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baby😩

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If she built like this, just know I love her🫶🏾 and if you built like this know I love you too… my favorite creation

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Crimson Clouds

Beneath a sky of crimson clouds, I stood before the old house—an ancient relic, abandoned, consumed by decay. It had sat there for generations, untouched yet shunned by all who lived nearby. The townsfolk spoke of it in whispers, calling it “The Forsaken Manor,” though no one could recount exactly why. But something in me—a strange, magnetic pull—drew me to it. I could not explain it, and perhaps that was the most frightening thing of all.

The house looked like something out of a long-dead time, twisted and broken, its edges curling like the tattered pages of a forgotten book. A heavy wind rustled through the trees, and with each gust, the house seemed to breathe—groaning as though the very weight of its history was too much to bear. A silhouette of a solar eclipse hung high in the sky, its ghostly ring casting the faintest glow over the sinister scene, like an eye half-shut in malevolent curiosity.

I am a man of this era, with all the conveniences and reason that modernity has gifted us. Yet, in the face of this relic, this house, I felt something ancient stir inside me. In the pit of my soul, I could hear the voices of ancestors long passed, warning me, telling me to leave this cursed place behind. But I could not. Something darker, more curious—more desperate—held me rooted to the ground.

The air around the house felt heavier as I approached the entrance, a palpable sense of dread crawling up my spine like icy fingers. My breath caught in my throat, and I wondered, not for the first time, what I was doing here. I had nothing to gain, and yet… I felt there was something I had to uncover, some truth buried beneath the layers of time.

I pushed open the door, and the old wood screamed on its hinges. Inside, the house was silent, save for the low hum of the wind rattling the broken windows. The darkness swallowed me, and I fumbled for my phone, its faint light cutting a thin path through the gloom. Dust hung in the air, thick and suffocating, as if it had settled there ages ago and had never been disturbed.

The floorboards creaked under my feet as I walked through the foyer, the sound like brittle bones snapping. A grand staircase twisted upward, but it was the room to my right that caught my attention—a parlor, perhaps, once grand and elegant, now reduced to ruin. I felt a chill, the temperature dropping as I crossed the threshold.

In the corner of the room sat an old mirror, its surface cracked, reflecting a distorted version of myself. But when I looked deeper—closer—I saw something that wasn’t me. A figure, faint and barely perceptible, stood behind me in the reflection. It was a man, dark-skinned like myself, but dressed in the clothes of a time long past. His eyes, hollow and black, seemed to plead with me, though his mouth never moved.

I turned swiftly, heart pounding, but the room was empty.

“Stay,” a voice whispered. I couldn’t tell if it came from within me or the air itself, but it sounded ancient, weary, and full of sorrow.

The stories I had heard whispered about this place suddenly rushed back—stories of enslaved men who had been worked to death on this very land. Stories of rebellion, of blood spilled on cursed soil. I felt the weight of their suffering, their loss, pressing down on me like a mantle of sorrow I had unwittingly donned.

The figure in the mirror reappeared, this time clearer—closer. His hand stretched toward me, trembling as though desperate for my touch. And in that instant, I knew what he sought. Justice. Recognition. Something to free him from the eternal torment that had bound his soul to this place.

But I was no savior. I could not undo the horrors of the past. And yet, I could not leave either. As I stood frozen, the weight of history clung to me, wrapping itself around my body like a shroud. I was trapped, just as he was—trapped in the legacy of a time that had stolen so much from those who looked like me. The sins of the past echoed in my bones, and I wondered if, in some way, I too was bound to this place.

I had come here seeking answers, but now I feared the truth was far more sinister than I had ever imagined. This house was not just haunted by the souls of the dead—it was haunted by history itself. The kind of history that lives in the blood, passed down through generations. The kind of history that refuses to let go.

The last thing I saw, before the darkness closed in completely, was the man in the mirror, now standing beside me. His hand rested gently on my shoulder, as if to say, “We are one, now.”

And in that moment, I knew I would never leave.

The door to the house creaked shut behind me, and the sky above, eclipsed in shadows, swallowed the last remnants of daylight.

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🫶🏾

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Watching your lover masturbate has to be the most satisfying sexy thing to visually capture and experience

Just a thought..

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“Be weird. Be random. Be who you are. Because you never know who would love the person you hide.”

— C.S. Lewis

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🖤

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Finally moved out the sip and I’m enjoying the change so much. I remember a time this year I felt completely at my lowest cause of my own pussy driven lifestyle. My brother changed my perspective, reminding me how much time I truly have on earth. Infinity. Change is good

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