2020.10.24 06:27 belowaverageblonde Nude secret videos
Extremely long... TLDR: My husband might be a sex addict. The post includes a description of his tendencies. I feel so hurt and hopeless. Is recovery for a sex addict actually possible? Anyone have personal experiences to share?
I believe my husband has compulsive sexual tendencies or a sex addiction. He doesn’t have a formal diagnosis, this is based on my own research, so I could be wrong.
We have been together for 5 years total, married for 1 of those. Throughout the years we were dating, he watched porn excessively (even paying for premium memberships to some sites), used dating apps, exchanged nudes with others, sexted people he met on his college campus, asked women he was friends with out on dates, and I have reason to believe he has had sex with other people.
Every time I would find out about what he was doing, I would break up with him. But one of us always ended up begging for the other to come back. As far as I know, he has not cheated on me in about 2 years.
Currently, he will do things like: Ogle at women in public, Google famous people he finds attractive “in bikini” or “nude”, sneak off to the bathroom to watch porn, visit women’s clothing sites to view reviews that include photos, view old nudes he has received from women in the past that he has saved to Dropbox, create secret social media accounts under different names, add women he finds attractive as Facebook friends, save photos/videos/social media posts of women he finds attractive (half of these people he knows personally!), view onlyfans content (I cannot confirm if he is paying for it or not, as I don’t have his bank account info), and create lists of women’s names/usernames so he can go back to look at their content later. I know he does these things because we have access to each other’s devices. He uses incognito browsers and VPNs a lot, so I can’t verify if this is all he’s doing or if there’s more. I guess my suspicions of what he does there will always be in the back of my mind.
These things have always bothered me, I have always been vocal about it, and have begged him numerous times to stop. He always promises he will, but then reverts back to the same patterns. About 3 months ago I finally reached my breaking point and completely lost my head, telling him I couldn’t do this anymore and I’m sick of his online behaviors being more important to him than me. Once again, more promises were made but never followed through on. This has led to probably around 6-8 more fights since then.
He finally agreed to therapy, so we are each set up with separate therapists and a 3rd one for joint sessions.
My fear now is that he’s doing things to appease me, not because he actually wants to change. I told him it was his choice if he wants to follow through with these steps, but he got defensive saying that he does want to go, but it’s not his decision because I’m forcing him to go by saying I might leave. I wasn’t trying to force anything, even if I wish I had the power to make him change, I know I can’t... I just wanted him to know that I am hurting so badly and I don’t know how much more I can take. I didn’t think it was unfair to express that.
He says he has already cut back on his porn watching in the last two months (now down to once or twice a week), which is great if it’s true. However, he’s still doing things like looking up and saving posts from attractive people and masturbating to them. He does this multiple times a day. He doesn’t always masturbate, but you can bet that anytime he is on his phone, he’s looked up or saved something inappropriate. He does this while I’m sleeping, I’m in a different room, I’m sitting right next to him, and even while he’s at work.
He told me during one of our arguments earlier this week that we would remove the content he had saved, create a new Facebook account to “start fresh”, and remove other things related that might help curb his temptations. He has done NONE of these things, and has in fact saved more content, added more women on Facebook, and followed more inappropriate pages. He has offered to get a flip phone or put content blockers on his smartphone, but now won’t do either of those things. He has a tendency to offer solutions in the middle of an emotional conversation but never follow through. I mentioned this to him, but his behaviors are continuing.
I don’t know why I get my hopes up after every argument we have when he promises to do better, but I do. Only to be crushed again. I constantly feel depressed, angry, and heartbroken.
For argument’s sake, let’s say he does want to get better. Is there a chance that he actually can? Does anyone really recover from this? I know it’s not going to be easy, and there’s the possibility of relapses. I just need to know if there’s any real hope at all...
Thank you for reading.
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2020.10.20 04:01 autotldr Nude secret videos
This is the best tl;dr I could make, original reduced by 76%. (I'm a bot)
Posing as a female user in Instagram's closed group "Shoutout", a Bangladeshi university graduate and his cousin had been luring juvenile girls from home and abroad into their trap and recording their porn videos for five long years to sell the sensitive contents to the dark web in exchange for Bitcoins.
The pornography gang members then tried to attract the girls by sending them various sexual contents.
The unit has also found folders containing sensitive videos and photos of 45 victims, including three Bangladeshi juvenile girls.
Following the complaints, the digital forensic team of the division collected different intelligence data and IP addresses of the accused and on 15 October, it finally knocked on the doors of the perpetrators, who had been recording pornographic videos from juvenile girls from home and abroad. During a special drive, the forensic team arrested the three in the capital's Sabujbagh, Rampura and Pallabi areas on Thursday, Ishtiaq Ahmed, an assistant commissioner of the forensic team of the CTTC unit, told The Business Standard.
Noticing Borhan's vibrant activities, the group admin later included him in another secret group named "Shoutout" and provided him with a manual containing a 13-point task list on how to lure girls so that they provided nude contents to pornographers, court sources quoted Borhan as saying.
After sending nude photos or videos once or twice, if any victims refused to send more nude contents, the accused used to threaten the girls by saying that they would release the contents on websites, the sources added.
Post found in /worldnews.
NOTICE: This thread is for discussing the submission topic. Please do not discuss the concept of the autotldr bot here.
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2020.10.18 21:49 matchaandchill Nude videos secret
Hi there, long time lurker first-ish time poster. I'm sorry if this is long-winded and I'll try my best to add a TL;DR at the end.
I've hesitated to post this for a while now, but not wanting to cause riffs between our families I come to Reddit for advice in regards to what I feel like is an estranged marriage, and whether or not it's time to move on, or if it can be salvaged; and if so how?
My now-husband, who I'll refer to as M, and I met back a week after I had just turned 18, he was 22 at the time. I had just broken up with a boyfriend (my first, M is the 2nd relationship I've ever been in) and when he sent me a friend request no Myspace, started talking, and eventually agreed to meet and had our first date. He disclosed that he at the time had gotten married at 18 when he joined the Marine Corps. but that it no longer meant anything and that she was out of his life. A week later found out he had a son with said soon to be ex-wife, and then 2 weeks later after agreeing we were exclusive had sex with his ex-wife before meeting up with me at the time and then proceeded to have sex with me. I let it pass I was convinced he wouldn't do it again, but that wasn't the case. Three months after dating he would end up cheating again with two different girls at the same time and when I confronted him and then he just brushed me off as the "crazy ex". Like the glutton for punishment that I was I stayed and figured he'd change and things would get better, they never quite did, I always came last to everything but being dumb didn't see it at the time.
I would eventually leave home at the age of 19 due to family issues, parents' messy divorce, and mom's addiction. I felt dealing with a rocky relationship that I still believed could be fixed would be better than living there. I couldn't live with M as he lived with his parents and they weren't okay with me moving, so for a month I was homeless and lived out of my car. After the month we just kind of agreed to get married? There wasn't any real proposal, no talk, just one day at 6:45 am we just decided to tie the knot. We collected $60USD, went to the courthouse, and we're married, with no ceremony, just signatures, and a certificate. As you can imagine this didn't really change anything, except for the fact I was "allowed" to move in. M would stay out late with friends, hung out with other girls, went to what h called "meets" and I was never invited or asked to go. I just stayed at home alienated from family and friends I left behind. One night I decided to use his desktop and found countless messages on social media with him flirting with others, admittingly made out with some as well. Was I devastated? Yes. Did I stay? Yes, again. This pattern of cheating physically and emotionally would continue for years, but I never left and his parents always convinced us to work things out.
Finally came 2012, I was pregnant with our first child, our daughter (we'll call her J) who is now 8. During my pregnancy, I thought everything would finally change and things would FINALLY get better! But they didn't, he continued to cheat, meet other women, some he met through his job as a security guard or online. He had those "secret apps" where he could hide photos, some nudes, and others in lingerie. Messages of him calling others beautiful and sexy, and here I was pregnant, getting bigger, and he never once wanted to touch me, feel the baby move, or anything unless it was to... "satisfy him". During the first pregnancy, I finally decided to confront him, I read enough messages and seen enough pictures. I was set on getting him to stop and finally be the partner I expected him to be but instead was told "I'm not in love with you anymore", I broke down, as in I cried and cried and cried. So we decided we would split, call it quits, but once again his parents got involved and convinced us to stick it out. Things right after seemed to get better, but of course, it didn't stay that way.
During my second pregnancy in 2013, a repeat of what happened during the first occurred. This time he'd talk to the woman he was flirting with and exchanging pictures with right in front of me. She'd send him photos of her in a two-piece bathing suit (it was summer) and of course, he'd compliment her and basically the same exact stuff that he's done with every other woman. They met through COD (Call of Duty) while playing online. I then confronted him again while he was playing with her and mutual they had in the lobby, he then excuses himself stating "my wife is being a bitch" rolls his eyes and asks "what?" I was speechless. Again we would try to separate but told to stick it through and at this point was told by my mother in law that if I divorced no one would want to marry me, because I'd be a single mom of 2 (J was 1yr and 3 months at the time and our son who I'll call N was 3 months). And guess what? I stayed. In hindsight, please know I realize how much of a complete idiot I was but was convinced staying was the best thing I could.
It will go on like this for years back and forth, periods of me not trusting him, finally trusting again, and having it broken. I snooped through his phone, emails, and social media like a damn crazy woman, and yet I stayed. And for what? The kids, the idea we could make it work, that tomorrow it would finally get better. Until 2018, which was when I became the thing I hated the most, I started seeking attention from strangers, sought out to be recognized and loved unconditionally, to be told I was pretty, beautiful, anything. Though nothing physical happened I still became a cheater too. I still messaged others (about 4 in total, I would feel guilty, ghost the person, and then move onto someone else when I needed a fix). I knew it was wrong, so I am definitely not innocent in any of this. I had grown bitter and angry, I held grudges. I used to respond with tears which turned into curse words and anger. Our arguments got to the point of me yelling back now and him throwing and knocking over furniture, and rather than being a grown-up I just ran to the internet, to strangers. I became toxic.
M would eventually find an email, confront me, and I of course during the confrontation admitted to everything, shared my reasoning, and acknowledged that it didn't make it okay. That I had in fact wronged him, he looked so defeated and furious and I couldn't help but feel like an absolute c*nt. I was no better, I deserved NO sympathy, and I told him of all the people who should have known better, it was me. I knew what it felt like, but I still did it. I knew the pain, but I still sent those messages. But we stayed together, but since then he has made it a point to remind me of my cheating. Everyone I talked to and the message was a potential chance of me cheating, but that's what I get for doing what I did. But this eventually got to the point (despite me actually stopping, actually cutting my bullshit out) where I couldn't message friends without it being questioned. If I was running late from work he'd call and text asking who I was with, where was I, who was I f*cking? I stopped going out, stayed home, only went to work and stores when needed, deleted all of my social media platforms, and left my phone unlocked at all times and out in the open to show nothing was being done. I can't complain, I brought it onto myself and it's what I deserve.
Over time we seem to have gotten better, he still has some anger issues, he's prone to yelling and getting mad over simple things, sometimes taking it out on the kids. He still reminds me that the only way he can get past me cheating is by saying he doesn't care what I do as long as he doesn't. But that's what made me realized, that though I've grown past everything he still hasn't. And now that he's home more (he quit his trucking job to work locally) his old habits have returned; he's out until 2am every other night with friends, spends more time out than with kids, and if he is home he's playing video games. I've got it in my head that since we've gone through this all I'll be better equipped to handle it and things will be better this time around. But it's not. As I type this out seeking advice and others' experiences, I've come to realize I answered my own question. Or maybe I just need to vent, to get this off my chest since I don't really have anyone else.
I've never been on my own, I never had to just depend on myself, I never went out to experience life, and the thought of it doing it now, with two kids, is terrifying. But it has to be done, right? Sorry, this was so long, and if you made it to this point thank you for putting up with whining.
TL;DR: My husband of ten years and I have gone through some ups and downs, he cheated emotionally and physically since we started dating, stopped for a bit, started again when I was pregnant back to back with two kids, told me he was no longer in love with during first pregnancy, and even talked to a woman he was flirting with and sharing pictures with in front of me and referred to me as bitch as well. Over time I started to talk to people too, nothing physical but I stopped when my husband found out. He now holds it over my head, we've grown distant, but things seemed to be getting better. Some of his old habits are starting to come back though, I was determined to push through again in hopes it'd be better this time, but feel like I'm just going through a never-ending cycle.
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2020.10.14 11:23 Sawliet Nude secret videos
My husband fell asleep on the couch and had his alarm going off so I went to go turn it off. Come to find, he made a bumble account. After some more digging I found out he has a secret Snapchat which he has been messaging multiple women and paying for their nudes. And to top it off, I open his Snapchat memories and there are a multitude of dick pics and a video of him fucking another woman. I confronted him about it but the apology just wasn’t enough for me so I left the home. I’m completely distraught right now and I have no idea what to do :(
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2020.10.12 10:49 NiallFish Unus Annus Video List as of 12/10/20
Unus Annus video list as of 12/10/20. Not in order sadly but every video up to "Mark conquers his fear of night swimming". also don't care about the spelling
2020.10.11 18:57 n00biwanKenobi I stole nudes off my friends' phones and saved them for myself to jerk off to later
I have an addiction.
Porn just doesn't do it for me anymore, and I am constantly surrounded by my attractive female friends and colleagues. For the longest time, I used to take their phones when they weren't paying attention, browse their galleries and send their nudes across to my phone.
It felt exhilarating and rewarding for the longest time, but off late I've been extremely overcome with guilt for my actions. I've never been caught and I enjoyed the temporary "high" it gave me, during the act of theft, as well as the part that comes after.
I saved these images and videos for myself into detailed and categorised folders to revisit time and again and this was my go-to for years, until I was recently overcome with shame and guilt and in a moment of aggression (at myself), I deleted everything.
Immediately after, I regretted my actions, and I now find myself back where I started, bored with porn and addicted to masturbation. I am aware that it is a problem, and I am aware that this is a problem that many men face, however I am not willing or ready to make the attempt to bring about a change in my life just yet.
I do feel ashamed and sorry for what I did, but I find myself justifying these actions by reassuring myself that "what they don't know, can't hurt them" - and that no harm was done to anyone as a result of the nude-stealing I did.
For people wondering, I am still close friends with several of these women whose stolen nudes I have jerked off to, and they remain special to me (in a totally non-sexual way) - if that makes sense.
This has been my deepest, darkest secret for years now, and it feels good to finally get it off my chest here, since this is the ideal place to make a confession.
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2020.10.10 16:11 jahjah0405 Nude secret videos
SILAS CONTROVERSY COMPREHENSIVE POST
Allegations: Shortly after the Release of No Pressure, of which Silas had a feature on in the song Celebration, an anonymous woman alleged that Silas had preyed on her as a minor. He was 20 at the time. Shortly thereafter, two other women came out with similar allegations, including one woman, who said he had sent her unsolicited pictures of his genitalia, and that he was in a relationship at the time. The then-girlfriend alleged that Silas had abused an manipulated her, which his former friend corroborated. Almost immidiately after, a woman came forward stating, with proof, that she had not been paid for designs, despite an oral agreement. She also stated that he repeatedly harassed her, and asked for nude pictures. She has since been paid. While this was happening, another former friend stated he had made offensive and islamophobic jokes, despite the friend telling him not to make the jokes. Another source claimed he had "shit-talked" Logic and his fanbase. Everything, apart from shit-talking Logic, and being abusive to his ex-girlfriend has reliable evidence and proof. He has not displayed anything to the contrary.
Response: Silas originally addressed it via Livestream, denying that she was underage, despite proof that she was. He also explicitly claimed he was the victim. He later addressed it in a tweet, which was deleted within hours, where he apologized halfheartedly, and victim-blamed. He took down his refund policy on his merchandise website
Punishment: Silas removed BobbyBoyRecords Signee/ Sponsored Twitch Streamer from his bio. He went private on Twitter, Instagram, and deleted his youtube videos. He stopped streaming with Logic, and it was assumed that he was dropped as a moderator on Twitch, but it appears that his name was simply changed. Then-spokesperson of BobbyBoyRecords, Sermon, unfollowed him on all social media. He was removed as moderator from BobbyBoyRecords and Logic_301
*BIASED* Punishment Analysis: While the punishment seems like a lot, It clearly isn't- Almost all of it was to protect himself from people (justifiably, in my opinion) harassing him. That goes for, Twitter, Instagram, YouTube, and moderating Twitch. Sermon unfollowing him was a personal choice. He most likely chose to stop streaming on twitch because people were calling him out. His only real punishments have been
2020.10.07 15:49 whats-wrong-with-me_ Nude secret videos
Basically as the title suggests. I (20f) and my boyfriend (22m) have been together for about a year now. He likes to watch porn and he isn’t addicted to it or anything. He also isn’t hiding it from me, he is very honest about it and says that he needs it to ‘relieve’ his tension because we don’t get to ‘do it’ much.
At first I thought it was something all guys did and I had no right to stop him because after all it is videos and pictures behind a screen and he has his needs; I don’t think I can even find a guy that doesn’t watch some amount of porn. However, I just find myself very disturbed by the idea and weirdly jealous and insecure about myself because honestly the thought of him looking at other women all sorts of naked that are likely more attractive than me and fantasizing about them makes me kind of upset. I have not spoken to him about it because it’s pointless as I realise I don’t think it is fair to ask him to stop. even if he does stop for my sake, i think that is quite selfish and i know it will make him rather upset. I am embarrased to send him nude pictures and videos of myself when he has requested it before and I understand he needs to look at ‘something’ while taking care of his business because men need visual stimuli and I appreciate him for not being pushy about me sending stuff.
I just wish there was a way for me to be okay with it. I don’t know if it’s the act of him watching it, or the fact that I am insecure secretly wish I had big tits and asses while being slim like the women in the videos do, or that I think he is cheating on me in his mind even though I know that sounds ridiculous as it isn’t going to happen ever. I love him and I will never consider breaking up with him over it because he is so nice, understanding and honest in every other way.. Should I even bring it up? Should i just accept the fact that it’s something he does? And if so how can I make myself come to terms with that? Help me please :(
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2020.10.03 13:05 MilkbottleF Nude secret videos
The Resurrection of the Flesh [Tr by Roses] These first two tales published in Secret Weavers: Stories of the Fantastic by Women Writers of Argentina and Chile, edited by Marjorie Agosin (White Pine Press, 1992):
She was thirty-two, her name was Aurelia, and she had been married eleven years. One Saturday afternoon, she looked through the kitchen window at the garden and saw the four horsemen of the Apocalypse. Men of the world, those four horsemen of the Apocalypse. And good-looking. The first from the left was riding a sorrel horse with a dark mane. He was wearing white breeches, black boots, a crimson jacket, and a yellow fez with black pompoms. The second one had a sleeveless tunic overlaid with gold and violet and was barefoot. He was riding on the back of a plump dolphin. The third one had a respectable, black beard, trimmed at right angles. He had donned a gray Prince of Wales suit, white shirt, blue tie and carried a black leather portfolio. He was seated on a folding chair belted to the back of white-haired dromedary. The fourth one made Aurelia smile and realize that they were smiling at her. He was riding a black and gold Harley-Davidson 1200 and was wearing a white helmet and dark goggles and had long, straight, blond hair flying in the wind behind him. The four were riding in the garden without moving from the spot. They rode and smiled at her and she watched them through the kitchen window.The Perfect Married Woman
In that manner, she finished washing the two teacups, took off her apron, arranged her hair and went to the living room.
"I saw the four horsemen of the Apocalypse in the garden," she told her husband.
"I'll bet," he said without raising his eyes from his paper.
"What are you reading?" Aurelia asked.
"I said they were given a crown and a sword and a balance and power."
"Oh, right," said her husband.
And after that a week went by as all weeks do--very slowly at first and very quickly toward the end--and on Sunday morning, while she made the coffee, she again saw the four horsemen of the Apocalypse in the garden, but when she went back to the bedroom she didn't say anything to her husband.
The third time she saw them, one Wednesday, alone, in the afternoon, she stood looking at them for a half hour and finally, since she had always wanted to fly in a yellow and red dirigible; and since she had dreamed about being an opera singer, an emperor's lover, a co-pilot to Icarus; since she would have liked to scale black cliffs, laugh at cannibals, traverse the jungles on elephants with purple trappings, seize with her hands the diamonds that lay hidden in mines, preside in the nude over a parade of nocturnal monsters, live under water, domesticate spiders, torture the powerful of the earth, rob trains in the tunnels of the Alps, set palaces on fire, lie in the dark with beggars, climb on the bridges of all the ships in the world; finally--since it was sadly sterile to be a rational and healthy adult--finally, that Wednesday afternoon alone, she put on the long dress she had worn at the last New Year's party given by the company where her husband was assistant sales manager and went out to the garden. The four horsemen of the Apocalypse called her, the blond one on the Harley-Davidson gave her his hand and helped her up onto the seat behind him, and there they went, all five, raging into the storm and singing.
Two days later her husband gave in to family pressure and reported the disappearance of his wife.
"Moral: madness is a flower aflame," said the narrator. Or in other words, it's impossible to inflame the dead, cold, viscous, useless, and sinful ashes of common sense.
If you meet her on the street, cross quickly to the other side and quicken your pace. She’s a dangerous lady. She’s about forty or forty-five, has one married daughter and a son working in San Nicolas; her husband’s a sheet-metal worker. She rises very early, sweeps the sidewalk, sees her husband off, cleans, does the wash, shops, cooks. After lunch she watches television, sews or knits, irons twice a week, and at night goes to bed late. On Saturdays she does a general cleaning and washes windows and waxes the floors. On Sunday mornings she washes the clothes her son brings home—his name is Nestor Eduardo—she kneads dough for noodles or ravioli, and in the afternoon either her sister-inlaw comes to visit or she goes to her daughter’s house. It’s been a long time since she’s been to the movies, but she reads TV Guide and the police report in the newspaper. Her eyes are dark and her hands are rough and her hair is starting to go gray. She catches cold frequently and keeps a photo album in a dresser drawer along with a black crepe dress with lace collar and cuffs.The Unmistakable Smell of Wood Violets [Tr by Womack] Translated for the first time in Ann and Jeff Vandermeer's Big Book of Science Fiction (Vintage, 2016):
Her mother never hit her. But when she was six, she got a spanking for coloring on a door, and she had to wash it off with a wet rag. While she was doing it, she thought about doors, all doors, and decided that they were very dumb because they always led to the same places. And the one she was cleaning was definitely the dumbest of all, the one that led to her parents’ bedroom. She opened the door and then it didn’t go to her parents’ bedroom but to the Gobi desert. She wasn’t surprised that she knew it was the Gobi desert even though they hadn’t even taught her in school where Mongolia was and neither she nor her mother nor her grandmother had ever heard of Nan Shan or Khangai Nuru.
She stepped through the door, bent over to scratch the yellowish grit and saw that there was no one, nothing, and the hot wind tousled her hair, so she went back through the open door, closed it and kept on cleaning. And when she finished, her mother grumbled a little more and told her to wash the rag and take the broom to sweep up that sand and clean her shoes. That day she modified her hasty judgment about doors, though not completely, at least not until she understood what was going on.
What had been going on all her life and up until today was that from time to time doors behaved satisfactorily, though in general they were still acting dumb and leading to dining rooms, kitchens, laundry rooms, bedrooms and offices even in the best of circumstances. But two months after the desert, for example, the door that every day led to the bath opened onto the workshop of a bearded man dressed in a long uniform, pointed shoes, and a cap that tilted on one side of his head. The old man’s back was turned as he took something out of a highboy with many small drawers behind a very strange, large wooden machine with a giant steering wheel and screw, in the midst of cold air and an acrid smell. When he turned around and saw her he began to shout at her in a language she didn’t understand.
She stuck out her tongue, dashed out the door, closed it, opened it again, went into the bathroom and washed her hands for lunch.
Again, after lunch, many years later, she opened the door of her room and walked into a battlefield. She dipped her hands in the blood of the wounded and dead and pulled from the neck of a cadaver a crucifix that she wore for a long time under high-necked blouses or dresses without plunging necklines. She now keeps it in a tin box underneath the nightgowns with a brooch, a pair of earrings and a broken wristwatch that used to belong to her mother-in-law. In the same way, involuntarily and by chance, she visited three monasteries, seven libraries, and the highest mountains in the world, and who knows how many theaters, cathedrals, jungles, refrigeration plants, dens of vice, universities, brothels, forests, stores, submarines, hotels, trenches, islands, factories, palaces, hovels, towers and hell.
She’s lost count and doesn’t care; any door could lead anywhere and that has the same value as the thickness of the ravioli dough, her mother’s death, and the life crises that she sees on TV and reads about in TV Guide.
Not long ago she took her daughter to the doctor, and seeing the closed door of a bathroom in the clinic, she smiled. She wasn’t sure because she can never be sure, but she got up and went to the bathroom. However, it was a bathroom; at least there was a nude man in a bathtub full of water. It was all very large, with a high ceiling, marble floor and decorations hanging from the closed windows. The man seemed to be asleep in his white bathtub, short but deep, and she saw a razor on a wrought iron table with feet decorated with iron flowers and leaves and ending in lion’s paws, a razor, a mirror, a curling iron, towels, a box of talcum powder and an earthen bowl with water. She approached on tiptoe, retrieved the razor, tiptoed over to the sleeping man in the tub and beheaded him. She threw the razor on the floor and rinsed her hands in the lukewarm bathtub water. She turned around when she reached the clinic corridor and spied a girl going into the bathroom through the other door. Her daughter looked at her.
“That was quick.”
“The toilet was broken,” she answered.
A few days afterward, she beheaded another man in a blue tent at night. That man and a woman were sleeping mostly uncovered by the blankets of a low, king-size bed, and the wind beat around the tent and slanted the flames of the oil lamps. Beyond it there would be another camp, soldiers, animals, sweat, manure, orders and weapons. But inside there was a sword by the leather and metal uniforms, and with it she cut off the head of the bearded man. The woman stirred and opened her eyes as she went out the door on her way back to the patio that she had been mopping.
On Monday and Thursday afternoons, when she irons shirt collars, she thinks of the slit necks and the blood, and she waits. If it’s summer she goes out to sweep a little after putting away the clothing and until her husband arrives. If it’s windy she sits in the kitchen and knits. But she doesn’t always find sleeping men or staring cadavers. One rainy morning, when she was twenty, she was at a prison, and she made fun of the chained prisoners; one night when the kids were kids and were all living at home, she saw in a square a disheveled woman looking at a gun but not daring to take it out of her open purse. She walked up to her, put the gun in the woman’s hand and stayed there until a car parked at the corner, until the woman saw a man in gray get out and look for his keys in his pocket, until the woman aimed and fired. And another night while she was doing her sixth grade geography homework, she went to look for crayons in her room and stood next to a man who was crying on a balcony. The balcony was so high, so far above the street, that she had an urge to push him to hear the thud down below, but she remembered the orographic map of South America and was about to leave. Anyhow, since the man hadn’t seen her, she did push him and saw him disappear and ran to color in the map so she didn’t hear the thud, only the scream. And in an empty theater, she made a fire underneath the velvet curtain; in a riot she opened the cover to a basement hatchway; in a house, sitting on top of a desk, she shredded a two-thousand-page manuscript; in a clearing of a forest she buried the weapons of the sleeping men; in a river she opened the floodgates of a dike.
Her daughter’s name is Laura Inés, her son has a fiancée in San Nicolás and he’s promised to bring her over on Sunday so she and her husband can meet her. She has to remind herself to ask her sister-in-law for the recipe for orange cake, and Friday on TV is the first episode of a new soap opera. Again, she runs the iron over the front of the shirt and remembers the other side of the doors that are always carefully closed in her house, that other side where the things that happen are much less abominable than the ones we experience on this side, as you can easily understand.
The news spread fast. It would be correct to say that the news moved like a flaming trail of gunpowder, if it weren't for the fact that at this point in our civilization gunpowder was archaeology, ashes in time, the stuff of legend, nothingness. However, it was because of the magic of our new civilization that the news was known all over the world, practically instantaneously.submitted by MilkbottleF to shortstoryaday [link] [comments]
"Oooh!" the tsarina said.
You have to take into account that Her Gracious and Most Illustrious Virgin Majesty Ekaterina V, Empress of Holy Russia, had been carefully educated in the proper decorum befitting the throne, which meant that she would never have even raised an eyebrow or curved the corner of her lip, far less would she have made an interjection of that rude and vulgar kind. But not only did she say "Oooh!," she also got up and walked through the room until she reached the glass doors of the great balcony. She stopped there. Down below, covered by snow, Saint Leninburg was indifferent and unchanged, the city's eyes squinting under the weight of winter. At the palace, ministers and advisers were excited, on edge.
"And where is this place?" the tsarina asked.
And that is what happened in Russia, which is such a distant and atypical country. In the central states of the continent, there was real commotion. In Bolivia, in Paraguay, in Madagascar, in all the great powers, and in the countries that aspired to be great powers, such as High Peru, Iceland, or Morocco, hasty conversations took place at the highest possible level with knitted brows and hired experts. The strongest currencies became unstable: the guarani rose, the Bolivian peso went down half a point, the crown was discreetly removed from the exchange rates for two long hours, long queues formed in front of the exchanges in front of all the great capitals of the world. President Morillo spoke from the Oruro Palace and used the opportunity to make a concealed warning (some would call it a threat) to the two Peruvian republics and the Minas Gerais secessionist area. Morillo had handed over the presidency of Minas to his nephew, Pepe Morillo, who had proved to be a wet blanket whom everybody could manipulate, and now Morillo bitterly regretted his decision. Morocco and Iceland did little more than give their diplomats a gentle nudge in the ribs, anything to shake them into action, as they imagined them all to be sipping grenadine and mango juice in the deep south while servants in shiny black uniforms stood over them with fans.
The picturesque note came from the Independent States of North America. It could not have been otherwise. Nobody knew that all the states were now once again under the control of a single president, but that's how it was: some guy called Jack Jackson-Franklin, who had been a bit-part actor in videos, and who, aged eighty-seven, had discovered his extremely patriotic vocation of statesman. Aided by his singular and inexplicable charisma, and by his suspect family tree, according to which he was the descendent of two presidents who had ruled over the states during their glory days, he had managed to unify, at least for now, the seventy-nine northern states. Anyway, Mr. Jackson-Franklin said to the world that the Independent States would not permit such a thing to take place. No more, just that they would not permit such a thing to take place. The world laughed uproariously at this.
Over there, in the Saint Leninburg palace, ministers cleared their throats, advisers swallowed saliva, trying to find out if, by bobbing their Adam's apples up and down enough, they might be able to loosen their stiff official shirts.
"Ahem. Ahem. It's in the south. A long way to the south. In the west, Your Majesty."
"It is. Humph. Ahem. It is, Your Majesty, a tiny country in a tiny territory."
"It says that it is in Argentina," the tsarina said, still staring through the window but without paying any attention to the night as it fell over the snow-covered roofs and the frozen shores of the Baltic.
"Ah, yes, that's right, that's right, Your Majesty, a pocket republic."
Sergei Vasilievich Kustkarov, some kind of councilor and, what is more, an educated and sensible man, broke into the conversation.
"Several, Your Majesty, it is several."
And at last the tsarina turned around. Who cared a fig for the Baltic night, the snow-covered rooftops, the roofs themselves, and the city of which they were a part? Heavy silk crackled, starched petticoats, lace.
"Several of what, Councilor Kustkarov, several of what? Don't come to me with your ambiguities."
"I must say, Your Majesty, I had not the slightest intention--"
"Several of what?"
The tsarina looked directly at him, her lips held tightly together, her hands moving unceasingly, and Kustkarov panicked, as well he might.
"Rep-rep-republics, Your Majesty," he blurted out. "Several of them. Apparently, a long time ago, a very long time, it used to be a single territory, and now it is several, several republics, but their inhabitants, the people who live in all of them, all of the republics, are called, they call themselves, the people, that is, Argentinians."
The tsarina turned her gaze away. Kustkarov felt so relieved that he was encouraged to carry on speaking:
"There are seven of them, Your Majesty: Rosario, Entre dos Rios, Ladocta, Ona, Riachuelo, Yujujuy, and Labodegga."
The tsarina sat down.
"We must do something," she said.
Silence. Outside it was not snowing, but inside it appeared to be. The tsarina looked at the transport minister.
"This enters into your portfolio," she said.
Kustkarov sat down, magnificently. How lucky he was to be a councilor, a councilor with no specific duties. The transport minister, on the other hand, turned pale.
"I think, Your Majesty...," he dared to say.
"Don't think! Do something!"
"Yes, Your Majesty," the minister said, and, bowing, started to make his way to the door.
"Where do you think you're going?" the tsarina said, without moving her mouth or twitching an eyelid.
"I'm just, I'm going, I'm just going to see what can be done, Your Majesty."
There's nothing that can be done, Sergei Vasilievich thought in delight, nothing. He realized that he was not upset, but instead he felt happy. And on top of everything else a woman, he thought. Kustkarov was married to Irina Waldoska-Urtiansk, a real beauty, perhaps the most beautiful woman in all of Holy Russia. Perhaps he was being cuckolded; it would have been all too easy for him to find that out, but he did not want to. His thoughts turned in a circle: and on top of everything else a woman. He looked at the tsarina and was struck, not for the first time, by her beauty. She was not so beautiful as Irina, but she was magnificent.
In Rosario it was not snowing, not because it was summer, although it was, but because it never snowed in Rosario. And there weren't any palm trees: the Moroccans would have been extremely disappointed had they known, but their diplomats said nothing about the Rosario flora in their reports, partly because the flora of Rosario was now practically nonexistent, and partly because diplomats are supposed to be above that kind of thing.
Everyone who was not a diplomat, that is to say, everyone, the population of the entire republic that in the last ten years had multiplied vertiginously and had now reached almost two hundred thousand souls, was euphoric, happy, triumphant. They surrounded her house, watched over her as she slept, left expensive imported fruits outside her door, followed her down the street. Some potentate allowed her the use of a Ford 99, which was one of the five cars in the whole country, and a madman who lived in the Espinillos cemetery hauled water all the way up from the Pará lagoon and grew a flower for her which he then gave her.
"How nice," she said, then went on, dreamily, "Will there be flowers where I'm going?"
They assured her that there would be.
She trained every day. As they did not know exactly what it was she had to do to train herself, she got up at dawn, ran around the Independence crater, skipped, did some gymnastic exercises, ate little, learned how to hold her breath, and spent hours and hours sitting or curled into strange positions. She also danced the waltz. She was almost positive that the waltz was not likely to come in handy, but she enjoyed it very much.
Meanwhile, farther away, the trail of gunpowder had become a barrel of dynamite, although dynamite was also a legendary substance and didn't exist. The infoscreens in every country, whether poor or rich, central or peripheral, developed or not, blazed forth with extremely large headlines suggesting dates, inventing biographical details, trying to hide, without much success, their envy and confusion. No one was fooled:
"We have been wretchedly beaten," the citizens of Bolivia said.
"Who would have thought it," pondered the man on the Reykjavík omnibus.
The former transport minister of Holy Russia was off breaking stones in Siberia. Councilor Sergei Vasilievich Kustkarov was sleeping with the tsarina, but that was only a piece of low, yet spicy, gossip that has nothing to do with this story.
"We will not allow this to happen!" Mr. Jackson-Franklin blustered, tugging nervously at his hairpiece. "It is our own glorious history that has set aside for us this brilliant destiny! It is we, we and not this despicable banana republic, who are marked for this glory!"
Mr. Jackson-Franklin also did not know that there were no palm trees or bananas in Rosario, but this was due not to a lack of reports from his diplomats but rather a lack of diplomats. Diplomats are a luxury that a poor country cannot afford, and so poor countries often go to great pains to take offense and recall all the knights commanders and lawyers and doctors and even eventually the generals working overseas, in order to save money on rent and electricity and gas and salaries, not to mention the cost of the banquets and all the money in brown paper envelopes.
But the headlines kept on appearing on the infoscreens: "Argentinian Astronaut Claims She Will Reach Edge of Universe," "Sources Claim Ship Is Spaceworthy in Spite of or Because of Centuries-Long Interment," "Science or Catastrophe?," "Astronaut Not a Woman but a Transsexual" (this in the Imperialskaya Gazeta, the most puritan of the infoscreens, even more so than the Papal Piccolo Osservatore Lombardo), "Ship Launches," "First Intergalactic Journey in Centuries," "We Will Not Allow This to Happen!" (Portland Times).
She was dancing the waltz. She woke up with her heart thumping, tried out various practical hairstyles, ran, skipped, drank only filtered water, ate only olives, avoided spies and journalists, went to see the ship every day, just to touch it. The mechanics all adored her.
"It'll work, they'll see, it'll work," the chief engineer said defiantly.
Nobody contradicted him. No one dared say that it wouldn't.
It would make it, of course it would make it. Not without going through many incredible adventures on its lengthy journey. Lengthy? No one knew who Langevin was anymore, so no one was shocked to discover that his theory contradicted itself, ended up biting its own tail, and that however long the journey took, the observers would only perceive it as having lasted minutes. Someone called Cervantes, a very famous personage back in the early years of human civilization--it was still debated whether he had been a physicist, a poet, or a musician--had suggested a similar theory in one of his lost works.
One autumn dawn the ship took off from the Independence crater, the most deserted part of the whole desert republic of Rosario, at five forty-five in the morning. The exact time is recorded because the inhabitants of the country had all pitched in together to buy a clock, which they thought the occasion deserved (there was one other clock, in the Enclosed Convent of the Servants of Santa Rita de Casino, but because the convent was home to an enclosed order nothing ever went in or out of it, no news, no requests, no answers, no nothing). Unfortunately, they had not had enough money. But then someone had had the brilliant idea which had brought in the money they needed, and Rosario had hired out its army for parades in friendly countries: there weren't that many of them and the ones there were weren't very rich, but they managed to get the cash together. Anyone who was inspired by patriotism and by the proximity of glory had to see those dashing officers, those disciplined soldiers dressed in gold and crimson, protected by shining breastplates, capped off with plumed helmets, their catapults and pouches of stones at their waists, goose-stepping through the capital of Entre Dos Rios or the Padrone Giol vineyards in Labodegga, at the foot of the majestic Andes.
The ship blasted off. It got lost against the sky. Before the inhabitants of Rosario, their hearts in their throats and their eyes clouded by emotion, had time to catch their breath, a little dot appeared up there, getting bigger and bigger, and it was the ship coming back down. It landed at 06:11 on the same morning of that same autumn day. The clock that recorded this is preserved in the Rosario Historical Museum. It no longer works, but anyone can go and see it in its display cabinet in Room A of the Museum. In Room B, in another display case, is the so-called Carballensis Indentic Axe, the fatal tool that cut down all the vegetation of Rosario and turned the whole country into a featureless plain. Good and evil, side by side, shoulder to shoulder.
Twenty-six minutes on Earth, many years on board the ship. Obviously, she did not have a watch or a calendar with her: the republic of Rosario would not have been able to afford either of them. But it was many years, she knew that much.
Leaving the galaxy was a piece of cake. You can do it in a couple of jumps, everyone knows that, following the instructions that Albert Einsteinstein, the multifaceted violin virtuoso, director of sci-fi movies, and student of space-time, gave us a few hundred years back. But the ship did not set sail to the very center of the universe, as its predecessors had done in the great era of colonization and discovery; no, the ship went right to the edge of the universe.
Everyone also knows that there is nothing in the universe, not even the universe itself, which does not grow weaker as you reach its edge. From pancakes to arteries, via love, rubbers, photographs, revenge, bridal gowns, and power. Everything tends to imperceptible changes at the beginning, rapid change afterward; everything at the edge is softer and more blurred, as the threads start to fray from the center to the outskirts.
In the time it took her to take a couple of breaths, a breath and a half, over the course of many years, she passed through habitable and uninhabitable places, worlds which had once been classified as existent, worlds which did not appear and had never appeared and probably would never appear in any cartographical survey. Planets of exiles, singing sands, minutes and seconds in tatters, whirlpools of nothingness, space junk, and that's without even mentioning those beings and things, all of which stood completely outside any possibility of description, so much so that we tend not to perceive them when we look at them; all of this, and shock, and fear more than anything else, and loneliness. The hair grew gray at her temples, her flesh lost its firmness, wrinkles appeared around her eyes and her mouth, her knees and ankles started to act up, she slept less than before and had to half close her eyes and lean backward in order to make out the numbers on the consoles. And she was so tired that it was almost unbearable. She did not waltz any longer: she put an old tape into an old machine and listened and moved her gray head in time with the orchestra.
She reached the edge of the universe. Here was where everything came to an end, so completely that even her tiredness disappeared and she felt once again as full of enthusiasm as she had when she was younger. There were hints, of course: salt storms, apparitions, little brushstrokes of white against the black of space, large gaps made of sound, echoes of long-dead voices that had died giving sinister orders, ash, drums; but when she reached the edge itself, these indications gave way to space signage: "End," "You Are Reaching the Universe Limits," "The Cosmos General Insurance Company, YOUR Company, Says: GO NO FURTHER," "End of Protected Cosmonaut Space," etc., as well as the scarlet polygon that the OMUU had adopted to use as a sign for that's it, abandon all hope, the end.
All right, so she was here. The next thing to do was go back. But the idea of going back never occurred to her. Women are capricious creatures, just like little boys: as soon as they get what they want, then they want something else. She carried on.
There was a violent judder as she crossed the limit. Then there was silence, peace, calm. All very alarming, to tell the truth. The needles did not move, the lights did not flash, the ventilation system did not hiss, her alveoli did not vibrate, her chair did not swivel, the screens were blank. She got up, went to the portholes, looked out, saw nothing. It was logical enough:
"Of course," she said to herself, "when the universe comes to an end, then there's nothing."
She looked out through the portholes a little more, just in case. She still could see nothing, but she had an idea.
"But I'm here," she said. "Me and the ship."
She put on a space suit and walked out into the nothing.
When the ship landed in the Independence crater in the republic of Rosario, twenty-six minutes after it had taken off, when the hatch opened and she appeared on the ramp, the spirit of Paul Langevin flew over the crater, laughing fit to burst. The only people who heard him were the madman who had grown the flower for her in the Espinillos cemetery and a woman who was to die that day. No one else had ears or fingers or tongue or feet, far less did they have eyes to see him.
It was the same woman who had left, the very same, and this calmed the crowds down at the same time as it disappointed them, all the inhabitants of the country, the diplomats, the spies, and the journalists. It was only when she came down the gangplank and they came closer to her that they saw the network of fine wrinkles around her eyes. All other signs of her old age had vanished, and had she wished, she could have waltzed tirelessly, for days and nights on end, from dusk till dawn till dusk.
The journalists all leaned forward; the diplomats made signals, which they thought were subtle and unseen, to the bearers of their sedan chairs to be ready to take them back to their residences as soon as they had heard what she had to say; the spies took photographs with the little cameras hidden away in their shirt buttons or their wisdom teeth; all the old people put their hands together; the men raised their fists to their heart; the little boys pranced; the young girls smiled.
And then she told them what she had seen:
"I took off my suit and my helmet," she said, "and walked along the invisible avenues that smelled of violets."
She did not know that the whole world was waiting to hear what she said; that Ekaterina V had made Sergei Vasilievich get up at five o'clock in the morning so that he could accompany her to the grand salon and wait there for the news; that one of the seventy-nine Northern States had declared its independence because the president had not stopped anything from happening or obtained any glory, and this had lit the spark of rebellion in the other seventy-eight states, and this had made Mr. Jackson-Franklin leave the White House without his wig, in pajamas, freezing and furious; that Bolivia, Paraguay, and Iceland had allowed the two Peruvian republics to join their new alliance and defense treaty set up against a possible attack from space; that the high command of the Paraguayan aeronautical engineers had promised to build a ship that could travel beyond the limits of the universe, always assuming that they could be granted legal immunity and a higher budget, a declaration that made the guarani fall back the two points that it had recently risen and then another one as well; that Don Schicchino Giol, the new padrone of the Republic of Labodegga at the foot of the majestic Andes had been woken from his most recent drinking bout to be told that he had now to sign a declaration of war against the Republic of Rosario, now that they knew the strength of the enemy's forces.
"Eh? What? Hunh?" Don Schicchino said.
"I saw the nothingness of everything," she said, "and it was all infused with the unmistakable smell of wood violets. The nothingness of the world is like the inside of a stomach throbbing above your head. The nothingness of people is like the back of a painting, black, with glasses and wires that release dreams of order and imperfect destinies. The nothingness of creatures with leathery wings is a crack in the air and the rustle of tiny feet. The nothingness of history is the massacre of the innocents. The nothingness of words, which is a throat and a hand that break whatever they touch on perforated paper; the nothingness of music, which is music. The nothingness of precincts, of crystal glasses, of seams, of hair, of liquids, of lights, of keys, of food."
When she had finished her list, the potentate who owned the Ford 99 said that he would give it to her, and that in the afternoon he would send one of his servants with a liter of naphtha so that she could take the car out for a spin.
"Thank you," she said. "You are very generous."
The madman went away, looking up to the skies; who knows what he was searching for. The woman who was going to die that day asked herself what she should eat on Sunday, when her sons and their wives came to lunch. The president of the Republic of Rosario gave a speech.
And everything in the world carried on the same, apart from the fact that Ekaterina V named Kustkarov her interior minister, which terrified the poor man but which was welcomed with open arms by Irina as an opportunity for her to refresh her wardrobe and her stock of lovers. And Jack Jackson-Franklin sold his memoirs to one of Paraguay's more sophisticated magazines for a stellar amount of money, which allowed him to retire to live in Imerina. And six spaceships from six major world powers set off to the edges of the universe and were never seen again.
She married a good man who had a house with a balcony, a white bicycle, and a radio which, on clear days, could pick up the radio plays that LLL1 Radio Magnum transmitted from Entre Dos Rios, and she waltzed in white satin shoes. The day that her first son was born a very pale green shoot grew out of the ground on the banks of the great lagoon.
2020.10.02 05:27 Sageking0710 Nude secret videos
Obligatory first time poster and on mobile. If i mess something up or typos. I apologize in advance and will try to correct as soon as i can! I will include a TLDR for those who just want to good stuff. If this somehow belongs somewhere else, please let me know. I'm pretty fresh with all of this.
Subjects of the post: Face - ex bestfriend Michael - brother Brad - a douche bag Little mermaid- good friend of mine
So to give a little context to this story. This happened a little while ago and i recently got in contact with Face's sister who filled in some blanks on the times i wasn't around for. About a 5 years before D-Day i met Face. A beautiful, highly intelligent girl who i developed a huge crush on. We shared an art class and she sat behind me and a different friend Little mermaid who isn't that relevant to the story sat next to me. The day she found out who i was, happened to be one of my bad days. I was talking to little mermaid about my crappy day and Face laughed and called me stupid for being so emotional. Me being a hot tempered teenager instantly turned around and yelled at her to "shut the f*** up and mind your own!" She didn't take too kindly to that and yelled right back and we both got sent to the dean's office. I got sent first because i yelled first. The dean pulls me into his office, i get told to stop being an idiot and apologize next time i see her and I'm sent on my merry way. Slap on the wrist, nothing major. A week later i man up and apologize to Face for snapping at her and ask her if there's some way i can make it up to her (side note: i love drawing on the side and was learning animated/manga style art). She told me i could draw her a picture and if i did it good enough she would forgive me. So i did. I drew a picture of her drawing a pic of me. I gave it to her the next day and she gave me her number, from there we became fast friends. It was everyday that we were either texting or on phone calls for... actually the entire day. Telling the story of our lives and how stupid our first real interaction with each other is getting sent to the dean's office. We had to write a statement about what happened. She wrote an essay, i wrote the following: "Got sent her cuz i yelled at a girl. Oops." We laughed about it afterwards and i met her family, went to church with her a few times and she came to mine. She moved away and we still visited each other and video chatted as much as we could. Closest I've ever been with someone who wasn't blood.
Michael is my brother. Born 10 months apart and was the closest human being to me. Close knit and me and him talked just as much as me and Face. When i was 5 our mother and i had to move away and Michael stayed with his dad and we lost contact for a while with an occasional phone call from his dad every now and again when his dad was home for more than 10 minutes. When he turned 11 years old he got his first phone and he called everyday to talk to me and our older brother. Somedays getting yelled at because we were always using the house phone when the adults needed it. I got my own phone eventually because my mom was tired of sharing a phone with me. It was a brick of a nokia with about 1 hour of call time before i ran out of minutes. Still works to this day. So when i turned 12. I moved to Florida with my dad and told Michael about 5 minutes after i got off the plane. It took my dad and i roughly 45 minutes to get home and 10 minutes for my brother to show up with his dad. This is all just to give you an idea of how close we were, and how much we annoyed the adults to stay close to one another. About one year of getting to know Face Michael and her meet because i dragged him with me to her church the second time i went there. She got a small crush but according to her let it go because it was 'weird'. (It'll be important later)
To the juicy part.
Year 5. I have a girlfriend and have completely denied my feelings for Face because she's 1 hour and 30 minutes away from me and i don't have any magic ways to get to go see her except for the off occasion my oldest brother is kind enough to take me to her. Face at that time was super popular at her new school, loved to dress up and show herself off to me every morning before school so she could impress Brad. I never liked him, but held my tongue because Face wasn't afraid to fight me; neither was i but i knew when to pick my battles with her at least. Michael slept over at my house on weekends and i at his every other weekend. I was deadly afraid of letting Face and Michael talk because i had a suspicion that if i did Michael would win her over and start dating her and somehow i would lose my bestfriend to my brother. Now i know this seems weird as i mentioned i had a girlfriend and i have denied my feelings for her. Truth was i couldn't admit that i had feelings for Face. This is because she was so far away and we'd been friends for so long i didn't want to spoil the friendship if things didn't work out. I didnt want Michael to date her because i was afraid that meant he was better than me in some way. Its weird to me now, but that was my thoughts on it. Well, one day as Michael is sleeping over at my house, he and her talk to each other over video chat because she convinced me to let her. I thought it was a quick hi and bye because they had met before but this time was different. I just didnt know yet. She was way more into him than she had led me to believe and they exchanged contact info and talked allot. When i found this out i got physically sick, couldn't sleep, or eat. I got wildly depressed and after about 3 days of being weird my girlfriend asks what's wrong and i couldn't tell her what it was. I couldn't admit it to myself, especially not her, that i had unresolved feelings for another woman. I realized after talking with Michael that night i had feelings for Face i didn't want to admit. I never told my girlfriend at the time because ultimately Michael and i concluded that trying to do anything with face wouldnt work. That i should focus more on the relationship I'm already in than start a new one with someone who may not even be into me that way. Secretly he had already started dating Face and didn't want to tell me because i told him this. Face came to the same conclusion as Michael
So for 2 weeks they kept it a secret until i put 2 and 2 together. Face wasn't talking to me as much and wouldn't tell me why and Michael was doing the same. Funny enough always at the time. They admitted after i yelled at both of them that they were dating. I was crushed. My brother and bestfriend are dating. And i hated it. So i didn't talk to them for a while. After about 1 month i finally let it go and decided they should be happy. Who better to be with my bestfriend then my brother. They dated for 6 months with no hitched and due to a fall out with my dad i was forced to move away to my mother's and they both came. We cried. A lot. And i left.
One month of being in a new state, Michael and Face are having issues with each other. Face doesn't want to talk as much to Michael who is suspicious of her. With good reason. I knew that she had been talking to Brad and going out with him to an amusement park near her house. I didn't say anything because she had told me nothing was going on and it would needlessly worry Michael.
Face later on had shared a screenshot with Michael of a conversation between me and her and he got offended by how we would speak to each other. Calling each other pet names as well as nicknames were made for each other over the years. We fought for a solid hour over the phone and decided we wouldn't speak to each other. Face took this as an opportunity to separate us and i didn't know it at the time because i was busy dealing with a different set of problems.
So Face went on dates with Brad all while telling me she had left Michael when he tried to control her not too long after me and him stopped talking. Even went as far as to do it over the phone with me on the call couching her on how to not completely destroy michael's heart while still breaking up with him. I still cared for him and didn't want him to be emotionally crippled so i tried to help her say it in a way where he wouldn't be devastated for too long. I mostly stayed out of the way the entire time and cried for him because i knew he was hurting. I refused to talk to him out of pride though. Which was my fault in hindsight.
Face than openly dated Brad and lost her virginity to him and told me all about it. I didn't agree with it because she had only recently left Michael and it was upsetting to hear how quickly she moved on. Well Brad cheated on her. Twice. In 2 weeks. And on the second time she called it quits with him. For about 2 weeks. In that time tho she had gotten very sexual with me. Me having broken up with my girlfriend months ago due to the move and not knowing when I'd see her again, welcomed this surprise. I even let old feelings come to the surface, ready to try again and hoping that i was actually ready. Surprise i wasn't. However i did get to see all her assets and i enjoyed it immensely at the moment. Feeling guilty, i reconnected with Michael. It took 30 seconds for him to reply to my texts asking me to call him and i did and we shared a heart felt moment. I apologized for not putting myself in his shoes and he apologized for not remembering id be friends with her for years and face and i just had a certain way of talking to each other. He told me about him and Face having recently met up and how it was good to finally hear from me knowing Face wasn't talking to me anymore. Me instantly being confused as hell asked politely " n*? What the actual f did you just say?!" He repeated himself and i hung up the phone. He texted me confused as to what's happening while i called Face asking her if she was seeing anyone. She shyly tells me she's seeing Brad again, and i laughed manically. She got confused and asked what was up while i hung up the phone and started thinking of a plan to get back at her.
This girl, who for 5 years was my bestfriend. Separated me from my brother for a little over 1 month. Had the audacity to use me to cheat on my brother and ANOTHER MAN TOO?! You have got to be f***ing joking! How could i be so bloody stupid!
What i did was simple. Oh boy did it have a big impact on her for a while.
I called Michael up after settling down for a violent rage fit. Asking him how long he's been with Face. He told me about how she broke up with him for a few days and they got back together. I asked how long did ago did it happen when we stopped talking?
He asked, "What does this have to do with---"
"Michael. Your my brother. We grew up in the same crib. I want you to know i would never have let this happen if i had know" i start sobbing. "Face.. she used me to cheat on you..."
".....what...?" Almost a break in his voice, scared and confused
"She's been cheating on you and has been using me and someone else to so it." I said holding back my tears.
In the coldest voice I'd ever heard come out of him. "What?"
"His name is Brad." He hangs up the phone.
Phase one. Completely.
I clean up my face. Breathe and ready myself for the next steps. I called her mother and father on the phone and asked if i could have a moment of their time. Meanwhile their daughter Face is in her room furiously texting Michael and declining his calls asking what he's talking about and who told him. Also texting me if i started talking to Michael recently. I of course don't respond. I tell her parents only what they needed to know. Their daughter, was out sleeping with other guys, sending nudes, passionately hugging in their house, backyard, cars and occasionally at school. The school part was a lie, but school was important to her and i wanted to burn her house to the ground but since that's not legal ill do something a little less hands on. They thanked me and asked if i was okay. I broke down and cried and explained what she did to Michael and I. We talked for 10 more minutes and they gave me words of encouragement and told me they would handle their daughter. They also offered to be there for me if i ever needed anything. Quickly her parents descended on her like the wrath of god. They took her phone, her car privileges and computer privileges and told her she would be getting signed up for home school and to prepare herself because the only reason she'd have any tech is to do school work and check the time. This was only after Michael had savagely cussed her out and exposed her to all of her friends who thought highly of her. They were all disgusted with her. Most stopped being her friend, others didn't give a s*** because they didn't know Michael that well. Michael had been to visit Face a several times and met everyone of her friends in her new city, even Brad.
Phase 2. Complete.
That monday morning. Guess who called the school before her parents did. Me. Told them all about Face's extra curricular activities. They thought it was about as funny as airplane food jokes and called her parents for a meeting at which the parents were happy to agree. They however had set the appointment for the next day. Which gave her friends enough time to talk about Michael and all she had done to him. That got to Brad who went and broke up with her very publicly. Even though he cheated more than her. Nonetheless, she was humiliated. Someone had told a teacher who told the principal that Face had been sending nudes and sleeping around. This is a hard no at her catholic school. This was talked about in the meeting with her parents the next day and the principal agreed to let them pull her daughter out of the school without putting an expulsion on her record. She had a perfect attendance and was an A's and B's type of girl.
Phase 3. Completely.
She texted me and asked me why. Cussing me out and telling me how much she wished she'd never met me and how i should die alone. In between all of this. I said this.
"You taught me how to hate."
I blocked her on everything and Michael and I reconnected, but to this day he never looks at me the same. We no longer talk everyday. Would be hard pressed to get more than 10 minutes on the phone with him once every 2 months or so. Ultimately i felt the most lonely I'd ever been. I'd lost both of the closest people in my life to this stupid girl who i let separate me and my family. My brother.
Years later, i reconnected with her baby sister who was 10 at the time of this occuring. She filled me on what happened at the school and at home and her friends. She told me it took almost 2 years for her parents to start treating her normally. "They were disgusted with who they had raised. Never knew their kid could do something so evil to her bestfriend and his brother"
We didn't speak again after that. Still friends with her on FB, Insta and snap so occasionally ill see photos of Face. Still the prettiest girl around.
TLDR: I got my.ex bestfriend removed from private school to home school, grounded for nearly years and made a majority of her friends turn their backs on her for using me and another guy to cheat on my brother.
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2020.10.01 16:39 HaulA1Oct1 Nude videos secret
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2020.10.01 09:21 ThrowRAharpsichord Nude secret videos
My boyfriend (35m) and I (25f) have been dating for just over a year. We are currently long distance in two different cities; it's a weird situation where he's staying on the couch in his old apartment (with his friend and ex girlfriend - a whole other issue for me). It's been a long year of ups and downs; we both have some mental issues, mine to do with ptsd from assaults and his is an extreme rage problem. He's a very secretive guy and often keeps things to himself, even when directly asked. Sometimes he protects himself by outright lying. It's a difficult thing, but I understand why he is this way and he does make noticeable attempts to be more forthright. While it is sometimes a problem, it is something I am willing to work through.
I don't know if I would classify him an addict, but his porn viewing is daily. We talked pretty early on about my feelings towards porn; I view it as cheating, and also have some serious personal image issues stemming from being abused and assaulted since childhood, and when I've experienced a partner watching porn it usually triggers that. I've discovered it's especially triggering when my partner looks at "regular" girl's nudes/porn/etc. His response when I brought it up was a bit aggressive, saying all the classic things about how it's just a "means to an end" and how I need to work on my self worth and it's "pathetic" to be jealous of photos. I decided to compromise and told him that I was ok with him watching "professional" type porn (like videos on PornHub) so long as he told me about it, but that I was uncomfortable with anything else. He never "tells" me, but sometimes sends links to gifs of sex acts he "wants to do with me when we're together." Most days I'm ok with this.
A couple months ago, we got in a big fight and he blocked me (he used to do this a lot). I wanted to check and make sure he was okay but I don't use normal social media or have his roommate's number. I decided to look at his Reddit to see if he was posting things; in my head, if he was it meant he was ok and I'd be hearing from him soon. Looking back now, I realize this was stupid, but at the time it made sense. Surprise surprise, I find months of him commenting on girl's photos. Praise he never gives me. Girls who look the opposite of me. Girls he clearly knows a lot about because he's been following them for a while, and can comment personal things and have conversations with them. I feel cheated on. I feel dirty. I don't trust him to be honest with me about it. I feel ugly, unwanted. Like a last resort because he can't have what he really wants. He knows I have his Reddit username, so it's not like I went behind his back to look, he's doing it openly on a platform I have access to.
I need to talk to him about it because I am so upset I'm shaking and crying, but I don't know what to say that'll help him understand my perspective. If it's as insignificant as he claims, then it should be easy for him to give up to stop me from being upset.
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