was never going to happen. I was so glad to finally see you in the restaurant today. I didn't just want to kiss you two weeks ago in the store, I wanted to take your hand and pull you out into the parking lot and fuck you right there in my truck. But I wanted to take my time doing it and it didn't seem practical with your husband there with you.”

“Fuck me, make love to me,” purred my wife, opening her legs wide around him and welcoming him inside her. RG reached down and tore open the crotch of her pantyhose, and stroked his cock briefly up and down her slit, pausing before plunging into her and asked: “fuck you or make love to you, which is it,” to which she replied “both, I want both, I want you to fuck me and make love to me.”

“Beg me to fuck you,” he told her, “I want to hear you beg for my cock.” “Please, please, please fuck me, I'm begging, please give it to me.” “So, to be clear,” he asked with his cock still hovering outside her married pussy, pressing ever so slightly against her cunt lips, “you want to cheat on the man you love while he's working to support you?” And my wife said, “oh my god yes, I want to cheat on him, I want you to please, please fuck me.”

RG slowly pushed his cock into my wife, feeling her cunt walls stretch around it,”you're pretty tight for a mom,” he told her. “You're just big,” she replied. “God it feels so good, I needed this cock, you should have just dragged me out of Sam's that day and taken me.”

As RG slowly fucked her she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his head down to kiss him again. Tongue found tongue and their mouths locked. They melted into each other and became just one two backed creature of unbridled lust, a monster of love, building to the glorious climax of sexual betrayal and adulterous pleasure. An afternoon of lovemaking with a man she barely knew. A sweet, wonderful, fulfilling betrayal of her love and marriage vows, pure beautiful ecstasy that cannot be indulged and enjoyed any other way.

In an afternoon of passion RG flooded my wife's unprotected womb with load after load of hot cum, time after time, until he lay fully spent and empty, his shriveling cock making its last slow exit from my wife's sloppy cunt, the cuckoo clock on our living room wall signaling its ironic warning of my impending arrival. The lovers finally gathered their senses and RG slipped away, now a passenger in an nondescript black SUV that registered no recognition on the husband headed home to his loving wife after a long day at work.

For RG and my wife it was just the beginning of a sexual adventure and the kind of afternoon that would be repeated regularly, week after week, for more than a year, with RG, and not just RG, inside my wife more often in that single year than I had been for the previous ten or even twenty.

[dankusner]

Hog Heaven part 2 — 61-end

He's already burned you, and the next day you're expected to drink beer with him. Mexicans don't do that. You burn me, fellah, don't ever come to my house."

To the Chicano — whose life is built around communion and fiesta — all important negotiations are person to person.

But the Anglos want everything in writing.

"The Chicanos have to see each other and talk things over again and again," Jessie says.

"I may agree on something verbally with my manager, but he wants a memo. If a Chicano gives you his hand, and you shake on it, he's given you his word. And if he backs out, hey, that sucker's no good. The Chicanos are just now starting to write reports, lobby our politicians. It's against the oral Chicano tradition."

And, Nellie adds: "Nobody wants to do it."

Jessie fights the same kind of discrimination and ignorance at work that he does in the community.

The Chicano is the invisible man of Dallas.

"The only thing the Anglos can really identify us with is Mexican food. They think they understand us because they eat our food. When President Carter came to San Antonio, he ate that tamale, the chuck (corn husk) and all. He was appealing to our vote and didn't know the first thing about our culture. The same goes for Dallas. Sure, they eat at our restaurants, but they don't give us the courtesy of finding out who we are, what we're after."

Nellie and Jessie are active in their community; and IBM encourages community work.

But Bessie has discovered a snag.

"All corporations say to its employees, 'We want you be involved in community work because it represents the company.’ But they don't mean it. You get passed over for promotion. You know you're due, so you have a meeting with your manager. The response is: "Jessie, to move up the ladder you tot to give 101%. That's true, you can't fight 'em on that. But 25% of your effort is going over here to the community, that means you're giving us 75%. Hey, you've been burned. It looks good on their community involvement reports. I'm part of their statistics."

On the back of Jessie's van is a sticker that says: SANTOS LIVES.

This refers to an explosive incident in 1973 when a 12-year old Chicano — Santos Roderigez — was picked up on suspicion of having burglarized a soft-drink dispenser, and then shot in the head at point-blank range while riding in the front seat of a police car.

The policeman was later given five years for manslaughter.

The killing precipitated that rarest of Dallas events — a riot, in which 1,200 people, mostly Chicano, marched in protest downtown and ended by two police motorcycles being burned, 48 shop windows smashed and many of them looted.

"We can't let people forget," Jessie Tafolla says.

"Last year, a Chicano lady died giving birth in a parking lot because they wouldn't admit her to hospital!"

"What I'm doing is trying to improve the system so that everybody wiII be into it," Jessie says.

"We've been mad. We've been through our revolutionary stage. But it just drains your energy until you can't think rationally. And if you're dealing with Anglo society, you have to be rational and

cool."

He and Nellie have had to learn about government and politics the hard way.

"I didn't learn the system,'" Nellie Tafolla says, sipping water from a Mason jar.

"Here I am 36 years old and I just barely understand how things work from within. And I work for the City of Dallas."

Only last year, Tafolla's sixty-year-old mother cast her first vote.

"God, she was scared. She was trembling," Jessie says. "Mexicans fear voting. It symbolizes the establishment that they were never in touch with. In their community, they're dignified, respectable people. Just to ask for very basic things from the Dallas establishment, they've had to suffer tremendous indignities. A voting machine symbolizes that to them. And they don't want any part of it."

Still, Jessie has managed a local campaign and himself run for Precinct Chairman.

He got one third of the precinct votes ("I didn't have the courage to go into the big houses").

In all these activities, the children have played an active part: handing out leaflets, making calls, attending meetings, even going with Nellie to The University of Texas at Dallas while she studied for her B.A. in Public Administration.

The Tafallas consider it an important part of their children's education.

"I can't leave them a legacy of wealth. So I can leave them this: knowing what to do, knowing how to do it, having a choice. If you don't do something, if you don't meet things head-on, you'll be overtaken. You fall by the wayside. The devil never sleeps."

Nellie Tafolla produced a twenty-page Xeroxed document entitled "Mexican Americans of Common Identity: 1930-40-50."

Jessie's grandfather as well as most of the old-guard Chicano community are listed along with their changing employment.

Clerk, houseman, laborer, painter, driver, cook, grocer, blacksmith, window cleaner — until the last decade, almost all were manual unskilled jobs.

They are helping to change the pattern, but their gains also mean a loss.

And they know it.

"In order to move up in the company, Jessie's got to give up certain values — things that mean something to him."

Not only values but customs are being eroded.

Nellie jokes about the ritual of Christmas where both sides of the family gather the day before to make seventy dozen tamales.

The mothers, like Nellie, are now working.

"If I don't learn the art soon, it's going to die."

They look to the illegal immigrants to revive the Mexican culture their children are losing.

"The neighborhoods are being wiped out," Nellie says, remembering as a child the delights of walking in Little Mexico and downtown Dallas.

"I used to walk everywhere as a kid. Everything was around me. All my needs. I miss walking. I miss it terribly. And along the way, that's when I had interaction with the community."

The neighborhoods, the family roots, the language are gradually become attenuated.

Having longed be part of the American scene, the Tafollas are experiencing the phenomenon described by de Tocqueville:

"Not only does democracy make every man forget his ancestors, but it hides his descendants and separates his contemporaries from him; it throws him back forever upon himself alone and threatens in the end to confine him entirely within the solitude of his

own heart."

Recently, the Tafollas flew with a delegation of thirty to New York to attend the first night of "Zoot Suit," a musical about the pachuco. A dandy whose aggressive style marks him as a man who belongs nowhere, whose dress Octavio Paz calls "a suicidal gesture because it does not affirm or defend anything but is exasperated will-not-to-be," the pachuco is an emblem of the Chicano solitude in North America.

"The pachuco is the prey of society. But instead of hiding, he adorns himself to attract the hunter's attention. Persecution redeems him and breaks his solitude."

One generation on, the Tafollas are more at home in America, but are still nostalgic for the pachuco's renegade spirits.

The show was important to them because, for the first time their culture, their music, their slang was being introduced to the American mainstream.

"When the pachuco was attacked by the navy guys — who really symbolized society — and stripped of his zoota tacucha (zoot suit), he stood up with such pride and walked away in the same pachuco swagger. It was great. We went wild. It was our people up there, our culture. We saw that in the barrio everyday of our life."

Someone has sent the Tafollas a painting of the show's logo.

In broad brimmed hat, baggy pants and long coat, the pachuco stands out as a provocative pariah.

He is an American hybrid, cut off from both traditional culture and from North America.

Like the Tafollas, he seeks a more vital relationship with the society.

But the pachuco chooses scandal; and the Tafollas have chosen service.

Jessie likes the picture and plans to hang it in the living room.

"We're fighting to be able to be corporate executives and still eat tortillas with our fingers," he says.

The man behind the wheel is Al Lipscomb; and we're cruising his turf, District 6, the black ghetto.

Lipscomb was born and works here as head of the South Dallas Action Center.

They call him "The Lip" because he speaks his mind; and his emotional outbursts have earned him something of a reputation as a clown to the white establishment who don't conduct business that way.

As the sad, many streets loom up before him in the windshield, his voice finds its edge.

"We’ve had 308 companies relocate in the metroplex here. 308. Not a damn one relocated in District 6. Not one. The name of the game is economics, sir. Politics and a dab of education also. We been systematically culled out of the economic system of this city. We been niggarized."

At a traffic light, an old manicrosses in front of the car.

Lipscomb shoots him a right-on sign.

"Solid!" Lipscomb shouts, honking his horn.

He points across Pennsylvania Avenue.

"See there. The Negro Chamber of Commerce, which I say is a misnomer because there is no commerce. Not one Abraham Brown penny have they ever generated in this community. They love to be sitting up at the Hyatt Regency with them millionaire whites and all."

Lipscomb's Buick rolls past Pleasant Grove Baptist Church, then New Bethal Baptist Church.

"Vultures. Just vultures,"

Lipscomb says, shaking his head.

"The preachers don't live in the area, but they have their churches here. Hell, they're vacuum cleaners, suckin' everything out, puttin' nothing back into the community. Put a whole bunch of superstition and witch-doctor talk about keeping on your knees right here, it's gonna be better bye and bye. Hell, if you have me milk and honey for seven days, I'd 'have diarrhea. Understand? Black people have no country clubs in Dallas, so the Baptist Church is our country club. It's all emotionalism. They'll be talkin' how they love Jesus and wouldn't give a damn about the AFDC mother next door."

AFDC — or Aid to Families with Dependent Children — is the name for welfare in Dallas.

Set by the Texas legislature, it's one of the lowest allotments in America.

Most of the families receiving AFDC are head by a single woman.

A husband is included only if he is disabled from gainful employment.

A family of four (usually a mother with 3 dependent children) will receive $140 a month.

This is 23% of the money necessary to maintain a family at poverty level.

They will also receive medicaid and food stamps, which could increase to $330 a month.

The average family of four lives on $5,850 a year.

And the national poverty line is $6,700.

Rain starts to fall.

The streets are greasy.

A boy dribbles his basketball along the divider line.

"No education, no economics, no discipline," Lipscomb mumbles to himself and turns up toward Lincoln High School, his alma mater.

"I don't see a damn thing different from when I graduated. Sure some gone to California, New York. They roll their Rs. They don't say 'ain't,' 'git’ and 'gwine.’ But there hasn't been any smoke from South Dallas. Hell, no. Dallas hasn't had a damn thing. Dallas has been lulled into security."

Blacks sit out on their porches cooling off in the rain.

Lipscomb calls these delapidated houses "cracker box homes".

Some black folks are eating chicken, others sit staring at the street.

Lipscomb honks his horn and salutes an old couple who keep a canary in a cage suspended from the porch roof.

"Right on time! " she says.

They wave.

"Makes the day for them," Lipscomb says. "It gets them up to give a salute".

He drives to the end of Farragut Street, up to the wire fence where the school is being extended into their residential area.

"The people wanted the school to go South. They wouldn't wipe out dope dens, juke joints. They wiped out home owners."

He gets out of the car and walks upto the gate.

"People paid nickels and dimes. But it was their land, man. Why can't we lease it for a hundred years like other people so you can leave something to your offspring other than dadgummit a snuff can, a smoking twenty-two, and a lifetime of hopelessness."

A tall man in his early fifties wearing a black cowboy hat, Lipscomb is agitated by what he sees.

"The white flight. Are you hip? They're coming back to the inner-city. Fox and Jacob have gone out and bought up all the land around San Jacinto, another thriving black community. There's a housing project called Roseland Home, and below that there's one called Washington Street Project. They're developing what

they call $65-$80,000 homes. You understand? You have enough common sense to know there ain't no white man gonna live in an $85,000 house next to a black housing project. They're talking about building a big retainer wall. I have better sense than that. They're gonna get a big bulldozer and knock all that crap down."

Lipscomb slides back into the car.

"This won't take but a minute".

We drive past the GAY BREE BAR (2 p.m.-2 a.m.) and the liquor store (CUT RATE WINE) both just opposite the high school.

"Too much shit designed for failure" he says.

"White people wouldn't stand for that shit. White Christian mothers and Uncle Tom spooks."

He pulls the car over to the curb in front of a sign that reads L. Butler Nelson Memorial Park.

"My people squatted five different times," Lipscomb says, getting out of the car and heads out into the spongy, mottled grass of the graveyard.

"My daddy built a home out at Love Field. They put a runway up so we had to leave there. Aunt Sweety — right here on the Booker T. addition on the Central Expressway. We had to leave there cause of the expressway. Cousin Kinetta lived on La Prea. They came through with some more land development, under the guise of these different bond programs, taking it back. Extended the market and a whole bunch of shit there. Had to get out of there. We just squat for a number of years then we have go boogie."

The park is a long expanse of ragged, narrow land divided by a viaduct and bounded on one side by the high school fence.

Lipscomb strides out ahead of me, reading the headstones.

"Perpetual care!" he says, pausing by one of the many gravestones that have been toppled and overrun with weeds.

"The city said there‘’d be perpetual care for the bodies that are in here. The Jefferies and the Lipscombs paid for the plots. Look here, they're gone."

Graves have been washed away.

One toppled headstone has FUCK spray-painted across it.

Lipscomb walks faster, moving into the high grass.

He's looking for something beside the high school fence.

He's talking to himself.

He stops at a row of headstones and waits for me to catch up.

He's pointing to the graves lined up right beside the high school fence.

TUCKER. LUCKIE. LADY LUCK. CUDDLES. TOTO. DOLLY (My Baby Always).

"Say, sir," Lipscomb says. "Are these animal graves?"

He urges me to read on: Duke (1934-1952)

Our darling boy Sleeps here apart But he is with us In our hearts

"In Dallas, the blacks and dogs were buried together," Lipscomb says.

"When I was at Lincoln High, we couldn't even get a goddamned second-hand textbook. The pages were ripped out. But you'd see some of your civic leaders out here, their handkerchiefs out, weeping over their dogs.

Lipscomb walks along the line of graves and kicks away the grass covering over one just by the edge of the wire fence.

"Alice Jones died 1935. When that bulldozer was coming to expand the the high school, do you think they cared about

the graves.

"'Gone but not forgotten.’ That's jive shit."

Furious now, he sets out across the viaduct.

"My grandfather's marker is over there", he says, pointing to a clump of maple trees on the far side of the park.

Tin cans crunch under foot.

"You can't throw a cigarette butt by the Hyatt Regency," he says as he heads towards the trees.

"Dallas Texas today? The home of the Dallas Cowboys and the pseudo prostitutes they call the Dallas Cowgirls. The city that will fly in Dr. Jessie Jackson and Dr. Julian Bond and a whole multitude of Baptist Negro preachers on honorarium to tell us what's wrong with Dallas and completely neutralize local leadership. It's a great city — as far as a growin' city. But as far as a human city? Great googamooga, man. Dallas is known to be the Number 1 racist city."

When we get to the other side, he walks purposefully from tree to tree.

He kicks away the garbage strewn among the trees.

He looks up, his eyes vexed, his voice pinched with rage.

"I can't find my grandfather's marker. They cut the damn tree down. Damn."

He hurries ahead, bending down to read the graves that haven't been obliterated by weather or vagrants.

Finally, his arm goes up.

"Here it is!" he shouts. "Can't see it through the weeds."

Lipscomb clears away the grass.

MAYNARD LIPSCOMB: Family of Al & Lucy Lipscomb.

With his hat off and his head bowed, he walks back and forth in front of the grave for two minutes.

Then he looks up and hurries back to the car.

"This is gonna be a quickie, Mr. Lahr, sir. A quickie Jones."

The sun has come out.

The car radio is blaring a public service announcement:

"Check out the Library. It's full of success stories."

Lipscomb turns it off.

Blacks in tank tops, baseball hats turned back on their heads to keep the sun from their necks, beers in hand, lean against the side of the Twilight Lounge.

They yell, "Hiya Al," as he shoots them the right-on sign and honks his horn.

"Right on time", he says.

We roll past a hooker on her way to work.

Lipscomb gives her a long look.

"The Vice Squad used to round up the prostitutes. Made them strip for police pictures. The tittie file. The whole Vice Squad got busted. 1975, I think."

At the corner of Spring and Hatcher, we swing into Frazier Court.

"Here's where the shit is," Lipscomb says. "It's where the police don't even come."

The rows of mean two-story brown houses look like they've been built by the Three Little Pigs.

Windows have been boarded up.

Mattresses, shoes, parts of engines, old toys are lying on the dusty ground around the houses.

There is no grass, no trees.

Mothers sit in the doorways, festering in the humid heat like the garbage, which lies in gigantic tips around the housing estate uncollected for weeks.

"No ownership. No pride. Ownership instills pride," Lipscomb says as he circles this sorry, hellish slum.

"Out of this humiliation, out of this shame, when our people matriculate from school, they boogie too. The ink's still wet on their diplomas, and they're gone. So if your brain power's leavin',

and the money's goin' out of the community and none's comin' in. You get this tragedy."

He keeps muttering the word "tragedy" as he drives away.

Every pedestrian who crosses the car's path gets a wave and a fist salute.

"RIGHT-ON-SOLID!"

Lipscomb turns back.

"A thousand salutes and you can't get twenty people to a meeting."

Lipscomb can't shake his fury.

Language is his only revenge.

In it, he salvages some sense of power and humor from the hopelessness around him.

"I can stand on the dome of the Texas Stadium and see people who don't even have sewerage. At Fair Park, where they have the Cotton Bowl and the Texas State Fair — probably the richest state fair in America — there's just one link fence that divides it from abject poverty."

He shakes his head.

So many fights, so few victories.

Lipscomb was the first black man in the history of Dallas to run for Mayor (l97l).

He is fighting for complete school desegregation of the Dallas School system

("We still got 70 one-way schools. Separate but unequal.")

He is fighting the City Council, his suit challenging the at-large system and district sizes has prevented any city election from being held and is still being tested in the courts.

("Dallas can't hold no election. Hell, no.")

He is fighting for Oliver Lee Davis, a young basketball star, sentenced to 99 years for sodomy and aggravated assault against a white prisoner while awaiting trial for a robbery charge for which he was eventually cleared and despite the fact that the alleged inmate has testified that Davis did not attack him.

He is fighting to get money into the community and drugs out of it.

Everywhere there is struggle.

He waves to an old man using the beat-up front seat of a car for his porch chair.

"RIGHT ON TIME."

Lipscomb leans on the horn.

There's a terrible loneliness in the bravado.

Showering the neighborhood with salutes, he's performing the small, sad rituals of pride.

"Hopelessness. Dejection. Saving the world with rhetoric," Lipscomb says to himself and salutes another passerby.

Military Parkway is a long, dusty, uneventful road that runs straight across the top of South Dallas.

It's not far from the infamous Frazier Court, or police Beat 341, the notorious twenty-block area bounded by the Santa Fe railroad tracks and Grand Avenue on the West and Forest and Crest Streets on the East, which has the highest murder rate in the city.

In the sweltering morning brightness, the road is empty and unpromising until you come to the Palms Land and Cattle Co., a large yellow brick building set off from the road near Stan's Drive-in.

There, neatly parked, are rows of Montecarlos, Eldorados, Trans-Ams and stationwagons.

And between 10 a.m. and 3 p.m. — while their husbands are at work and their kids are in school — the white housewives of Dallas venture into this no-man's land for a romantic flutter with the shift workers, truck drivers and freelance romeos of the town.

Admission to Palms Danceland is $1.50.

But women can come and drink for free.

Blinded by the perpetual night of Palms Danceland, the

newcomer is seen long before he can see.

Time enough to slip out the back if it's an unexpected husband, or see if the person strikes your fancy.

The dark is filled with the sounds of music, chatter, the click of pool balls.

The only thing that can be seen clearly are the red eyes of the Schlitz bull.

At the bar, Jim — who is moonlighting for his real estate job — says; "I'm new meat. I haven't been here often. If you ask five girls to dance, three or four are bound to accept. It's a percentage play. These women are all married. The relationships they have here can't go anywhere. They're here for a walk on the wild side for a few hours."

Tables are set out around the large rectangular dance floor.

A jukebox is playing Tanya Tucker's "It's A Cowboy Loving Night."

Most of the men in the room are wearing straw cowboy hats.

They wear them even while they dance.

"These dudes with their fuckin' cowboy hats," Jim says. "They wouldn't know what side of a horse to crawl on."

The real party girls sit close to the dance floor.

The shy ones hide in the shadows beside the bandstand or near the bar.

Men cruise the tables, coaxing girls out of their seats to dance or sitting down to sweet-talk them.

At the tables, near the dance floor, there's a lot of kissy-face and groping going on.

"They call this place the 'pressure cooker.’ Most of the women rush home and throw some food in a pressure cooker for their family dinner," Jim laughs. "There's very little hostility here. It's not like elks in mating season. Guys don't charge around, locking horns with other guys. In singles bars, there's conflict. Here, it's live and let live."

At a table close to the dance floor, two petite blonds with short hair and in slacks were entertaining four men.

One called Gwen says, "I'm gonna have to bring my typewriter here and set it up right in the corner. I ain't gettin' any work done if I come here and dance every day."

"How fast do you type?" says the hulky man beside her. "How fast do you do it?"

He laughs and pulls her up to dance.

They dance the two-step, then the schottische.

He holds her around the neck with her head in the crook of his arm.

She holds onto his belt.

Her friend Jean is sitting between two men.

She is kissing one, while her right hand fingers the crotch of the other, who stares indifferently at the door.

A beautiful older woman wearing diamonds and a tailored pants suit come in, surveys the room and moves into the shadows.

The man gets up and makes his way toward her.

Jean transfers her hand.

The waitress wearing a blond beehive hairdo and butterfly glasses comes to the table.

"Can I get you anything?"

"Shiner's longneck," says the man with his arm around Jean, who they call Gus.

"Longnecks and rednecks."

"Hush up, Twyla," he calls after the waitress.

When she comes back with the beer, Jean is sitting

alone.

Gwenn is dancing with Gus.

The band is playing "If I Say You Have A Beautiful Body, Will You Hold It Against Me?"

Twyla puts her tray down on the table and takes a seat.

She follows Jean's gaze and stares out at the dance floor.

"Is that girl snakin' your man?"

"Twyla, don't piss on my shoes and tell me its raining."

"Shoot, honey, just interested, that's all," Twyla says, taking a swig from the beer bottle.

"You're looking at a happy woman. I got a tank full of gas this morning."

"You're easy to please."*

"We all know what you like, honey," Twyla says. "You've had more pricks than a used dart board."

Gus and Gwenn come off the dance floor laughing.

"What you two talkin’ ’bout" Gus says.

"The energy crisis." Jean says.

"Hell, I got no energy crisis. My engine is always full up."

Gus is standing behind Gwenn and he humps her from behind until she squeals and shoves him away.

"Behave yourself, boy!" she smiles.

The band starts to play a Cottoneye Joe.

With a hoot, Gus drags Gwenn back onto the floor.

They move counter-clockwise around the floor in a kind of chicken strut.

Gus maneuvers Gwenn from left to right around him as they sashay with the other couples around the floor.

Twyla points to the beautiful older woman sitting alone in the corner.

"She used to be a model. Married for twenty-eight years before her husband divorced her. She just don't dance."

"Stupid to come here and not dance."

"She says she just likes to see people have a good time. 'Dance, honey, I said to her. Know what she said? It's hard coming into this place. I was taught better."

"Some people are plumb stupid," Jean says.

"Dallas is good for only two things: money and men. Not necessarily in that order. I told Duane, 'Okay, we'll stay here for your career. But I'm not gonna be buried in Dallas. No way. I'm putting it in my will."

"Another drink?" Twyla says.

Jean pinches the ribbon of fat on her waist, and declines.

"Love handles," she says. "Duane gets home and he expects me to eat with him. And that microwave cooks things so fast. You can't drink all day and eat at night and stay thin."

Gus and Gwenn come back to the table and sit down.

Twyla takes her tray off the table.

"I heard a good one the other day: Do you know how you tell if you're really a fat person underneath?"

"0kay, Twyla. how do you tell?" Gus says, his hands around the waists of both women.

"Answer these questions for yourself," Twyla says, standing up. "Do you know the meaning of 'too rich? Do you know the meaning of 'spoil your dinner? Do you know the meaning of too much?"

[spaciousreasoning]

Routine Life Stuff

Nancy had another appointment for a haircut on Tuesday morning, and while she was in the chair I wandered around downtown Springfield once again in search of more Simpsons murals. I managed to find another half dozen or so to add to my collection. A bit later I managed to get to the Instagram account of Bayne Gardner, the fellow responsible for many of the murals.

After Nancy’s appointment, we stopped by the PublicHouse to see about lunch. A former church building one block off Main Street, the PublicHouse opened in 2018 as a hub for food vendors, a beer hall, a whiskey bar and an outdoor area for live entertainment. But the food available at the time did not appeal to us, so we wandered back east along Main Street and stopped at the Busy Bee Cafe for breakfast.

Later, Nancy went out to Marcola to see her daughter for a couple of hours. She returned in time for me to get to my Tuesday evening men’s recovery meeting. The evening’s topic was “conscious contact,” something that is part of my life only because of the fellowship.

Growing up a preacher’s kid, I learned a great deal about dogma, or “how the sausage is made,” which turned me off of church altogether for a number of years. The spiritual connections I have made with other recovering people has led to the same kind of relationship with folks in many other avenues of life, including church again.

Nancy talked on the phone with two friends from Tucson on Wednesday, one in the morning and the other in the afternoon. After the morning talk we took the new car back to the dealer for another little session with the man who explains all the bells and whistles. We had a couple more questions for him and he had a couple of interesting things to tell us. We also have some questions about the financing side of things, but we’re going to have to follow up with them later.

Once we were done with the auto lessons, we headed to Trader Joe’s for a little grocery shopping. When we reached the area, though, we decided to try out a Mexican restaurant nearby. Turned out to be not much better than the first place we tried in Springfield. We’ve been asking people for recommendations lately, but we’re still wary of trying more places. Today’s experience did not help with those concerns.

On the way to the car appointment, I stopped by the local drugstore and asked them to get the prescription our Tucson primary care had sent to the pharmacy there. They came through before the end of the day. Sadly, it’s only for 30 pills and I usually take two a day, so it’s not much help. I’ll probably just take one a day for a month and see what I can wrangle after that. Our first appointment with the new primary caregiver is still more than a month away.