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Shane Koyczan, a spoken-word poet who speaks from his heart, stands up against bullying in this 192-line piece delivered with a 7-minute animation. Released on Youtube, it garnered A compilation to help her understand how much she is missed. Loving Wives 12/28/18: Nancy (4.54) Becoming a man and having second chances - will it succeed? Loving Wives 09/08/17: Oh, Sh*t (3.76) I know she's cheating and I'm going to make her pay. Loving Wives 03/26/19: Reunion (the Horror) (4.39) Husband wonders what went wrong. Loving Wives The most important thing to remember when trying to understand asexuality is that people who identify as such are not inherently different from you, aside from the fact that they experience sexual attraction differently - or more accurately, don’t experience it at all. ... I'd failed for decades to understand myself by the usual categories ... A lot of the difficulty, of course, comes from the almost automatic nature of the mental rituals; people with OCD often say they do a mental ritual even when they’re trying not to. That’s what makes new places and new people so renewing. It’s also what makes the ever-shifting lull of the familiar exciting to me. I find the world so dynamic, so full of spark, even in the small messy moments. I am just trying to add what texture I can to it.” — Saja Chodosh, Strategist at Emotive Brand So, I’ve been trying to find my voice,” Johnson said Friday. “I think part of that journey is to educate myself. I’ve been very deep in that and trying to learn and educate – on the phone with friends of mine, like Bubba Wallace, other friends of color and race that I’ve known through the years just checking in. WE’RE HAVING A BABY 💗 2 years ago I got diagnosed with PCOS after not getting my period for 7 years. I was devastated because being a mom and starting a family with @laurensvleeuwen is my biggest dream.. I was so scared that I would never be able to because I got told it was harder to get babies in a natural way.. They're easier to understand than you might think. For example: I did it myself. (When "myself" is used for emphasis, it is known as an emphatic pronoun.) I saw myself in the mirror. (When "myself" is used to show "you" doing something to "yourself," it is known as a reflexive pronoun.) You cannot use "myself" for any other reason.

2020.10.22 23:41 ScottdaBlu35partan22 Voyeur house tv sex

I don’t know what I’m looking for or even truly know why I’m posting. This is my first actual topic post into reddit, so bear with me.
Everything I write here is matter of fact and I derive no real pleasure from anything I’m saying, I just need to understand something about myself.
I don’t know how or why it started but I have been interested in the female form since I was 6/7 years old, playing chasing games with girls and lifting up skirts. At a battered women's’ home, I attended with my mother, I once befriended a girl much older than I (13?), who must have thought I was ‘cute’ as she let me hang out with her. I remember like it yesterday that we ended up playing chase and I chased her into a bedroom. She ended up trying to squeeze herself, legs in the air, into the space of a bed and a wall in a mini dress and I found myself face first under her skirt for what felt like an eternity. I loved it!
I don’t really remember another interaction with that girl as I don’t recall staying at that shelter for long.
A couple of years later, I remember being 9ish and expressing interest in a chubby girl in my class, Linda. One day we had a school assembly in the morning and I beckoned her to sit with me. I had brought my coat with me for some reason (maybe it was planned, maybe it was cold?) and I had draped it over both our legs. Everybody’s eyes were forward, but my hands were on her leg under the coat. Keeping my eyes forward, my hand slipped further into her thighs. To my surprise, she even lifted her elbow to help my reach.
I remember my fingers exploring quite greedily what her panties were hiding. I glanced at her and saw her cheeks glowing red. One finger… Two… and then suddenly the assembly had finished. The other kids suddenly got to their feet and Linda pushed me off. We may have ‘engaged’ after that, but I don’t remember that well as that was my first solid memory of interaction with her.
At 12, a 17 year old female expressed sexual interest in me, but I told my age naively. She said I looked ‘older’. My next contacts were at 16, no sex and 17 with a woman in her 30s, no sex again.
At 18, I met a girl my age and she took my virginity and I don’t know if this has shaped me. I lost it at the house where she babysat, being blindfold with sheer stockings and being tied tightly to the bottom of an armchair. She had closed the curtains, but put a lamp on (after the kids went to bed!) and I saw her silhouette sit beside me, unzip me and I felt her cold wet mouth slide over me, making me wince unexpectedly! She gripped me with her lips and tongue and had at me. I felt like I came like a fountain, but was still very much rock hard with the wonders of youth. She climbed on top me and with her big tits slapping me in the face, rode into oblivion, or so it felt.
We went on to fuck everywhere and I mean everywhere we could get away with it, night or day.
In every relationship after I’ve been looking to make things exciting or how I could be better. Ironically, after a while of a new relationship I felt no enjoyment as my mind was constantly thinking of how I make the experience better for her. I express, at the start, how I hold no jealousy (which I don’t) or judgement on her desires and she could be herself. This has resulted in some interesting relationships of which they’ve wanted to ‘tame’ me (I, eventually, agreed to get married to one, now separated) in the past.
I have gone through most relationships involving bondage, blindfold, threesomes, submission, obeying, voyeurism and shared as activities.
I have watched ex-gfs (and soon to be ex-wife) get fucked in front of me as I watch, thinking where I could improve in technique after my friends satisfied her and themselves. I took her pleasuring as a challenge to be even better than my friend and would often ‘switch off’ and focus on her multi-orgasm and get annoyed if she got ‘dry’.
As I have felt before I feel like a robot and now wonder if I’ve been what’s known as a ‘cuck’ in my single life. At times, when my gf was submissive and wore negligees or nothing as my rule was at my apartment, a hopeful friend would visit to get his way with her. When my gf was being fucked and I could hear her moaning, I’d be watching TV sometimes, not bothered. Sometimes, I’d be taking notes and afterwards share her more in a tag team style or together overflowing her senses or drag her to the bedroom for my own lengthy afters.
At no point have I thought this is awesome, as I write. And, now I’m single after years of being monogamous, I feel like I could easily return to those days of searching for excitement I never found again.
I cannot understand why I feel this way and I don’t feel ‘normal’, whatever that is.
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2020.10.22 08:02 Caliponix House voyeur tv sex

I spent five years of my life in love with a predator. I question my judgement, with every encounter, because I know this snake got past it. I call him X.
I Loved Him. I felt soo lucky that he seemed interested in me, despite the ‘disadvantage’ of being 23 years younger than him. This wasn’t a trend in my life, I’d never dated someone remotely that far from my age range. It was something about X. I fell in love with his brain, his humor, the way my skin tingled when he touched me. For a while the chemistry was pure and electric.
There were issues, but they mostly seemed to come back at me. I was significantly less well off than X, he was a Dr. A well respected GP within his community. I was a single mother in my early 20s, and working at that time as a certified massage therapist. Daily life was a struggle for me, and X used money as a reason to withhold respect. If I wanted respect, I could be an equal contributor. Except he would always assure me that he knew I probably wouldn’t be able to make a comparable amount of money to him, he would accept it if I just achieved what he knew I was capable of. Because of how much he loved, and believed in me. Of course, getting a better job, rounding out my education, and raising my daughter were priorities for me, so him pushing me towards these things rang no alarms at the time.
I have spent most of my 20s trying to ‘Make It’. I’m 30 now. I didn’t ‘Make it’.
When X and I had been together about a year, when I was a 24 year old mother of 1, I learned that I had a genetic condition called Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. The diagnosis was difficult to hear, but it clarified many of the unexplained health issues that had complicated my path to self sufficiency.
It was this diagnosis that led me to two, very painful, realizations. 1) I needed to retire from the career that was supporting my needs 2) I shouldn’t have any more children. For my health and theirs.
X was fine with us not planning to have children; he even got a vasectomy the following year. It was harder for me to accept. I had always hoped to have at least two children, I’m a middle child of four, and I wanted my daughter to have a sibling. It was a frequent subject of discussion for the year before his vasectomy, and even for some time after. I had a lot of trouble reconciling my understanding of my medical problems with my desires for the family I wanted to build.
X had 2 children of his own, a boy and a girl. Our kids were all 3 years apart, with my daughter being the youngest (*3yo at the start of our relationship). Neither he nor his children got on well with my daughter, despite me having a good relationship with both of his children. I couldn’t seem to get them to stop treating my daughter like an intruder, to give her the same latitude and understanding that they gave each other… I failed at communicating this, or preventing the bullying from affecting my daughter. I’ll carry the shame of that for the rest of my life. When my daughter comes to me about this one day, I’ll have no defense. Only apologies. She deserved so much better than that.
The really sad part is that I was convinced that she was still better off in that situation, than with me alone. I was so beaten down, so convinced of my own ineptitude. I relied on X to be the stability he said I lacked. At least she lived in a nice house, room to run and play safely, a tree-house to zip line off of (X and I spent 2 years building that), and chickens to chase. My daughter is just 10 now, and still has fond memories of that house, and the home we had there. I wonder when she’ll start to remember the bad. I’ll be here for her when she does.
INCIDENT: It was probably early fall, I can’t quite remember the exact details because this night was like so many others. Until it wasn’t. We had gone out to our hot tub, smoked some weed, X had a whisky and I had a hard cider. X had taken an Ambien right before getting into the hot tub, without planning to go to sleep, or telling me that he had taken a drug that impaired him to that degree. I don’t remember much about the conversation we’d had, but I do remember that I had to put a tampon in before getting in the hot-tub, since I was on the tail end of my period (Sorry TMI, but its relevant).
We came inside, toweled off, and were snacking away our munchies in the kitchen while family guy played on the TV in the living room. The open floor plan had the back of the main sofa parallel with the kitchen island, maybe 8 feet apart. Our heavy robes for walking in/outside were draped over the back of the couch, along with our clothes.
X was being sexual, groping me and manhandling me more than was typical even for him. I was beginning to sense that something was wrong. We were standing in front of the dishwasher; I had my back to the counter. We started to kiss, I tried to gently push him back from me, and he responded by grabbing me by the throat. He pushed me backwards quickly, with his body pressed against my legs holding them in place he forced my upper body straight back onto the counter. I was bent like an L over that counter backwards, I thought I had broken my spine, or ruptured a disc. After all, I could only go on the intensity of the pain I was feeling, which was extreme. I cried out “PANDA!!!” which while ridiculous, was also my safe word. He ignored it.
I began to scream, frantic shrieks of pain. At first X looked annoyed, but then he started to laugh. He pulled me down from the counter and dropped me to the floor facedown. I was still screaming. I was Begging him for help, while he watched me writhe. He told me to Shut Up. He kept laughing at me the whole time. Insulting me… for my low pain tolerance I guess. I slowly began to pull myself away from him, towards to sofa in the living room. Mostly I was dragging myself by my arms, as my legs were seized up and numb still from the trauma to my spinal column. I can’t remember everything he said, I only remember feeling increasing dread when he finally walked over to me. I wasn’t sure what was about to happen.
He reached down and pulled me up by my right wrist, and tossed me facedown over the back of the couch. My face was buried in the back of the brown suede seat, and I could feel X behind me, pressed against my butt, hard. He slapped my behind several times, very hard and then he was clearly about to start having sex with me. All the while I’m saying No No No over and over again, Panda, over and over again. At one point, right before he was about to enter I almost got him to stop, I cried “I’ve got a tampon in!” I felt his pause. Then he laughed again, and said he didn’t care. He entered me. Despite the waterlogged tampon in the way he just plugged away. It hurt very much. Sex was painful for weeks after that, but X seemed oblivious as to why my vag might need a @#%ing break. He didn’t apologize that I recall, or bring it up. I certainly didn’t. I kept my head down, worked my two jobs and juggled full time college courses. Dying inside. Being the best girlfriend he didn’t deserve, so that I could protect the life I had built for myself and my daughter.
INCIDENT: Nov 5-19th continuous It began just after election night. I got sick, very sick, while I was at my campus taking one of my classes. X and his kids had to come and pick me up because I wasn’t able to drive. He was very put out about it all, it was an inconvenience to him. I spent the next week with a rising fever, constant vomiting, a headache that’s close cousins with a hatchet, and body aches with chills fit to shatter me apart. I medicated for my symptoms, Tylenol, ibuprofen, all the standard stuff, which of course I had on hand living with an M.D. X kept a pharmacy in his walk in closet and under the sink. I tried to take care of myself, because DR X wanted nothing to do with me.
He felt I was ‘too upset’ about the election. It was nbd that Trump was setting down the path that led to HERE (10/21/2020). This was his justification for ignoring me while I wilted away. Sunday he left me alone, with all three children and informed me that it was my job to supervise them through all their Sunday chores while he was out. Never mind that I wound up chasing those cats until sanity demanded that I take a break from puking so I could do their chores myself. That way X wouldn’t come down on me for them not being done. I don’t know how I did it. He came home at the kids’ bedtime, and didn’t express any concern for me. It was Monday night when I took my temperature, it was 104.4 F.
I knew I was in serious trouble. X was out with his son, and his daughter with her mother, so I called a friend to take me to an urgent care. They transported me to a nearby hospital where I stayed for a week while under treatment for an aggressive kidney infection. It had been difficult to diagnose initially, because of my medical history with kidney infections, I’m generally pretty sure when I have one. But this sneaky bugger was asymptomatic, so I just thought I had a WICKED FLU that I needed to wait out.
X showed up 2x while I was in the hospital. Once the night I was admitted, to bring me a few things (*I think? Can’t really remember what happened that night, I was delirious), he didn’t hang around long. The next time was to pick, me up, the following Friday afternoon. I thought maybe he’d feel badly about how he’d treated me the week before, as I’d been getting sicker. He did initially, I thought. He wanted me to come with him, he said, to a friend’s house for a barbeque.
He’d been invited, and he’d been so busy all week and hadn’t had any time for HIM. “So it would mean so much if we could do this together, baby, please?” It turns out this friend was someone I’d met before, and didn’t have a great relationship with. I’d mostly been able to deescalate and stay chill around this guy, but he’s a real life troll who loves ticking people off, so it was a real struggle. It didn’t help that his relationship with his longtime girlfriend was one of the most obviously abusive relationships I’d ever seen. His name was Greg.
After attempting to get him to go on his own, let me stay home and rest (I was still sick, just well enough finally to leave the hospital). He insisted, he wouldn’t be able to enjoy himself if he went and left me home. It was key for his enjoyment that I be present. I wasn’t sure why at the time. I knew what would happen if I insisted on staying home. He would pout the whole night, and whine about how he couldn’t have any fun because he was busy being the BEST GUY EVER and tolerating my preferences. It would be less trouble I thought, to tolerate Greg for a few hours. Get some ground made up with X, let him know his needs were important to me. He claimed constantly that no one worried about his needs, they just expected him to fill theirs. He had been distant, and cruel. He was being nice to me right then, and I didn’t want it to change. I had felt so alone in the hospital, so ill for so long, I just wanted to be happy with my boyfriend for the time being. So.. off we went to Gregory’s house.
It was a long drive, about 45 minutes. We listened to music and talked about nothing, it was nice. As we were winding the long dirt road that was Greg’s driveway X casually tossed out: “Hey, just so you know, Greg is really happy about the election. Turns out he’s a huge Trump guy.” JUST F#$*ING GREAT
I generally prefer to avoid conflict. Its one of my chief character traits/flaws, and X was in no way ignorant of how stressful I would find this situation. I had brought along a book, and told him I planned to keep to myself and read my book. I wasn’t interested in engaging with Greg this way. But it was too late to back out, the drive was too long and I’d come in X’s car. I was stuck, and he knew it.
Greg started in on me right away. He basically ignored X and focused all his efforts on taunting the SJW snowflake millennial. I tried to ignore his baiting, and be civil, but indicate that I preferred to read my book, not talk about politics. He ignored this and instead grilled my awareness of Alt-right talking points against the Clintons. This went on for hours. I kept my cool for a long time. I tried to argue with facts, and not be diverted by his many attempts to bait me.
In order to gain some brief respite I wound up volunteering to cook dinner for everyone, since Greg’s browbeaten girlfriend couldn’t seem to figure out what would make ‘the men’ happy. She was so relieved when I offered; she scampered off to watch true c rime while I made Sloppy Joes, mac’n cheese, and a Caesar Salad. Greg showed up once the plates hit the table, tucked in and started straight back on politics.
I admit, I knew when I said that Trump’s history as a chauvinist and alleged Rapist made him unfit for office that I would strike a nerve. Turns out it was Greg’s Hulk Button. He literally turned purple defending Trump(?)’s relationships with women. It was at this point that true insults, no longer disguised thinly as jokes began to fly between Greg and I. X NEVER OPENED HIS MOUTH. He just Watched.
After a few moments of escalating screaming, I left Greg’s home and went outside to wait for X, so we could leave. X didn’t come out for almost half an hour. He told me later that he was trying to calm down Greg, he felt bad that I’d upset him.
As we drove off in silence, one question kept coming up in my mind, and finally I asked him: “Why did you want me to come? Didn’t you know this would happen?” “No!” he insisted “I just thought it would be funny, give you a chance to rip into a trump guy, right?” “You know I hate conflict in general, and arguing with stupid people in specific! How could you think this was ok?” I never got an adequate answer from him. He usually claims ignorance of the potential outcome. If that’s true, then he’s a lot less smart than he likes to assert. I spent the next few days resting at home, doing my best to avoid him, and the inevitable conflict that would follow.
INCIDENT: Spring 2017 Another incident with a friend of X’s. His name is Ted. Ted comes over to our house one day and starts playing the Libertarians favorite game: bait the libtard (his words)
I’m trying to be a good hostess, fetching drinks and politely listening to this man explain away societies problems based on his experiences as a ‘self made career military man’. Dude fixes Blackhawk helicopters. He’s in his sixties, I think. X sat there, while Ted talked about the wage gap being a figment of the liberal imagination. Women and men get paid the same for the same work, period. This was his stance, and X replies “Yeah, I don’t know any female Dr’s who make less than me, if they work as hard.”
I was stunned. Not only was this a**hole in my house spouting chauvanist BS--Ugh, sorry, this still steams me up..—X was agreeing with him, supporting his arguments. I was so angry, but felt outnumbered so I opted to retreat. I left the house and went for a cigarette. When I came back Ted was getting on his motorcycle and left. He was so shaken by the whole interaction he wrecked a few miles away, luckily sustaining only minor injuries. I was blamed for this by X. But we didn’t know that Yet.
We began to argue heatedly, I was angry and hurt that he had sided with Ted on this Factually documented issue in our society. When I brought this up, he insisted he was as Woke as Woke Gets, and if I really loved him I would know that of course he supports women’s rights, black rights, trans rights, gay rights.. until one of his friends disagrees. Then his views magically shift to line up with all these right wing conservative libertarian guys, which seemed to compromise about 60% of his friend group.
The fight got more heated. I tried to leave, to cool off, and X insisted I needed to stay, to work things out. We were in our bedroom, and he blocked my access to the door. I was overwrought and coming undone, I wanted nothing more in that moment than to get away from him. He grabs my arms above the elbows and wrestles me to the ground. I writhed, trying to get away. My left elbow was ground into the carpet repeatedly, and I have the scars of blotches on my arm 3 years later where they were skinned.
I was blamed for this. I was blamed for ‘ruining our date night’ because I had an issue with something totally unimportant. I’d over reacted. He convinced me that I had. I could only push so far before the knowledge that my ability to provide a home for my daughter hinged on this relationship working. No way could I afford a place on my own on one salary, let alone one fit to share with my then six year old. We went on our date night that night, a group dinner with many of his friends. He didn’t speak to me the whole evening, barely even on the ride home. That was how he acted after he got his way. To really hammer home that it wasn’t worth it for me to take any issue, with anything he said or did. I think that was the day I realized I had to leave him. It would take time, and I needed a plan.
EXODUS: I spent 2 months looking for a place to live, searching for new jobs, new options. In July I went to a protest on Monument Avenue in Richmond, and there I ran into some old friends, people I hadn’t hung out with since I met X. For the first time in a long time, I was social with someone other than HIS friends, or people at my work or school. I was a very busy person, always going. I’d spent 5 years getting more and more isolated. The floodgates opened, and I told them what was happening. They helped me coordinate, and find a place that I could move to inside of the week. I had a plan; my dad was even flying out to help me move. X still didn’t know.
This was something I struggled with a lot, I felt dishonest, which I suppose is accurate. I lied to him, told him everything was OK. I was withdrawn, and quiet, but mostly focused on not rocking the boat before I could spring my plan into action. I didn’t want to emotionally scar my daughter, so I prepared her, and her father agreed to keep her with him until I made the switch. X was relieved to have time without her around, he didn’t question it.
Just three days before my dad was going to fly in, I was sleeping in my daughter’s bed (for privacy and safety), and was awoken by X, screaming in my face. He’d opened up my phone and gone through my texts, found out what I was planning, and lost his freaking mind. He couldn’t believe that I’d lied to him about wanting to work on our relationship when I was planning to bounce. I told him it was because of this kind of reaction from him that I’d kept the secret. He was flabbergasted, I remember him saying that he –“can’t believe You would ever leave ME, you promised me you’d NEVER leave!”
That really took me aback. I felt a well of guilt, because I HAD promised him that. Then I remembered, I made that promise before he violently raped me. Then I felt less guilt. I told him in no uncertain terms that I was done with him, and he was the reason why. That he’s the demon that haunts my dreams now. When I left following this confrontation, he was throwing my stuff after me, telling me that my life would fall apart without him.
I really wanted him to be wrong. I wish he had been wrong. More than anything, I wish this were the end of the story.
SPIRALLING: For awhile things were ok, I was working multiple jobs, and was able to meet my expenses, and take care of my daughter. The place I was living was 90 min from God and Everywhere, but it was rent free, so that balanced a lot. Then, my health began to spiral. I was in and out of the ER multiple times, and my mental state was beginning to show cracks. Anxiety and depression were ruling my whole life, and I was a wreck. My physical health was what made it all go pear shaped though. I lost two jobs in one week, because of health related issues. I was Fainting, vomiting, etc. It makes you an unreliable employee, dontcha know? So, suddenly money was a serious problem, and the cracks in my mental state turned into the Grand FREAKING Canyon. Straight up, I had a mental breakdown. My best efforts had failed. X had been right. I was a failure. My daughter deserved better than me. At this time she started staying more with her father, and I would visit her there. I didn’t feel capable anymore, I was broken.
Then, there was this day, where my friend had kindly offered to let me stay at his house while I tried to snap myself out of it. I climbed into the shower.. and I didn’t leave it for almost three days. I just cried. Constantly.
In a moment of weakness, I reached out to X, whom I had totally cut off contact with several months before. He was doing great! He’d started going to therapy, and meditating every day. Really ‘worked’ on himself. He seemed like a totally different man than the one I’d left the year before. I began to wonder if I’d made a mistake.
X spent a lot of time with me for the next few weeks, trying to help me put myself back together. I was very near the danger zone… mentally speaking, and I felt a lot of gratitude to him for helping me out of my spiral.
Now, lets fast forward to August 2019. I had moved from my home on the east coast out to AZ to be closer to my dad. My daughter is currently living overseas with her father (who has been supportive throughout this process) and thriving. I am somehow able to better serve her as her mother from a distance, we talk every day, discuss life and difficulties. Its not ideal, but in the times of Covid, I’m just glad that she’s somewhere safe.
Now, this was right after she’d left the country, and the situation was still fresh. I was lonely, and sad. I missed my daughter. I’d had her with me every single day for a year, and suddenly, poof, she’s gone.
X calls me, and says he has plans to go to Dragon Con in Atlanta, just like he and I had done together the last four years. He wants me to go with him. Offers to buy my ticket and take care of the plane, he insisted he wouldn’t have any fun there if I wasn’t with him. I decided that it would be a good distraction, which I needed at that point. I thought, after a full year of weekly therapy and daily meditation and self reflection, as well as many discussions with me regarding the abuse he committed against me while we were together. He seemed to truly have internalized what I’d told him, and done the work to address his behaviors. I felt safe to go. Surely, things would be different now. I feel like such an idiot.
At first, things were mostly ok. We walked around the booths, saw famous people, smoked, and hung out with people that we’d met there over the years. One such man was Justin. I’d only met him one other year, and hadn’t spent much time around him before this. However, this time, he was in the room next door to ours, so the run ins and hang outs were more frequent. He, X and I spent most of the weekend together going around the Con. Saturday night, while riding up the Marriott elevator to our rooms, Justin casually mentioned that if we ever wanted a partner for a 3 way, he would be down.
At first I thought he was joking, and then X looked at me. Grinned and winked. This wouldn’t be a first for us, he has a voyeurism thing, and I have an ‘I like good sex’ thing. We chatted about it briefly before realizing we were all very much down for this. We spent the entire next day and a good chunk of the night in bed. Not gonna go into detail there, sorry.
Ok, I do have to go into some detail, very minor. While the three of us had been mutually involved all day, it turned out that the pairing that ended the session was Justin and I. By the end of it I was so sore, unless you have lady parts I don’t know how to convey how tender and raw my insides felt after this MARATHON session of really lovely sex. Some of it was even with X.
Justin packs up to leave in the morning, the con is over, and the mass exodus of nerds has begun. Our hotel checkout isn’t until the afternoon, X plans to drop me off at the airport before beginning his drive home. Once Justin goes, X tells me that before I leave, he wants us to have sex one more time. I told him I was in too much pain, No. I was pretty firm on that point. He told me that after paying for everything, including my plane home, he wanted to be the last penis inside me, and since it was so important to his emotional state he contended that I should just lay back and think of England. So, that’s exactly what happened. It was excruciating. I thought about it the entire plane ride home. My dad was so mad that I had gone on the trip with X in the first place that he and his wife stopped talking to me when I came back. I mean, they were right. I couldn’t tell them what had happened. It’s my own fault, right? My own shitty judgment.
He didn’t really change. His feelings (a.k.a: dick) were more important than my physical pain.
I don’t know why I didn’t cut him off right then.
We were in contact fairly frequently over the last year. We are not together, but X tries to maintain that connection with me. Saying I’m free to date who I want, obviously, but wait, who are you going out with? Will there be men there? Do they have PENISES??? I’m exaggerating, ok. Let’s just say he was hyper aware of the potential of me meeting someone else. He would talk about the singularness of our love, how nothing else could compare. He constantly brought up the idea that we would end up together, once our kids were grown and his parents die he’s pretty sure that’s all our relationship issues dealt with. I usually responded tepidly. I told him I didn’t think that was likely, that we broke up for damn good reasons. None of that ever stuck to his Teflon brain. I felt like I still needed him. I don’t really get why. Part of it is defiantly medical. I’ve relied on his help for way too long. In a world with unreliable insurance coverage knowing a Dr can save you a pretty penny. But I realized, recently, that knowing him is a stone around my neck. I’ve gone no contact. I hope it’s for the last time.
Unless there is some way for me to force him to face some accountability for this shit, I never want to speak to him again. I thought he’d changed, I thought maybe I’d helped make him a better man. I didn’t, I just made him a better manipulator.
ISMS: X- “The Safest place for you is Right next to Me.” “You know, you take this for granted, but I’m in this because I LOVE you, not because I’m worried about where I’m gonna live, or if I can keep custody of my kids! I’m in this because I Value You.” “WHAT?!-That was Rape??” “There’s nothing stopping you, you just need to try harder (subtext: Be More Like Me)
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2020.05.07 19:37 zachariusfrost Voyeur house tv sex

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3

“Ow shit.” I groaned as the stinging from the hydrogen peroxide stung my butt cheek.
“Oh hold still… it’s gonna hurt worse if you keep squirming.” Janine scolded, before jabbing the needle into the wound. I bit down on the belt between my teeth, as the pain worsened. Janine sighed as she worked and I did my best to keep still.
“I can’t believe I agreed to this.” She said, more to herself than me. I honestly couldn’t believe it either. After our little interrogation turned multiple homicide from earlier, I knew going to an actual hospital was out of the question, and luckily Janine was available. She wasn’t happy that I called her at midnight, but then again, would anyone be? She was the only person with medical experience that I knew, so I really had no other option.
Janine kept working, while Erica looked on in concern. Meanwhile Hal was hard at work with the blue-haired girl who still remained unconscious in her frozen knelt position.
“Remind me again what happened to cause this injury?” Janine asked.
“Uh… ninja star.” I replied. Janine just scoffed.
“It’s called a ‘shuriken’.” Hal corrected.
“Yeah… thrown by your new girlfriend might I add?” I replied. Janine turned to Hal who was messing with the blue-haired girl’s remote and a bundle of wires.
“Yeah which is another thing we need to talk about… again.” I had already tried to explain the situation to Janine over the phone, but by this point, we all know how impossible a conversation that is.
“Can you at least cover up her ass?” Janine asked; eluding to the blue-haired girl who was locked in the same position she had powered down in. She was bent over, with her pleaded green skirt flipped up, exposing her blue-striped underwear. Hal grabbed a blanket from the couch and tossed it over her butt, and Janine returned to her work.
“Jesus Christ Carl…” I felt her needle dig into my ass a little harder after that, as Janine’s frustration had clearly set in.
“Good doctor, will he survive his wounds?” Erica asked, concerned. Janine shot her a confused look.
“Uh yeah… it’s just his ass. He’ll be fine so long as he doesn’t call me at midnight anymore. Otherwise I’ll have to tear him a new one.” She pinched the wound and I squirmed but stifled my sass. Erica seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.
“Oh, praised be to God.” Janine continued stitching, and after a few more minutes she had finally completed her work.
“Alright you’re good to go, it may be hard to sit down for a while though. And try not to get the stitches wet.” I rolled on my side and shot her a grimace.
“How am I supposed to shower?” Janine shrugged.
“That one you’ll have to figure out on your own.” She sauntered away into the other room and Erica clutched my hand softly.
“Erica…” She looked to me, eyes seeming to brim with sorrow.
“I’m just so glad you’re okay my lord. I don’t know what I would do without you.” She looked as though she were about to cry, despite her not possessing the ability to. Once again, her genuine demeanor struck hard. I can never tell how much of her is machine, and how much is still human. I wrapped both my hands around hers.
“We’re going to find him. I promise.” I had no way to guarantee it, but I had to say it. Erica smiled and leaned her head into my chest in a snug embrace. It felt so good to hold her close, and I was prepared to do anything to help her. Machine or not, she deserved to see justice, and Chuck still needed to pay.
Janine allowed us to stay the night, and for that I was incredibly grateful. If it weren’t for her hospitality, I don’t know what we would’ve done. I fell asleep with Erica at my side not long after, and awoke to the feeling of sunlight beaming in through the blinds. The aroma of fresh brewed coffee wafted through Janine’s apartment, and the sound of a television echoed quietly in the room.
Erica was no longer at my side, and I sprung up frantic, only to see her seated on the couch beside Janine. Janine jumped as I sprung up, before we both realized things were normal.
“Shit Carl… you always this jumpy in the morning?” Janine asked putting a hand to her chest.
“Sorry… I thought… never mind…” I hauled myself to my feet and winced as my wound stung. Janine took a sip of coffee.
“You guys made the news.” She said. My heart then quivered, and I looked to the TV to see an anchorwoman standing in front of a damaged house. After a moment I recognized the house as the same one we had been at the previous night.
The woman on the TV gave a rundown of the story. Police were swarming the area after receiving calls of a skirmish. They found the bodies of four deceased people; three of the henchmen with the other being the guy in the bathroom. They had two of the henchmen in custody, but reports of another who escaped.
Police were calling it a botched organ harvesting operation, and my jaw nearly struck the floor as the woman who we found tied-up the previous night gave her testimony. She then told her story how she thought they were all going to die; and surely would have were it not for three strangers who intervened. Janine just laughed.
“I thought you were just high as shit last night when you told me that story, but I guess you are as dumb as you look, but you’re not crazy.”
“Holy shit…” I then noticed Hal still dozing in front of the TV, with the blue-haired girl in her same position right beside him.
“Hal… Hal wake up.” I threw paper towel roll at him and it bounced off his scalp causing him to squirm.
“Mm… ah what? What time is it?” He asked groggily.
“Who cares? Just wake up.” Hal grunted and rolled onto his back, his lethargic gaze meeting the TV screen.
“What show is this?” He asked.
“It’s not a show.” I replied. Hal then seemed to understand, and immediately sprung upward, his eyes growing wide. The woman on the TV then concluded the story.
“Police are on the lookout for three persons of interest who the family claims are responsible for their liberation. If you know the whereabouts of these people then please contact your local authorities immediately.” The scene then switched to show police sketches that were undeniably of me, Erica and Hal.
“Damn… they actually did a pretty good job on those drawings. They look just like us.” Hal commented and I had to step away. Panic began constricting around my chest like the coils of a python.
“No no no no no no, this is bad. This is so bad.” I muttered.
“Yeah, looks like I’m harboring fugitives now; because that’s really what I wanted to do on my day off.” Janine grumbled, obviously sarcastic as she rose and approached her kitchen.
“I’m sorry Janine… I… it all happened so fast I just… I didn’t mean to get you involved we just didn’t have anywhere else…” Janine stopped me by putting a hand on my shoulder.
“If what you told me is true about what those bastards did to these girls, then you did the right thing.” I looked at her, confused why I wasn’t being scolded.
“I did?” Janine nodded.
“Yeah, you didn’t do it well… obviously, but at least you tried. That was very brave.” She patted my shoulder and then slapped my ass, causing a stinging pain to surge through my body. I winced and Janine seized me by the collar.
“But if you ever get me involved with something like this again then you’re gonna have to glue your ass back together.” She walked back over to the kitchen and Erica looked on in concern.
“The heretics are most depraved indeed.” She commented.
“You should just call the cops; you don’t deserve to get in trouble for this.” I called out to Janine. She cocked a brow at me.
“I ain’t no damn snitch. Soon as you leave, I’ll call em and tell em you went in the opposite direction. They’ll never know the difference.” She gave me a wink, and I nodded back.
“Thank you, Janine, I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.” She shrugged.
“Take those bastards down, that’s a good start.”
“Oh yeah dude I forgot to tell you.” Hal suddenly interjected and pulled something from his pocket. He slapped a couple of papers down on the table and I leaned in to get a better look. I didn’t understand what I was looking, but Hal quickly explained.
“I think Chuck dropped these when he was running away shitting his pants. Got coordinates, a meetup location, a warehouse and this…” He then flicked a piece of blue paper in my face. It looked like schematics of a female woman; all skeletonized and interlaced with countless notes and symbols.
“Is this… for her?” I pointed to the blue-haired girl still unconscious, face down on the floor. Hal nodded.
“Yeah, I think I managed to reset her programming. Meaning in theory… she shouldn’t try to kill us when we turn her back on.” Hal replied.
“In theory?” I asked.
“Yeah, in case you haven’t noticed I’ve just been kinda winging it until now. But hey… it’s worked out so far.” I shot him a scowl.
“Yeah, I mean hey we just murdered like three people last night but other than that we’re good right?” I asked. Hal just shrugged as if decapitating people wasn’t that big a deal to him.
“Four people actually.” Janine clarified, causing me to pantomime a sarcastic thankful gesture back to her.
“Well we’re still alive, and those guys were douchebags anyway.” I guess he had a point there. I looked back to the blue-haired girl.
“So how do we turn her back on?” Hal looked over to Janine.
“Got any jumper cables?”
I can’t imagine what must’ve been going through the neighbor’s head’s when they saw us outside. Here they were, just probably enjoying the nice sunny morning when they saw a blue-haired girl dressed as a schoolgirl with us clamping jumper cables onto her breasts like some deranged sexual deviants.
The elderly man and woman just stared at us as Hal fired up his Lincoln. I wanted to say something to assuage their clear worries, but I think I just made things worse.
“Coffee just doesn’t do it for us anymore, y’know?” The old man just looked at me disgusted, and the woman appeared clearly worried. They said nothing, but picked up their pace to get away from us as quickly as possible. Can’t say I blame them for that honestly.
“Well here goes probably the stupidest idea ever…” I said, grabbing the ends of the jumper cables. I touched the red onto her umm… right bosom and Hal stood ready with her remote.
“You sure this is the right area?” I asked, referring to the depraved act I was about to perform. Hal just nodded, and I sighed; bringing the black clamp onto her other breast.
The moment the metal made contact, she lurched awake. Her eyes sprang open and her body fluttered and contorted like some kind of funky dance routine. She then knocked the clamps away and jumped to her feet, seizing me by the throat. Erica unsheathed her blade, and prepared to strike as the girl’s hand constricted around my neck.
“No wait!” Hal screamed pressing a button as Erica hesitated. The girl’s eyes then flickered, and her anaconda grip lessened. She then gasped, her eyes darting around. A wide smile then grew on her face as she looked into my eyes.
“Senpai!” She yelled, suddenly jumping onto my torso and wrapping her arms and legs around me. The sudden weight caused me to falter on my feet and fall onto my back. Erica then pressed her blade across the blue-haired girl’s throat.
“Unhand him you vile wench!” She yelled, a look of what almost seemed like jealousy in her eye. The blue-haired girl let out a whimper of fear and quickly released me from her grip. I jumped back to my feet, and the blue-haired girl hid behind me from Erica.
“Eek… Senpai… watashi oh mamatay.” The blue-haired girl pleaded. Once again, I saw the same old man from earlier at the other end of the parking lot staring at me with a disgusted look. I just gave an awkward smile and waved to him, and he just shook his head.
“Erica it’s okay… she’s just scared.” Erica’s eyes stayed ablaze, but her guard dropped a moment later and she sheathed her katana. I didn’t really know what to do, but clearly the best thing was for us to just get out of there.
The blue-haired girl clung to me like a sloth to a tree all the way up until we started to leave. I elected to drive so Hal could continue working on her, and Erica sat shotgun and helped me with my dialysis.
After driving awhile Hal finally managed to convert her language settings into English. We found out then that her name was Kurumu, and she- like Erica remembered very little of what had happened to her.
She said she was sorry for trying to kill us earlier, and seemed sincere about it. Erica didn’t look too impressed, but I felt genuine sorrow for Kurumu as well. I didn’t know what the hell we were going to do, but I did know that we now had another reason to find Chuck Hagerman and put an end to his depraved antics.
The documents that Hal had found pointed to a meeting place that Chuck presumably was going to be at. It was slated for the following evening, and it was half-way across the country. After we had interrupted his work the previous night, we didn’t know whether he’d have the nerve to show up there, but we had nothing else to go off.
The rest of that day was spent on the weirdest road trip I’d ever imagined. If you would’ve told me a week before this that one day, I’d be a national fugitive on the lamb with two ass-kicking sex robots and my best friend Hal, then I’d have asked what drugs you were on and where I could get some.
All the things I had imagined for my own life had suddenly evaporated, but I think it also taught me an interesting and kind of stupid lesson. You can plan all you want for how your life is going to be, but when destiny comes knocking, you answer that call. We had to end it, one way or another.
We finally arrived at the city where the deal was supposed to go down well into the wee hours of the morning. Kurumu and Hal were both passed out in the backseat, and Erica – ever the faithful companion remained on full alert beside me. I pulled into some dimly lit parking lot, hearing the sounds of several crackheads arguing on the far-end of the lot. It seemed the perfect place to hide out and finally get some sleep.
I killed the headlights, and glanced to Erica in the passenger seat.
“Have we arrived?” She asked.
“Well, we’re close, but the actual thing is still a little ways away. We got the whole day before it is supposed to happen.” Erica nodded, and stared into my eyes.
“How is your buttocks feeling?” She asked. I shrugged, still soar but learning to cope.
“it’s fine…” I replied staring out into the dismal streets around us. A moment of silence swirled between us, and my eyes eventually drifted back to her. She looked crestfallen, with her lower lip trembling ever so slightly. It looked like she was trying to cry, but just couldn’t.
“Are you okay, Erica?” She lowered her head, hiding her face behind her crimson locks as she sighed deep.
“I feel a great deal of remorse for what I have done to you. This heresy arose by my own hand. It’s all my fault…” She whimpered, and my heart broke for her.
“Erica…” I reached out and clasped her hand. She sniffled, and seemed too ashamed to look at me.
“We’ve all made mistakes, and this not your fault.” She looked to me, her verdant eyes seeming to sparkle.
“But it is my lord! A piece of you has been lost because of me.” She appeared truly devastated, but in all honesty, by kidney was no longer my main concern. I mean sure, it’d be nice to have it back, but there were more important things at stake.
“A piece of me has been gained though, my heart… because of you.” Yeah, I know it was probably the cheesiest pickup line I’ve ever heard too, but Erica seemed endeared by it. I clutched my other hand around hers and stared deep into her eyes.
“This is my battle to fight too.” She leaned into me, and we shared a long embrace. So long as a matter of fact that by the time it ended I found myself waking up with a crick in my back from falling asleep in the same awkward position.
Sunlight finally pierced my eyelids some time later, but I’m not even sure how much sleep I actually got. My mind was accosted by all sorts of anxieties and harrowing questions.
What if we die?
Will I go to prison for the rest of my life even if we don’t?
What will my parents think when they find out?
What is the point of having silent letters in words?
And most importantly, what was Chuck really up to?
After our previous encounter, that question weighed the heaviest on my mind. I thought he was just some incredibly talented and equally deranged robotics engineer, but clearly there was more at play. The fact he had five henchmen with him led me to believe his operation went well beyond just organ theft. I mean sure, I’ll bet a kidney is worth quite a lot on the black market, but it seemed like that was only the beginning.
Hal managed to discover that the man’s home that Chuck had been at that night was not only a well-known executive, but also a Brazilian senator. That home was apparently just his summer vacation home.
If Chuck was really only after organs he could’ve just kept going after average Joes like me. Local news would’ve run a story on another victim of organ theft, and that would’ve pretty much been the end of it. Why target a high-profile person like that senator?
We spent that day preparing as much as possible; which truth be told didn’t involve as much as we would’ve liked. We wanted to buy guns, but we knew if either Hal or I tried to access our bank accounts then the cops would trace us really quick.
In the end we settled on a local junkyard. The owner was a pudgy man with a stained Nascar t-shirt that was too small and a wad of tobacco in his lip. He didn’t want to let us in at first, but Kurumu managed to butter him up by flashing puppy-dog eyes. The rotund man blushed and his grumpy demeanor lessened as he finally agreed to let us in.
We tried rounding up as many useful materials as we could find. Erica sharpened her blade, while Kurumu constructed several shurikens out of jagged scrap metal. Hal and I tried our hand at assembling some kind of armor, but realized pretty quick that neither of us were really cut out for this line of work.
Luckily Erica showed us a few nifty little tricks which I’ll describe later. Her craftsmanship and MacGyver-esque spirit was truly something to behold. Once again, the thought struck me of how she was able to do the things she did. Did she know them before she became Chuck’s little experiment, or did he specifically program her with the knowledge? And if so, why the hell would he program a sex robot with the ability to manufacture guerilla weaponry? Either he was obsessively dedicated to creating authentic personality types, or there was an entirely different explanation to all this.
Evening finally came, and our ragtag group filed in to Hal’s Lincoln and drove to the specified location. We didn’t even know whether Chuck would bother showing up there, but we had nothing else to go off and time was running out.
My gut churned like I had just eaten a Taco Bell buffet, and I couldn’t stop tapping my foot as we drove out to the location. If it’s not clear by now I guess I have to reiterate; I’m no fighter. I’ve never been a big guy, nor do I have any training in self-defense, let alone taking on international organ smugglers. I don’t think our local community college has a class on that.
Hal continued sifting through his phone and notes he had made while Kurumu drove quietly onward. I thought it was questionable whether to have her drive at all, but Hal seemed fine with it. We couldn’t even convince her to change out of her schoolgirl uniform. The sweats and hoodie we offered in exchange to help mask her appearance were quickly rejected; as Kurumu claimed they were ‘not kawaii’. She refused to reconsider and so we ended up just dropping the topic.
Clearly, we were underprepared, ill-equipped and some might even say entirely incompetent. It’s not like we weren’t aware of this fact, but we were well aware that if we didn’t stop it, no one else would.
The warehouse specified in Chuck’s stolen notes stood desolate and seemingly unoccupied. It was run down and swamped in foliage which protruded from cracks in the walls and foundations. Broken glass and various spackles of graffiti covered the exterior, and clearly the building had not been in use for many years.
It seemed the perfect place for a shady individual like Chuck to meet his equally shady contacts, but there appeared to be no one there. Hal parked his Lincoln behind an old storage container, and the four of us spread out to put our operation into motion. Hal and Kurumu snuck around the back to try and find a way inside, while Erica and I hid behind some bushes.
“Is something the matter, my lord?” Erica asked as I shivered from behind the skeletal bushes. The cold wind was like needles on my skin, but that wasn’t the only reason I was shaking like a leaf.
“Ah… it’s just cold.” I replied, trying to reassure her; there was no fooling her though.
“The eve of battle is a worrying time, my lord. It is only natural to feel anticipation.” I eyed her skeptically.
“Pshh… I’m not scared.” Neither Erica nor I myself bought my claim.
“Okay fine, I’m fucking terrified. I’ve never done anything like this before.” I admitted, unable to lie to her. Her green eyes seemed almost to glisten in the night, as the wind blew her crimson locks gently about.
“You are very brave for accepting this mission on my behalf, and I will protect you to my final breath.” I shook my head.
“I don’t want it to come to that. I want you to live, especially…” I trailed off, mulling over how to formulate the words as delicately as possible.
“Especially after what you’ve been through already, you deserve to live free.” Erica smiled.
“I already live free my lord. It is not the circumstance to which I was born into, nor the struggles I have faced which defines me, It is I who define myself, by the things I choose to do, and the people I choose to serve.” She then shifted closer to me, staring into my eyes.
“And I choose to be at your side; now and forevermore.” She leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. I was blown away by her response, but still my gut was churning.
“What if we die?” I asked. Erica turned, and like some effervescent, Valkyrie queen from the heavens, she solidified her badass persona with seven simple words.
“Then it will be a glorious death.”
Headlights approached in the distance, turning onto the neglected road which led out to where we had stationed ourselves. The vehicle drove onward, eventually turning to reveal itself as a blacked-out suburban. Typical, I thought chuckling under my breath, but the stereotypic display wouldn’t last.
The suburban closed in eventually parking in the far-end of the lot and killing it’s headlights. The vehicle just sat there, and I was unable to make out who was inside. Finally, after a few minutes the rear-left door opened. Out stepped a man dressed in camo, holding a large rifle. He lit a smoke and exhaled a cloud which was immediately abducted by the wind. The door on the other side opened a moment later, and another man stepped out dressed in matching attire.
My phone buzzed, and I peeked at it to see a text from Hal.
“They look like Army guys. What’s the plan?” He plucked the thought right out of my brain.
“Stay hidden, wait for Chuck.” I texted back, contemplating what the sight entailed. Hal was right; the guys did look like they were from the US Army or some other military branch. But what the hell was the military doing out there? Was it a sting operation they had set up?
I don’t know if the military even does sting operations, or if that’s more of an FBI thing. I suppose they could have been mercenaries or hired goons, but the uniforms threw me off. I expected tattooed bald dudes with beer guts and dark suits along with some Russian dude named Yuri calling the shots, but clearly that wasn’t the case.
We waited there for at least twenty more minutes, before another pair of headlights emerged down the road. It drove the same path as the Suburban before it, and as it entered the same patch of moonlight; I recognized Chuck’s van.
“It is the one we seek.” Erica began to move; clutching her blade, but I grabbed her arm.
“Wait… I want to see this.” Erica hesitated, and slumped back down beside me. The van parked adjacent to the suburban, and killed it’s headlights. The two men outside with assault rifles tensed up, and the driver door of the suburban stepped out. He wore a black suit and gloves, sporting a balled head and clean-shaven face. The van door then opened, and out stepped a familiar and hated face.
Chuck. Fucking. Hagerman. He rounded the van, and approached the man in the suit.
“You’re late.” The man in the suit said in a voice devoid of emotion and expected Russian accent. He sounded more midwestern than anything.
“Apologies, we had an… incident but it has been taken care of.” Chuck replied, clutching something underneath his arm.
“I hope it wasn’t anything serious.” The man in the suit said, glancing at the guards beside him. “Do you have it?” He asked sternly. Chuck nodded.
“Yes, yes of course. Not like I’m gonna come all the way out here to waste you gentleman’s time. That’s a good way to get wacked, amirite?” Chuck was clearly trying to lessen the mood with his cheesy, salesman routine, but the man in the suit didn’t look impressed.
“There’s still time for that.” He responded, and Chuck looked like he had just shat a cinderblock.
“Right, well as promised I have the models here that you requested.” Chuck beckoned them to follow him, and the group ventured to the back of the van. I couldn’t see what was going on, and was about to text Hal and ask since he had a better vantage point, but he beat me to it.
“Dude there’s more of them.” His text read.
“What do you mean? More goons?” I replied. Erica looked like a jaguar eyeing a field mouse from her crouched position. I could tell she was chomping at the bit to engage them, but still stood firm. My phone buzzed again.
“No… more dolls.” I don’t know why I didn’t see that coming, but it was still a surprise. How many of those damn dolls did that psychopath Chuck make?
“They are totally obedient, following every order without question.” Chuck declared, waltzing from behind the van with the other men. My phone buzzed once more.
“He stole that line from Attack of the Clones.” I just shook my head.
“Hal. Focus.” I replied, shoving my phone back in my pocket. Chuck walked out accompanied by two gorgeous women dressed in scantily clad attire. There was a black girl dressed in leather pants and a crop top, while the other was a Latina girl wearing low-cut jean shorts, cowboy boots and a corduroy, collared shirt.
“These are our newest models. I think you’ll find them quite impressive.” Chuck pulled out a remote and hit something on the screen. The black girl’s eyes flickered, and she took a step. Her eyes focused on one of the men dressed in camo, and she began seductively strolling towards him. Her hand raised with an illustrious motion and her fingers danced around his neck. The man’s face lit up in a perverse smile.
“They are programmed with state-of-the-art sensual features, but also…” Chuck pressed another button. The girl’s eyes then flickered, and in one swift motion she pulled the man into a headlock, flipped him over her thigh and flat on his back. The man struck with a groan, and tried to fight back but the girl held a dagger against his throat before he could move. The man shuttered and lifted his quivering hands in surrender. The man in the suit just grinned.
“Impressive.” He commented as Chuck commanded the girl to release the man. The man in camo stood back up and dusted himself off as his comrades chuckled at him.
“And they can be operated remotely?” The man in the suit asked and Chuck nodded.
“From up to one-thousand clicks away.” That may have been the most interesting claim he’d made thus far. I couldn’t help but wonder why someone would possibly need to be able to operate a sex robot from over one thousand miles away. I mean, maybe remote viewing or voyeurism of some kind, but it just seemed like an unnecessarily expensive feature, but as I looked at the strange ensemble of Chuck’s friends, I was struck by an epiphany. Maybe Erica, Kurumu and the others were more than advertised.
The girl strolled back to Chuck’s side; like a noble and obedient hound. I couldn’t decide what to do. I tried devising a plan of catching them all of guard, but there were too many. Before either I or Erica could act, a commotion caught our attention from the far side.
“Die perverts!” Like some methed-out tiger there was Kurumu, leaping from the shadows and soaring through the air like some Jackie Chan prodigy. In one fluid motion she flung a shuriken out with tremendous speed, burying it deep into one of the goons faces. The man gurgled and fell dead a moment later as the others opened fire. Kurumu ducked, and dove behind an old truck, and I realized I had to do something.
Before I could even act, Erica stood and shouted.
“For the glory of the one true god!” Her voice rose to a clamorous warlord, and she charged at the men. They turned to her, but before they could fire, she was on them like a piranha on a wounded calf. She reached the first man, slicing both his arms at the wrist as I rose to charge out.
The man screamed in agony but was silenced by Erica shoving her blade right through his throat. She then hunched her back against the man’s mutilated corpse; using it as a makeshift shield as his compatriots riddled his body with a surge of bullets.
I saw Chuck panic and scurry away yelling out a command to his Amazon warriors.
“Kill them.” The two other girls sprang into action, with one tackling Erica while the other darted towards where Kurumu had hidden. A brick then came soaring through the air and nailed one of the henchmen on the head as he was reloading. He groaned and clutched his face as Hal came charging out of the darkness screaming like a banshee. I think it was meant to be a war cry, but it sounded more like he had reached puberty and orgasmed simultaneously. The iron bucket on his head didn’t help his case much either.
He reached the wounded henchmen and tried punching, but the goon caught his fist. He flipped Hal around, punching him twice in the face and once in the gut before tossing Hal onto the ground. Hal groaned and spat out blood as the man moved to finish him off.
Before he could I dove onto his shoulder, causing him to waver and fumble around. He tried freeing himself, and soon tossed me free. Hal had since regained his footing and swung a metal pipe towards the man. The man ducked and instead Hal’s swing struck me in the shoulder.
I crumpled in pain, and the man kicked Hal in the groin, causing him to crumple as well. Once again, the two of us were outmatched by a single opponent, but before he could land a killing blow on either of us, he was set open by a wild Kurumu.
She slammed the man into the side of the suburban burying his face through the window. Another man rounded the back of the Suburban, but before he could fire Kurumu had flung a shuriken into his hand. The man screamed and fell backwards squeezing the trigger and causing a barrage of bullets to fly aimlessly out into the night sky.
As I regained my footing, I saw the Latina doll in the distance hogtied and squirming in the dirt after her failed battle with Kurumu. Kurumu was a monster, and before I could even regain my footing, I saw her slam the goon’s face into another window on the suburban. By that point his face looked more like a pancake made of glass.
Kurumu’s eyes were ablaze with the madness of the old gods, and she swiftly set upon the man she wounded previously. He screamed and tried crawling away, but Kurumu showed no mercy. She laughed manically as she grabbed the man around the neck and began pulling at it. In seconds I heard the man’s pained shrieks mix with a cacophony of wretched snaps and gurgles before Kurumu tore the man’s head clean off his shoulders.
Meanwhile I saw Erica facing off with the black girl in front of the vehicles, and Chuck diving into his van. I knew then I had to stop him and so I charged towards him with reckless intent. As his van’s tires screeched and flung rocks up around the vicinity, I grabbed onto the side door handle.
The van charged forward, with me clinging onto the side for dear life. Chuck’s eyes were wide with terror as I somehow managed to haul myself up his passenger side. The door then swung open, and Chuck swerved to try and lose me. I hung on for dear life as my back scraped against the abrasive gravel road.
With all the strength I possessed I just barely managed to pull myself up inside his van. Chuck tried punching me, but clearly his fighting skill was matched only by my own incompetence. I caught his fist and tugged him away from the driver seat. The van swerved wildly, and I felt it tip up on two wheels, before tumbling sideways.
The next moment consisted on what I can only imagine of what it feels like to be inside a blender. I was accosted by all manner of debris; glass, pencils, coins and whatever other frivolous items Chuck kept in his cabin. The van tumbled side over side before finally falling still in a shattered husk of it’s former glory.
I lay there dazed and in pain, as my mind attempted to reel itself back in. I looked up and realized the van was upside down. Chuck was hanging inverted from the driver seat; his seatbelt keeping him tethered to what had now become the roof.
I felt a sharp stinging radiate all over my body, but the adrenaline fueled me to click his seatbelt release. Chuck came crashing down onto the inverted roof like a sack of potatoes; groaning as he struck. I hauled myself towards him, mounting on top as he looked at me with dazed eyes. I punched him in the face.
“Kidney… now.” I mumbled between labored breaths. Chuck appeared on the verge of unconsciousness. He didn’t respond, and I took a moment to catch my breath.
Behind me I heard a sudden commotion and turned to see the suburban rocketing towards the road out. It swerved wildly before slamming into a telephone pole and stopping dead in it’s tracks. A person was then jettisoned through the windshield, screaming before landing in a heap several dozen feet ahead of the wrecked vehicle.
I crawled out towards the wreckage, figuring Chuck was no longer in any condition to flee. I saw Kurumu fall in a heap from the roof, wincing softly as she thudded onto the ground. The rear tire of the suburban had like five shurikens lodged into it, and it looked more like an oversized, used condom by that point.
Erica was still facing off against the black girl, but their conflict ended when Hal arrived and tasered her from behind. The black girl quivered and fell to the dirt unconscious. Erica was panting heavily, and her and I locked eyes in the moment.
A sudden screech then echoed behind us, and the sounds of a boom echoed out. I turned and saw an odd, net-like projectile come hurdling towards the scene. Before anyone could react, I saw the thing coil around Erica like some vile serpent. She fell to the dirt and I rushed to her side, but I was too late; the suburban reached her first.
Two men stepped out and hauled the flailing Erica inside. I screamed and dashed towards them, but was frozen by the sight of the man in the suit. He was holding a pistol aimed directly at my chest. I saw it just in time for him to pull the trigger. A harsh impact thundered into my chest, feeling like a punch from superman direct to the gut. I fell onto my back, seeing Erica screaming as my vision swam around me. I then saw her convulse and fall still as she was hoisted into the depths of the suburban. I could do nothing but watch as they drove away into the night and my vision faded to black.
submitted by zachariusfrost to ComedicNosleep [link] [comments]

2020.05.04 00:10 Mysterious-Visit Voyeur house tv sex

Hi all, before I explain the most preposterous matter of events you’ve probably read in a while I should let you all know that I am the epitome of a rational person, I’m very level headed & is unlike myself to jump to any sort of conclusion that is in any way absurd etc .. however I am at a complete loss at the current matter of events I have been ill-fated with. I am here for some advice & possibly to hear similar stories however I I’m pessimistic to believe anyone has been unfortunate to have suffered the same circumstances.. First off, I have been seeing (we will call him Rodney) for about a year, most of which he lived with me at my house, a few months in his behaviour started to become suspicious, he started to hide away in his room, woman’s voices kept appearing, sexual noises started to come about, when we would share a bed I would wake up in the middle of the night to noises of him and what appeared to be another woman (moaning etc) sometimes I would catch him peering out the bedroom window whilst whispering to someone, after some time it became evident that he was opening the window because every time he would leave the house it was unlocked again. If I mentioned anything he would scream and demean me until I would cry and eventually let the issue go. It got so bad and so many of these instance kept occurring that I started to put my voice recorder on my phone when I would sleep as I couldn’t trust myself to fall asleep otherwise. In the recordings I can hear doors opening, whispering, sexual noises etc .. I’ve spoken to my mother about this as she is always the one to make me see sense when I’m not thinking clearly, however it was her that pushed the issue and mentioned something about voyeurism, from what I have researched o believe this could certainly be a possibility, especially as it was always very clear from the start that his kink was watching me emotionally distressed from his actions & the only time he was in the mood was during a fight when I had been completely distraught .. apart from that he had no interest, especially if I was in the mood - that was a complete turn off for him. However the issue I am faced with now, post his absence (he still visits here and there) is the fact that I can hear people around me, always around the same time at night (2,3am) I hear what sounds like someone jumping the fence & banging and footsteps all around me. It always sounds like there’s someone either under the house or in my backyard having sex & when it makes me upset and I yell out or call Rodney the sounds get louder and louder. Mind you, every time this happens is a time that Rodney goes mia and I am unable to get through to his phone .. My house is on stumps with access via the backyard, however I can’t imagine that under the house would be a desirable location to meet up with somebody. The other thing that has me at a complete loss and is devastating myself is that whenever he decides to visit his first go to is to use my spare bathroom shower, a few months ago I was in my bedroom and I could hear him and another person once again in a sexual manner - there was absolutely no way of mistaking this. I banged on the door and as usual he turned this around to be my fault. During the time he lived with me, he wasn’t the cleanest person and wouldn’t care if he missed a shower here and there but when he would come to visit he was incessant on having a shower and every time he makes a point to say that he wants a shower in peace like he’s enabling what he’s about to do. Without a doubt this happens every time he comes over. Prior to the shower, I start to hear unusual noises around the house like someone is in the walls or ceiling or under the house & my pet dog starts to go absolutely crazy - starting and scratching at the walls, whining like someone is there .. like clockwork every time. I ended up putting my phone at the door on voice record one day & listening back to it you can clearly hear another woman’s voice & as I said I’m not an irrational person so I’ve considered the idea it’s porn or phone sex, however it’s the difference between peoples voices via the phone and in person are distinctively different. Once the noises stop the shower door gets banged a few times over and over, then what sounds like something dragging on the floor, multiple banging noises like something being moved and heaving noises like someone is possibly lifting something or someone. I’ve investigated the bathroom and can’t find anything or any hiding spots it has me completely confused .. he does keep the rod you use to open/close ducted heating vents in there & found him playing with the drains a few times & S bend .. the shelf was also moved in the vanity cupboard. But the bathroom is a standard bathroom, bath, shower, vanity, mirror, exhaust fan, tiled floor .. I don’t get it. He will also find any excuse just to go and sit in there .. I have a feeling that the neighbour might have something to do with it, as there have been a few times he has come over and when he leaves (after receiving a text from someone and making up an obvious lie to leave) that I did not hear a car out the front start or leave. I live in a unit complex so can’t see the front street from my house. Late at night the neighbour also oddly starts to shine lights into my home, i can see them walk outside around 2am and from multiple directions see a light peering into my house. I also feel like they are using some sort of infrared sensor as it’s almost like an invisible light wherever I sit that almost blinds me. When I do hear people outside I proceed to turn off all lights and the lights and beams and tiny dots of red, blue, green is genuinely bs .. I also see people’s silhouettes around my house checking where I’m located in the house. Not to mention I’ve always had a weird ability to pick up radio waves/tv waves and when this is all happening it’s so strong it makes me feel like I’m going to pass out and almost feels like I’m loosing my hearing. Is there anywhere in the bathroom that you think I’m overlooking? Possible that someone is in the roof/walls? I need to know because its affecting my life in every way, I’m on the last stretch of removing him from my life but even so, I need to know otherwise I will question it for the rest of my life and trusting anyone won’t be an option for me. And if anyone has been through similar I prey that you were able to emotionally recover from the trauma of having the person you trust the most severely use you for their own fucked up derranged fantasies ..
submitted by Mysterious-Visit to relationship_advice [link] [comments]

2020.04.11 17:16 Twister26000 Tv voyeur sex house

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submitted by Twister26000 to copypasta [link] [comments]

2020.03.09 22:26 Elvis_Interstellar Voyeur house tv sex

I'm making a new thread, because the last one is already archived and hasn't been updated for over a month. Its author is also permanently suspended.
As Reddit limits you to 40000 characters per post, I must split this into 2 posts. This post contains everything except subreddits banned for ban evasion or for being unmoderated.
Link to the second thread
A list of 200,194 banned subs
Violent content:

Proliferation of violent content:
Glorifying violence:
Encouraging violence:
Inciting violence:
Inciting harm:
Encouraging harm:
Glorifying sexual violence:
Animal abuse:
Harassment or harassing content:
Inciting harassment:
Violent content and harassment:
Banned for having a racial slur in its name:
Transactions involving prohibited goods or services:
Criminal activity:
Minor sexualization:
Involuntary pornography:
Proliferation of personal and confidential information:
Copyright violations:
No reason given: (these are usually banned due to being used for spam)
Multiple violations of site wide rules:
Other reasons:
Safety reasons:
Interfering with Reddit:
Vote manipulation:
Subreddits banned due to the rule change:
* Ban time and reason changed during the purge of subs containing the word 'nigga' or 'nigger'
submitted by Elvis_Interstellar to reclassified [link] [comments]

2019.12.17 01:48 Hmack1 Voyeur house tv sex

I am the partner of 23 years of a porn addict.
I have lived a wonderful life, am beautiful, sought after, owned my own business...then was lucky enough to have prince charming walk in and I fell madly, wildly in love. He was perfect, WE were perfect together! Within a year, I sold my business, and moved in with him. I was 33, he was 34. We were both divorced. I had not a clue that his first marriage fell apart because of his porn addiction.
When we were dating our sex life was fine, not explosive, he wasn't a great lover, I had had great lovers and knew they were hard to come by, but he was adequate. Not to mention, I worked 70 to 80 hours a week, and while I was always game, time for sex was hard to come by...so I didn't notice the lack there of. He was perfect in all other ways, and it was a forgone conclusion that we would spend the rest of our days together. Everyone said we were the perfect couple.
I knew he watched porn every once in awhile. He even brought an old DVD video into the bedroom once...I was bored stiff, so he turned off. I once came across him watching some vanilla porn...I just hugged him and teased him about his girlfriends. Again...I couldn't have been more fucking stupid.
In order to spend more time with the love of my life, I sold all my businesses. It was a relief, really. I had been work, work, work..my whole life and now it was time for me, for us.
He owned his own business, was busy in his own right, I took over the management. I was confused by the books, he was unbelievably in demand, yet he didn't make any money. He was a Historical Preservationist, restored 100 year old homes for a living...yet his home was an unfinished disaster. I was a real go getter, I would have him fix these problems right quick! 23 years later, it's still in the same sad shape. Unbeknownst to me, He was too busy with porn to ever make improvements. But I was sooo in love, I always managed to look past this...I was sooo fucking stupid.
First thing I did , was take some of my money and had him build a workshop on his land...all the bells and whistles. Set me back a quarter million...23 years later it still isn't finished. It's 3 stories and he has allowed it to become a hoarders paradise of wood shop tools and wood. I cannot even walk inside and use my gardening tools,, cannot find them..so I hire a gardener. You can guess why.
It never bothered me that I was always the one who initiated our sexy time. I was always a rather aggressive person, I enjoyed dressing up, playing with toys, nothing too extreme, but I thought spicy. Little did I know he was not really interested, just playing along so I wouldn't know and that after I fell asleep, he would sneak his porn, and really get off for real. He always seemed to be tired in the morning, His excuse was that he just didn't sleep well, I let it go...for over a decade. Towards the extreme loss of our sex life, I tried everything I could think of to regain his interest. I encouraged his exploration of kinks..and that caused him to ask me to perform acts that I was uncomfortable with, caused me pain, humiliation and no pleasure. We did what he saw others do in his porn world...I was just enabling his fantasies..he told me in therapy he never thought of me, instead he imagined I was another. I was so humiliated at my again...stupidity.
I am an epileptic, I take really strong medication. It makes me sleep heavily. When he wanted to surf porn in the afternoon, he would changed my dosages to give me my heaviest dosage in the afternoon so I needed to take a 2 hour nap. I never realized it. This went on for over a decade.
After about 5 years, it became harder and harder to engage him in the bedroom. He was "working" so hard, always in the workshop trying to get ahead...yet we were living month to month, I was running thru my money like water. He would always be losing jobs, people getting tired of waiting for him to get to them. We argued about his pace of work constantly. I wanted him to raise his prices, he really was an artist at what he did, but he refused. Little did I realize that his shame was clouding his judgement as to his real worth in this world, and his resentment at me was not allowing him to hear my advice for the sense it made. I never realized that he was wasting so much time out there pouring over porn magazines.
In the last 7 years before the first D-day, we stopped having any sex at all.
It wasn't all bad. I don't mean to make it sound that way. We were still at the top of the food chain in our field, and we loved each other to pieces, got along great 95% of the time. By now I had started actually laboring in the business, he needed the physical help to keep up. It was hard on me, this was man's work, but I excelled, I am very proud of my contribution. After I found out about the time spent on his addiction, I realized that I was enabling him by freeing up his time to surf porn. The damage I did to my body doing this heavy labor effects me today.
I had left for 10 days once, to help a friend convalesce when she had surgery. It was the first time I had ever left him since we had met. I missed him so much, I called him 3 times a day. I never realized I was the one making all the contact, I just thought he was focused on work. I even cried during a few of the calls. He was supposed to get a few jobs finished up and finish remodeling our bathroom which had been torn apart for the last 12 years. When I got back, not only had He not gotten any of that done, but we didn't have sex either. Porn again, and I found out during disclosure, he had binged up to 20 hours a day in our bedroom, ordering out pizza the entire time. He hadn't even turned off the porn during our phone calls.
Every few years, I would end up in the hospital because of my seizures. Usually for a few days or a week. I was always understanding that he couldn't visit me..we needed the money and work was a priority. Of course, he was never working..he was binging on porn and masturbating. One time, it was so bad, he rubbed the skin off one side of his dick. I never had a clue, until disclosure.
Then the first D-Day. It was my 48th Birthday. I had been planning a hot sexy night all day. I had made it very obvious. I was all over him all day. I was making a special dinner, his favorite, I went out to the workshop to call him in...I found him with his dick out, jerking off to a gang bang on a laptop I didn't know we owned. I was as pissed off as I can be. I grabbed his computer, went thru the history and realized that for the last 2 hours he had been surfing all kinds of smut. I looked back a few months a quickly saw it had been a regular thing. I wasn't getting laid, and he was getting his. Little did I know how deep this really was.
I went inside packed and left for a week. Went to visit my friend in another state. When I got back, he went to a regular therapist, I went in with him and verbally shit all over him...walked out...and left it to the therapist to make it all better. I didn't know about porn addiction, I had not a fucking clue that he wasn't about to quit just because I had caught him and was mad about it. He cried, pleaded, made promises, blah, blah, blah....He went for 2 goddamn years, wasted a butt load of money and I thought he was all better...turns out he was lying and manipulating both me and the therapist the whole time...he had stopped for 2 months, and then was right back at it. That's very typical of every single addict...every....single... one.
Addicts are master liars, manipulators and gaslighters. They will say anything, do anything to anybody in order to keep their addiction alive and hidden.
Then the second D-day-It was my birthday again, 50 yrs old (go figure). I was dressed in a sexy outfit, ready to go...he said he would be right there. I fell asleep waiting. I woke up about 3 a.m. Went to the office...and low and behold..there he was, porn going, dick out...doing what he does best. I quietly left and went back to bed. The next morning I acted as if all was well.
This time, I was a lot smarter. I called a computer pro. I had him go thru the computer and find all the porn. I wanted to know what kind, how much every week and the average time used per day. It took 15 minutes for my life to end... and my existence to begin. For the last year. He averaged 36 hours a week, and what he watched would make your eyes bleed. There were days, when I was out laboring in the hot sun, he would sneak home and binge for 9 hours. This was a very sick man, he had cancer of the mind.
I had been lied to and manipulated for 18 years by the one person I trusted the most in the world. To say I went bat shit crazy is an understatement. My world was destroyed and came crashing down on me. My heart ripped bloody and mangled out of my body. The understanding of the meaning of my life for the last 18 years was a sicking horror story that I didn't know I was only a bit player in. The person I was brought up to believe I was, no longer existed.
I was a broken human being.
When he got home, I asked him about the porn. He minimized his use. I confronted him with the cold heartless facts. Even he was shocked by his use. In hindsight, I believe he really didn't realize how bad he was. This time I kicked him out of the house, with nothing but the clothes on his back. He went to a church, where he got help. He found out the ways he could get sober. I wouldn't let him come back until he proved to me he was serious. I packed him a bag and left it on the back porch. I really didn't care if he ever came back.
The next day, he got an appt. with a therapist who was a specialist in sex addiction (CSAT), he started attending Sexaholics Anonymous 12 step meetings every day, he switched his phone to a flip phone. I let him come back and stay in the workshop. He gave me the computer in the workshop, and burned all his porno magazines in the outside pit while I watched from the house.
It was more then a month before I let him back in the house. I wrote a long email to his new therapist, and insisted on a check in from the therapist after every meeting to prove he had gone. For the SA meetings, they give coins for certain milestones, I expected to see those coins right on time, or he was back out in the workshop. I also gave him a 6 month time line to get a sponsor. These boundaries were set in concrete.
I was so fucked in the head, I also started seeing a CSAT in the same office within a few months. I also saw a psychologist, I needed anti-depressants as I had fallen in a deep state or morose and couldn't seem to get out of my own way. I hated myself and hated him even more. I had worked myself into a state of homicidal suicide. The PTSD was so heightened, I, as an epileptic, started having stress seizures. I went from 1 or 2 seizures a year to 30 a month. I not only beat the eff out of my self, I tore both rotator cuffs and became practically helpless, unable to wipe my ass, pull up my own underwear or feed myself for almost half a year. We need to have help come in on a daily basis.
After about 6 months he was actually doing rather well. We had had our disclosure, Which, if you use a CSAT its a requirement that he disclose all acting out from his youth to current to you, in the name of transparency, with a lie detector to prove his truthfulness. That re-set our relationship and we both knew where we stood. I could make an informed decision as to whether to stay or to go. I couldn't leave, I could barely dress myself.
Here it is, 8 years from the second D-day, he had had a 2 month relapse, where I caught him at the 3 year mark. That caused a brief time of angst. But other then that he has been sober. He still goes to SAA 2X's a week for maintenance and will for the rest of his life..not my rules, but his choice. He has a dumb flip phone to sooth my soul and my choice is to have the right to check any of his electronics whenever I want with or without his knowledge. I also can require a lie detector test, if he refuses, he is out of the house and I will assume he is off the wagon. Its sobriety..or nothing.
I on the other hand, am just now finally getting my feet under me and getting some of my self- confidence back. But I was a complete mess for the first 2 years after the 2nd D-day. I went from one of the happiest, funniest, most loving people you could ever meet to a hateful, puking, fucking bitch that wanted to die every minute of every day. I spent those 2 years crying at the drop of a hat and apologizing for my very existence on this earth..who knows why..my mental state was to blame myself for everything. I have been off the butt load of anti-depressants for just about 2 years. I still talk to my CSAT every 3 weeks and go to an S-anon meeting every week. I will say everyone who is anyone, needs to work the 12 steps, they are eye opening and a wonderful management tool.
How did this happen many will ask? How did I survive? My reconstruction was built on the foundation of my partners recovery and final grasp of sobriety. Without his admitting on the 2nd D-day that he had a problem and jumping in with both feet and guns blazing to rid himself of his addiction, I would have killed myself.. He was highly motivated, worked with intention every single minute of every day, and showed me complete transparency. He researched his disease as if it were cancer, he felt he had cancer of the mind and he didn't want our future to die from it. He stood up and took full responsibility for the mess we found ourselves in and was going to do everything in his power to make it right. You know that pinned post full of resources at the top of this sub..there is literally nothing in there, that is directed at the addict, that he hasn't done..and some of it he still does today, all these years later.
We are pretty good now, we have completely change our lifestyle, not much free time anymore. There is no sitting around watching TV, or surfing the computer. It's go, go go all the time. Our finances are good, as he has learned to manage his time and respect his value..so his invoicing is in line with his competition. Unfortunately, he needs to really work a lot to make enough money to get out retirement on track, so our homestead is still a shambles and I don't see it getting any better in the next decade.
I developed this sub, Love After Porn as I am determined that going forward people in my situation are not going to wallow around for years wondering WTF is happening in their lives. You can't know, what you don't know. Well, I am going to tell you loud and clear.
The best part of our lives is the fact that for ourselves we took up ballroom dancing. What a blast. We now have a vibrant social life and a totally new set of friends whose joy in life is physical activity, not sitting around inside or going to bars and drinking. We have even competed around the US, won a few top honors while we were at it.
We also have had to take up exercising and yoga which we do together in order to keep up with the dancing..it's a very physical sport with intense cardio. We started a vegetable garden and an award winning perennial garden that we work together. Our volunteering activities take up 7 hours every week, with periodic events that we are involved in as committee members.
Please notice that there is little space in our lives for time sucking porn.
UPDATE: Summer 2020: I just had a bad health scare, almost died. I am 56 years old. I will say again, He wasted my youth, beauty and sexual prime...and now my life, staring at digital women and fucking his hand. The great love affair I thought I had, that I deserved...that was my destiny..will never happen. If you are choosing digital and masturbation over the person you love..stop right now, physically turn off the computer and call them or go find them. Love them with every fiber of your soul. Because they will be gone someday. And that day is coming much faster then you realize.
Am I glad I stayed, Yes I am. We had built a life together and I don't think I would find a better suited partner again. I like him more then love him, I will never be "in-love" with him again. If we had separated, I don't think I would ever be interested in in another relationship. Porn is just too prevalent, and I was too damaged by it to ever accept it in my life under any circumstances. I would rather be by myself. Unfortunately, During this time, I hit menopause and the walls of my vagina thinned to such an extent that I can no longer have intercourse. I cannot use any of the medications to combat this situation as they all cause seizures. He has had to live with the fact that he wasted me all these years playing with his dick instead of fucking me.

Do I have advice for the young or those who are new to their relationships? Yes. RUN LIKE HELL, do not look back. Just up and leave, Do not believe a word they say. They will say anything, do anything to keep you bonded to them, and yet hide their addiction. It's the nature of the disease. If you stay, the only way to get lasting sobriety is to spend a fuck load of money on a CSAT for years, and constant attendance of SA 12 step meetings, and for you the same goes for a support system...without it, you become complacent and cancer of the mind comes back without you even realizing it. Once an addict, always an addict, it's a heavy load to bear.
For those who's longtime partners will not admit they are the problem, or won't do the work, or just pretend they are and D-day's keep happening...if you stay, your life will be miserable and you either need to accept that existence and move past it or leave. Staying and fighting about it, crying about it, or hating yourself...you'll just end up a ragged old hag, nobody else will understand why..you will be the bad guy. The addiction wins.
For those of you who have children or thinking of having children, you are in a precarious situation. This addiction isn't about you and your partner anymore. It's about how it's going to effect or has already effected your children, and as their mother, your most important job it to protect them at all costs. Bringing up children is any type of active addicted household is going to screw them up emotionally, it has been proven over and over for hundreds of years. Bringing them up in a sexually addicted household is being proven to be of severe consequences. Children as young as 6 years old are finding hardcore porn on their parents electronics, they are becoming addicts themselves buy 12, they are walking in on their fathers masturbating to deviant porn, their fathers are masturbating to porn instead of babysitting, playing or bathing them, or while "sleeping" with the kids. They are watching porn while driving, or are practicing voyeurism while at the playground and losing track of the children.
For those who's partners are pursuing barley legal porn and illegal porn, those addicts are lusting after the children's friends, again practicing voyeurism, and may even be taking pictures for later use. The chances of law enforcement becoming involved is real, and the impact on the family is devastating for a lifetime.
If the addict won't find sobriety, then the household will be devoid of true love, intimacy, affection that is shown in a loving partnership. That warps the expectations of the children, and they will end up in a lesser relationship because of what you have taught them. It is well known that children brought up in addicted homes, have a higher tendency to cleave to addicts later in life. Thereby perpetuating the cycle.
As you all can see, it all come down to the addict.
For you, keep these words close to your heart:
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,the courage to change the things I can,and the wisdom to know the difference.
Many blessing to you all.
submitted by Hmack1 to loveafterporn [link] [comments]

2019.01.28 21:45 beitmenotyou This command is not working... as I understand it spam is meant to remove the post and report the user but it is doing neither. also, the rest of the commands in my bot are working but they're not sending out messages to inform the users why is this and how do I fix both problems

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submitted by beitmenotyou to AutoModerator [link] [comments]

2018.06.06 22:01 subreddit_stats Sex house voyeur tv

Period: 363.81 days
Submissions Comments
Total 1000 55898
Rate (per day) 2.75 152.75
Unique Redditors 413 3355
Combined Score 138929 1037724
Top Submitters' Top Submissions

  1. 24640 points, 143 submissions: scienceisarealthing
    1. On the state of feminism in 2018 (477 points, 30 comments)
    2. Janelle Monáe labelled problematic for daring to spread positivity about vaginas (404 points, 89 comments)
    3. A former stripper on how liberal/ leftist men want "enthusiastic consent" (401 points, 88 comments)
    4. The Onion dishing out some radical feminism 101! (400 points, 19 comments)
    5. "When I hear how 'sex work is women's rights,' that's pimp shit." (390 points, 117 comments)
    6. Sex industry survivor Rachel Moran destroys libfem hypocrisy (363 points, 95 comments)
    7. "you left out penises and testicles on the female genitalia" (340 points, 69 comments)
    8. "Shut up and listen to transwomen!!" (322 points, 42 comments)
    9. "Contraception, abortion, and any other issues related to pregnancy and childbirth are not 'women's issues.'" (321 points, 13 comments)
    10. Why are men so slutty nowadays? (313 points, 35 comments)
  2. 3522 points, 25 submissions: foolishtimbit
    1. Telling women not to weamake art of female anatomy because “trans women don’t have vaginas” is like telling a UNI student not to wear a sweatshirt with their school’s logo on it because “some people don’t go to that school”. (271 points, 47 comments)
    2. Why do transgender people always say “I was assigned female/male at birth”, like you weren’t “Assigned” anything. The doctor looked at your genitals and determined which SEX you are. (238 points, 74 comments)
    3. Curb Your Women’s March (219 points, 52 comments)
    4. The self objectification of female pop starts (218 points, 15 comments)
    5. Pretty Much (204 points, 10 comments)
    6. Anyways could kweer™️ activists please stop giving transwomen all the credit for LGBT rights? (164 points, 51 comments)
    7. Not to sound mean but I couldn’t care less about those women who are happy go lucky sex workers (162 points, 57 comments)
    8. These people think they’re slick gaslighting us. (159 points, 62 comments)
    9. (Liberal) Feminists really need to stop overusing the word “Empowering” (142 points, 56 comments)
    10. Liberal Feminists: “We need to SUPPORT sex workers™️ uwu!!!” Sex Worker: “I was traumatized and abused by the sex industry.” Liberal Feminists: “Stay away from me u evil #SWERF!! >:(“ (132 points, 6 comments)
  3. 3485 points, 30 submissions: FeminamRadicalis
    1. Trans activism is excusing & advocating violence against women, and it’s time to speak up | Meghan Murphy (178 points, 11 comments)
    2. "If trans activists truly cared about feminism, they would respect women's spaces" by Meghan Murphy (151 points, 20 comments)
    3. Masked transactivists tried to violently force their way into JamJarBristol to shut down the #WeNeedToTalk event. | Magdalen Berns (150 points, 52 comments)
    4. Mumsnet is organizing a boycott of Marks & Spencer because they allow males in the female changing rooms (142 points, 29 comments)
    5. Four Black lesbians were killed in one week, and the media still isn't paying attention (137 points, 37 comments)
    6. Coming out as a radical feminist is like living in the Handmaid's Tale and trying to figure out who else is in the resistance. (136 points, 129 comments)
    7. Why is [liberal] feminism so quiet about Muslim women who refuse to wear the hijab? (130 points, 229 comments)
    8. Contestants for Miss Peru 2018 Turned the Pageant Into a Protest Against Femicide (129 points, 16 comments)
    9. TERF Wars (124 points, 24 comments)
    10. Porn Has Fueled A 400% Rise In Child-On-Child Assaults In the UK (118 points, 64 comments)
  4. 2438 points, 14 submissions: sharky024
    1. India Rules Sex With a Child Bride Is Always Rape in a Massive Win for Girls’ Rights (495 points, 26 comments)
    2. Have anyone noticed how trans women make the news for succeeding in politics, business, and sports, while trans men make the news for... having babies? (259 points, 19 comments)
    3. Name the problem. (210 points, 34 comments)
    4. Men KNOW (190 points, 38 comments)
    5. Was Marx a terf? (176 points, 24 comments)
    6. A helpful chart for those that equate radfems to conservatives. (167 points, 138 comments)
    7. The message that students being kind and hanging out with the loner could have stopped a mass shooting is DANGEROUS (153 points, 59 comments)
    8. Study finds incidents of voyeurism at Target nearly tripled since imposure of "inclusive" bathroom policies (148 points, 41 comments)
    9. US trans homicide rates LOWER than non-trans population: peer reviewed study (128 points, 33 comments)
    10. We need real feminism back! (121 points, 22 comments)
  5. 1738 points, 14 submissions: LilianH
    1. The Left Are Abandoning Women; and in Doing So, Abandoning Everything They Stand For (167 points, 82 comments)
    2. Don’t you just love it when a man explains to you what it means to be a woman? (160 points, 34 comments)
    3. Trans group asking Ireland's "Together For Yes" campaign to apologise for being "exclusionary" (155 points, 161 comments)
    4. Violent misogyny is unfortunately not confined to the internet’s ‘incels’ (142 points, 37 comments)
    5. Topless swimmer wades into trans row (138 points, 50 comments)
    6. Meet the man standing to be a Labour party women’s officer (123 points, 49 comments)
    7. Mexico state introduces gender parity law, 19 men identify as women to take women's places (123 points, 19 comments)
    8. The demonisation of Mumsnet is just the latest incarnation of witch-hunting (113 points, 21 comments)
    9. There is only one protected class of women and it is… men (113 points, 41 comments)
    10. Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie: ‘This could be the beginning of a revolution’ (108 points, 29 comments)
  6. 1713 points, 11 submissions: MossWolf
    1. I made us our very own radfem personality meme! (278 points, 132 comments)
    2. Fuck off, it's not our job to fix your problems. (250 points, 89 comments)
    3. The intense value of "old" (177 points, 73 comments)
    4. A Mom Got Sick Of Seeing Short-Shorts For Girls, So She Started Her Own Line (174 points, 91 comments)
    5. The encroachment upon female autistic spaces. (137 points, 81 comments)
    6. Came across this extremely faulty TRA comic, decided to make my own version. (125 points, 35 comments)
    7. Old men who vie for the attention of young women (124 points, 112 comments)
    8. Brain Tumors (118 points, 44 comments)
    9. Appropriation and transgenderism (117 points, 173 comments)
    10. TiM ironically complains, as a male, that when swiping through wlw tinder, half the results are of other men. (111 points, 87 comments)
  7. 1604 points, 11 submissions: heidischallenge
    1. Excellent Andrea Dworkin quote - advice to male allies (226 points, 36 comments)
    2. This is not meant as a litmus test, but it’s quite clear what a feminist is (187 points, 66 comments)
    3. Be Feminine, They Said (169 points, 9 comments)
    4. Men's rights activist joke (169 points, 63 comments)
    5. Sad state of affairs (169 points, 17 comments)
    6. Halloween quote - Andrea Dworkin (129 points, 26 comments)
    7. How much things can change (128 points, 30 comments)
    8. Update on the Speaker's Corner assault (125 points, 18 comments)
    9. ARE TRANSWOMEN WOMEN? | A Battle to the Death Between Rya Jones and Miranda Yardley (111 points, 52 comments)
    10. No, Teen Vogue, the backlash to your anal sex article was not rooted in homophobia (97 points, 119 comments)
  8. 1445 points, 11 submissions: TossingLobster
    1. Misogyny and school shootings (262 points, 65 comments)
    2. "Truly a magnificent specimen" (171 points, 16 comments)
    3. Important distinctions (151 points, 171 comments)
    4. "We bought the land" - A win for women everywhere (114 points, 21 comments)
    5. Pregnant woman exisiting causes epic mantrum (114 points, 65 comments)
    6. "There was a young woman who swallowed a lie..." (112 points, 10 comments)
    7. Professor of physiology says transgender athletes have advantage in speed, power (110 points, 18 comments)
    8. Social Conformity and Trans Activism (109 points, 46 comments)
    9. "The Cotton Friend Zone" (105 points, 43 comments)
    10. Stop pandering to the minuscule transgender lobby (103 points, 49 comments)
  9. 1377 points, 8 submissions: TheBioWoman
    1. I knew we'd get a story like this soon -> "Why This Trans Woman Can't Identify With The Handmaid's Tale" -- The Advocate (344 points, 219 comments)
    2. I was physically assaulted by a pre-everything MTF for refusing sex/intimacy in 2014 (209 points, 42 comments)
    3. I bought a "The Future is Female" shirt to piss off libfems and it worked (204 points, 112 comments)
    4. Did You Know It's Lesbian Visibility Day? (160 points, 47 comments)
    5. Being Called a TERF Brought Me to Radical Feminism (137 points, 40 comments)
    6. Rad Fem Rhetoric Spotted in Lib Fem Hipster Coffee Shop. Dun Dun Dun! (123 points, 18 comments)
    7. I Just Love Women So Much (105 points, 19 comments)
    8. Impossible to get away from TiMs on Dating Apps "HER" and "OKCupid" (95 points, 74 comments)
  10. 1197 points, 9 submissions: closetedxxcishet
    1. Transjacking (173 points, 77 comments)
    2. Common Trans Paradoxes (167 points, 70 comments)
    3. Lulz "demisexual" (156 points, 119 comments)
    4. I don't want cock in my face at the spa. That doesn't make me a bad person. (153 points, 47 comments)
    5. Sorry, “AFAB nonbinaries,” but it doesn’t work that way (139 points, 59 comments)
    6. Sorry, trans people, it turns out you’re not the biggest victims in the whole universe (123 points, 47 comments)
    7. Spa upholds no dong policy (98 points, 20 comments)
    8. You all save me every day (95 points, 25 comments)
    9. Can we talk about "whorephobia?" (93 points, 77 comments)
  11. 1159 points, 8 submissions: Kluannoa
    1. Let's give some more specific attention to the phenomenon of women and girls thinking that they're asexual when they're not, as they're just so repulsed by porn culture (308 points, 135 comments)
    2. Just a small realization: men's magazines tell men what to expect, women's magazines tell their readers how to meet these expectations. (157 points, 16 comments)
    3. Women's thoughts are lost in niceness. As long as we're so scared of offending men, our thoughts can't fully form. (155 points, 65 comments)
    4. Another porn harm: the breakdown of healthy sexual boundaries, the normalization of incest (126 points, 61 comments)
    5. Does anyone else feel that with the transgender subject, we're actually talking about several pretty different subjects, while still using the same word, making it all very confusing and unclear? (113 points, 37 comments)
    6. I suddenly really realize just how bad the word ''slutshaming'' is. (106 points, 43 comments)
    7. Male privilege is being blissfully naive (104 points, 27 comments)
    8. Why we need a new feminist wave, focusing wholly on elevating women, as recent events showed just how powerless we really still are (90 points, 46 comments)
  12. 1135 points, 8 submissions: Wanderer9717
    1. Seven-year-old girl likes football and wearing "boys'" clothes but is "proud to be a girl" (273 points, 43 comments)
    2. I won't be referred to as 'non-male' by the Green Party while women still suffer prejudice because of our female bodies (154 points, 32 comments)
    3. What's the difference between an MRA and a TRA? (139 points, 14 comments)
    4. Students at "right-on" Oxford University college vote against gender neutral toilets due to concerns about harassment of female students (129 points, 19 comments)
    5. A psychologist at the only NHS gender clinic for children in England says some may be making choices they could regret (117 points, 29 comments)
    6. The Family Featured in the NYT Article About Queer Families Looks Awfully Straight (116 points, 151 comments)
    7. Mumsnet founder Justine Roberts: Transgender activists try to curb free speech on site (107 points, 24 comments)
    8. The Degenderettes – Feminist Heretic (100 points, 17 comments)
  13. 1097 points, 5 submissions: gendercriticalradfem
    1. A transgender four year old is like a vegan cat... (574 points, 171 comments)
    2. The Many Times Hugh Hefner's Playboy Comics Made Rape A Punchline (150 points, 23 comments)
    3. Magdalen Berns Discusses How Trans Ideology Reinforces Sexist Workplace Dress Codes At The Expense of Women (144 points, 66 comments)
    4. Las Vegas Shooter An Abusive Creep: Frequently Berated Girlfriend In Public (Is Anyone Actually Surprised Anymore When Mass-Murderers Shown To Be Misogynists?) (132 points, 115 comments)
    5. Teen Who Previously Inspired Girls To Join STEM Transitions Because She Didn't Like Her "Long Curls", "Squeaky Voice", Or "Wearing A Dress" (97 points, 79 comments)
  14. 1022 points, 9 submissions: LittleOwl12
    1. "Because not everybody has a pink pussy......" (135 points, 31 comments)
    2. How come only feminism has to be intersectional? (129 points, 42 comments)
    3. The "passing" argument. (128 points, 219 comments)
    4. When your men shock you (128 points, 53 comments)
    5. No, Tampax, this is not a good idea. Please. No. (108 points, 192 comments)
    6. Nazis are running people over in Virginia but my FB is all about TERFs. (104 points, 35 comments)
    7. Well maybe you DON'T understand lesbians then. (102 points, 52 comments)
    8. Thoughts on tomboys and MTT envy (99 points, 19 comments)
    9. "Where Are The Feminists On This? HUNH? HUNH?" (89 points, 37 comments)
  15. 1022 points, 8 submissions: BigEarthBear
    1. I am Frustrated on the brink of tears and I need to vent. LESBIAN ERASURE IS FREAKING REAL YOU TRANS F**k.... good god. (187 points, 92 comments)
    2. Rya on HIS gender identity. He talked with total clarity and I am not misgendering him. (136 points, 59 comments)
    3. Our sexual orientation is not a "preference" (126 points, 24 comments)
    4. "Two Holes" (123 points, 73 comments)
    5. I am utterly disgusted with social media. (123 points, 50 comments)
    6. Just read E-Mails that have me really upset. Trans Activists are crap ally's (120 points, 37 comments)
    7. Transgender Activists and their Anti-Womyn Cis Homophobia (116 points, 59 comments)
    8. Gender Pronoun Rant (91 points, 67 comments)
  16. 1015 points, 8 submissions: cherieblosum
    1. Gender and sexuality rant (199 points, 73 comments)
    2. "Vagina Monologues" at my alma mater (a women's college) (162 points, 72 comments)
    3. This ad I saw on Facebook recruiting for a focus group... (140 points, 75 comments)
    4. My date with a self proclaimed "male feminist" (108 points, 160 comments)
    5. Study finds female college graduates newly on the job market are punished for having good grades (106 points, 27 comments)
    6. Hypocrisy in psychiatry regarding "gender dysphoria" (103 points, 37 comments)
    7. We're being brigaded (102 points, 164 comments)
    8. Girl's bf excuses himself in the middle of a family gathering to watch porn and masturbate. Family accidentally catches him. Porn sick redditors come to his rescue. (95 points, 54 comments)
  17. 1013 points, 9 submissions: gender_is_oppression
    1. Why GenderCritical Needs to Exist (145 points, 58 comments)
    2. If you use the word b*tch when criticizing a woman, I don't trust you. (131 points, 114 comments)
    3. Prostitution is not a job. The inside of a woman’s body is not a workplace | Julie Bindel (130 points, 20 comments)
    4. The future is...gender stereotypes and commercialized rape. How inspiring. (130 points, 77 comments)
    5. "Angel, now 26, is focused on using her voice to help end child marriage - and inspire those women still trapped in marriages to leave." (102 points, 5 comments)
    6. "The only thing that is different between biological women and us is the ability to reproduce." (97 points, 35 comments)
    7. If transwomen have never had male privilege, then systemic sexism is a lie. (93 points, 18 comments)
    8. The irony of straight women identifying as nonbinary to be edgy... (93 points, 35 comments)
    9. "I bind because it makes me feel safer when I'm outside." (92 points, 71 comments)
  18. 939 points, 8 submissions: throwaway949508
    1. Why is legality the bar for the majority of men? (163 points, 124 comments)
    2. (Tumblr Post) "If you scooped my brain out of my head and filled my skull with foam packing peanuts, the brainless husk of my dead body would still be female." (143 points, 36 comments)
    3. Misogyny, male supremacy, and porn create serial killers and mass murderers. But why isn't this acknowledged? (118 points, 18 comments)
    4. AskWomen's Inclusivity Rule is an eyeroll (112 points, 38 comments)
    5. Neutral Politics asks if prostitution should be criminalized, legalized, or decriminalized in the West. Some male commenters fear that men will kill themselves without a disposable lower female caste to sexually exploit, stating "this isn't just about women's rights, it's about human survival". (110 points, 75 comments)
    6. Seattle’s new tiny house village for the homeless — women only (102 points, 52 comments)
    7. In 2013 Redskins Cheerleaders had their passports taken, were pressured to pose for a nude photo shoot, and then 9 of which were forced to be escorts for the night. (99 points, 17 comments)
    8. Banned from AskFeminists and muted for 72 hours. (92 points, 51 comments)
  19. 931 points, 7 submissions: Carthimundia
    1. Apparently I'm trans because I don't have gendered thoughts. (197 points, 115 comments)
    2. A conversation with a trans-activist male friend (141 points, 59 comments)
    3. A top academic philosophy blogs asks "why aren't more philosophers discussing the philosophical issues raised by the claim of transgender women to be women"? (139 points, 21 comments)
    4. Charles Clymer, "male feminist", now Charlotte Clymer. Some thoughts. (132 points, 57 comments)
    5. UK talk radio: Lily Madigan hopelessly out of depth debating gender self-ID (117 points, 53 comments)
    6. In the Guardian today- man proudly describes how he likes wearing women’s underwear and freaking out sales staff (111 points, 45 comments)
    7. Cambridge Analytica, Steve Bannon, and liberal feminism:I just had a chilling thought (94 points, 100 comments)
  20. 867 points, 7 submissions: trw365
    1. Irish Times exit poll projects Ireland has voted by landslide to repeal Eighth Amendment (199 points, 42 comments)
    2. Trans prisoner on hunger strike for straighteners but the press omit what they were actually sentenced for (139 points, 46 comments)
    3. Guardian article discussing TERF as a means to silence debate (135 points, 27 comments)
    4. Unfortunate health update from Magdalen Berns (110 points, 34 comments)
    5. Porn Actors Leigh Raven and Riley Nixon Allege Abuse, Violence, and Boundary Violation on Set (103 points, 66 comments)
    6. The Times: Terrified patient treated like ‘transphobic bigot' (91 points, 35 comments)
    7. Male students in Oxford stage dirty protest over losing their urinals as toliets were turned gender neutral (90 points, 48 comments)
  21. 829 points, 8 submissions: hardcarrytin
    1. Wow, this sub is really growing. (117 points, 55 comments)
    2. "Everything is sexual harassment nowadays!" (115 points, 39 comments)
    3. Men are rarely accused of provoking women. (106 points, 28 comments)
    4. Does anyone else hate social media? (104 points, 64 comments)
    5. Why is it that when it comes to equality, men are the default? (101 points, 33 comments)
    6. Let's spread the story of Junko Furuta (100 points, 53 comments)
    7. "Does that mean I can hit women now?" (93 points, 95 comments)
    8. "Why aren't you begging?" (93 points, 43 comments)
  22. 818 points, 7 submissions: InstantCoffee_
    1. Just a reminder to all lesbians here (181 points, 43 comments)
    2. I got called a man hater today by my LibFem classmate (131 points, 76 comments)
    3. A theory on why men only care about a woman if she is someones daughter, mother or sister but not someone (106 points, 46 comments)
    4. I Chose Radical Feminism Over My Porn Using Boyfriend (105 points, 45 comments)
    5. I just realised this about porn... (104 points, 62 comments)
    6. Stormé DeLarverie, the butch lesbian who started the Stonewall Revolution (100 points, 5 comments)
    7. To the anonymous sister who told me about radical feminism one year ago (91 points, 7 comments)
  23. 770 points, 6 submissions: NPerez99
    1. "Rose McGowan deserves our support. It is the man who verbally attacked her who should be condemned. If you can't see this as an overt attempt to derail the women's movement you are blind." Meghan Murphy (240 points, 51 comments)
    2. "Ginuwine Refused To Kiss A Trans Woman On Live TV And Now The Internet Is At War" (Celeb gossip, I guess this is the hill trans activism will die on) (115 points, 76 comments)
    3. Miranda Yardley in the Sun: Gender-neutral changing rooms aren't safe — they just appease the trans lobby (114 points, 17 comments)
    4. @Shethinx Instagram account tries to rename women into menstruators gets pushback from a 12 year old (107 points, 47 comments)
    5. Everyday Feminism tries to push the Riley's "your dating prefs are prejudice" again, only to be met with a wall of angry comments from men & women. <3 (100 points, 52 comments)
    6. PYNK - (I couldn't wait until Friday to share) (94 points, 70 comments)
  24. 744 points, 5 submissions: notthistimebuddy
    1. Freedom for everyone but women (200 points, 93 comments)
    2. Men don’t feel like women (199 points, 56 comments)
    3. Men are entitled pricks because media makes women look more desperate than we are (138 points, 62 comments)
    4. Men have convinced society that man brain makes them promiscuous (105 points, 114 comments)
    5. man shows up to women only pool looking exactly like a man but claiming to be a woman, was asked to leave. Naturally trans rage storm proceeds. (102 points, 51 comments)
  25. 730 points, 4 submissions: Oneforgh0st
    1. Men are more angered by women being obnoxious than men being violent (248 points, 83 comments)
    2. Apparently it's misandry to acknowledge that 98% of mass shooters are male (200 points, 109 comments)
    3. In another women's sub, a male rape victim's post is favored over the plethora of those made by women... (148 points, 64 comments)
    4. Bitter men on women's subs: why? (134 points, 135 comments)
Top Commenters
  1. Black_Phillipa (11811 points, 382 comments)
  2. Carthimundia (8950 points, 336 comments)
  3. BoozeBabe (8296 points, 339 comments)
  4. heidischallenge (8129 points, 412 comments)
  5. 4eyedPurplePPLeater (8012 points, 507 comments)
  6. TossingLobster (7981 points, 209 comments)
  7. totalrando9 (7962 points, 379 comments)
  8. Hiyoheythere (7950 points, 261 comments)
  9. afistfulofyen (7934 points, 421 comments)
  10. angrytardis (7903 points, 360 comments)
  11. Caranda23 (7535 points, 423 comments)
  12. girl_undone (7284 points, 340 comments)
  13. vulvapeople (6906 points, 333 comments)
  14. eternallyfemale (6395 points, 328 comments)
  15. DimDroog (6014 points, 311 comments)
  16. hardy_and_free (5824 points, 347 comments)
  17. notthistimebuddy (5820 points, 193 comments)
  18. TruExcellentRadFem (5692 points, 197 comments)
  19. BigEarthBear (5327 points, 306 comments)
  20. cherieblosum (5282 points, 160 comments)
  21. Ergative_Absolutive (5265 points, 157 comments)
  22. MossWolf (5229 points, 235 comments)
  23. yishengqingwa666 (5185 points, 464 comments)
  24. susannunes (5058 points, 309 comments)
  25. Dahna_Mahna (4940 points, 301 comments)
Top Submissions
  1. A transgender four year old is like a vegan cat... by gendercriticalradfem (574 points, 171 comments)
  2. India Rules Sex With a Child Bride Is Always Rape in a Massive Win for Girls’ Rights by sharky024 (495 points, 26 comments)
  3. On the state of feminism in 2018 by scienceisarealthing (477 points, 30 comments)
  4. Someone on FB shared this, 200+ comments tearing her to shreds 🤷🏻‍♀️🤦🏻‍♀️ by wrapunzel (448 points, 46 comments)
  5. Janelle Monáe labelled problematic for daring to spread positivity about vaginas by scienceisarealthing (404 points, 89 comments)
  6. A former stripper on how liberal/ leftist men want "enthusiastic consent" by scienceisarealthing (401 points, 88 comments)
  7. The Onion dishing out some radical feminism 101! by scienceisarealthing (400 points, 19 comments)
  8. "When I hear how 'sex work is women's rights,' that's pimp shit." by scienceisarealthing (390 points, 117 comments)
  9. Attending a birth this morning has cemented my radical feminism forever. by furious_doog (366 points, 41 comments)
  10. Sex industry survivor Rachel Moran destroys libfem hypocrisy by scienceisarealthing (363 points, 95 comments)
Top Comments
  1. 389 points: glazedhamster's comment in I knew we'd get a story like this soon -> "Why This Trans Woman Can't Identify With The Handmaid's Tale" -- The Advocate
  2. 295 points: jessieware91's comment in Transwoman feels "less valid" after seeing women posting #metoo on social media
  3. 292 points: iheartmanhating's comment in So, the pussy hats are violent & offensive, but a penis hat at the Women's March isn't? 🤔
  4. 265 points: jetpackbluess's comment in Peak Trans VI! Tell your story here
  5. 255 points: FatGraceJones's comment in Janelle Monáe labelled problematic for daring to spread positivity about vaginas
  6. 251 points: Ergative_Absolutive's comment in Pornhub today. Yikes
  7. 238 points: Ergative_Absolutive's comment in Libfems who argue "sex work" is a job like any other are shocked and outraged when columnist takes this idea to its logical conclusion
  8. 235 points: RealMapelFlavour's comment in So, the pussy hats are violent & offensive, but a penis hat at the Women's March isn't? 🤔
  9. 235 points: glazedhamster's comment in Dude wonders why he gets sexually excited about dressing up as a woman even though it's totes not a sexual thing.
  10. 229 points: Black_Phillipa's comment in When they try to deny that their idea of "being a woman" is just them perpetuating oppressive gender roles, remember this: 336 upvotes. They're so fucking transparent.
Generated with BBoe's Subreddit Stats
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2017.08.25 09:09 tensing99 Voyeur house tv sex

We all have our particularly dramatic interests. Our taboos. Our questionably moral fetishes. But don't worry, I'm not about to tell you about some disgusting act involving pies and donkeys and leather suits. No, I don't do any of that. I prefer to watch.
It started in my childhood, on my ninth birthday, when I received a pair of binoculars. For bird-watching, of course. But oh, I saw so much more than birds through these. I could see into the neighbor's room from my bedroom window, and read the titles of the books on his shelf. If I angled it right, I could even look into their car's rearview mirror and get a glimpse of what's happening on their front porch.
My room was safe, but boring, and when I grew tired of watching Mr. Smith pore over his meager collection of literature before deciding he'd rather drink, I took my binoculars elsewhere. In the city park I discovered a beautiful clearing amidst the topiary, a gap that a lazy landscaper had left, just big enough for a child of my age. A haven. I'd get there in the early morning, when the grass was wet from dew and my breath crystallized in big puffs, settle down in my burrow, and wait. And the city would slowly come to life.
I saw when the businessman in the BMW was late to work. He'd tailgate. He'd honk and turn red in the face. So different from his normal, collected self, coasting along with one hand on the wheel, leaning back and letting the AC blow into his hair. I saw which owners were kind to their dogs, and let them sniff around and pee on what they pleased. I saw parents purposefully lead their children away from the ice cream truck looking ashamed. I saw a classy woman step away from the crowd to release a fart, relieved that no one was watching. But I was. And I fed on it.
As I grew out of my hidey hole in the park, both physically and mentally, my voyeurism took a more sophisticated turn. We were living in the digital age, and cameras were easy to obtain. I'd hide cameras in bushes, in showerheads, in birdhouses- anywhere from which I could see. Anywhere I could not be seen. At this point, I was a good deal older. I knew what I was doing was illegal. I disagreed with it then, and disagree with it now. What I'm doing does not hurt a single soul. I wouldn't dream of touching them. To soil a pristine painting with the oil of my hands. But nobody knew it. And nobody would understand it. So of course, I had to be careful.
It was about more than sex for me, though I did make heavy use of the showerhead cameras in the women's locker room. Life was the greatest movie, entirely unscripted, with genuine actors in every genre. I was merely taping it for later. I could feel the passion of the arguments on the streets. I could feel the water dripping off my actress' supple body, smell the steam on my face. This was all art, and my cameras did well to capture it. But I had to go one step further.
I washed my hands thoroughly. It made me feel incredibly unclean, this plan. Because in order for it to succeed, I would have to commit a heinous act. I would have to spoil my beautiful movie by becoming a participant. I chose my targets from my tapes over the course of many months. They were young and beautiful, but each of them carried a weakness. An opening in their social shell, from which it was all too easy for me to worm in.
Melissa went jogging every morning between 9-10 AM with her labrador. She'd occasionally stop by the pet food shop and look, but never buy anything. She never could. She was poor. But she took the samples. Her poverty made her vulnerable, and her vulnerability made her beautiful. Far more beautiful than she already was, with her curly dark hair that bounced as she stepped. Oh, her hair, I would kill myself if I ever touched it. I could never touch it. I was not worthy to. But I could look.
I adopted a dog from the local shelter. A small one, for I could not afford to feed one any larger. It was a mutt, I forget which breed. The poor thing had been abused. I was the one who reported the abuser. See? My hobby is not so bad. It also helps small animals. I fed it a healthy diet and took it on walks every morning from 8:30 to 9. And then I waited in the pet shop.
"How cute!" She'd said. "Such a baby. What's his name?" I hadn't picked a name, so I gave her the one the shelter chose: Max. We talked about dogs. And about hiking, a hobby she was fond of, probably because it was free. I'd read up reviews on each of the nearby hiking trails and became an encyclopedia of information overnight. I bought her dog a bag of treats and she gave me her number. All went according to plan.
Carl and Thomas took sports as their currency. I'd watched them for close to three years now. The birdhouse across the street afforded me access to their living room window. They'd sit by the TV for hours on that couch, scarfing down chips and salsa as they cheered on the Golden State Warriors. It looked warm and inviting, and if I closed my eyes, I could picture myself right next to them on that plush leather couch. I could taste the chips. They were cheap, and far too salty, but balanced out by the sourness of the salsa. But I could never sit there, or taste their food. It was not right for me. Even talking to them set me on edge, so much that I washed my hands three times that night. But when I approached them that day in my blue and gold jersey, I displayed no such trace of anxiety. To mingle with these wonderful actors, I would have to become one.
I hatched my plan with three, for any more and I feel I would be caught, and any less and I would not be satisfied. It was a simple matter of inviting them over under the guise of a housewarming party. A small, close crowd, in my territory. On my terms. All of my cameras lay in a safe in the closet. My home was as spotless as a petri dish. Save for my invention.
You see, by searching far and wide, I'd come across a camera smaller and thinner than a needle. It cost a fortune, but made my mouth water. Three of them sat in my coat pocket. Three targets sat in my living room, laughing and drinking wine. Now all I had to do was act. And I acted well, oh, I acted so well. I acted like I thought more people would've shown up, so I bought too much wine. I acted as if I'd lost track of the time, and invited them to stay over. I acted as if I were asleep, when not long after, I sedated each person, one after the other, and slipped my beloved cameras into their eyes. And then I washed my hands until they were raw.
They didn't notice, and I felt my heart soar with glee now that the act was over. The dirty deed was done, and I could rest. I booted up the computer and saw my beautiful Melissa in the shower, those dampened curls flat upon her tan skin as she scrubbed off the grime from the night before. She looked so malnourished, so vulnerable. I walked her dog with her from the comfort of my own room. I met her parents, and her doctor. And I checked in on Carl.
Carl did not have enough to drink last night. He was at a frat party, mingling with the crowd. I loved his beer pong- how his gaze followed the ball, but slowly became less focused. I loved his poolside chat, how he hid behind sunglasses while engrossed in the cleavage of the girl in front of him. I feel he and I would have gotten along well without my guise.
I checked on Thomas. He was taking a flight, I remembered. A flight to Arizona, for his mother's funeral. But they weren't letting him through the metal detector. Something just kept going off. He removed his watch, his keys, his belt... this was a very sensitive metal detector. I swallowed as they took the handheld and swept it over him. It lit up when it passed over his eyes. I changed the channel, for I felt dirty.
Thomas, Carl, and Melissa met together that night. But Thomas' camera was dark. They looked so grim that I found myself wishing these cameras conveyed sound. But then they got up. They dressed in black. And they approached my house, carrying guns.
I hear them now, as they pound on the door. And I can't help but smile. Because this is what I deserve for soiling the masterpiece god laid out before me. Well, they're about to break in. And I'm not about to fight, oh no, I won't fight. Because I prefer to watch.
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2017.07.20 20:09 lm_back Tv voyeur house sex

The “Hashbury” Is the Capital of the Hippies
Hunter S. Thompson
San Francisco
In 1965 Berkeley was the axis of what was just beginning to be called the “New Left.” Its leaders were radical, but they were also deeply committed to the society they wanted to change. A prestigious faculty committee said the Berkeley activists were the vanguard of “a moral revolution among the young,” and many professors approved.
Now, in 1967, there is not much doubt that Berkeley has through a revolution of some kind, but the end result is not exactly what the original leaders had in mind. Many one-time activists have forsaken politics entirely and turned to drugs. Others have even forsaken Berkeley. During 1966, the hot center of revolutionary action on the Coast began moving across the bay to San Francisco’s Haight-Ashbury district, a run down Victorian neighborhood of about 40 square blocks between the Negro/Fillmore district and Golden Gate Park.
The “Hasbury” is the new capital of what is rapidly becoming a drug culture. Its denizens are not called radicals or beatniks, but “hippies”-and perhaps as many as half are refugees from Berkeley and the old North Beach secene, the cradle and the casket of the so-called Beat Generation.
The other half of the hippy population is too young to identify with Jack Kerouac, or even Mario Savio. Their average age is about 20, and most are native Californians. The North Beach types of the late nineteen-fifties were not nearly as provincial as the Haight-Ashbury types are today. The majority of beatniks who flocked into San Francisco 10 years ago were transients from the East and Midwest. The literary-artistic nucleus-Kerouac, Ginsberg, et al-was a package deal from New York. San Francisco was only a stop on the big circuit: Tangier, Paris, Greenwich Village, Tokyo and India. The senior beats had a pretty good idea what was going on in the world; they read newspapers, traveled constantly and had friends all over the globe.
The World “hip” translates roughly as “wise” or “tuned-in.” A hippy is somebody who “knows” what’s really happening, and who adjusts or grooves with it. Hippies despise phoniness; they want to be open, honest, loving and free. They reject the plastic pretense of 20th-century America, preferring to go back to the “natural life,” like Adam and Eve. They reject any kinship with the Beat Generation on the ground that “those cats were negative, but our thing is positive.” They also regect politics, which is “just another game.” They don’t like money, either, or any kind of aggressiveness.
A serious problem in writing about the Haight-Ashbury is that most of the people you have to talk to are involved, one way or another, in the drug traffic. They have good reason to be leery of strangers who ask questions. A 22-year-old student was recently sentenced to two years in prison for telling an undercover narcotics agent where to buy some marijuana. “Love” is the password in the Haight-Ashbury, but paranoia is the style. Nobody wants to go to jail.
At the same time, marijuana is everywhere. People smoke it on the sidewalks, in doughnut shops, sitting in parked cars or lounging on the grass in Golden Gate Park. Nearly everyone on the streets between 20 and 30 is a “head,” a user, either of marijuana, LSD, or both. To refuse a proffered “joint” is to risk being labeled a “nark”-narcotics agent-a threat and a menace to almost everybody.
With a few loud exceptions, it is only the younger hippies who see themselves as a new breed. “A completely new thing in this world, man.” The ex-beatniks among them, many of whom are now making money off the new scene, incline to the view that hippies are, in fact, second-generation beatniks and that everything genuine in the Haight-Ashbury is about to be swallowed-like North Beach and the Village-in a wave of publicity and commercialism.
Haight Street, the Great White Way of what the local papers call “Hippieland,” is already dotted with stores catering mainly to the tourist trade. Few hippies can afford $20 sandals or a “mod outfit” for $67.50. Nor can they afford the $3.50 door charge at the Fillmore Auditorium and the Avalon Ballroom, the twin wombs of the “psychedelic, San Francisco, acid-rock sound.” Both the Fillmore and the Avalon are jammed every weekend with borderline hippies who don’t mind paying for the music and the light shows. There is always a sprinkling of genuine, barefoot, freaked-out types on the dance floor, but few of them have to pay to get in. they arrive with the musicians or have other good connections.
Neither of the dance palaces is within walking distance of the Hashbury, especially if you’re stoned, and since only a few of the hippies have contacts in the psychedelic power structure, most of them either spend their weekend nights either drifting around on Haight Street or loading up on acid-LSD-in somebody’s pad. Some of the rock bands play free concerts in Golden State Park for the benefit of those brethren who can’t afford the dances. But beyond an occasional Happening in the park, the Haight-Ashbury scene is almost devoid of anthing “to do”-at least by conventional standards. An at-home entertainment is nude parties at which celebrants paint designs on each other.
There are no hippy bars, for instance, and only one restaurant above the level of a diner or a lunch counter. This is a reflection of the drug culture, which has no use for booze and regards food as a necessity to be acquired at the least possible expense. A “family” of hippies will work for hours over an exotic stew or curry in a communal kitchen, but the idea of paying $3 for a meal in a restaurant is out of the question.
Some hippies work, others live on money from home and many are full-time beggars. The Post Office is a major source of hippy income. Jobs like sorting mail don’t require much thought or effort. A hippy named Admiral Love of the Psychedelic Rangers delivers special-delivery letters at night, The admiral is in his mid-20’s and makes enough money to support an apartmentful of younger hippies who depend on him for their daily bread.
There is also a hippy-run employment agency on Haight Street and anyone needing part-time labor or some kind of specialized work can call and order as many freaks as he needs; they might look a bit weird, but many are far more capable than most “temporary help,” and vastly more interesting to have around. Those hippies who don’t work can easily pick up a few dollars a day panhandling along Haight Street. The fresh influx of curiosity-seekers has proved a great boon to the legion of psychedelic beggars. During several days of roaming around the area, I was touched so often that I began to keep a supply of quarters in my pocket so I wouldn’t have to haggle over change. The panhandlers are usually barefoot, always young and never apologetic. They’ll share what they collect anyway, so it seems entirely reasonable that strangers should share with them.
The best show on Haight Street is usually on the sidewalk in front of the Drog Store, a new coffee bar at the corner of Masonic Street. The Drog Store features an all-hippy revue that runs day and night. The acts change sporadically, but nobody cares. There will always be at least one man with long hair and sunglasses playing a wooden pope of some kind. He will be wearing wither a Dracula cape, a long Buddhist robe, or a Sioux Indian costume. There will also be a hairy blonde fellow wearing a Black Bart cowboy hat and a spangled jacket that orininally belonged to a drum major in the 1949 Rose Bowl parade. He will be playing the bongo drums. Next to the drummer will be a dazed-looking girl wearing a blouse (but no bra) and a plastic mini-skit, slapping her thighs to the rhythm of it all.
These three will be the nucleus of the show. Backing them up will be an all-star cast of freaks, every one of them stoned. They will be stretched out on the sidewalk, twitching and babbling in time with the music. Now and then somebody will fall out of the audience and join the revue; perhaps a Hell’s Angel or some grubby, chain-draped imposter who never owned a motorcycle in his life. Or maybe a girl wrapped in gauze or a thin man with wild eyes who took an overdose of acid nine days ago and change himself into a raven. For those on a quick tour of the Hasbury, the Drog Store revue is a must.
Most of the local action is beyond the reach of anyone without access to drugs. There are four or five bars a nervous square might relax in, but one is a Lesbian place, another is a hangout for brutal-looking leather fetishists and the others are old neighborhood taverns full of brooding middle-aged drunks. Prior to the hippy era there were three good Negro-run jazz bars on Haight Street, but they soon went out of style. Who need jazz, or even beer, when you can sit doen on a public curbstone, drop a pill in your mouth and hear fantastic music for hours at a time in your own head? A cap of good acid costs $5, and for that you can hear the Universal Symphony, with God singing solo and the Holy Ghost on the drums.
Drugs have made formal entertainment obsolete in the Hasbury, but only until somebody comes up with something appropriate to the new style of the neighborhood. This summer will see the opening of the new Straight Theater, formerly the Haight Theater featuring homosexual movies for the trade, meetings, concerts, dances. “It’s going to be a kind of hippy community center,” said Brent Dangerfield, a young radio engineer from Salt Lake City who stopped off in San Francisco on his way to a job in Hawaii and now is a partner in the Straight. When I asked Dangerfield how old he was he had to think for a minute. “I’m 22,” he said finally, “but I use to be much older.”
Another new divertissement, maybe, will be a hippy bus line running up and down Haight Street, housed in a 1930 Fagol bus-a huge, lumbering vehicle that might have been the world’s first house trailer. I rode in it one afternoon with the driver, a young hippy named Tim Thibeau who proudly displayed a bathtub under one of the rear seats. The bus was a spectacle even on Haight Street: people stopped, stared and cheered as we rumbled by, going nowhere at all. Thibeau honked the horn and waved. He was from Chicago, he said, but when he got out of the Army he stopped in San Francisco and decided to stay. He was living, for the moment, on unemployment insurance, and his plans for the future were hazy. “I’m in no hurry,” he said. Right now I’m talking it easy, just floating along.” He smiled and reached for a beer can in the Fagol’s icebox.
Dangerfield and Thibeau reflect the blind optimism of the younger hippy element. They see themselves as the vanguard of the new way of life in America-the psychedelic way-where love abounds and work is fun and people help each other. The young hippies are confident that things are going their way.
The older hippies are not so sure. They’ve been eaiting a long time for the world to go their way, and those most involved in the hip scene are hedging their bets this time. “That back to nature scene is okay when you’re 20,” one said. “But when you’re looking for at 35 you want to know something’s happening to you.” Ed Denson, at 27, is an ex-beatnik, ex-Goldwaterite, ex-Berkeley radical and currently the manager of a successful rock band called County Joe and the Fish. His home and headquarters is a complex of rooms above a liquor store in Berkeley. One room is an art studio, another is an office; there is also a kitchen, a bedroom and several sparsely furnished areas without definition.
Denson is deeply involved in the hippy music scene, but insists he;s not a hippy. “I’m very pessismistic about where theis thing is going,” he said. “Right now it’s good for a lot of people. It’s still very open. But I have to look back at the Berklely scene. There was a tremendous optimism there, too, but look where all that went. The Beat Generation? Where are they now? What about the hula-hoops? Maybe this hippy thing is more than a fad; maybe the whole world is turning on but I’m not optimistic. Most of the hippies I know don’t really understand what kind of a world they are living in. I get tired of hearing about what beautiful people we all are. If the hippies were more realistic they’d stand a better chance of surviving.”
Most hippies take the question of survival for granted, but it’s becoming increasingly obvious as the neighborhood fills with penniless heads, that there is simply not enough food and lodging to go around. A partial solution may come from a group called the “Diggers,” who have been called the “worker-priests” of the hippy movement and the “invisible government” of the Hashbury. The Diggers are young and aggressively pragmatic; they have set up free lodging centers, free soup kitchens and free clothing distribution centers. They comb the neighborhood soliciting donations of everything from money to stale bread to camping equipment. Diggers’ signs are posted in local stores, asking for donations of hammers, saws. Shovels, shoes and anything else that vagrant hippies might use to make themselves at least partially self-supporting.
The name and spirt derive from small groups of 17th-century English rural revolutionaries, called both Diggers and True Levelers, who had a number of special ides. Money should be abolished, communal farms could support all those willing to work them, and individual ownership of land would be outlawed. The Diggers were severely harassed and the movement eventually caved in under the weight of public opprobrium.
The Hashbury Diggers have fared a bit better, but the demand for food and lodging is beginning to exceed the supply. For a while, the Diggers were able to serve three meals, however meager, each afternoon in Golden Gate Park. But as the word got around, more and more hippies showed up to eat, and the Diggers were forced to roam far afield to get food. Occasionally there were problems, as when Digger chieftain Emmett Grogan, 23, called a local butcher a “Fascist pig and a coward” when he refused to donate meat scraps. The butcher whacked Grogan with the flat side of his meat cleaver.
The Digger ethic of mass sharing goes along with the American Indian motif that is basic to the Hasbury scene. The cult of “tribalism” is regarded by many of older hippies as the key to survival. Poet Gary Snyder, a hippy guru, sees a “back to the land” movement as the answer to the food and lodging problem. He urges hippies to move out of the cities, form tribes, purchase land and live communally in remote areas. He cites a hippy “clan” calling itself the Maha-Lila as a model (though the clan dwells in the Hasbury):
“Well, now,” Snyder says, “like, you are asking how it’s going to work. Well, the Maha-Lila is a group of about three different families who have sort of pooled their resources, which are not very great. But they have decided to pay together and to work together and to take care of each other and that means all of them have ways of getting a small amount of bread, which they share. And other people contribute a little money when it comes in. And then they work together on creative projects, like they’re working together on a light-show right now for a poetry reading that we’re going to give. And they consider themselves a kind of extended family or clan.
“That’s the model. They relate it to a larger sense of the tribe, which is loose, but for the time being everybody has to be able-from time to time-to do some little job. The thing that makes it different is that you don’t have a very tight monogamous family unit, but a slightly larger unit where the sharing is greater.”
The tribal concept makes a lot better sense than simply depending on the Diggers. There are indications, however, that the youthful provincialism of the Haight-Ashbury is due for a forced consciousness-expansion. For the past few months, the scene has been filling up with would-be hippies from other parts of the country, primarily Los Angeles and New York. The real influx is expected this summer. The city is rife with rumors, reliable and otherwise, that anywhere from 50,000 to 200,000 “indigent young people” will descend on San Francisco as soon as the school year ends.
The Diggers are appalled at the prospect. “Where are they going to stay?” says one. “What are they going to do?” A girl who works in one of the Diggers kitchens shrugs and says: “The Diggers will continue to receive the casualties of the love generation.” Local officials, form Mayor down, are beginning to panic. Civic leaders in the Haight-Ashbury have suggested that sleeping facilities be provided in Golden Gate Park or in nearby Kezar Stadium but Police Chief Tome Cahill said no.
“Law and order will prevail,” he insisted. “There will be no sleeping in the park. There are no sanitation facilities and if we let them cap there we would have a tremendous health problem. Hippies are no asset to the community. These people do not have the courage to face the reality of life. They are trying to escape. Nobody should let their young children take part in this hippy thing.”
Dr. Sox had no choice to back off. The situation is not as bad as we thought,” he said. There are has been a deterioration [of sanitation] in the Haight-Ashbury, but the hippies did not contribute much more to it than other members of the neighborhood.” Dr. Sox went on to deny that his mass inspection was part of a general campaign against weirdos, but nobody seemed to believe him.
The Haight-Ashbury neighborhood Council, a nonhippy group of permanent residents, denounced Dr. Sox for his “gratuitous criticism of our community.” The counsel accused city officials of “creating an artificial problem” and harassing the hippies out of “personal and official” prejudice.
As recently as 1962, the Haight-Ashbury was a drab, working-class district, slowly filling with Negroes and so plagued by crime and violence that residents formed vigilant patrols. Housewives were mugged on the way to the grocery store, teenagers were slashed and stomped in gang rambles, and every drunk on Haight Street was fair game for local Jackrollers.
Now, with the coming of the drug culture, even the squarest of the neighborhood old-timers say the streets are safer than they have been for years. Burglaries are still a problem but violence is increasingly rare. It is hard to find anyone outside the hippy community who will say that psychedelic drugs have made the neighborhood a better place to live. But it’s even harder to find a person who wouldn’t rather step over a giggling freak on the sidewalk than worry about hoodlums with switch-blades. The fact that the hippies and the squares have worked out such a peaceful coexistence seems to baffle the powers at City Hall.
A lot of cheap labels describe what is happening in the Hasbury, but none of them make much sense: the Love Generation, the Happening Generation, the Combine Generation and even the LSD Generation. The Last is the best of the lot, but in the interest of accuracy it should probably be amended to the Head Generation.
A “head,” in the language of hip, is a user of psychedelic drugs: LSD, marijuana (“grass”), mescaline, peyote, methedrine, benzedrine, and a half-dozen others that are classified in the trade as mind-stimulating, consciousness-expanding, or “head” drugs. At the other end of the spectrum are “body” drugs: opium, heroin, barbiturates and even alcohol. These are basically depressants, while head drugs are stimulants. But neither type comes with a manufacturer’s guarantee, and the Hashbury is full of people whose minds have been jerked around savagely by drugs that were supposed to induce peaceful euphoria.
Another hazard is the widespread tendency to mix two or three drugs at one time. Acid and alcohol can be a lethal combination, causing fits of violence, suicidal depression and general freak-out that ends in jail or a hospital.
There is widespread concern, at least in San Francisco, about the dangers of so many people using so much LSD. A doctor at San Francisco General Hospital says there are at least 10,000 hippies in the Haight-Ashbury, and that about four of them a day wind up in a psychiatric ward on bad trips. He estimates that acidheads make up only 1½ per cent of the city’s population, but that the figure for the Haight-Asbury is more like 100 per cent.
The estimate is absurd; if every hippy in Ashbury took acid every day, the percentage of users in the neighborhood would still be less than 50 per cent. Many of the local squares try grass from time to time, but few have worked up an appetite for LSD; the difference in potency roughly the same as the difference between beer and grain alcohol. Even among hippies, anything more than one dose of acid a week is considered excessive.
Most heads are relatively careful about their drug diets, but in recent mouths the area has attracted so many young, inexperienced hippies that public freak-outs are a fairly routine thing. Neighborhood cops complain that acidheads throw themselves in front of moving cars, strip naked in grocery stores and run through plate-glass windows. On weekdays, the action about on par with Macdougal Street in Greenwhich Village, but weekend hippies and nervous voyeurs from the suburbs make Saturdays and Sundays a nightmarish traffic jam. The sidewalks are so crowded that even a mild freak-out is likely to cause a riot.
Municipal buses no longer use Haight Street on weekends; they were rerouted after mobs of hippies staged sit-down strikes in the street, called mill-ins, which brought all traffic to a standstill. The only buses still running regulary along Haight Street are those from the Gray Line, which recently added “Hippielan” to its daytime sightseeing tour of San Francisco. It was billed as “the only foreign tour within the continental limits of the United States” and was an immediate hit with tourists who thought the Haight-Ashbury was a human zoo. The only sour note on the tour was struck by the occasional hippy who would run alongside the bus, holding up a mirror.
Last year in Berkeley, hard-core political radicals who had always viewed hippies as spiritual allies began to worry about the long-range implications of the Haight-Ashbury scene. Students who once were angry activists were content to lie back in their pads and smile at the world through a fog of marijuana smoke-or, worse, to dress like clowns or American Indians and stay zonked for days at a time on LSD.
Even in Berkeley, political rallies during 1966 had overtones of music madness and absurdity. Instead of picket signs and revolutionary slogans, more and more demonstrators carried flowers, balloons and colorful posters featuring slogans from Dr. Timothy Leary, the high priest of acid.
The drug culture was spreading faster than political activists realized. Unlike the dedicated radicals who emerged from the Free Speech Movement, the hippies were more interested in dropping out of society than they were in changing it. They were generally younger than the political types, and the press dismissed them as the “pot left,” a frivolous gang of druggies and sex kooks who were only along for the ride.
Then Ronald Regan was elected Governor by almost a million-vote plurality. Shortly afterward, Clark Kerr was fired as president of the University of California-a direct result of Regan’s victory. In that same November, the G.O.P. gained 50 seats in Congress and served a clear warning on the Johnson Administration that despite all the headlines about Berkeley and the New Left, most of the electorate was a lot more hawkish, hard-nosed and conservative than the White House antennae had indicated.
The lessons was not lost on the hippies, many of who still considered themselves at least part-time political activists. One of the most obvious casualties of the 1966 elections was the New Left’s illusion of its own leverage. The radical-hippy alliance had been counting on the voters to repudiate the “right-wing, warmonger” elements in Congress, but instead it was the “liberal” Democrats who got stomped.
So it is no coincidence that the Haight-Ashbury scene developed very suddenly in the winter of 1966-1967 from the quiet, neo-Bohemian enclave that it had been for four or five years to the crowded, defiant dope fortress that it is today. The hippies, who had never really believed they were the wave f the future anyway, saw the election returns as brutal confirmation of the futility of fighting the establishment on its own terms.
There had to be a whole new scene, they said, and the only way to do it was to make the big move-either figuratively or literally-from Berkeley to the Haight-Ashbury, from pragmatism to mysticism, from politics to dope, from the hang-ups of protest to the peaceful disengagement of love, nature and spontaneity.
The credo of the Haight-Ashbury was expressed, about as well as it can be, by Joyce Francisco, 23-year-old advertisement manager of the new hippy newspaper, the San Francisco Oracle. She was talking a few months ago to a columnist from the establishment press, trying to explain what the hippy phenomenon meant: “I love the whole world,” she said. “I am the divine mother, part of Buddha, part of God, part of everything.”
“How do you live?” the columnist asked.
From meal to meal. I have no money, no possessions. Money is beautiful only when it’s flowing; when it piles up it’s a hang-up. We take care of each other. There’s always something to buy beans and rice for the group, and someone always sees that I get grass or acid. I was in a mental hospital once because I tried to conform and play the game. But now I’m free and happy.”
Next question: “Do you use drugs often?”
“Fairly. When I find myself becoming confused I drop out and take a dose of acid. It’s a short cut to reality; it throws you right into it. Everyone should take it, even children. Why shouldn’t they be enlightened early, instead of waiting till they’re old? Human beings need total freedom. That’s where God is at. We need to shed hypocrisy, dishonesty, phoniness and go back to the purity of our childhood values.”
The columnist then asked if Miss Francisco ever prayed.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “I pray in the morning sun. It nourishes me with its energy so I can spread my love and beauty and nourish others. I never pray for anything; I don’t need anything. Whatever turns me in is a sacrament: LSD, sex, my belts, my colors . . . . that is the holy communion, you dig?”
The columnist wasn’t sure if she did or not, but she passed on the interview for the benefit of those readers who might. Many did. Anyone who thinks all the hippies in the Bay Area are living in the Hasbury might just as well leave his head in the sand.
In normal circumstances, the mushrooming popularity of psychedelics would be a main factor in any article on hippies. But the vicious excesses of our drug laws make it impossible, or at least inhuman, to document the larger story. A journalist dealing with heads is caught in a strange dilemma. The only way to write honestly about the scene is to be part of it. If there is one quick truisms about psychedelic drugs, it is that anyone who tries to write about them without firsthand experience is a fool and a fraud.
Yet to write from experience is an admission of felonious guilt; it is also a potential betrayal of people whose only “crime” is the smoking of a weed that grows wild all over the world but the possession of which, in California, carries a minimum sentence of two years in prison for a second offense and a minimum of five years for a third. So, despite the fact that the whole journalism industry is full of unregenerate heads-just as many journalist were hard drinkers during the Prohibition-it is not very likely that the frank, documented truth about the psychedelic underworld, for good or ill, will be illuminated at any time soon in the public prints.
If I were to write, for instance, that I recently spent 10 days in San Francisco and was stoned almost constantly . . . . that in fact I was stoned for nine nights out of 10 and that nearly everyone I dealt with smoked marijuana as casually as they drank beer . . . . and if I said many of the people I talked to were not freaks or dropouts, but competent professionals with bank accounts and spotless reputations . . . . and that I was amazed to find psychedelic drugs in homes where I would never have mentioned them two years ago-if all this were true, I could write an ominous screed to the effect that the hippy phenomenon in the Haight-Ashbury is little more than a freak show and a soft-sell advertisement for what is happening all around them . . . that drugs, orgies and freak-outs are almost as common to a much larger and more discreet cross section of the Bay Area’s respectable, upwards-mobile society as they are to the colorful drop-outs of San Francisco’s new Bohemia.
There is no shortage of documentation for the thesis that the current Haight-Ashbury scene is only the orgiastic tip of a great psychedelic iceberg that is already drifting in the sea lanes of the Great Society. Submerged and uncountable is the mass of intelligent, capable heads who want nothing so much as peaceful anonymity. In a nervous where a man’s imagine is frequently more important than his reality, the only people who can afford to advertise their drug menus are those with nothing to lose.
And these-for the moment, at least-are the young lotus-eaters, the barefoot mystics and hairy freaks of the Haight-Ashbury-all those primitive Christians, peaceful nay-sayers and half-deluded “flower children” who refuse to participate in a society which looks to them lie a mean, calculated and soul-destroying hoax.
As recently as two years ago, many of the best and brightest of them were passionately involved in the realities of political, social and economic life in America. But the scene has changed since then and political activism is going out of style. The thrust is no longer for “change” or “progress” or “revolution,” but merely to escape, to live on the far perimeter of a world that might have been-perhaps should have been-and strike a bargain for survival on purely personal terms.
The flourishing hippy scene is a matter of desperate concern to the political activists. They see whole generation of rebels drifting off to a drugged limbo, ready to accept almost anything as long as it comes enough “soma.”
Steve DeCanio, an ex-Berkeley activist now doing graduate work at M.I.T., is a good example of a legion of young radicals who know they have lost their influence but have no clear idea how to get it back again. “The alliance between hippies and political radicals is bound to break up,” he said in a recent letter. “There’s just too big a jump from the slogan of ‘Flower Power’ to the deadly realm of politics. Something has to give, and drugs are too ready-made as opiates of the people for the bastards (the police) to fail to take advantage of it.”
Decanio spent three months in various Bay Area jails as a result of his civil rights activities and now he is lying low for a while, waiting for an opening. “I’m spending an amazing amount of time studying,” he wrote. “It’s mainly because I’m scared; three months on the bottom of humanity’s trash heap got to me worse than it’s healthy to admit. The country is going to hell, the left is going to pot, but not me. I still want to figure out a way to win.”
Meanwhile, like most other disappointed radicals, he is grimly amused at the impact the hippies are having on the establishment. The panic among San Francisco officialdom at the prospect of 200,000 hippies flocking to the Hashbury this summer is one of the few things that ex-Berkeley radicals can still laugh at. Decanio’s vision of the crisis was not written as prophecy, but considering the hidden reality of the situation, it may turn out that way: “I can see Mayor Shelley standing on the steps of the Civic Center and shouting into TV microphones, ‘The people cry bread! Bread! Let them turn on!’ “
The New York Time Magazine, May 14, 1967
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2015.08.07 00:32 confusedinmd2 Boyfriend [28/M] doesn't have much of a sex drive with me [27/M] anymore

So this is my first time ever posting to Reddit about anything, and I'm not even sure I'm doing it right, but I'm giving it a shot.
Something has been bugging me a lot lately and I'm not sure if I'm just crazy, over-thinking things, or right in how I feel.
So some background: My boyfriend and I (2 guys) have been together for a little over a year now and things are mostly great. In the beginning we used to have sex pretty often and I know from friends and past stories involving my bf that he's generally pretty active sexually. He used to be on Grindr every day and from what I've heard from him and others, he used to get laid a lot and I now know quite of few of his old flames and hook ups as they are mutual friends and they aren't active with each other any longer. It seemed like from both him and others, that he was constantly trying to get into other guy's pants when he was single.
Fast forward to today and a few things have changed and in my mind have grown gradually worse. Grindr is no longer an acceptable app to use in our relationship, as it caused an issue right before we became official, and I generally don't like it anyway. We MAYBE have sex once a week, and he's pretty much in control of when we do it. I'm always ready to go, but he says he has a low sex drive, and only when he's ready will he initiate. I'm rarely ever successful as there always seems to be an excuse. The biggest issue for me now, is that (because I pay for our internet) I've tracked some web activity through my network and found that he will stay up late at night playing video games, but at some point will switch off the system and peruse his laptop looking at porn, getting on chat roulette and cam4, and cruising personal ads on craigslist. When he does this, any day of the week, he'll usually be up until 4-5am doing it and then come to bed.
I've confronted him with my findings, and naturally he accused me of spying and tracking him, and I explained why (above). I told him I don't understand why he stays up late looking at porn (when he told me he was reading articles or playing video games) and chatting online with people, and that I felt like he preferred doing that instead of being intimate with me, when I am in the same house with him. He explained to me that he is a voyeur and that he enjoys chatting not as himself and keeping his cam off, watching porn and looking at pictures that are posted on CL ads, because it's "just entertainment" for him, or a way to get himself in the mood to later do something with me (even though that rarely, if ever, happens). He said he doesn't usually get off to it and he tells me it's innocent because he's not acting on anything and it's just something for him to do, like watching TV.
Another thing that really bothered me is that I found out from his web history, that during one of his trips out of state a couple weeks ago, he was up all night looking at the same things, but most notably CL personals.
I just don't understand his response when I confronted him, and he genuinely believes that what he's doing it innocent. He even went as far as to make me believe that I was at fault for anything because I had tracked his activity. It crushes me and makes my head spin, because I don't really know if he's telling me the truth. Why would anyone think it's okay to look at that stuff when they're in a committed relationship? I understand using porn as a means to take care of oneself when their SO isn't around, but this is all the time. I don't understand why it seems like I can't get him aroused, and that he is CONSTANTLY, DAILY, online doing this stuff.
All of this honestly has me feeling like I can't trust him, that he might be hiding something, or just isn't that into me. I'm fairly certain he hasn't cheated also. Am I over thinking this? Has anyone else had an experience with something like this? I really do love him, we get along great, we have a pretty awesome relationship otherwise, and I know that he's planning to propose soon, which has been making this agonizing. I'm constantly feeling sick to my stomach, it's effecting my mood, and often I feel lost and just want to cry all the time. And what's worse is that I don't honestly know if I'm being too insecure. Please help!
TL;DR - Boyfriend and I have been together over a year, we don't have much sex like we used to, and found out that he's been using porn, chatroulette, cam4, craigslist ads, and sites like it, but says it's just for "voyeur entertainment" and isn't acting on anything. I don't know if I'm over analyzing it, or if I should be worried.
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