Bedroom spy porn

Fred Penzel, Ph.D. OCD, as we know, is largely about experiencing severe and unrelenting doubt. It can cause you to doubt even the most basic things about yourself – even your sexual orientation. A 1998 study published in the Journal of Sex Research found that among a group of 171 college students, 84% reported the occurrence of sexual intrusive thoughts … Read More Ask any man, who felt attracted to his own gender from a young age: how did you feel as a young boy? I’ve heard it said countless times that they felt different, not ever have I heard it said that they felt gay. You do not 'feel gay’. Because for ... Plenty of people feel insecure, and don't have any trauma in their past that they can point to as the cause. But for others, insecurity can come about due to trauma. “I am bigger than this” and we feel powerful. In the next we are lost to victim thinking, feeling sorry for ourselves and crying.. There can also be a cycle of guilt (it’s all my fault), shame (what will people think) and blame (I hate them for doing this to me).. 6. You feel like – and are acting like – someone else entirely. I don’t think anyone realizes they are gay at a later age, they have always known. The thing that has to be remembered here, when this person was younger and growing up, what was the world or society like in regards to being gay? I can tell you, f... The 16 Signs of Childhood Sexual Abuse. Posted by Louise Behiel in Louise Behiel, Sexual Abuse | 1,532 comments. Over many years of working with survivors of childhood abuse, in all of its many permutations and combinations, I’ve come to believe that there is a constellation of symptoms or behaviors in adults which suggest they might have been abused as children. When asked about the alleged hookup in 2015, Lovato told Complex, "I don't feel like any of my past or future — when it comes to relationships that may have happened or not have happened — are ... As someone who doesn’t have as much experience getting hit on as girls I feel really bad disappointing someone like that. I’d say if you don’t make it weird, they won’t make it weird. If they say no thanks, play it cool, smile, make a joke and go about your day. Honestly gay bars are some of my favorite places tho. I pushed all emotions away; buried them. I don’t feel excited or high, and I don’t get angry. Today I think I am a different version of myself had this not happened. I comfort eat. I hate my subconscious. No matter how successful I have been in suppressing and burying my grief I still can’t control my dreams. This ability makes me feel like the terrible feelings must be fake. If i can turn them on and off so easily, they can't be that bad. But I think i'm just really good at burying and hiding those extreme feelings (since I know they're totally not acceptable or normal).

2020.09.27 08:00 Randomusername919192 DAE feel like they're maybe gay but have been burying their feelings due to past trauma?

Because I think I have. My biodad told me that being homosexual in of itself was sinful, and he and his wife wanted me to go see a pastor because they knew I was probably gay and I didn't agree with their bullshit and also right before I went home my biodad threatened/intimidated me with knives and basically called me a POS child + shoved me across my bedroom which made me call the police on him as he thought I was a pedo because his wife did porn searches on her phone and framed me for it and it made me endure the worst week of my life as he and his wife kept trying to get me into trouble with my parents by saying I was pedo who wanted to molest my brothers, spying on me, etc.
I haven't really been able to look at the same sex the same since. And while I'm still decently attracted to men, I've been somewhat burying my feelings and feel scared to publicly acknowledge myself as gay and I feel like I just want a normal life with a wife and kids despite the fact I'll probably never be sexually attracted to my wife and I'll probably be found balls deep in some random twink by the time I'm 30.
It's deeply traumatized me, and it makes me feel like I don't want to be gay anymore and it makes me afraid of the homophobes of the world as I don't want to be beaten up and raped/murdered for wanting a romantic or sexual relationship with the same sex.
I don't want to be scared about being gay, especially seeing how far our society has come in terms of being gay and it having some of my peers publicly come put as gay, I feel like I can never confess to it outside of immediate family members because if my own father could act like that towards me, then other people who barely even know anything about me could act a good 10x worse.
And that, that SCARES me to the core....
TL;DR: I been burying my feelings towards the same sex because I'm scared I'll get beaten up and raped for liking boys because of something very traumatic my biodad and his wife put me through when they knew I was gay.
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2020.09.27 04:05 Dadscocklover Bedroom spy porn

I was 11 yrs old when this started. one day. in florida. new years eve, i started by feeling around his butt while he was asleep. then 6 or 7 months later, he was in his bedroom and i could tell he was jerking off so i walked in on purpose to see him. he was shocked and so i faked it too. then later that week i went into his room at like 1 in the morning and would feel his penis through his underwear. one day i finally built up the nerve and quickly in his sleep pulled his underwear. his dick was kinda soft but not too small. it was my first time and so i held it and put it in my mouth for a bit. i felt him mumble so i stopped and i think about it a lot. i loved his dick. i wish he would ask me to fuck him. i will always sit and watch him sleep so he might pull his underwear. he rarely does. it gets me zoo horny and i need to feel his balls and dick in my mouth. i am shameful about this, but i know it gets me zoo hot that i am gonna do it.
It’s been so long sincce I first put him in my mouthand I still want his dick really bad. I am 21 now. I had been into my dad since puberty basically. I stared the risky behavior around 12 and can’t stop nor do I wanna. I always would stay in the same room and even bed on vaca and I’d often wait til late at night and jack off next to him. I will sometimes catch a peek while he showers. I sleep with a wall between us and often lii listen to him jackin and ejaculating. I haven’t grown out of it. I a couple times in the years after the OP where I got really touchy in bed with him before he sleepily said stop. I left his record buttons on once and got fiull footage of him jacking a dozen times, really hot stuff. My dad has a bigger cock than I’d thought at 15 tho. It’s a fatty. Maybe 8 inches and girth. I see how my mom stayed married to him as long as she did. He had that pipe. I’d love to suck him again. I hate myself for this, but I still jack off a lot thinking about him. I’m basically able to cum within 25 seconds if I’m thinking about him and the times I’ve “accidentally seen him jacking off. I walked in on him(bc I was listening) and he turned around, dropping his tissue and he shot his load toward me I watched him cum in front of me. I a couple times(over the years) did it again and didn’t see his duck but once he came in his pants and I could see that clearly and once he came into a tissue and he cover himself by I saw his body shake and pulse when he blew his loads
I love more than anything seeing him cum. He once was jerkin it and I listened intensely. I faked accidentally walking in for something. He got so surprised he turned around and tried to put his dick away real quick. It was a little too late bc it sounded like he was gonna finish and I was right.. He turns as he puts it away. Asks what I need but before he finished, he finished. Came in his underwear and left a wet spot. another occasion I did pretty much the same thing and he was on his bed and looked over then moaned a little as he came into a tissue. I later that night snuck in and took the tissue and licked it. I couldn’t fast much but I’ve done that enough times to k ow it smelled and tasted like his cum. I’ve walked in on him a couple more times, maybe 6 or 7 total in my life. Seeing him laid out on the bed naked jizzing was magic. He apologized and tried to explain jacking off to me, but I played it off. I think he knows I have, or at least have in the past had a fetish for him and his penis. I’ve recorded audio and put in his room so I can hear him JO. That’s been fun. I wanna try it with video but I can’t think of a small enough camera.
The Florida occasion wasn’t the first of its kind, but it’s the first time it got that far. It was in 2010 or 2011. I’m 21 now. We haven’t been back at those friend’s house in years, but if we do go, I know all the right spots to spy on him. And maybe I’ll get to touch and/or lick him again.
I love to talk about this topic and my story. I’m currently sitting in the car on a road trip with him and as I type to edit this I have the hardest erection. I wish he noticed and wanted to do something. Not anything super intense like anal, but maybe just jacking together or letting me suck him sometimes. Never gonna happen with him. He likes hound blond women with tight pussies(that’s his main porn catagory) and I am just his gay son who likes old wrinkly cocks. I think of him flaccid daily. I often(always) wake up in the morning and jack off, and easily 2/3 of the time I think about him and my escapades.
Please hmu to chat about it or if you wanna send me pictures of your member. I love flaccid, old, and small dicks. And if you hit all three I’ll do anything for that guy.
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2020.08.06 20:40 MelioraOptimus Bedroom spy porn

What do you think of this cute story?
NOTE:
Italicized lines: the external narrator
(*x*): physical action
“x”: lines said out loud by characters
Regular text: Claire's thoughts
Claire's POV
Brett is a very physically attractive man. Claire is a very physically attractive woman. Nate is a guitar player for a small band. He is a scrawny, little boy with a small penis who somehow managed to be in a relationship with Claire, but Claire hates having sex with him. He doesn't satisfy her at all. She has to fake orgasms just to keep him happy. Worst of all, Nate is completely oblivious to the fact that he doesn't satisfy Claire. He thinks that he's God's gift to her for some reason. Nate is also absolutely and utterly obsessed with Claire. He worships her, always wants to be with her, etc. All Nate cares about is her, and she hates it. Claire is sick and tired of this clingy little creep who thinks he's sooooo good in bed. She wants to dump him in the most painful way possible, and she comes up with the perfect way to do it:
Claire is lying on her bed, naked. She picks up her phone and calls Nate:
Claire, in a seductive tone: “Hi, Nate. Why don’t you come over to my house tonight, big guy?”
Nate: “I would love to, but my concert has been rescheduled to tonight for some reason! This is the most important concert of my life! We will be performing in front of 10,000,000 people! We’re scheduled to perform in 20 minutes. I’ve spent every night for the past 2 years preparing for this moment!"
Claire: “If you come, I will give you that blowjob you’ve always wanted.”
10 seconds later...
*Nate rushes into her room*
Nate: (*panting*) “Claire, I just canceled the concert and ran here as fast I could! Blowjob!? Blowjob!?”
*Claire points at Nate*
Claire: “Hahahahahaha!”
Nate: “What’s so funny?”
Claire: “Nate, my darling, why don’t you have a seat on that chair over there. I have a surprise for you!”
Nate: “Ok! Sounds exciting.”
Nate sits on the chair next to Claire's bed. Claire gets up from her bed, gets leg cuffs from her cabinet, and cuffs Nate's legs to the chair legs, making it so he can’t get out of the chair.
Nate: “Uh, is this part of the act?”
Claire: “Uh, yeah. Sure.”
Nate: “Oooh, kinky! This is going to be amazing.”
Claire: (*giggles*) “Yes. Yes it is.”
Claire goes back to her bed and lies down on her back.
Claire: “Oh, Brett! You can come out now!”
Nate: “What!?”
Suddenly, Brett comes out of my closet, completely naked. He is the hottest hunk of man I have ever seen in my life. His body is...perfect. He is 6'3", muscular, athletic, handsome, chiseled jawline, beautiful blue eyes, buns of steel, strong legs, etc. And his dick nearly reaches his knees!
Even Nate has been staring at him for the past minute or so, seemingly oblivious to what is about to happen.
Brett: “You ready, Claire?”
Oh, my! I think I just got pregnant from hearing his voice! It’s so dark yet so soothing. How is it possible for a human being to be this perfect!?
Claire: (*giggles*) “I’ve been ready for a looong time.”
Suddenly, Nate realizes what is about to happen and begins to cry.
Nate: “Claire!!! NOOOOOO!!!! I LOVE YOU!!! WE WERE MEANT TO BE TOGETHER FOREVER!!! YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME!!!! NOOOOOOO!!!!!”
Brett and Claire begin to laugh hard.
Claire: “Too bad, soy boy.”
Nate: “I can’t watch this. This is too much.”
*Nate tries to get up from chair but is unable to*
Claire: “You’re not going anywhere, Cuck. You’re going to watch every second of this. Maybe you’ll learn a thing or two about how to actually please a woman.”
Nate: “No! No! No! No! NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!”
Brett hops on to my bed and we begin to make out and cuddle, with Nate having a perfect view to see all the action.
Nate cries harder than I’ve ever seen a human being cry before. Tears that could fill several buckets flow out of his eyes and all over his body. At the same time, he also has a raging erection from seeing all of this. He’s getting turned on by seeing his little girl with a real man.
This is a dream come true. I’ve always wanted to see him cry and suffer while he sees me fuck another man.
Brett rams his enormous cock in my vagina and I begin to moan. Moan harder than I ever have in my life. I place my arms all over Brett's butt, squeezing, slapping, and pinching it. Brett kisses me all over my body. He places his arms all over my breasts and then down to my butt.
Suddenly, Nate unzips his pants, whips out his penis, and begins masturbating. He strokes his penis with great vigor.
Claire (so loudly that everyone within a 5 mile radius can hear it): “Brett! Brett! Brett! Yes! Yes! Yes!”
Nate: (*cries, strokes dick*) “You...you...never moaned that hard when you had sex with me!”
Claire: “No…(*moans*)...shit…(*moans*)...Sherlock...I…(*moans*)....faked all....those…(*moans*)...orgasms.(*moans*)..you..(*moans*).oblivious….(*moans*)..(*moans*)..moron”
Claire: “Harder, Brett! Harder!”
Brett begins to thrust harder and harder.
Claire: (*moans*) (*moans*) (*moans*)
Suddenly, Brett cums inside of me.
Claire: “That was the greatest 10 minutes of my life.”
A few seconds later, Nate cums out all over his pants. Nate has stopped crying, but he is still sobbing. He is absolutely heartbroken and devastated by what he just saw.
I get up, go to the cabinet to get the keys, and then go to Nate to unlock his cuffs. A few seconds later, I hop back onto my bed. Brett and I cover ourselves with my blanket and we begin to cuddle. This is so dreamy. We cuddle for minutes while Nate just stands there looking absolutely crushed. I think he’s waiting for me to say something.
Claire (in a seductive manner): “Oh, Nate.”
Nate (with a look of hope in his eyes): “Yeah!?”
Claire: “Fuck off.”
Nate begins to cry again
Nate: “Claire! We were meant to be together forever! No!!!!!”
Claire: “It’s over. Please leave, you pathetic, worthless, sack of shit. I never want to see you again.”
Nate: “Please!!! I LOVE YOU!!!”
Claire: “I HATE YOU!!!”
Nate hops on the bed and tries to kiss me. I respond by kicking him in the balls as hard as possible, knocking him off the bed.
Nate: “OWWWWWWW!!!!”
Claire: “Stop being so melodramatic. Girls don’t feel that much pain when you kick them between their legs.”
Nate: “Please! Give me one more chance!”
Claire: “IF YOU DON’T LEAVE, I AM GOING TO CALL THE COPS YOU CREEP!!!”
Nate pleads for a second chance for several minutes before giving up. He cries like a baby and heads towards the door.
Brett and Claire give each other a fistbump as Nate runs out of the room and cries.
Claire: “How about Round Two?” (*winks*)
Brett: “Don’t mind if I do!”
Claire and Brett begin engaging in intense sexual activity again.
Meanwhile, as Nate leaves Claire's house, he comes up with the perfect plan. There is a tree in Claire's backyard that has a branch that extends to the window of Claire's bedroom. Nate sneaks into her backyard, climbs up the tree, and slides down the branch until he is able to get a perfect view of Claire and Brett's love-making.
Nate: “Oh, yeah!”
As Claire and Brett have sex, Claire looks at the window and sees Nate sitting on the tree branch, looking at the two have sex and aggressively masturbating. Claire becomes furious.
Claire: “Brett! Pull out!”
Brett pulls out and Claire walks towards the window, filled with rage. Nate looks at what’s happening confused as ever. Claire opens the window and Nate realizes that Claire had caught him. He tries to escape, but Claire successfully reaches out, grabs his arm, and yanks him into her room.
As Claire aggressively slaps Nate's face and Nate cries, she says: “You creep! Get out! Get out!”
Nate: “I’m so sorry! I just can’t help but watch my beautiful girl enjoy herself with that hunk of man over there. It makes me feel so happy and excited.”
Claire: “I am not your girl you creepy sicko!”
She kicks him in the balls once more and he falls to the ground. She kicks his body while he screams in pain.
Claire: “You bastard! You pathetic little wanker! I am going to call the police!”
Brett: “Claire, don’t be so mean. He didn’t mean any harm. He can watch if he wants to.”
Claire: “He spied on us without our permission! Stop apologizing for this piece of shit.”
Brett: “Claire! Be nice.”
Claire: “Ok, fine.”
Claire stops kicking Nate
Nate: “Please, let me stay! I really want to see you two fuck! It’s soooooo sexy!!!”
Claire: “No! You’ve already seen us do it once. Your free trial is over. There’s no such thing as free porn. Even ‘free’ porn sites make money through ads. I’m not going to let you beat your meat in front of us without making any money from it! If you want to see similar content for free, go to Pornhub.com”
Nate: “But I want to see you! You’re the only woman in the world I’m attracted to! You are everything to me!”
Claire: “Fine! I will let you watch us have sex once a week, $69 per session!”
Nate: “$69 per week!? My entire post-tax income is $70 a week!”
Claire: “Wait, let me finish. $69 per week plus strict regulations you must comply with.”
(*Claire takes out paper and begins writing contract*)
Claire: “You must NEVER touch me nor even say a word to me during each session. Even if you utter the word “Hi” to me, you will have to pay a $250 fine. You must ALWAYS stay AT LEAST 5 feet away from my bed for the entire time. If you come closer than 5 feet, even by mistake, you will have to pay a $500 fine. You CANNOT record ANYTHING that happens here. If you do, you will have to pay a $1000 fine. Better hope you have a good memory. No phones allowed. Before you enter my bedroom door, Brett will search your pockets and bags (if applicable) and confiscate your phone if one is found. You will NEVER get your phone back once it’s confiscated. If you break any one of these rules more than once, I will call the police, tell them you raped me, use that pantyhose in my closet with your sperm on it to back my claims, contact every major news station to get them to cover my story and destroy your reputation, and do everything I can to get you to rot in prison for the rest of your pathetic life. And by the way, I will also do this if you don’t pay a fine within one week of the day it was incurred.”
Nate: “So let me get this straight. You want me to not only pay you 98.6% of my entire post-tax income, you also want me to comply with extremely strict rules that seem virtually impossible to not break, and if I break one of the rules just once, even by mistake, I will have to pay a fine that would be impossible for me to afford and within just 1 week of the date the fine was incurred, and if I fail to pay the fine within 1 week or break the rules more than once, my education, job prospects, reputation, financial situation, and life in general will be absolutely ruined forever, and all of this risk just to have the opportunity to watch you have sex with another man once a week without the ability to even record each love-making session.”
Claire: “That’s correct.”
Nate, without irony: “Yes, that sounds great! Thank you so much for this generous offer! I am eternally grateful for this.”
(*Nate signs contract*)
Claire: “Our first session will start this Saturday at 6:00 PM. Your first $69 payment will be due the following Sunday. If you show up more than 10 minutes late, the entire session will be canceled but you will still have to pay the $69. NOW GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!”
Nate: “Thank you so much!!!!! You’re the best!”
(*Nate turns towards the door and heads out*)
Claire: “Oh, Nate, I have one last thing to tell you.”
(*Nate eagerly turns around*)
(*Claire spits on Nate's face*)
Claire: “Now fuck off!”
Nate: “Yes! God answered my prayers! Claire's beautiful saliva is now on my face! I’m going to keep this on here forever!!! Thank you!!!”
Claire, not expecting a positive reaction from this creep, grabs Nate by his collar, drags him to her bathroom, and washes off the spit with soap and water.
Nate: “No! No! No! Please! Let me keep the spit! It’s the last time your fluids will ever contact me ever again! NOOOOOOO!”
Claire: “Haha soap and water go brr.”
After washing the spit off Nate's face, Claire drags Nate's body to the top of the stairs. She kicks Nate's body down the stairs in an extremely aggressive manner, leading to several bruises, a tooth falling off, and a large cut on his forehead.
Claire: “GET OUT AND STAY AS FAR AWAY FROM ME AS POSSIBLE BEFORE SATURDAY, YOU CREEP!!!”
Nate: “Ok. I will always love you forever!!!”
Claire: “I will always hate you forever!!!”
As Nate walks out the door, he says to himself: “That’s my girl.”
Claire: “I AM NOT YOUR GIRL!!!!!!!!!”
Fin
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2020.07.26 18:30 DBTraven Bedroom spy porn

When I set myself on this path of godawful cram sessions and hungover moot courts it was because I imagined myself as some witty, articulate crusader for justice. I was in my teens when the wave of streaming service true crime documentaries made me fall in love with defence attorneys and so I set myself on a career path without so much as simply googling “what do public defenders earn”?
But I got to Law School without my bubble getting burst and as my first year rolled to a close I was actually getting to like it. Sure some of my buddies in Communications were whiling away their hours going to ragers and getting laid while I was memorising case law and my friends in Engineering were deciding which 6 figure industry they liked best I was googling the lowest interest pay-day loan spots for my living expenses, at least I had the moral high ground so that was something?
Professor Leahy was a slightly strange guy. I remember my first Contract Law class with him he opened up with an anecdote about negotiating a contract dispute between the spectators and the producers on an orgy porn set which lead into a lengthy diatribe about the legal and philosophical definition of “labour”. Regardless I liked him and I did well in his class so he emailed me one day to see him in his office I wasn’t too concerned. I was elated when he told he had fixed up an intern position for me in a little office in town for the summer and it would even pay a small cost of living stipend. From early on all the professors impressed on us how vital internships were and said without them we’d miss any opportunity to become a hotshot lawyer and instead be “chasing the slowest ambulance around town”. The fact that he said I was get to see “some really unusual stuff” was just a bonus. At the time I thought he meant complicated murder cases. I didn’t know then that if there were dead people involved in the cases I worked they got that way long before I arrived on the scene.
When I arrived for my first day at the office I was shocked to find not some grand building that projected authority and erudition but the remains of a little family butcher shop in a run down part of town. The glass window out front still had metal trays that I guess used to display hunks of meat and sausage links to curious customer passing by, but now stood dull, dusty and empty below a sign that said “Blavatsky & Faustus Legal Services”. I was a bit puzzled to say the least but my confusion was just beginning.
I stepped inside to find a smartly dressed Hispanic woman sitting behind the glass-topped counter, who I now know as Maria. A phone sat in front of here on the hook but she called out to the air “May I take a message?”. As I got closer I realised her eyes were rolled back in her head, which was tilted back slightly, and for a moment, in the all the confusion, I thought of watching WWE as a kid and how the Undertaker would always give me the creeps. Then suddenly , with a sound like crackling autumn leaves, she began to rapidly jot down words on a yellow legal pad in front of her. When she finished up she gripped the pencil with her fist and pressed her thumb against the top half. The pencil snapped and she absent-mindedly chucked the bottom half over her left shoulder.
As I was catching my breath her eyes rolled back, dark hazel, and she regarded me with a look of surprise.
“Oh sorry, you must be Daniel” she said, then after a pause “I was with a client. You can find your desk on floor 2 and a half, the documents for review should be there and the lead attorney will be in touch in case he needs anything specifically”.
Devoid of any idea about how exactly I should react I merely took her curt suggestion. I strolled towards the old, wide elevator behind her, pulled back the little metal gate in front of it and stepped inside. When I glanced at the buttons there I saw that I hadn’t misheard her. The numbers didn’t go up in even increments. At the bottom was “P”, as opposed to the ground floor or basement, and all up the row of buttons they marched in odd, fractional numbers. 1.14, 2.5, 3.76…. and so on. I was beginning to wonder if they were playing some prank on me, hazing the new guy, but the buttons showed no sign of recent alteration. So I hit the button marked 2.5 and the elevator chugged into life.
What I arrived to seemed more comforting and familiar. Rows of little cubicles with phones and computers and a handful of paralegals clacking and chatting away. When I saw the desk with my name scorched in to the wood I thought it was an unusual touch, but those were coming thick and fist so I just plopped myself right down. When I opened the manilla folder I found something that might strike a lot of you as familiar. It was what we call, in the business, “a workplace incident”.
Rules For the Oakridge Drive Industrial Complex, ordered from least to most severe, let all Nightwatchmen and similar take heed.
1. If a car horn honks outside of the Glue Galore building at 2.03 am, knock twice on the front door and walk away
2. Do reuse rechargable batteries in flashlights more than twice
3. If the water in the downstairs sink of the security office turns red on a Wednesday, take off in your car and email the boss
I’m sure you all know the type, but it was news to me at the time. The defendant, a ‘Wailing Woman’ had been charged with “improper retribution upon breach of contract” relating to a “sanity robbing”. I wouldn’t fully comprehend what the latter meant until I spied the defendant, drooling in his chair, sitting in the cavernous courtroom beneath the subway station months later. His wife had taken the case on his behalf and the head defence attorney sat his side of the room fidgeting with a Ouija board, a voice not his own spilling from his mouth.
So you figure I bolt out of this place right? If it isn’t just some scam then it’s something way over my head and non-existent pay grade. But you underestimate my desire to make a career for myself and I figure in those first couple of months, before I’ve seen any of the nameless things that hide in the dark, I can get a reference letter out of these weirdos without too much hard work. Thinking back to this now, summer coming to a close and evenings getting darker as I’m about to stare the worst of it right in the face, I could slap myself.
“Residential” was all Paul Blavatsky said as he slid the file across my desk . The bespectacled, button nosed lawyer had become my “babysitter” shortly after I started. He dragged me from case to case and forced me into the menial grunt work while he took the stand with little of the grace and aplomb that marked his father’s style. This was one of those days where I offered some meagre pushback to Paul shunting yet more work my way, as opposed to just kissing ass. How dearly I wish I had pushed back harder.
“I’m still working on that elevator thing I don’t know if I have time for all this.”
“You’re going to make time for it. This is a big payday. Exciting stuff. I need you to get started on discovery tomorrow”.
“But I’ve got a weekend job. You know I can’t work weekends”.
Paul snarled and shoved his glasses up the bride of his nose, as if trying to get a better look at the dog crap underneath his shoe.
“You do it or you kiss that reference letter goodbye. I’ll be having a word with my father”.
I sighed in resigned defeat. Not only was “big payday” in a joke in the place where they forgot to pay my little gas stipend half the time, I was now going to miss a day of actual paid work to hoof around to some guys hell house. Paul strolled away, delighted at once more crushing one of meagre attempts at resistance.
The house was gorgeous, like some platonic ideal of rural get away. The path there wound up a long country rode covered over my a canopy of trees that made the sunlight drizzle through them like honey. There was hardly anything around for miles and the country estate stood like a fortress for an opulent king. Two stone gargoyles stood at the gate, one clutching a scepter and the other a harp. I couldn’t help but keep eye contact with them as I was buzzed in and drove up to the ornate front door.
The man that answered the door was not who I expected. I guess I expected salt-and-pepper hair in a smoking jacket or something but I got a guy who looked like the closest he might get to lounge wear would be sweat pants and a drug rug. His beard was long and wiry and his eyes were surrounded by dark blotches.
I was just about to introduce myself when I felt his hands grab me and through me into the foyer of the house with a desperate strength. My satchel full of documents and devices helped to break my fall and prevented me from cracking my head on the hardwood floor. Before I could react the front door was slamming shut and by the time I got to my feet I could hear the man calling through the door in a voice like his vocal chords had been run through a cheese grater.
“I’m sorry! I’m so so sorry!”
Then the crunching of wild feet sprinting on gravel.
My heart leapt into my throat and my legs moved on their own. I skipped over trying the ornate door knob, which I knew would be useless, and threw myself at the door, shoulder-first. I slammed into it and it shook, but didn’t give. Bouncing off I turned my momentum into an immediate ricochet of fists and grunts which proved equally impotent. It was only when I paused to catch my breath that I heard the sobbing beside me. I turned to find a pretty young woman with blond hair cradling something and weeping. When my eyes adjusted after a moment I discovered she was holding her own pregnant belly. She choked out a few words under racking sobs.
“He told me he’d let me out...”.
I just stood there, still processing my new situation, unsure if I should try to offer the woman some comfort. Before I could figure out what to do she was beckoning me a large room beside the foyer which appeared to be a parlour. At the back end there was a large, beautiful painting of a man on horesback. An ordinary sort of “This is my great great great grandfather” portrait you might expect to find in some antiquated country manor like this.
The room was brightly light and when I stepped in I turned to face the near floor-to-ceiling windows that allowed the light to spill in. Filled with rage, terror and desperation I grabbed a stool to my right and hurled it full force off the glass, where it bounced off with a drumbeat sound. It came flying back with some force so my eyes whipped to the woman to make sure she was alright only to find she was no longer standing near me. She was the end of the room, standing by the painting, where she had peeled the canvas back from the frame to reveal a yellowed parchment beneath the would rule our lives with its blocky lettering for the days to come.
Commandments for the Occupants of Waybury Manor
1. Only two shall walk the halls, within these old and storied walls
2. Though Jack Frost’s breath may prove a vandal, ensure no flames can warm this mantle
3. Before entering to take a bath, knock three times or face my wrath
My eyes glazed over at the sight of just the sort of thing I’d seen hundreds of times before. They were definitely an old set of rules, they bore no sign of the usual lengthy specificity and complication that was the mark of such contracts in recent years. It meant they must predate the 16th founding of our slice of the legal arts by one Dr Faustus and his tricky contract with a demon. But it was the final commandment that really made me grimace
Though her face be sweet and mild, let none dwell here that bears a child
I met the woman’s reddened eyes now and she got clearly see the glint of recognition in mine.
“You have to help me” she cried.
That’s when, gritting my teeth and grinding my nails into my palms, I went to work
Unsurprisingly the house lacked a lot of the ordinary tools of the trade: ouija boards, sacred lamps, or summoning salt. So in order to meet the aggrieved party I had to improvise. The pregnant women, whose name was Lauren, was in fact a Kindergarten teacher and so had a handy supply of arts and crafts supplies in the master bedroom. Inside one of her tupperware containers I found just what I was looking for: a set of brightly coloured, fuzzy pipe cleaners. Beaning them at right angles toward the bottom I held them out straight like guns in my sweaty palms and began to pace the long silent hallways of the old house.
Dowsing is a primitive method of calling out the occult and undead but in a pinch it will generally do. It had none safe distance of a ouija board or the stopping power of the summoning circle but desperate times tend to call for desperate measures. As I tread the creaking boards I cursed myself for bringing little but legal documentation and a tablet computer to the scene but my anger at myself was quickly supplanted by a fear oozing its way up my throat as I began to hear a scraping sound from the ceiling above me.
I paused and looked up, attempting to discern the source or nature of the sound but had no look. It wasn’t long before the pipe cleaners began to sway and overlap, malignantly tickling my fingers in a way that made my palms only sweat more profusely. Eventually my brain worked its way through the knots of fear it had tangled itself up in and, unravelling to clear thought at least, I knew what the scraping on the roof sounded like.
It was a claw.
I bolted down the stairs in a storm of hammering feet and flung myself into the farmhouse kitchen where Lauren was sat in an armchair, watching a small television in the corner. She was held rapt in its glow and the stream of tears seemed to have finally stopped. Her gaze was absorbed by the television which play only the dirty snow of chattering static.
“You have to tell me when you first found...the rules”. I tried desperately to keep the sound of fearful pleading out of my voice, but I couldn’t help but crack on the last two words. She responded to me, slack-jawed, without looking away from the static.
“The very first day we came into the house”
“And when did you get pregnant?”
“Maybe a couple of weeks after”
I cursed to myself. Even worried about my escape I still wanted to think about building a case, but it looked like that old stand by or “lack of sufficient foreknowledge” had gone out the window.
Just then the scraping on the ceiling intensified and for that reason I thought Lauren had leapt out of her chair in surprise. It was only when I noticed that her facial expression hadn’t changed a bit and she continued to stare obsessively at the static that I realised other forces might be at play. She was crawling on her hands and knees, across old and chipped flagstone, to get to the tv across the room. I began grinding my teeth as it puzzled over what to do. It was only when she pressed her eyes to the screen and I heard the sizzle of their beginning to liquefy that my legs acted for me and I threw my improvised dowsing rods aside.
It took all of my strength to pull her away and force her onto her back, where she lay there with her pregnant belly like an overturned turtle, squeezing her eyes shut . I had fallen onto my backside too and the flagstones were cold against my palms. What a horrible spirit to disallow fires in a house with such cold stone. My eyes turned up toward the television and my stomach lurch with nausea while my head pounded in anger. I averted my eyes from the substance like burnt egg blotting out the field of static.
That’s when I heard the door swing open.
I rose to my feet and dashed toward the front hallway, There I saw the door miraculously ajar and the beautiful summer evening on the other side. My legs raced toward it but shortly before I could get there it slammed shut, as if taunting me. It was only laying slumped against the door, out of breath that I realised something was off about the outside. One of the gargoyles was missing from atop the gatepost at the entrance. The scraping on the ceiling was now joined by an inhuman screech which pierced my eardrums and caused me to go to the ground. Footsteps and children’s laughter now accompanied the scraping, coming from the upstairs somewhere. Gathering myself I decided it was time to truly deal with the entity at last.
There are many ways to summon the otherworldly spirits. Some of which I’ve listed alright and all of which come with their own advantages and disadvantages usually selected to a particular case. But there is one method spoken of in whispers by those who ply this trade. Paul told me of it the first time I went to do some investigation and discovery at an “affected location” as we referred to it. At the time I was still on the fence as to whether we were addressing something real or just scamming nut jobs out of money so I took it with a grain of salt. But I figured I might have encountered a situation where it was my only hope.
I strode to the downstairs bathroom, located in what looked like a little cupboard underneath the stairs. I pulled on a chain and the little lightbulb flickered on illuminated a dirty old mirror. I shut the door with a thud and looked at the pale panic painted in a pallor all over my face. I spoked the words in Latin that Paul thought and tapped my foot nervously as I waited.
The lightbulb blew and darkness descended, showering shards of glass in my hair like lethal dandruff. Still I stayed rooted to the spot, staring at the reflection I could no longer see. I tried to keep my composure as a blood-red light began to seep up from the bottom of the mirror to the top, bathing the room in an eerie glow, and illuminating the edges of the mirror transform into the texture of human flesh and bone. My reflection had been replaced with that of a woman, whose hair was reduced to a series of frizzy patches on her bald head and whose teeth stuck like yellowed 2 by 4s from the soiled earth of black gums. She had no eyes to speak of.
I began the negotiations in a trembling voice but, relying on my legal mind, wrapped things up with only some clattering and wailing and a couple of bright new scratch marks on my cheek. The new agreement was not all that different from the one that had lasted centuries in stilted rhyme behind the portrait, except for a brand new line added to secure mine and Lauren’s release. It read:
Commit my name where tales are read, so I might live in mortal heads
I’ve moved on these days, making the big bucks in a metropolitan law firm you’ve probably heard of. But if you have any trouble I hear there’s a place you can go, where the smell of raw flesh still hangs in the air in the run down part of town.
submitted by DBTraven to nosleep [link] [comments]


2020.07.23 21:34 satriales856 Porn bedroom spy

SPOILERS AHEAD
Ok, I freely admit I love Body Double and always have. It's trashiness and the pop culture time capsule nature of it is endlessly fun, along with all the nods to Hitchcock.
But I've been turning over the plot in my head and realized I don't actually get it. It all makes sense enough when watching the movie to move the plot along, but I truly don't understand it.
Here's what I've been able to figure out.
So, knowing everything you know at the end of the film: Sam (his real name is Alexander Revell?) is married to Gloria. She's rich and he's an abusive asshole. He hatches a plot to kill her while giving himself an airtight alibi and possibly setting a guy up for the police in his place, to assumedly get at her money. It's kind of implied that he's a failed actor who glommed onto Gloria.
He goes about this by first creating an alternate persona named Sam, a struggling actor who attends acting classes and auditions to find his mark in Jake. From Jake's revelation on the phone with the detective, it seems Sam just waited until Jake's girlfriend cheated on him and he needed a place to stay?
He hears Jake broke up with his girlfriend and needs somewhere to stay and talks him into assuming his "house-sitting" duties in the satellite dish home on the hill. Does Revell own this house? Is he renting it? Did he really spend enough time as Sam to actually get a house-sitting gig through a friendship? This part is a big problem for me.
So, in the meantime, Revell hired Holly Body to dance in the window at a certain time each night, the first time being the night he shows Jake the telescope as Sam and then pretends to leave town on an acting gig in Seattle.
Where is Gloria in all this? She lives in the house and these window dances occur late at night, and Gloria is there during the day for Jake to follow. How is she not there when Holly is doing her dances in her bedroom?
Now that "Sam" is away, Revell does some Hollywood quality make-up on himself and becomes a vaguely native american dude with really bad teeth.
He makes sure Jake sees him spying on Holly dancing as Gloria in the window.
Then, the next day, he just waits for Jake and Gloria's cars to come to that road at the exact same time so Jake can see he's following her, and in turn, follow them both to the mall? How could he engineer this without Gloria's participation?
And then there's the whole mall sequence ending at the beach, making sure Jake knows Gloria is in danger. I guess Jake hooking up with Gloria was not intended.
Then, what was the plan? Revell would know that Jake would definitely be watching the window the night of the murder. Did he think he would simply watch the whole time and not try to intervene, or did Revell plan on Jake running to the house?
Either way, Jake ends up getting attacked by the dog, Gloria is murdered, and Alexander Revell is known to be out of town and so is his alter ego Sam, plus Jake is there to tell the cops some big Indian guy did it. So the cops suspect Jake first and the big Indian guy second.
And that's where it should have ended, right? So why doesn't Sam come back then and kick Jake out of the house now that his purpose has been served?
Instead, he waits long enough for Jake to realize who Holly is, pose as a porn actor, get cast in a porno, perform in said porno—but I guess this is all supposed to happen over a night and a day, so we can let that slide.
Was Revell's plan to kill Holly all along? I assume it was, since she was a pretty big loose end. If so, what's he waiting for? Was he going to just let her live if Jake hadn't gone poking around? And then that makes one question, why did he choose someone who was even semi-famous in the porn world? For fuck sake, they're in LA. He could have paid any number of women to serve Holly's purpose. She didn't have to be a good dancer, just attractive. Jake would still have watched even if she danced like a truck. I know I know...because then there wouldn't have been any plot.
Then Jake realizes all this, only thinking the Indian is a hired thug and not another part played by Revelll.
Ultimately, Revell decides to kill Jake and Holly as the Indian, but gets killed instead. The end.
Any help filling in my questions would be super appreciated.
submitted by satriales856 to movies [link] [comments]


2020.04.27 07:18 JessicaHeller Most guys think my kissing is terrible, I don't understand why??? I thought tongue kissing was normal?

Ok so to start off, I love to tongue kiss. I thought tongue kissing was perfectly normal and I thought everybody did it like I do. when I was a kid (10 to be exact) I actually thought tongue kissing was absolutely disgusting and throw up worthy. Once I hit the age of 14 for some strange reason, the idea of tongue kissing someone turned into a total fetish for me. If I watched porn that was one of the things that aroused me the most. For some reason, I never found dick sucking or anything like that arousing. Only tongue kissing.
when I was 10, I had my first kiss with a boy, we were curious about what it felt like so when he kissed me, he put his tongue in my mouth and I was honestly horrified. I got pissed and stopped interacting with him immediately, It wasn't until I hit ages 14 and 15 that the idea of kissing with tongue becamea bit arousing to me. Me and my two brothers when we were around 11 and 12 once caught and spied on our parents having pure animalistic sex in their bedroom and I saw my mom stick her tongue in my dads mouth then she spit in it. It was traumatizing to me for awhile and kinda still is lol. I remember having very bad behavioral problems after that, I lashed out at my parents bad and they didn't even know why (they didn't know until I told them years later)
At 16 I was diagnosed with ADHD, and Autism Spectrum Disorder, that was fun (sarcasm), Met My first boyfriend in an autism group at 17. were both curious about sex and kissing so when we kissed, I stuck my tongue in his mouth as far as I could down his throat because 17 year old me thought thats what kissing was all about. He didn't like that one bit. next my second boyfriend, a non autistic player at my school swerved on me, very quickly initiated sex with me and of course I was all game. I would probably have fucked anyone who came on to me at this point (i was desperate). Drank some liquor his cousin got for him and he and I had sex, my first sexual experience and when we did I stuck my tongue in his mouth and far as I could and he almost gagged. I asked him whats wrong and he said I tried to choke him with my tongue, I said sorry and we tried kissing again, this time I went more gentle but as soon as I tried to lick the inside of his mouth, he pulled back and berated me, said I don't know how to kiss and that I was disgusting. I asked him to teach me but he just ignored me after that.
At 18, the third guy I dated seemed like a total match in terms of kissing styles. when we kissed, we used 95 percent tongue, I loved messaging my tongue with his and sucking it. I would spit kiss him where we both would gather saliva and then spit on each-others lips as we locked lips then pull away to see a spit string between us. I was always aroused by the idea of swapping genetic material between a couples mouths so tongue and spit kissing was like sex to me. I loved watching porn where the two would swap spit with each-other. little did I know he absolutely hated that and only did it to appease me because he thought I was hot. He eventually dumped me because he said I was a disgusting kisser and couldn't stand kissing me when having sex. After that I was just depressed and avoided relationships after that.
Now at 21 in college, met a boy who damn near forced himself on me. I was trying to avoid it because I didn't want to get hurt again but he insisted. Me and him went on a date, got some drinks and we made out in his car. I avoided using tongue and just went lips only which I thought was a bit boring but I didn't want to scare him away. as time went on he got a bit more rough, licked my lips a bit and I saw that as a sign that I could use tongue so without really thinking, I jammed my tongue in his mouth and he recoiled. He said WTF are you doing?. I asked him "do you not like tongue kissing?" He told me no and that it was disgusting. I said I thought it was normal, I like it, it's like having sex with the mouth and he ridiculed me. I just left after that.

I don't understand, I thought tongue kissing was normal and that everyone did it. I don't understand how every guy I meet tends to hate it. I read an article explaining why people tongue kiss but it seems everyone I date absolutely hates it. I honestly feel like I have some weird poop fetish or something. Am I weird or something, what is going on?????????
submitted by JessicaHeller to dating_advice [link] [comments]


2020.04.09 02:03 Onekill Bedroom spy porn

Look at this portfolio, every time I do it makes me laugh
https://preview.redd.it/0kenqqfh9pr41.jpg?width=570&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=62d692e54fda6e7a765f7a82ed5a8a9df799910a
Look at this portfolio
Every time I do it makes me laugh
How did my puts get so red?
I lost over ten thousand quid
/investing is where I grew up I think the present mods GUH’d it up I never knew we ever went without They caught u/Jartek tryin’ to sneak out
/wallstreetbets is where I went to school Most of the time I had better things to do My posts say I only lost my shirt twice I must of done it half a dozen times
I wonder if it's too late Should I go to Udemy to get a finance certifi-kate? Lot's worse now than it was back then Jpow got that printer print-en.
Oh, whoa, whoa, whoa, God, I
Every DD getting’ thrown out the back door I had the fundamentals spread out on my bedroom floor It's hard to say it Time to say it Good bye, good bye Every memory of walkin' out the front door I found the loss porn post of woodc93 that I was lookin' for It's hard to say it Time to say it Good bye, good bye, good bye
Remember the good ol’ days? Blew every dollar that we ever made The mods hated us hangin' out they’d say, “remember: cover your options you trout”
We use to rage about the old logo and tell new people to GTFO We said someday we'd find out how it feels To cash out millions from our lofty deals
Kim's the first girl I kissed Now we’re married but I think she’s pissed my puts ain’t printin’ and she says she’s seeing other men today I just met my wifes new boyfriend!
Oh, whoa, whoa, whoa, God, I
Every DD getting’ thrown out the back door I had the fundamentals spread out on my bedroom floor It's hard to say it Time to say it Good bye, good bye Every memory of walkin' out the front door I found the loss porn post of controlthenarrative that I was lookin' for It's hard to say it Time to say it Good bye, good bye, good bye
I watched it rise I said the market’s crazy 10 million unemployed companies cutting dividends Florida being degenerate I can't believe it So hard to hold Too hard to leave it
If I could relive pre march 2020 days I know the one thing that would never change
Every memory of lookin' out the back door I have the fundamentals spread out on my bedroom floor It's hard to say it Time to say it Good bye, good bye
Every thought of getting rich out the front door Now I’m the loss porn post everyone is looking for… It's hard to say it Time to say it Good bye, good bye, good bye
Look at this portfolio Every time I do it makes me laugh Every time I do it makes me
SPY 237.5p 5/8
submitted by Onekill to wallstreetbets [link] [comments]


2020.03.04 19:09 tipatinaland Porn bedroom spy

This is the TLDR.
I spent my early life convinced I was bad. It wasn’t until I was 11 and said out loud, in passing, to a teacher that ‘I am a bad kid’ I was told otherwise. She told me it wasn’t true. No kids are just bad. It was the first time anyone had told me I wasn’t bad, or a liar, or thief. I still think of myself like that, even though I am not. I am flawed, but not bad.
My childhood was a combo of casual neglect, physically and emotionally abuse. I was beaten with belts and hair brushes as punishment. I was slapped when my parents were frustrated or angry. No friends or comfort anywhere other than nature and my grandmother. I was terrified of my parents. Punishment was the endgame to anything other than keeping quite and doing as told.
I used to pee out my bedroom window in the middle of the night for fear of waking them up. I was scared to tell them anything. I had a goose egg size gland in my neck in the 3rd grade I hid for a week which turned out to be mono. In the 2nd grade I managed to hide chicken pox until I was covered in scabs. Those are the easy things to site as examples.
I grew up, went to college, got a graduate degree, got married, had kids and moved far away and made things that I loved. I thought I was better.
Now I’m 46. The past 3 years have been hard.
In April 2017 I decided to not go on vacation with my husband and kids to see my in-laws so I could work on a project and to take one week to myself which I hadn’t had for 12 years.
Before my husband left he had set up a hidden camera in our house to spy on me because he believed I was cheating on him. He’d always accused me of cheating and was very controlling. I was not and never have cheated.
From what he saw on the camera 3k miles away (headlights at odd hours, our dogs barking, male voices from the Netflix movies I watched, and yup, some porn) he became certain I was cheating. He called my best friends to tell them. The next day he called me to confront me. It was devastating. The lack of trust, the horror or having to prove something untrue. I called and texted my best friends. No response. I called other people, but they had heard me complain about being accused of cheating so many times before. It was like a blip. nothing. No support.
I packed, and was planning to leave with a vague plan, but I drank. Too much to drive away. I didn’t unplug the camera because that, obviously would be proof positive I was a cheater to my husband, and that night fell asleep in front of the camera on the couch. I took benadryl and Advil to quell the hangover. He watched this and believed I was trying to overdose. He called the police.
I was woken at 3am by my best friends calling to tell me that the police were on their way. The same best friends that never called me back. Police arrived seconds later. I denied suicidal ideation let them search my house and take me to the ER. I was tested for drugs, all tests came back negative. I denied suicidal ideation, but I spent the next 72 hours in one of the worst acute mental wards in the country.
The woman I shared the room with screamed that ‘they are trying to kill me’ all night. I never spoke to a psychiatrist of doctor about anything other than my insurance coverage. It was so fucked up.
My flew home early and husband took me home. I spent months in bed. It finally dawned on me that people who accuse others of cheating are cheaters. I never actually really considered that he was except for in the very deep corners of my mind.
On March 3, 2018 my husband admitted to me that he had cheated on me. Seven women in total. One, he was in love with one since high school. She was the last person he cheated on me with.
My husband is an actor and travels regularly and often for work. When we first married I told him that if he ever had sex with someone else it was ok as long as it only happened once per person, they were no one that I or any of our friends knew, he didn’t have feelings for them and that he never told me. He broke all those rules. Over and over.
I deteriorated.
I was terrified of the mental health system after my time in the acute mental ward, so therapy was/is minimal. I was terrified of divorce because I was already so unable to function.
Last August, the man that my husband thought I was cheating on him with (which I was not, be was a childhood close friend) killed himself. He had been cheating on his partner, was found out and ended his life instead of moving out. That was deeply fucked up for me on many levels.
I am here waiting. I’m waiting for my eldest to graduate high school next year, me to maybe have somehow create something, break away, find a coherent exit strategy.
I feel like I’m in quicksand. Trust, love, a solid foundation have always failed. Asking for help seems like a another thing that will fail. From the outside looking in, I look fine, but distant.
I’ve written this so many times and so many different ways, but never share because I always hear that voice in my head telling me I’m just feeling sorry for myself.
I’m so fucking tired. To be clear, I am not suicidal. I just needed to get this out there.
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2020.01.24 23:25 Crimson_Redd 31 [M4M/T] Kinkster for casual FWBs or cuddles

Professional / nerdy 31 year old bi-curious kinkster here in Seattle. I'm a cubby latino 5'8 225 w/ a beard. I have this idea of a friendship with another bro who also loves the gratification of jerking off and/or watching porn (even weird porn) but acts like a bro friend outside the bedroom. 420 is also a plus :) To give you a sense, I stroke about 2-3x a day. Whether it is to looking at creep pics of friends, celeb nudes, feet, movie scenes, tranny porn, piss, spy, verbal, donation, roleplay, raunchy porn.. it all turns me on.
I love all types of porn, honestly. The kinkier and raunchier the better. I'm searching for someone who wouldn't be opposed to talking about sex, sharing stories, fantasies, watching porn, BJ, HJ, and/or jerking off together.
Then after, we can hang out and play video games or grab food. Interested? Send me a message instead of chat since my app doesnt notify me of direct chats.
submitted by Crimson_Redd to r4rSeattle [link] [comments]


2020.01.18 02:54 Hatrgatr_LH Bedroom spy porn

So to give you some context and backstory. (NSFW warning, sexual content)
I'm a 30-year-old male, and I have been with my wife, (let's call her Elle) since we were 17. She is a few months older than me. So we have been together 12.5-13 years or so. Married for 8 years (got married @ 22).I wasn't really a "looker" when I was younger, but have gotten into lifting weights, boxing, and gymnastics over the last 5 years, as well as taking my diet more seriously, and as such, I have really "grown" into my looks. Not trying to be vain or self-obsessed, but I'm probably a 9 in the physical looks department now, whereas when we first got together, I was maybe a 5-6. This has also been coupled with a newfound sense of style, where I actually dress to accentuate my "new form". Elle has also really increased in the looks department as well, despite that, we have had 2 children together (.75 years, and 4 years old).
Because we got together so young... neither of us had the chance to really date, or be single, as adults. I had maybe... 4 girlfriends before her, and maybe 6 sexual partners? I was her third boyfriend, and first sexual partner. As a very young man, the desire to "be single" never really clicked. Maybe because I never got any female attention when I was younger I'm not sure.
But, regardless, I was in a solidly monogamous relationship with her, and have been ever since. A source of constant contention in our relationship has been our sex life. I have a very high libido, and I don't believe I am monogamous, despite me being faithful and in a monogamous relationship for 13 years. She has a much less active libido and was raised in a cult-like interpretation of Christianity, where women's sexuality was pretty much demonized and held prisoner. She isn't indoctrinated or anything, but the idea of "adventurous" sex, (like anything polyamorous) is completely off the table. To her credit, she has actively tried to accommodate me to the best of her ability.
At the beginning of our relationship, she had so much anxiety surrounding sex, and I would have to bargain and plead, and beg her to have sex with me. She would weaponize sex, and use it as a "carrot stick" reward system, in order to get me to behave how she wanted. To give some context, we went on our honeymoon (22 years old) and I had to beg and plead and convince her to have sex with me each time. Aren't couples supposed to be ALL OVER each other on their honeymoon? A friend of mine told me about his honeymoon, where his wife wanted to have sex on the beach, on the airplane, you name it. My wife made me bargain to have vanilla sex in our hotel, and even then she made me feel like she was doing me a favor, and guilted me about it afterward.
This was much earlier on in our relationship, however, and she doesn't do this anymore. In fact, now, she sleeps with me pretty much whenever I want it, which is a huge credit to her, and our sex life has matured as we have.
Here is the problem. I CANNOT stop thinking, looking, and lusting after other women. Younger women, older women, thicc women, thin women, curvy women, if they do it for me, I want it from them. I haven't acted on my urges, but they ARE NOT GOING AWAY. I have tried suppressing them, working out to distract myself, stopped hanging out with my single friends, but still, I cannot get it out of my head. I hear my mates my age talking about their early 20's, and can't help but feel I missed out on a sexual awakening when I was younger. I never went to college/university in my early 20's, so I never got that "young dumb and full of cum" lifestyle out of my system. I can't help but feel there is an intrinsic part of my "coming of age" which I never got to experience.
I never actually wanted to get married. I proposed to her at 22, because it was expected of me and because I wanted to make my wife(then girlfriend) happy. It was expected From my mother, from her, and from her entire family. I was always getting pressure and flak. "When are you gonna propose hatrgatr? Have you bought a ring hatrgatr?" etc. etc.
The idea of us being in a sexual relationship that wasn't bound by matrimony was "living in sin" according to her parents. My mother was pressuring me to propose because my mother absolutely LOVES her and I don't blame her. MY wife is loveable.
This has all compounded into resentment. Not of her, but of the situation. She is a loving, caring, adoring, beautiful woman, and an amazing mother to our children. She does everything she can to satisfy me but you can tell she never embraces it. She doesn't want it, she does it because she knows I want it. I want HER to want it.
For example, we decided to try bondage, as per her request. We tried it once, we both really enjoyed ourselves, and then never picked it up again, even at my suggestion. We bought an expensive vibrator to incorporate into the bedroom, and she never ever uses it. We tried having a drug-fueled MDMA/viagra sex night and it went pretty much as well as it could have. We had an AMAZING time, but any suggestion to repeat the experience is met with repulsion or avoidance. She is complacent and satisfied with vanilla, 6-position, monogamous married sex for the rest of her life and I simply am not. If I didn't push her, she would be ok with 4 times a year, 20-minute missionary.
I would love to try a threesome, (with a guy or girl) but that's completely off the table in her books. She even installed a spy on my computer to alert her when I watch porn because the idea of me deriving sexual pleasure from anything but her is offensive to her.
She is so timid around adventurous sex and it just doesn't do it for me, and I'm finding myself having POWERFUL feelings of lust after other women. I hate feeling like this because she doesn't deserve it. I feel like a complete piece of shit for feeling this way, but I can't help it! I want to be single SOOOOO damn bad, even for like a week.
I want affirmation. I want to feel desired, truly DEEPLY, sexually desired. Yknow the sultry look a woman gives you right before you enter her? The "I'm gonna masturbate to this moment for the rest of my life" look? I haven't gotten that look from her in 8 years. Maybe I'm insecure, I don't know. But I feel like she barely notices or cares about the work I put into looking good, for her! (and myself actually let's not pretend).
And honestly? I want other women. BADLY. I feel trapped. I feel resentful that I never got to have a "wild phase" despite the fact that I ALWAYS wanted one. I feel like I am a completely selfish piece of shit for feeling this way, but I can't stop it! It won't leave my head! I have children, and school/career, and a beautiful wife who loves me, but I'm afraid she is just sexually incompatible with me at a core level. I never saw myself settling down, ESPECIALLY before I was 25, but that's exactly what happened and I am looking back thinking "fucking... How did this happen? How did I get here?"
What's worse is, I have no idea how to approach solving this issue. It's not going away. There is no way she is open to an "open relationship" or a "week pass" or something to get it out of my system, and even if she said to do it, I know it would rip her heart out and I don't want to hurt her.
I can't just leave her because I love her DEEPLY, and I love our family. And I can't MAKE her get on my level when it comes to sexual adventure, because she just doesn't have it. She can't force herself to be more sexual, any more then I can force myself to be less sexual.
What do I do? Who do I talk to? I have brought these similar issues up with her before, and it gets better for a day or two, and then we revert back to normal. It has gotten to the point where I have fantasized about having an affair. Or fantasized about her having an affair, just so I could divorce her guilt-free and be single and fuck 20-year olds to my heart's content. I even went so far as to download tinder, create a profile, and start swiping just to see how much attention I could get. Spoiler alert: I got ALOT of attention(over 70 matches). I never followed through with any of it and deleted my account after a day because I felt so damn guilty. But knowing that other women desired me made me feel SOOOO good as well. Which is absolutely APPALLING. I'm disgusted with myself just reading that, but its the truth!
I'm worried I'm becoming my father, who philandered around on my mother and ripped our family apart. In hindsight, a divorce was best because my parents relationship was completely toxic, but my relationship isn't. So I don't even have that excuse. Am I just a disgusting POS who needs to learn to control his desires? Do I just keep bottling this up and hoping it will go away?
Please, wise readers of Reddit. What do I do? How do I solve this?
submitted by Hatrgatr_LH to relationship_advice [link] [comments]