Sex voyeur on the beach

2020.11.28 16:54 schieveni Sex voyeur on the beach

Normally I would balk at doing anything intimate in public but my bf and I were really horny over break while visiting my family and we ended up sneaking off to our room and him fingering me off and me blowing him and letting him cum and finishing off. It took less than 10 minutes and was super hot and most people thought we were just back there changing and what not.
For the past two days including on the drive back we've been super horny and aroused whenever we discuss that. My bf even got so hard on the drive just talking about it we had to pull over and take care of him lol!
So I'm wondering, because we're both not very adventurous if this means we're both into some sort of voyeurism or exhibitionism or something of that sort -- like should we indulge in some camping and outdoor sex or road head or things like that?
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2020.11.24 16:57 kornelius581 Beach voyeur on sex the

Hey all
So it's my first time posting on the . I'm in a pretty good relationship, though it has had little-to-no sexual energy for a while now. I have had some fun with friends before now that were comfortable with the conversation blending from chill to hot on the turn of a dime, and would love to find something like that again if possible.
I do a lot of writing and RP for fun as it is, so pretty happy to delve and explore some fantasy. I'm comfortable with stories ranging from just close and intimate, to involving multiple partners of varying combinations. My kinks and tastes can include unprotected/risky sex, voyeurism, B/GFE, height differences (I'm 2M tall almost exactly, so have some experience of picking up and throwing around smaller partners) and some feet focus, choking and ass play if it feels right. Happy to explore other tastes, though draw the line at darketoilet stuff. I might be a little vanilla, but I like to focus on details that excite my partners, so hope this will make up for it for you.
If you're just looking for some chat that has the chance of slipping into something sexy then let me know. I would love to make someone's night, whether it's through fun conversation or mutually reaching orgasm. If you have something in mind then run it by me - I can often get turned on by inventiveness and eagerness!
18+ only please. And I Hope however you're all spending your evenings, you're having fun doing it!
submitted by kornelius581 to Dirtypenpalsuk [link] [comments]


2020.11.22 01:44 End-Public Sex voyeur on the beach

When NimCorp called me and asked me to go on this journey, I really had nothing better to do. I’d come across a website that I’d never heard of before, NimCorp LLC, which, like so many probably bootleg space programs, offered people to go off into space for a certain amount of time for a vacation, and see a new swath of the galaxy that the average person had not yet gotten around to seeing. All these little journeys were essentially space cruises, where for a couple thousand bucks you can go off into the Whateveritis Nebula for a week or two and see some pretty lights in order to forget about your boring desk job. A super middle class, family vacation thing to do. I wouldn’t normally be interested in this kind of stuff. It’s pretty much guaranteed that getting locked up in one of these “luxury” cabins for a week will get you exposed to countless childhood diseases, and the faint sheen of mucus will forever be present in the air. No thanks. Let alone the sounds of kids crying at night and hushed, awkward but still clearly audible parent sex from the next room.
So, essentially these space programs all have to be technically controlled by the U.S. government, since NASA is actually the only body that can regulate space travel as of now. What these companies basically do is buy ships from NASA and adhere to all of their safety regulations but just put their unique spin on the journey to sell seats. Pretty lucrative if you ask me.
Again, I would never in my right mind go on one of these things. I’m sure the sights would be beautiful and all, and I’d remember it for a lifetime, but I just don’t think it’s worth the risk of childhood contagion that is essentially guaranteed on one of these things.
But this journey was different. I saw a usual banner ad for NimCorp space exploration program, and really just wanted it to get out of my face at first. But then something caught my eye.
The ad read “Does space sound better to you than earth?” Pretty standard. “Why not leave earth behind?” Again, run of the mill. “What if space could be your new, permanent home?”
Now, this gave me pause. First of all, using the word “permanent” in any advertisement is far too harsh, and ignites feelings of entrapment, debt and responsibility. No one in their right mind is going to put this on an ad, because if a feeling of dreaminess and whimsy is not induced, then only self-endangering freaks are going to buy your product. (I have an associates in advertising)
Self-endangering freaks like me, that is.
I’m what someone might call a N.E.E.T. An acronym that stands for “Not in Employment, Education or Training” This description is technically true. I do have previous education, but I’m definitely not using it at the moment, and I’m not employed by a company or in any kind of training program. Basically, if I just existed every single day in this same room that I am in now, browsing the internet and eating cup ramen and ham and mayonnaise sandwiches, no one would even blink an eye. I don’t really have connections to the outside world. I am essentially an NPC on autopilot who is waiting for a real player to interact with me, so I can deliver my allotted portion of world-building. And to be honest, that hasn’t even happened yet. I’m just sitting here, burning gas and idling in the parking lot that is life.
Never met my parents. I heard that apparently, they were farmers or something, out in the rural areas somewhere. Something wistful and idyllic, similar to what these expensive space programs advertise. But I don’t really have any memory of them. Maybe just one, something about a warm fireplace, and a cold glass of milk, and a set of dirty shoes that were haphazardly thrown on the table. Just a glimpse of a different life, that seems to be more part of an adventurer’s video game than something I’ve actually experienced.
In any case though, most of what I recall is just growing up in the orphanage. Different orphanages actually, five of them, to be exact, over the span of fifteen years. No one there was particularly kind to me. Not necessarily mean either, just distant. I didn’t make any real friends and was basically just thrilled when I could get out of there, find a small place and self-isolate for the foreseeable future. Got a shitty degree online, from Olympus University. Have you heard of it? I certainly hadn’t.
So, back to this trip, right. It actually seemed like something cool to do. As soon as I saw the even slight possibility that I could bounce out of this world and travel on to another one, I was already invested. First, though, I had to make sure that this was actually real.
I clicked on the ad and it brought me to a website absent of awkward family photos and corny messages that advertised “getting away for a week” or other pointless escapades. The advertising for this program was pretty straightforward.
“Do you have minimal ties to this earthly realm and want to experience another? Have you always felt weighed down by gravity? Want a permanent change of scenery? Well, all of space is waiting!”
I looked around to find an “Apply Now” button and only found it down at the very bottom. Before I came across it, I had to read through a pretty detailed description of what this trip would entail. Essentially, if picked, I would be able to leave earth permanently, travel through space for the rest of my foreseeable life and stop at various locations around the galaxy in order to help terraform them and expand them. I’d basically become a farmer, ironically enough. Isn’t that the exact thing my parents allegedly were? To think I’d be almost returning to this idyllic lifestyle that I thought I could never access.
This was a service trip. By that, it meant that we, the passengers, would be doing a service to the human race and human expansion, and essentially bettering humanity, apparently. Because of this, the entire thing was completely free of charge.
This, for me, was the only way I could go anyways, because I generally decided to lead such a low-income lifestyle that not much extra cash was available. $200 for rent of this room, $200 for food, and an extra hundred for miscellaneous expenses each month. That was it. I lived under the radar. Most of the time I got this money from customers here and there who wanted my graphic design skills, mostly advertised on Craigslist or Fiverr. I could get a full-time job if I wanted to, but I can’t foresee how that would go. People are not my strong suit, nor is working under the supervision of anyone. I’m okay with subsistence living, as long as I have distractions.
More or less, I could not be more excited to yeet myself off of this earthly plane.
The screening process was rigorous. More than anything, this program demanded that applicants have no meaningful ties to others in their lives, so much so that no fuss would be made if those of us chosen would never return again. This screening process took the form of hundreds of multiple choice and short-answer questions, in which the application asked
“Do you have any regulars you talk to at grocery stores, banks, post offices or any other place that connections may be formed in a casual manner?” and “Are you part of any online forums or groups in which your presence is valued?” Now, for a N.E.E.T. like me, one may think that online forums are the only place that I would make meaningful relationships. And this is a pretty understandable assumption. But, in truth, I am mostly a voyeur. I’m mostly just a watcher who oversees their surroundings like an owl on a branch. Even digital conversations would have too much gravitas for me.
In truth, I was the perfect candidate for this program.
Now, I want to stop this for a second. I and most people agree that sending people away from earth with no chance to ever come back is pretty inhumane. I don’t think NimCorp actually planned on doing this. In reality, reading over the finer details of the trip, participants had the option to return to earth every five years, if they were so inclined, and from there, the give or take four-year-long mission would commence from whatever point in the galaxy they were, back to earth. This is honestly a good opt-out and I am glad that people have it. But, that being said, I had no intention of taking it.
After entering my personal data, pages and pages of digital questions, and a handful of paragraph-long short-answer questions that I had to answer, my application seemed to be complete. For once, I thought, I didn’t have to put down references from people that I didn’t know, to apply for opportunities that I would never get because of my lack of experience.
I read online that the process was extremely selective. They were looking for a very specific candidate, and it almost seemed that someone’s level of self-isolation was more important than even their mental fitness, the latter which is more handy for a space mission like this, I would think. However, those two attributes don’t exactly go hand in hand most of the time.
From there, I submitted the application and didn’t think about it all too much for a couple of weeks. It would be a nice change. Let’s put it that way. I never really thought of myself as very special, so I wasn’t sure if I would really stick out to them at all. But, perhaps that’s what they were looking for: an ordinary Joe who is so unnoticeable that he could move to anywhere in the galaxy and no one would blink an eye.
I was standing at my small kitchenette, weeks later, that I had crafted for myself, making an iced coffee out of powdered milk and some Maxwell House, when I saw an alert pop up on my computer. A small blue banner appeared that had the NimCorp logo and a message that read “Space Program Application Results”.
I immediately speed-walked over to my computer, leaving the iced coffee on top of the microwave. I’ll get it later. I clicked on the link that this pop-up provided and it took me to a letter, with official letterhead and everything, reading,
Dear Oliver,
We are pleased to announce that you have been selected as one of our pioneers to venture out in our service-oriented space program. In this trip, you will be terraforming new worlds, and exploring areas possibly never seen before by humankind. And, if you wish, will be able to work with us indefinitely.
Please notify our system of your decision to accept or decline this offer within the next two weeks. If you do not respond, it will be assumed that you are not interested.
Best of luck in making a decision!
Fondly,
NimCorp
I found the form to submit my response and accepted immediately. I would finally be able to get out of this shitty reality.
About a week before I was scheduled to take off is when the sightings started. Almost like trans-perceptive visions that cut back through my many years of tedium to a time that I could scarcely remember, my childhood. Or, at least, I assumed it was my childhood. There was no definitive way to tell. I suppose you could call them flashbacks. However, these were flashbacks that I could interact with. It’s as if I could use the knowledge that I have now and talk to those in these visions, in my much younger body.
I gotta say, it was strange, but maybe it’s the fact that I have lived the past five years in relative isolation that is bringing up these vivid, almost sensory-deprivation-esque visions. Who’s to say. In any case, it was probably a trick of the mind.
The first one I experienced was one of a relatively normal scene. I’m sitting on a couch, or something, in front of a blazing open fire. And I’m wringing my hands together as if to get warm from the cold. In fact, I could actually feel the warmth hitting me as I dreamt it. Beside me is a plump but curvy middle-aged woman, with blonde hair and a contagious smile. Could this be my mother? Who’s to say.
She asks me if I liked going into town with her. I don’t respond. Instead I ask, “Who are you?” And then the dream ends.
I go back to my original state of mind. Same dingy room, same glowing computer screen, and the same slight fluorescent glow of my makeshift kitchenette, which shines on at every hour of the day.
I did, however, have one person I did want to say goodbye to. Mrs. Rienzi. She was an old Italian lady who lived in the neighboring apartment, who kindly brought everyone in the apartment block their mail every day. Since the mailmen usually just dropped off all of our packages in bulk, we were tasked with going down into the parking lot and sorting it out. But, instead, this nice old lady did it for us, most likely out of senior-induced boredom.
I’d barely ever spoken a word to her. But, she did not mind that. We mostly just communicated in smiles and raised eyebrows, which, to be honest, was my preferred form of communication. Even though our relationship had formed out of a utility, I could not deny that I had a fondness for her and would miss her once I went out on my journey. What a sweet old woman she was.
I ventured outside of my apartment, cringed at the sunlight finally hitting me, and knocked on her door. It took a few minutes before anyone opened it. But the door eventually did open and this petit, round, wrinkling woman with deep gray hair answered. Mrs. Rienzi.
I barely knew how to speak. I didn’t exactly know what to say. It had been a while.
“I wanted to say…” I trail off. I can’t even really form a sentence.
She just looks at me and laughs.
“Oliviero, are you okay?”
“Yes,” I say without hesitation.
“Everything is good?”
“Um, yeah.” I say again.
“Good.”
“I just wanted to say that I won’t be seeing you for a while,” I tell her.
“Oh, well, that’s ok, caro. I’ll always be here.”
“Yes, I know that. Trust me, it won’t be that long.”
She smiles at me again but does not look convinced.
“Are you sure everything is good?”
“Of course,” I convince her.
“Good.”
We finish our exchange and she slowly closes the door.
I suddenly have the urge to fight back tears, and I don’t know why.
The day of lift-off, I am ordered to bring a small duffel of my things and any keepsakes that I will want to remind me of earth while on this journey. I don’t bring any at all. We are ordered to leave all phones and other communication devices at home, because obviously they will be useless in space. There are special long-range satellites on the ship that will let us communicate via text and video message once we lift off, and we will each, apparently, be allotted one of these. Funnily enough, I don’t foresee using it much. If anything, I’ll use it just to browse the internet, which is, luckily, also available on this flight.
I arrive with no space suit. I am in a worn-out textured long-sleeve shirt and a pair of embarrassingly cheap khakis. It doesn’t really matter. We were told that we would be taught all we needed to know about space travel while on the flight, so there is no need to worry.
There’s only five of us. A handful of individuals who you could tell had not been in the sun much over the past couple years. A burly Indian man, a small brunette white girl who always looks down, a pasty and awkward chubby redheaded guy who always looks sideways, me, and Juliana, a woman who is so beautiful that I can’t really place it. She, from what I could tell, looked completely socially adept, and had no reason to be here, leaving her friends and family behind. I couldn’t crack it, at first.
We take off with no large hesitation. I’d actually flown once before. I think it was for a school trip or something. The janky thing is, we didn’t even get to see any cool nebulas or anything. It was just a free school trip about what it is like to take off into space, just so we knew what to expect in the future. It was cool, I guess.
There was the same, distinct, rumbling feeling, as the engines churned beneath me, and then this sudden sense of a loss of presence, as if frozen in time while soaring through the air, about to hit the ground. But I never do.
All five of us are sitting in these heavily strapped in seats that look almost like roller coaster seats. They are a bit ridiculous looking, but I am not about to risk second-guessing them while hurtling into space. I almost think I can see Juliana smiling at me, but I don’t know if I really did or not.
The journey continues, and once we get into a stable cruising capacity, we are instructed by our AI mentor to take the harnesses off. We easily click out of them. We are told that apparently it will be a few months before we reach the first terraforming station, which we will be at for about two years before we move onto the next one. Seems good to me. I think I can chill for two months just browsing the web in space. That sounds pretty good.
People on the ship are already making awkward, strange attempts to communicate, which are semi-working. We seem to be constructing a plan to have some sort of community dinner in an hour. That sounds good to me. I suppose if I am going to be living with these people for at least five years, I will have to make acquaintance with them eventually. Might as well start. I don’t have to even talk to do this. I can just be the silent friend.
We are only really given powder packets to eat for most of this initial journey. Lots of dehydrated meats, veggies, snacks, trail mix packets and even ice creams. I’ve lived on worse. I think I’ll deal.
I’m shown to my personal sleeping pod/private room by the AI helper system present throughout the ship. The hydraulics in the doors slide open, and a clean and neat dorm room with a small twin bed, a private bathroom and a little working desk with one of those computers specially equipped for inter-planetary messaging is present. It looks good enough. With all the self-isolating I like to get up to, at least the place I’ll be doing it in won’t be rickety as hell. It is small though. This is probably good, though, because it means it will force me to interact with people more.
I lay my small bag on the bed and plop down next to it. I tell the AI, “close doors” and she closes the door. This whole dinner thing is in an hour, so I think I’ll just chill until then.
Maybe I could message someone on earth? I think to myself. But then I realize I don’t have anyone to message on earth. I wonder if good old Mrs. Rienzi even knows how to use a computer. If she does, there’s no way I’ll be able to get a hold of her email address.
This bed is pretty comfy, though. Maybe a few minutes’ nap won’t hurt.
Minutes after feeling sleepy, I am suddenly back in front of that fire, with the blonde woman, smiling at me. It’s as if I’ve simply picked up where I left off.
“‘Who are you?’” she says, “what do you mean, ‘who are you?’ I’m your mommy!”
“My what?”
“Oh silly, you must be tired from walking around so much!”
I don’t respond. She gets up off of her crate and strolls toward me. She suddenly grabs me by the hips and picks up my little body, so light in this delusion. I’m all of a sudden slung over her shoulder and I’m being carried into another room. I don’t mind the sensation of her entire shoulder bouncing every time she takes a step. We are then in a very old kitchen, with a fridge that is still separate from the wall. I can almost hear the thing buzzing.
“Oh Ollie,” she says, “you’re always one to forget stuff, aren’t you?”
I wake up suddenly, my breath scraping to get back into my throat. I feel sweaty and jittery, even though the AC in this place is cranked up to the max. Why do we even need AC in space anyway? Isn’t it supposed to be cold?
I regain my bearings and sit up. It happened again. I have to get out of this little cubby.
An hour later I emerge, forcing myself to go to the dinner thing to socialize with these other anti-social types.
The dinner, rehydrated, actually looks half decent. There are full pork steaks and a salad of greens that only appear a little bit soggy. Everyone is gathered around this table that is bolted to the floor, and all staring into their laps. I can imagine why. What else would you expect putting a room full of NEET’s together. I take my place at the table and begin to stare into my own lap as well. The only person still looking up is Juliana, who has this fake social smile that you know she is putting on just to be nice. She’s also the only one who has decided to not help herself to the food. She’s munching on some weird protein bar instead.
“So, what is everyone’s names?” she asks hollowly.
“Ollie” I say, without even knowing where that came from.
“Rad, I’m Juliana. You from around Cape Canaveral?”
“No,” I say, “Atlanta.”
“Nice. I’m from Oregon actually. Had to take a plane to the landing site.”
“Sounds nice.”
“Sometimes. Lots of wood smoke there.”
For a second the image of the raging fire comes back to me again.
“So, you sure you’re up for this?” I say, completely amazed with myself.
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” she responds.
“I don’t know. You don’t seem like you...never mind”
“Like I’d want to even escape from society?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“You’d be surprised.”
The petite white girl with the brown hair suddenly speaks. Her voice is wispy and almost sounds hollow, like wind echoing through a hallway.
“Candace. That’s me.”
“Hi Candace.” says Juliana.
“Hi Candace,” I say back, completely smitten and unable to tell why I am even doing this.
“Does anyone else really love the idea of terraforming?” says Candace.
“Not particularly,” says the pudgy Indian guy.
“It’s like my life’s passion,” says Candace, “I’ve tested it in smaller enclosed biomes millions of times, but I’d do anything just to experience the real thing. This is amazing.”
“That’s cool,” says Juliana.
“I researched that if you plant trees in similar ratios to species available in the wild, it’s easier to sustain life because that ratio is proven to work. It’s fascinating”
It was cool to see someone so passionate about something.
“I’m here to be fat and have no one judge me.” says the Indian guy, “Rav, by the way.”
“Hi Rav,” says Juliana, almost like she is a teacher learning everyone’s names and repeating them back to her in order to remember them better.
The redhead still hasn’t spoken. Everyone kind of turns to him expecting him to say something, but he doesn’t. He just breaks a smile for a millisecond.
When the dinner is over. I return to my room, feeling heavy, full and almost a little nauseous. Sleep can’t come soon enough.
It’s only at what I think is around three am that I am struck awake.
“Hey,” I hear a voice, “It’s me Juliana. Want to hang out?”
Hang out? I’d never heard of such a thing. Much less with a girl.
“What do you mean? It’s like 3 in the morning.”
“Yeah, so what, everyone’s asleep now.”
“Yeah that’s the point.”
Nonetheless I was already getting ready, rising out of bed and putting on real pajama pants instead of just my briefs. I stare briefly into the small personal mirror given to us on the wall and check to make sure my hair isn’t completely wild. I look okay, actually, just a little rough around the edges.
“Come on, Ollie.”
“Okay, ready,” I say as I press the button to open my door.
“I snuck in some liquor.”
“Baller,” I say, trying to keep up with the slang of the day, to impress her or something.
“Have you ever drank before?”
“No.” I say.
“Well, no pressure, but you might want to try it now that we will be stuck in a glorified metal box for two months together.”
“Word.”
“I brought some of these protein bars as well. They’re all I eat. I’m like addicted to them. You want one?”
“No thanks”
“So, what’s Atlanta like anyway?”
“It’s hot. I don’t go out much, actually.”
“That’s okay. I don’t mind. So, what are you doing here anyway? Why go on this journey?”
“I don’t know,” I lie, “something new?”
“So, this is easier than just...taking up table tennis or something?”
“Yeah. I guess.”
We sit in a little nook lined with bean bag chairs meant for “hanging out”, something that, ironically, most of us would not be planning to do much of. She unscrews the cap of what looks to be Jack Daniels and pours two portions of it into some paper cups.
“So,” I ask, “Why are you here?”
“Well, I wasn’t in the best place back at home. A couple people didn’t want me alive. You know, the usual.”
“Jesus.”
“This was easier.”
“Well, are you ever going to go back?”
“Hopefully not. I don’t think so at least.”
“Well, maybe you should,” I say, not really sure why, “I mean, you are good looking, you have actual social skills. Why would you give that all up?”
“Wish I didn’t have to,” she said.
We talked about various things back on earth for a while and just shot the shit, so to speak. I didn’t dare take more than a sip of the liquor. It certainly burned. I almost immediately felt my face relax after that one sip, which surprised me.
“So, do you actually want to do terraforming?” I ask.
“It doesn’t sound half bad. Planting trees all day.”
“Yeah, I could do that.”
I get up from the beanbag chair, realizing that I am suddenly getting so tired that I am about to fall over.
“Listen, I have to go,” I say, “I’m about to collapse.”
“No worries,” she replies.
I reach out my hand to help her to her feet, and for some reason she takes it. I don’t think I’ve even touched the hand of a girl before, besides Mrs. Rienzi. She saunters off to bed in the opposite direction, almost gliding across the cold, metal floors in her too-long pajama pants and socks.
I collapse in my room and the door swings closed. I barely manage to get the covers up from under me and actually wrapped over my body, before I am out cold. I actually managed to down that entire thing of whiskey, even though it was just a shot, and it is definitely part of why I am already unconscious. For a moment I feel like I am floating, and like my mind is expanding into a field of darkness and stars. It’s like what they say about the universe expanding: it’s forever happening but we are just not aware of it. For a moment, I almost feel myself growing.
All of a sudden, I am back at the fireplace, with the blonde lady cupping her hand over my shoulder and patting my head. I curl up next to her instinctually, not exactly sure what I am doing. She laughs. “Oh Ollie, you must be tired after going into town and raking all of those leaves. Best thing to do after a hard day’s work is to just rest for a while.”
For a moment I just want to rest in the comfort of her arms, and not let go, not move, not question. But I have to question this. This is the third time I have had this exact dream, and it doesn’t seem to be even repeating, it just continues on from where it left off, like some weird TV show.
“Where are we?”
“Oh, come on, silly, you’re at home.”
“Where is that? What town, state, country?”
“Oh, well, if you must know, silly, you’re in Pleasantville, Oregon, in the United States of America. Are you happy now?”
“Yes, actually.”
I shock myself awake. Pleasantville Oregon. What if it’s a real place? What if this weird dream is telling me something?
Without even thinking I immediately scramble out of bed and start up my computer. I type Pleasantville, Oregon into the search bar, and then I see it. It’s a real place. A little town in central Oregon near Bend. I begin to get the unmistakable feeling of shock and horror in my stomach, that feeling of morbid curiosity where you feel you must go on and investigate further but you are also petrified of what you’ll find. The feeling you get when opening college acceptance letters, and the feeling when your father comes back from war for the first time (or so I’m told). Hesitating but determined, I type my last name into the search bar. According to everyone I talked to, I kept my original last name: Lewis. It’s a pretty common last name. I have tried to search for any record of who my parents might be, and where they lived, but I couldn’t find any, and I couldn’t remember anything from when I was apparently with them. I always knew someone knew more about my parents. Someone had to have met them, but I don’t even remember the names of the staff at the first orphanage I was placed at, or even the name of the place itself.
I type in Lewis, Pleasantville, Oregon.
It’s also a common first name, so I am skeptical about how much I will actually find.
The first few results in the search window are about some guy named Lewis McGregor, who grew the county’s biggest pumpkin or something. That’s definitely not what I am looking for. I scroll down further and then happen upon something that could be a clue. There is LinkedIn Profile of a woman named Andrea Lewis. It says she is a librarian. I click on the link and it brings me to a photo I cannot look away from. It’s her. It’s the woman from my dream. She looks like she’s twenty some odd years older than how I saw her. But that is her. Her hair has turned gray, her face carries lines now, but her smile remains the same. Sad and deep.
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2020.11.22 01:29 End-Public Sex voyeur on the beach

When NimCorp called me and asked me to go on this journey, I really had nothing better to do. I’d come across a website that I’d never heard of before, NimCorp LLC, which, like so many probably bootleg space programs, offered people to go off into space for a certain amount of time for a vacation, and see a new swath of the galaxy that the average person had not yet gotten around to seeing. All these little journeys were essentially space cruises, where for a couple thousand bucks you can go off into the Whateveritis Nebula for a week or two and see some pretty lights in order to forget about your boring desk job. A super middle class, family vacation thing to do. I wouldn’t normally be interested in this kind of stuff. It’s pretty much guaranteed that getting locked up in one of these “luxury” cabins for a week will get you exposed to countless childhood diseases, and the faint sheen of mucus will forever be present in the air. No thanks. Let alone the sounds of kids crying at night and hushed, awkward but still clearly audible parent sex from the next room.
So, essentially these space programs all have to be technically controlled by the U.S. government, since NASA is actually the only body that can regulate space travel as of now. What these companies basically do is buy ships from NASA and adhere to all of their safety regulations but just put their unique spin on the journey to sell seats. Pretty lucrative if you ask me.
Again, I would never in my right mind go on one of these things. I’m sure the sights would be beautiful and all, and I’d remember it for a lifetime, but I just don’t think it’s worth the risk of childhood contagion that is essentially guaranteed on one of these things.
But this journey was different. I saw a usual banner ad for NimCorp space exploration program, and really just wanted it to get out of my face at first. But then something caught my eye.
The ad read “Does space sound better to you than earth?” Pretty standard. “Why not leave earth behind?” Again, run of the mill. “What if space could be your new, permanent home?”
Now, this gave me pause. First of all, using the word “permanent” in any advertisement is far too harsh, and ignites feelings of entrapment, debt and responsibility. No one in their right mind is going to put this on an ad, because if a feeling of dreaminess and whimsy is not induced, then only self-endangering freaks are going to buy your product. (I have an associates in advertising)
Self-endangering freaks like me, that is.
I’m what someone might call a N.E.E.T. An acronym that stands for “Not in Employment, Education or Training” This description is technically true. I do have previous education, but I’m definitely not using it at the moment, and I’m not employed by a company or in any kind of training program. Basically, if I just existed every single day in this same room that I am in now, browsing the internet and eating cup ramen and ham and mayonnaise sandwiches, no one would even blink an eye. I don’t really have connections to the outside world. I am essentially an NPC on autopilot who is waiting for a real player to interact with me, so I can deliver my allotted portion of world-building. And to be honest, that hasn’t even happened yet. I’m just sitting here, burning gas and idling in the parking lot that is life.
Never met my parents. I heard that apparently, they were farmers or something, out in the rural areas somewhere. Something wistful and idyllic, similar to what these expensive space programs advertise. But I don’t really have any memory of them. Maybe just one, something about a warm fireplace, and a cold glass of milk, and a set of dirty shoes that were haphazardly thrown on the table. Just a glimpse of a different life, that seems to be more part of an adventurer’s video game than something I’ve actually experienced.
In any case though, most of what I recall is just growing up in the orphanage. Different orphanages actually, five of them, to be exact, over the span of fifteen years. No one there was particularly kind to me. Not necessarily mean either, just distant. I didn’t make any real friends and was basically just thrilled when I could get out of there, find a small place and self-isolate for the foreseeable future. Got a shitty degree online, from Olympus University. Have you heard of it? I certainly hadn’t.
So, back to this trip, right. It actually seemed like something cool to do. As soon as I saw the even slight possibility that I could bounce out of this world and travel on to another one, I was already invested. First, though, I had to make sure that this was actually real.
I clicked on the ad and it brought me to a website absent of awkward family photos and corny messages that advertised “getting away for a week” or other pointless escapades. The advertising for this program was pretty straightforward.
“Do you have minimal ties to this earthly realm and want to experience another? Have you always felt weighed down by gravity? Want a permanent change of scenery? Well, all of space is waiting!”
I looked around to find an “Apply Now” button and only found it down at the very bottom. Before I came across it, I had to read through a pretty detailed description of what this trip would entail. Essentially, if picked, I would be able to leave earth permanently, travel through space for the rest of my foreseeable life and stop at various locations around the galaxy in order to help terraform them and expand them. I’d basically become a farmer, ironically enough. Isn’t that the exact thing my parents allegedly were? To think I’d be almost returning to this idyllic lifestyle that I thought I could never access.
This was a service trip. By that, it meant that we, the passengers, would be doing a service to the human race and human expansion, and essentially bettering humanity, apparently. Because of this, the entire thing was completely free of charge.
This, for me, was the only way I could go anyways, because I generally decided to lead such a low-income lifestyle that not much extra cash was available. $200 for rent of this room, $200 for food, and an extra hundred for miscellaneous expenses each month. That was it. I lived under the radar. Most of the time I got this money from customers here and there who wanted my graphic design skills, mostly advertised on Craigslist or Fiverr. I could get a full-time job if I wanted to, but I can’t foresee how that would go. People are not my strong suit, nor is working under the supervision of anyone. I’m okay with subsistence living, as long as I have distractions.
More or less, I could not be more excited to yeet myself off of this earthly plane.
The screening process was rigorous. More than anything, this program demanded that applicants have no meaningful ties to others in their lives, so much so that no fuss would be made if those of us chosen would never return again. This screening process took the form of hundreds of multiple choice and short-answer questions, in which the application asked
“Do you have any regulars you talk to at grocery stores, banks, post offices or any other place that connections may be formed in a casual manner?” and “Are you part of any online forums or groups in which your presence is valued?” Now, for a N.E.E.T. like me, one may think that online forums are the only place that I would make meaningful relationships. And this is a pretty understandable assumption. But, in truth, I am mostly a voyeur. I’m mostly just a watcher who oversees their surroundings like an owl on a branch. Even digital conversations would have too much gravitas for me.
In truth, I was the perfect candidate for this program.
Now, I want to stop this for a second. I and most people agree that sending people away from earth with no chance to ever come back is pretty inhumane. I don’t think NimCorp actually planned on doing this. In reality, reading over the finer details of the trip, participants had the option to return to earth every five years, if they were so inclined, and from there, the give or take four-year-long mission would commence from whatever point in the galaxy they were, back to earth. This is honestly a good opt-out and I am glad that people have it. But, that being said, I had no intention of taking it.
After entering my personal data, pages and pages of digital questions, and a handful of paragraph-long short-answer questions that I had to answer, my application seemed to be complete. For once, I thought, I didn’t have to put down references from people that I didn’t know, to apply for opportunities that I would never get because of my lack of experience.
I read online that the process was extremely selective. They were looking for a very specific candidate, and it almost seemed that someone’s level of self-isolation was more important than even their mental fitness, the latter which is more handy for a space mission like this, I would think. However, those two attributes don’t exactly go hand in hand most of the time.
From there, I submitted the application and didn’t think about it all too much for a couple of weeks. It would be a nice change. Let’s put it that way. I never really thought of myself as very special, so I wasn’t sure if I would really stick out to them at all. But, perhaps that’s what they were looking for: an ordinary Joe who is so unnoticeable that he could move to anywhere in the galaxy and no one would blink an eye.
I was standing at my small kitchenette, weeks later, that I had crafted for myself, making an iced coffee out of powdered milk and some Maxwell House, when I saw an alert pop up on my computer. A small blue banner appeared that had the NimCorp logo and a message that read “Space Program Application Results”.
I immediately speed-walked over to my computer, leaving the iced coffee on top of the microwave. I’ll get it later. I clicked on the link that this pop-up provided and it took me to a letter, with official letterhead and everything, reading,
Dear Oliver,
We are pleased to announce that you have been selected as one of our pioneers to venture out in our service-oriented space program. In this trip, you will be terraforming new worlds, and exploring areas possibly never seen before by humankind. And, if you wish, will be able to work with us indefinitely.
Please notify our system of your decision to accept or decline this offer within the next two weeks. If you do not respond, it will be assumed that you are not interested.
Best of luck in making a decision!
Fondly,
NimCorp
I found the form to submit my response and accepted immediately. I would finally be able to get out of this shitty reality.
About a week before I was scheduled to take off is when the sightings started. Almost like trans-perceptive visions that cut back through my many years of tedium to a time that I could scarcely remember, my childhood. Or, at least, I assumed it was my childhood. There was no definitive way to tell. I suppose you could call them flashbacks. However, these were flashbacks that I could interact with. It’s as if I could use the knowledge that I have now and talk to those in these visions, in my much younger body.
I gotta say, it was strange, but maybe it’s the fact that I have lived the past five years in relative isolation that is bringing up these vivid, almost sensory-deprivation-esque visions. Who’s to say. In any case, it was probably a trick of the mind.
The first one I experienced was one of a relatively normal scene. I’m sitting on a couch, or something, in front of a blazing open fire. And I’m wringing my hands together as if to get warm from the cold. In fact, I could actually feel the warmth hitting me as I dreamt it. Beside me is a plump but curvy middle-aged woman, with blonde hair and a contagious smile. Could this be my mother? Who’s to say.
She asks me if I liked going into town with her. I don’t respond. Instead I ask, “Who are you?” And then the dream ends.
I go back to my original state of mind. Same dingy room, same glowing computer screen, and the same slight fluorescent glow of my makeshift kitchenette, which shines on at every hour of the day.
I did, however, have one person I did want to say goodbye to. Mrs. Rienzi. She was an old Italian lady who lived in the neighboring apartment, who kindly brought everyone in the apartment block their mail every day. Since the mailmen usually just dropped off all of our packages in bulk, we were tasked with going down into the parking lot and sorting it out. But, instead, this nice old lady did it for us, most likely out of senior-induced boredom.
I’d barely ever spoken a word to her. But, she did not mind that. We mostly just communicated in smiles and raised eyebrows, which, to be honest, was my preferred form of communication. Even though our relationship had formed out of a utility, I could not deny that I had a fondness for her and would miss her once I went out on my journey. What a sweet old woman she was.
I ventured outside of my apartment, cringed at the sunlight finally hitting me, and knocked on her door. It took a few minutes before anyone opened it. But the door eventually did open and this petit, round, wrinkling woman with deep gray hair answered. Mrs. Rienzi.
I barely knew how to speak. I didn’t exactly know what to say. It had been a while.
“I wanted to say…” I trail off. I can’t even really form a sentence.
She just looks at me and laughs.
“Oliviero, are you okay?”
“Yes,” I say without hesitation.
“Everything is good?”
“Um, yeah.” I say again.
“Good.”
“I just wanted to say that I won’t be seeing you for a while,” I tell her.
“Oh, well, that’s ok, caro. I’ll always be here.”
“Yes, I know that. Trust me, it won’t be that long.”
She smiles at me again but does not look convinced.
“Are you sure everything is good?”
“Of course,” I convince her.
“Good.”
We finish our exchange and she slowly closes the door.
I suddenly have the urge to fight back tears, and I don’t know why.
The day of lift-off, I am ordered to bring a small duffel of my things and any keepsakes that I will want to remind me of earth while on this journey. I don’t bring any at all. We are ordered to leave all phones and other communication devices at home, because obviously they will be useless in space. There are special long-range satellites on the ship that will let us communicate via text and video message once we lift off, and we will each, apparently, be allotted one of these. Funnily enough, I don’t foresee using it much. If anything, I’ll use it just to browse the internet, which is, luckily, also available on this flight.
I arrive with no space suit. I am in a worn-out textured long-sleeve shirt and a pair of embarrassingly cheap khakis. It doesn’t really matter. We were told that we would be taught all we needed to know about space travel while on the flight, so there is no need to worry.
There’s only five of us. A handful of individuals who you could tell had not been in the sun much over the past couple years. A burly Indian man, a small brunette white girl who always looks down, a pasty and awkward chubby redheaded guy who always looks sideways, me, and Juliana, a woman who is so beautiful that I can’t really place it. She, from what I could tell, looked completely socially adept, and had no reason to be here, leaving her friends and family behind. I couldn’t crack it, at first.
We take off with no large hesitation. I’d actually flown once before. I think it was for a school trip or something. The janky thing is, we didn’t even get to see any cool nebulas or anything. It was just a free school trip about what it is like to take off into space, just so we knew what to expect in the future. It was cool, I guess.
There was the same, distinct, rumbling feeling, as the engines churned beneath me, and then this sudden sense of a loss of presence, as if frozen in time while soaring through the air, about to hit the ground. But I never do.
All five of us are sitting in these heavily strapped in seats that look almost like roller coaster seats. They are a bit ridiculous looking, but I am not about to risk second-guessing them while hurtling into space. I almost think I can see Juliana smiling at me, but I don’t know if I really did or not.
The journey continues, and once we get into a stable cruising capacity, we are instructed by our AI mentor to take the harnesses off. We easily click out of them. We are told that apparently it will be a few months before we reach the first terraforming station, which we will be at for about two years before we move onto the next one. Seems good to me. I think I can chill for two months just browsing the web in space. That sounds pretty good.
People on the ship are already making awkward, strange attempts to communicate, which are semi-working. We seem to be constructing a plan to have some sort of community dinner in an hour. That sounds good to me. I suppose if I am going to be living with these people for at least five years, I will have to make acquaintance with them eventually. Might as well start. I don’t have to even talk to do this. I can just be the silent friend.
We are only really given powder packets to eat for most of this initial journey. Lots of dehydrated meats, veggies, snacks, trail mix packets and even ice creams. I’ve lived on worse. I think I’ll deal.
I’m shown to my personal sleeping pod/private room by the AI helper system present throughout the ship. The hydraulics in the doors slide open, and a clean and neat dorm room with a small twin bed, a private bathroom and a little working desk with one of those computers specially equipped for inter-planetary messaging is present. It looks good enough. With all the self-isolating I like to get up to, at least the place I’ll be doing it in won’t be rickety as hell. It is small though. This is probably good, though, because it means it will force me to interact with people more.
I lay my small bag on the bed and plop down next to it. I tell the AI, “close doors” and she closes the door. This whole dinner thing is in an hour, so I think I’ll just chill until then.
Maybe I could message someone on earth? I think to myself. But then I realize I don’t have anyone to message on earth. I wonder if good old Mrs. Rienzi even knows how to use a computer. If she does, there’s no way I’ll be able to get a hold of her email address.
This bed is pretty comfy, though. Maybe a few minutes’ nap won’t hurt.
Minutes after feeling sleepy, I am suddenly back in front of that fire, with the blonde woman, smiling at me. It’s as if I’ve simply picked up where I left off.
“‘Who are you?’” she says, “what do you mean, ‘who are you?’ I’m your mommy!”
“My what?”
“Oh silly, you must be tired from walking around so much!”
I don’t respond. She gets up off of her crate and strolls toward me. She suddenly grabs me by the hips and picks up my little body, so light in this delusion. I’m all of a sudden slung over her shoulder and I’m being carried into another room. I don’t mind the sensation of her entire shoulder bouncing every time she takes a step. We are then in a very old kitchen, with a fridge that is still separate from the wall. I can almost hear the thing buzzing.
“Oh Ollie,” she says, “you’re always one to forget stuff, aren’t you?”
I wake up suddenly, my breath scraping to get back into my throat. I feel sweaty and jittery, even though the AC in this place is cranked up to the max. Why do we even need AC in space anyway? Isn’t it supposed to be cold?
I regain my bearings and sit up. It happened again. I have to get out of this little cubby.
An hour later I emerge, forcing myself to go to the dinner thing to socialize with these other anti-social types.
The dinner, rehydrated, actually looks half decent. There are full pork steaks and a salad of greens that only appear a little bit soggy. Everyone is gathered around this table that is bolted to the floor, and all staring into their laps. I can imagine why. What else would you expect putting a room full of NEET’s together. I take my place at the table and begin to stare into my own lap as well. The only person still looking up is Juliana, who has this fake social smile that you know she is putting on just to be nice. She’s also the only one who has decided to not help herself to the food. She’s munching on some weird protein bar instead.
“So, what is everyone’s names?” she asks hollowly.
“Ollie” I say, without even knowing where that came from.
“Rad, I’m Juliana. You from around Cape Canaveral?”
“No,” I say, “Atlanta.”
“Nice. I’m from Oregon actually. Had to take a plane to the landing site.”
“Sounds nice.”
“Sometimes. Lots of wood smoke there.”
For a second the image of the raging fire comes back to me again.
“So, you sure you’re up for this?” I say, completely amazed with myself.
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” she responds.
“I don’t know. You don’t seem like you...never mind”
“Like I’d want to even escape from society?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“You’d be surprised.”
The petite white girl with the brown hair suddenly speaks. Her voice is wispy and almost sounds hollow, like wind echoing through a hallway.
“Candace. That’s me.”
“Hi Candace.” says Juliana.
“Hi Candace,” I say back, completely smitten and unable to tell why I am even doing this.
“Does anyone else really love the idea of terraforming?” says Candace.
“Not particularly,” says the pudgy Indian guy.
“It’s like my life’s passion,” says Candace, “I’ve tested it in smaller enclosed biomes millions of times, but I’d do anything just to experience the real thing. This is amazing.”
“That’s cool,” says Juliana.
“I researched that if you plant trees in similar ratios to species available in the wild, it’s easier to sustain life because that ratio is proven to work. It’s fascinating”
It was cool to see someone so passionate about something.
“I’m here to be fat and have no one judge me.” says the Indian guy, “Rav, by the way.”
“Hi Rav,” says Juliana, almost like she is a teacher learning everyone’s names and repeating them back to her in order to remember them better.
The redhead still hasn’t spoken. Everyone kind of turns to him expecting him to say something, but he doesn’t. He just breaks a smile for a millisecond.
When the dinner is over. I return to my room, feeling heavy, full and almost a little nauseous. Sleep can’t come soon enough.
It’s only at what I think is around three am that I am struck awake.
“Hey,” I hear a voice, “It’s me Juliana. Want to hang out?”
Hang out? I’d never heard of such a thing. Much less with a girl.
“What do you mean? It’s like 3 in the morning.”
“Yeah, so what, everyone’s asleep now.”
“Yeah that’s the point.”
Nonetheless I was already getting ready, rising out of bed and putting on real pajama pants instead of just my briefs. I stare briefly into the small personal mirror given to us on the wall and check to make sure my hair isn’t completely wild. I look okay, actually, just a little rough around the edges.
“Come on, Ollie.”
“Okay, ready,” I say as I press the button to open my door.
“I snuck in some liquor.”
“Baller,” I say, trying to keep up with the slang of the day, to impress her or something.
“Have you ever drank before?”
“No.” I say.
“Well, no pressure, but you might want to try it now that we will be stuck in a glorified metal box for two months together.”
“Word.”
“I brought some of these protein bars as well. They’re all I eat. I’m like addicted to them. You want one?”
“No thanks”
“So, what’s Atlanta like anyway?”
“It’s hot. I don’t go out much, actually.”
“That’s okay. I don’t mind. So, what are you doing here anyway? Why go on this journey?”
“I don’t know,” I lie, “something new?”
“So, this is easier than just...taking up table tennis or something?”
“Yeah. I guess.”
We sit in a little nook lined with bean bag chairs meant for “hanging out”, something that, ironically, most of us would not be planning to do much of. She unscrews the cap of what looks to be Jack Daniels and pours two portions of it into some paper cups.
“So,” I ask, “Why are you here?”
“Well, I wasn’t in the best place back at home. A couple people didn’t want me alive. You know, the usual.”
“Jesus.”
“This was easier.”
“Well, are you ever going to go back?”
“Hopefully not. I don’t think so at least.”
“Well, maybe you should,” I say, not really sure why, “I mean, you are good looking, you have actual social skills. Why would you give that all up?”
“Wish I didn’t have to,” she said.
We talked about various things back on earth for a while and just shot the shit, so to speak. I didn’t dare take more than a sip of the liquor. It certainly burned. I almost immediately felt my face relax after that one sip, which surprised me.
“So, do you actually want to do terraforming?” I ask.
“It doesn’t sound half bad. Planting trees all day.”
“Yeah, I could do that.”
I get up from the beanbag chair, realizing that I am suddenly getting so tired that I am about to fall over.
“Listen, I have to go,” I say, “I’m about to collapse.”
“No worries,” she replies.
I reach out my hand to help her to her feet, and for some reason she takes it. I don’t think I’ve even touched the hand of a girl before, besides Mrs. Rienzi. She saunters off to bed in the opposite direction, almost gliding across the cold, metal floors in her too-long pajama pants and socks.
I collapse in my room and the door swings closed. I barely manage to get the covers up from under me and actually wrapped over my body, before I am out cold. I actually managed to down that entire thing of whiskey, even though it was just a shot, and it is definitely part of why I am already unconscious. For a moment I feel like I am floating, and like my mind is expanding into a field of darkness and stars. It’s like what they say about the universe expanding: it’s forever happening but we are just not aware of it. For a moment, I almost feel myself growing.
All of a sudden, I am back at the fireplace, with the blonde lady cupping her hand over my shoulder and patting my head. I curl up next to her instinctually, not exactly sure what I am doing. She laughs. “Oh Ollie, you must be tired after going into town and raking all of those leaves. Best thing to do after a hard day’s work is to just rest for a while.”
For a moment I just want to rest in the comfort of her arms, and not let go, not move, not question. But I have to question this. This is the third time I have had this exact dream, and it doesn’t seem to be even repeating, it just continues on from where it left off, like some weird TV show.
“Where are we?”
“Oh, come on, silly, you’re at home.”
“Where is that? What town, state, country?”
“Oh, well, if you must know, silly, you’re in Pleasantville, Oregon, in the United States of America. Are you happy now?”
“Yes, actually.”
I shock myself awake. Pleasantville Oregon. What if it’s a real place? What if this weird dream is telling me something?
Without even thinking I immediately scramble out of bed and start up my computer. I type Pleasantville, Oregon into the search bar, and then I see it. It’s a real place. A little town in central Oregon near Bend. I begin to get the unmistakable feeling of shock and horror in my stomach, that feeling of morbid curiosity where you feel you must go on and investigate further but you are also petrified of what you’ll find. The feeling you get when opening college acceptance letters, and the feeling when your father comes back from war for the first time (or so I’m told). Hesitating but determined, I type my last name into the search bar. According to everyone I talked to, I kept my original last name: Lewis. It’s a pretty common last name. I have tried to search for any record of who my parents might be, and where they lived, but I couldn’t find any, and I couldn’t remember anything from when I was apparently with them. I always knew someone knew more about my parents. Someone had to have met them, but I don’t even remember the names of the staff at the first orphanage I was placed at, or even the name of the place itself.
I type in Lewis, Pleasantville, Oregon.
It’s also a common first name, so I am skeptical about how much I will actually find.
The first few results in the search window are about some guy named Lewis McGregor, who grew the county’s biggest pumpkin or something. That’s definitely not what I am looking for. I scroll down further and then happen upon something that could be a clue. There is LinkedIn Profile of a woman named Andrea Lewis. It says she is a librarian. I click on the link and it brings me to a photo I cannot look away from. It’s her. It’s the woman from my dream. She looks like she’s twenty some odd years older than how I saw her. But that is her. Her hair has turned gray, her face carries lines now, but her smile remains the same. Sad and deep.
Here is Part 2.
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2020.11.17 03:38 FEshippingBot Sex voyeur on the beach

Read here
by Zemblem
"My body turned slowly of its own accord and leaned to realign my sight upon the scene in the room. My arm reached for my journal and pen as I watched Sylvain’s hand travel down Dorothea’s spine. I scribbled down each interaction: the way Dorothea’s back arched under his touch, the way her chest pressed into his, the way her thighs lay flat on the desk and he squeezed himself between them, his fingers skimming the hem of her skirt and teasing the skin just beneath."
TLDR: Bernie hiding in a closet as a couple woohoos
Words: 2369, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

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2020.11.15 23:28 Truth18473957 Sex voyeur on the beach

From my experience it seems there is deep corruption in the top of the Wyandotte county government. For a fact it is within the financial investigation/auditing department. It seems narcotics officers, "honor their duty to enforce law," as long as the defendendant is just an addict not hurting anyone but themselves or below the middle class. When investigating narcotics distribution cases; it appears that having lots of money/connections means an individual could not possibly be up to anything. While street level dealers are arrested and prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. Narcotics/financial crime in Wyandotte is against the law. As long as it benefits them. A select few officers might even be told of the sexual deviancy, repeated, acts of unlawful voyeurism and constant sexual harrasment from a woman's proffesionial superior. Informed of casual threats to the lives of a man and A YOUNG INNOCENT WOMAN. The act of being driven miles past your destination to go in circles around a secluded train and wharehouse district; inferring the consequences of telling anyone the things you told them you knew. Yet no consequences even for a predator so depraved toward those of the opposite sex. If you are an officer of the law I could see how you could rationalize taking a gift to let narcotics and the movement of it's money go unnoticed. This I understand. But how can you not blink an eye as a man repeatedly manipulates, harrasses and intimidates women. Leaves decrepid and dying roses at the foot of a woman's door as some part of a sick game. I fear he has and will do things of an even worse nature. Which you, officers, would have had ample an opportunity to prevent. How could you look into the eyes of your mothers, daughters and sisters and not shed a tear. Anything that person does is on your back to. So when you turn on the TV and see the face of someone's daughter brutally raped and murderd in a ditch. I hope you realize you might as well been right beside him. Karma's a bitch and one day you'll have to explain yourself to God or even worse see the look in your daughter's eyes as She learns the sick things that you've done. Kokai saki ni tatazu. Jigou jitoku
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2020.11.09 23:54 Wabe55 What am I into? What can I do?

Hi all guys, I'm M28 and my gf is 25. Fiancé for 7y now, first and only relation for her . A slice of background, my gf is stunningly beautifull, she's the copy of Alexandra daddario the actress, me instead, I'm the average male I guess. I have to say that I'm really kinky.. Just a little bit over the lines, I like old-young fantasies, incests, boots and lingerie, rough and I could go on for ages... while my gf is mostly vanilla, husband fantasies and cooking sex, even if she still follow me in my kinkiness. But in the aftermath we both would bet 100% to be the best fuckers in the world (like the most of you ah? :D) That said recently we talked about threesomes, we talked about mfm and fmf, she said she s not into that, and I said it too, but then she went on saying she would consider it if that was what I wanted, in a really comfortable and natural mood, she told me. She could consider mfm... THAT BLOWED MY MIND, WHAAAAT, my vanilla gf was saying to me she could get an other man D... For my pleasure!?!? I started imagine my gf with an other man and That scared me out of every scale... But still... It excited me, I was not even thinking I could have considered that option to Share my gf.. But now my mind was driving the highway of perversion and I couldn't stop it. I imagined my gf with most of my friends, her friends, strangers... And every time it excited me a lot. Finded out this perversion Is called "hotwife". Nice, I started looking further, real experiences, examples, stories and I started to figure it out a real scenario where this could come true, but in the end I had to be honest with my self, I will Never let someone else have sex with my gf... Propably is possession, narrow minded or whatsoever, but still, I just won't, even if those fantasies are still a thing.
But suddenly an idea, what if we invite one of my friend on the couch watching TV, few minutes after my gf comes from the bedroom in high heels and lingerie, half naked, horny as hell, and me and her start making out in front of him, in a total imaginary scenario we would continue with sex, without him of course.
That would be somehow in my comfort zone, and probably doable in some scenario with different magnitudes. But here some clear limits, I would like to stay in every legal real scenario, and I would avoid voyeurs couse of the fact the whatcer have to enjoy it without purpose.... You know Is a sort of exhibitionism, but totally focused on her, that would probably like it actually, but still kinda intimate pecause would be with someone I know
And here the question, what is that called? How can I realistically and legally satisfy this fantasy?
Thanks for reading and sorry for my bad grammatical skills
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2020.10.31 11:23 reditraja Sex voyeur on the beach

Going into this movie, I assumed this is going to be some kind of Rear Window inspired take on stalking and voyeurism . Then half way through, it derailed from the expected path and left me baffled . The sequence succeeding his confession to her about the notice and stalking was highly exhilarating and unpredictable. Up until that point, the pacing was even and steady. It had some spikes but overall, the story was moving along firmly but slowly. Then he spies on her from the telescope but this time she is aware. At first, she sets the stage for him to enjoy. My thoughts shifted towards some strip dance or lewd exhibition exclusively for him (the context of a scene, whether it was necessary or not, cannot be determined until the movie ends, so I did not rule this out). My first surprise is when she invites the mustache guy and has sex with him, while Tomek is watching in frustration, which I thought, was exactly what she wanted. Then comes the second surprise. She informs the mustache guy that the postman (which is how he calls out Tomek while shouting and ordering him to come out of his house and show himself) is spying on them. She laughs as he scurries to get out of there. This forced me to assume maybe she wanted to embarrass that guy. Eventually he confronts Tomek and gifts him a punch. Maybe the end result of this sequence (Tomek getting punched is what she wanted, and it was staged in such a way as to incite excitement and sustain the suspense. Thereafter the movie was having back to back spikes and ended abruptly.
At first this seems like a movie which shows someone confronting their idea of love. But I think it is more than that. It ridicules the idea of reality and fantasy. Some have a nihilistic view about love. Some have larger than life view. Both of them collide in this movie.
Magda has a clear view about love: there is none. All that matters is satisfaction of the primeval.
Tomek on the other hand, has his views challenged throughout the movie. He was spying on her along with his friend. It probably started as an open source for release. Then he must have become obsessed with her and it evolved to something more than pleasure. But his desire is not impervious to malleability. He does not want to spend all the time loving unbeknownst to her. He craves her attention. He gives notice so that he could and more importantly, she would talk to him. Then delivers milk with the same idea. Then comes the second notice. When she ignored him even after revealing to her that he was the sender of those notices, he brought forward his secret as a last resort.
He asks her out on a date. That is him trying to build a bridge between her reality and his fantasy. Inevitably, he realises the bridge breaking down and attempts suicide.
His character was relatable. As someone from a conservatives background and society, the romance depicted in films and books are things that I yearned for. Many like me would have tried building such bridges as Tomek. Some of them would have lasted long, due to one side suppressing their desires or rarely, because they are of equal strength. While many of them would have collapsed.
After many broken bridges, that person would have become Magda; glowing of hedonistic nihilism with no belief in anything more than that. For them, those who try to forge a connection like this will appear to be mad initially. Then the efforts and character of that person will slowly grip and unshackle them from what they thought was a cold reality.
When it comes to the making of this film, the most enduring goodness is the music. It induced a dreamy state. When there was no music, it seemed as if you woke up to the reality. As a standalone, the OST is something you can sleep to.
The camera panned and zoomed without resorting to suddenness unnecessarily. If there is some sudden movement, that is because the character is forced to hasten whatever they are doing or something urgent beckons them. From the spotlight in their eyes to the red background in hallway of Magda'a house, the cinematography was excellent.
This movie took the idea of stalking and turned it into another perspective of love. I can't say this is new (since this has been done in many movies and shows), but I found how it stayed on what was trying to convey and not stretch it out with more drama. It resisted the urge to make more out of Tomek's idea of love into something sinister.
Now, there is something quite interesting in this movie. I would like you guys to comment what or who it could be. For those who have watched the film, who or what (a metaphor or signification) is that person who is seen wandering in the neighborhood with his lugggage. He runs into Tomek twice. Would love to hear your thoughts on it.
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2020.10.31 04:12 Cillian__Braille Sex voyeur on the beach

October 31st Movie: Halloween (1978)
Synopsis
Halloween begins with six-year-old Michael Myers killing his seventeen-year-old sister, Judith, on Halloween night 1963. Michael is subsequently hospitalized at Smith's Grove Sanitarium. Fifteen years later, he escapes and returns to his hometown where he stalks the people of Haddonfield. The film is set in Haddonfield, Illinois, a fictional Midwestern town that is actually an ode to co-writer, Debra Hill’s hometown of Haddonfield, NJ.
How it relates to the field of psychiatry
Michael Myers serves as a case study of Conversion Disorder, a type of somatic symptom disorder. The common feature of the somatic symptom and related disorders is the presence of physical symptoms that suggest a general medical condition. What’s defining is that the symptom or deficit (e.g. mutism) is not fully explained by a) a medical condition (e.g. aphonia), b) the direct effects of a substance, or c) another mental disorder. Following the murder of his sister, Michael loses his ability to talk. Through the entire franchise (to date) which includes the original film, seven sequels and two remakes, Myers doesn’t utter a single word. There is no physical explanation for his motor deficit. The film and its many reproductions are illustrations of a conversion reaction stemming from the trauma of murdering his sister. Michael’s violent behavior may therefore be interpreted as nonverbal communication resulting from the defense mechanism; acting out.
The film is similar to other slasher movies such as Friday the 13th and Scream in that it depicts the prohibitions against “inappropriate babysitting.” Judith Meyers’s fate is the consequence of having had sex with her boyfriend when given the responsibility of supervising her younger brother (the stuff urban legends are made of).
Halloween serving as a case study for the somatic symptom (primary gain) and related disorders (secondary gain) allows for the discussion of Factitious Disorder versus Malingering (i.e. disorders related to the somatic symptom disorders). The urban legend of “The Halloween Sadist” inspired many literary works including Candyman, a short story by Clive Barker. The legend is about the treat of tainted candy being given out on Halloween night. The legend stems from dog biscuits given to children on Halloween on Long Island in 1964. Ronald Clark O’Brien, the “Candy Man,” used this urban legend as an alibi when he poisoned his own son by lacing a pixy stick that young Timothy O’Brien got trick-or-treating with cyanide. If an external incentive (collect insurance money) motivated Ronald’s behavior, Malingering would be more likely than Factitious Disorder.
An interesting subplot of Halloween is that there are multiple references made to deviant sexual behaviors (paraphilias). When Michael first returns to Haddonfield, he stalks Laurie Strode. Stalking is a variant of voyeurism/voyeuristic disorder. While his motivation (sexual fantasies or urges) is unclear, Michael’s stalking behavior clearly results in Laurie’s mental distress. Later in the movie, Tommie hides behind the curtains to scare Lindsay when he sees Michael across the street carrying a dead body. The scene has voyeuristic undertones, and is similar to movies depicting “peeping toms” as key eyewitnesses to murder (Disturbia, Mr. Brooks, The Burbs).
In another early scene, a reference is made to an obscene phone call. Telephone scatologia is a variant of exhibitionism/exhibitionistic disorder which centers on the need to expose one’s genitals to other people (typically strangers caught off guard) in order to achieve sexual pleasure. With this subversive context, it’s no mistake that the sexually-inhibited Laurie is the only teenager to survive Michael Meyers’ vengeful rampage.
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2020.10.30 15:21 IdolA130Octl Voyeur on sex the beach

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