Mature naked mothers

2020.10.28 05:24 arielle_portraits Mature naked mothers

You don’t have to actually read this. This is basically my life story because I’m either addicted to retelling it and the pain or I’m still trying to process it. Or both. So I’m just ranting.
TL;DR: I escaped my narcissistic mother, she turned my siblings against me and made them hate me, I’m dating one of the best people I’ve ever met, we’re jokingly proving who loves who more by bringing up scenarios, title pops in my head, I start weeping.
I am turning 15 in December but I am very mature for my age, both mentally and physically. I have a long-distance boyfriend(16) that I have a perfectly healthy relationship with; we both have set boundaries that we respect, we communicate when we feel something is wrong, we know to talk to the other before doing something, we’ve discussed how comfortable we are with sex and what the minimum age is for that and if we were ready(which we are not! I am way too young!), we discussed how and when we would break up if we did, we shared our doubts and thoughts and ideas, etc. We basically treat each other with respect, as equals, and we support each other no matter what.
That being said, I have a lot more trauma than he does and I need a lot more support. I often feel sort of guilty about it.
I grew up with a narcissist as a mother, a father that was never allowed to be there and constantly threatened by said mother, and a stepfather that slowly became a physical abuser and a sexual harasser.
My three siblings were born, each about a year apart, in rapid succession. I actually remember the day my baby sister was conceived really clearly. I was left with the babies while they went upstairs. I started playing with them and after about 20-40 minutes, they started crying and I figured they were hungry. I went upstairs to get them and I knocked. After three times knocking and at least another 25 minutes, my stepfather at the time finally answered the door in his briefs. My mom was naked on the bed behind him. The whole time, the babies never stopped crying downstairs and I started to get really worried for them. They were in fact hungry. That was the beginning of my current very strong maternal instincts. You can imagine my role in all of my friend groups.
To speed this up, I’ll try to list the next few years quickly. We moved a lot, my stepfather started slut-shaming every girl and woman he saw on the streets in front of my siblings and I, I was never allowed to wear anything above the ankle for multiple years, I got extremely depressed at 8 and quickly became suicidal, my stepfather sexually assaulted me in 3rd grade and I didn’t know it until later, in 5th grade, it came out that my stepfather was sexually harassing my first ever real friends, causing me to not have friends for years because my maternal instincts believed the safety of the ones I loved were more important than myself, I was finally allowed to wear knee-length skirts, I was extremely insecure though and I was throwing up every morning from the trash, mold, maggots, etc everywhere, she brought in another man who nobody liked, this man was on house arrest when she found him and had him transferred over to our house, where he threw tantrum over tantrum, broke many things, vaped in the house, constantly talked about drugs and killing both people and animals alike(“blow his head in” was a phrase he specifically used with my stepfather), did dangerous maneuvers on bikes and encouraged the kids to do them, blew things up, started fires, just everything was absolutely terrible about this man.
Throughout all this, I slowly disconnected from the world and everyone around me. I started locking myself in my room, staying up at night and sleeping during the day to avoid people, and so on. I often daydreamed about ways to kill myself and letting it all go. I was falling asleep in class. And I was constantly rubbing my wrists to avoid actually cutting.
The only connection I really had was my mother. Outside the sexual assault in 3rd grade, I was never physically assaulted because I was considered the favorite. My siblings, though, were getting punished for playing among themselves. Once, my stepfather grabbed my brother by the collar of his shirt, pulled him above his head against the wall, got all up in his face, and screamed. My brother was practically choking and nobody did anything, including me. We were too scared and dead enough inside to actually have the determination to stand up.
My mother loves brainwashing people to believe that she is the victim of every story and she is very entitled. She’s brainwashed my older brother(deaf, mentally underdeveloped)against my father and she attempted to do it to me. It didn’t work with me because actions speak louder than words. For the few times I actually did see my dad, I was really happy and I respected him. If it wasn’t for him and the yearly school lesson about proper nutrition, I wouldn’t even know what most vegetables, fruits, and exercises were a thing. And my mother would have hourly screaming matches with everyone about everything, including my deaf brother.
About a year and a half ago, I moved in with my father. We were finally allowed to visit him for the summer in the past few years and I realized how much happier I was with him. And how much I dreaded going back. My stepmom has two teenagers that are both amazing(they visit, they don’t live here). I’ve been healing. My mother, of course, has been fighting us. We’ve been in a court case for over a year. Her excuse? “I’m fighting for you because your father is a manipulative bastard and he’s brainwashing you. Everything you do and think isn’t you, it’s your father, you typical, selfish, no-good teenager. I raised you better than this. You’re manipulative and toxic and just as bad as your father.”
She’s made my sister believe it(like my older brother, believes everything she tells her, loud, actually manipulative, constantly telling me that I don’t love them anymore because I left them and if I did love them, I would come back, brainwashed, could literally copy and paste texts from my mother and put it beside hers and wouldn’t see a difference), my brother is becoming like I did(quiet, numb, no longer speaking up, cutting off more and more connection), and there’s no mention at all about my youngest sister. She could’ve died and I would have no idea.
So basically, sister hates me and is now a child version of my mother, brother is slowly dying inside and shutting down, and the other sister no longer exists despite being the center of attention since she was born.
Switching back, I’ve been dating my boyfriend for 3 1/2 months now. And he’s one of the best things to happen to me so far. He’s helped shown me, along with my friends and this side of the family, that not all hope is lost and kept me going when I wanted to quit(which is quite often).
Today, we were playing the “I love you more” argument game and we were jokingly bringing up scenarios that we would do for the other person to prove that we loved them more.
This is where this whole thing came from. I realized that if it came down to choosing contact with him vs contact with my siblings, I would choose him. I reluctantly sent him this and immediately, I start weeping. Of course, being the sweetheart he is, he immediately started denying it. Saying that family should always come first and that they were forever. That he didn’t want to make me choose between them. Of course, I’m in a bad emotional state now and, out of habit, sort of trying to hide it. But only sort of. I did explain why, that they most likely all hate me and wouldn’t wanna talk to me anyways. He replied something like “If somebody doesn’t want to spend time with the most incredible person ever and love them, then they don’t deserve you.” He did make me feel quite a bit better and I stopped crying after a few minutes. Then he went to bed and I started typing this. Yay!
I have a bajillion more stories if you want. Sorry about this, this is a realllyyyy long rant. If you made it this far, damn. Congratulations. I’m both really grateful and surprised you actually wasted that much time reading all of it. Thank you! I hope you have a wonderful day. (:
submitted by arielle_portraits to raisedbynarcissists [link] [comments]

2020.10.26 21:06 incorruptible_bk Mature naked mothers

Vanguard's Day of Judgement: Keith Raniere gets sentenced at the EDNY Courthouse This post will be used to aggregate news from the sentencing of Keith Raniere. I'll try to highlight the longtime beat reporters and voices of survivors.
Given the possibility of crowding at the EDNY complex and COVID-19 rules, I will not attempt to enter the building to try to observe like with the Bronfman sentencing. I may check what goes on with the press gaggle outdoors and see if survivors wish to leave their statements.
If you find interesting Tweets or articles, please suggest them in the comments and I'll put them in the post with a shoutout.
Raniere Sentencing Day -1 (10/26/2020) Clips 7:35AM, NY Daily News "NXIVM sex cult leader Keith Raniere denied new trial, rants about justice" by Noah Goldberg
Judge Nicholas Garaufis ruled that Raniere’s motion for a new trial was filed too late, and that “even if Mr. Raniere’s motion were timely, it would fail on other grounds” — adding that affidavits from two devoted followers “is neither material nor exculpatory.”
Raniere is set to be sentenced Tuesday after being convicted of sex trafficking and conspiracy charges.
10:00AM New York Times: "Sex Cult Leader, Facing Life Sentence, Regrets Nothing" by Nicole Hong
Several victims are expected to testify when Keith Raniere, the founder of Nxivm, is sentenced this week for sex trafficking, extortion and other crimes.
11:29AM Vice "NXIVM Survivor India Oxenberg on Why She Didn't Believe She Was Brainwashed" by Sarah Berman
The 29-year-old victim of a notorious slavery-themed blackmail scheme will deliver a statement at Raniere’s sentencing in Brooklyn federal court Tuesday, but Oxenberg says she won’t address the convicted sex trafficker directly. “He doesn’t have the ability to feel remorse or empathy, so it’s more about me communicating the facts,” she said in an interview with VICE News. “I’m addressing the judge.”
2:30PM Ayla Ferrone tweets:
Excited to partner with @GiulianaBrunoTV and @WTEN for coverage on the sentencing of #NXIVM leader Keith Raniere tomorrow.
2:30PM NYT: "A Timeline of the Nxivm Sex Cult Case" by Carla Correa
3:00PM Jaclyn Angro tweets:
"Supporters of Keith Raniere from Make Justice Blind are having a press conference outside Federal Court in Brooklyn."
4:00PM ABC News: "NXIVM founder Keith Raniere to face sentencing" by Aaron Katersky
Keith Raniere returns to Brooklyn federal court on Tuesday to learn his sentence for running NXIVM, a self-help organization prosecutors labeled a "criminal enterprise" exploited by Raniere for power, profit and sex.
4:51PM New York Post: "Nxivm sex-cult sicko Keith Raniere set to speak at his sentencing tomorrow" by Rebecca Rosenberg & Kate Sheehy
The convict’s lawyer, Marc Agnifilo, told The Post on Monday, “He has the constitutional right to speak to the judge, and I expect that he will do so.’’
Raniere Sentencing Day (10/27/2020) Clips 1:21AM Our subreddit's own u/yescruz takes a late night photo of the MDC and says "i wonder if KR’s getting any sleep tonight!"
[Ed Note: here are some statements from survivors of the cult who have come forward. Many other victims are anonymous Jane/John Does or use only their first names. Please keep that in mind]
2:02AM Susan Dones tweets:
Having a hard time sleeping, but really need it, long week Flew into NYC today to speak at #KeithRaniere sentencing I know a lot of ExNx can't or don't want to be at this historic event. Know I stand strong & carry you all in my heart as speak to the 😈 man What's that? LIFE....
5:39AM Mark Vicente tweets
Today prisoner 57005-177 will be sentenced. For us recent whistleblowers, this has been over three years in the making. For those who came before us, DECADES. We stand on the shoulders of many brave women who tried so hard to warn everyone. Thank you!
7:32AM Ivy Nevares: "My victim impact statement addendum on Keith Raniere"
Raniere stole nearly 17 years of my life and labor. He took credit for the work I did and the skills I built during his nearly 11-year absence in our relationship, as he shunned me for an “ethical breach” I supposedly committed against him. Initially, the “breach” was raising questions about Raniere’s conduct and promiscuity, then it morphed into my gaining weight, then it became something no one could define. A solution is impossible if a problem cannot be defined. Through these imaginary infractions, Raniere directed most of the community to shun me, making me a pariah until I figured out the impossible task of remedying the “breach.”
An ever-moving target, these “ethical breaches” kept me in a perpetual state of indebtedness and, as hard as I tried, no remedy was ever enough. Raniere and his women used “breaches” to enforce and justify their crimes and abuses. I was not alone in this, but I am the person he penalized and marginalized the longest in NXIVM’s history.
[Ed note: Here are a couple messages from the Albany press corps, some of whom hit the road early to get to the courthouse. Show some love to the Capital Region reporters who had to do a lot of travel to cover both the story and the local reaction from the Clifton Park area.]
5:00AM Democrat & Chronicle**: "NXIVM founder Keith Raniere faces possible life sentence Tuesday" by** Jon Campbell
Raniere, who spent much of his youth in Suffern, Rockland County, continues to have a series of devoted followers, including many who wrote letters to Garaufis in support of him.
Among them were Nicki Clyne, an actor known for her role in the Sci-Fi Channel's Battlestar Galactica series, who submitted an affidavit in support of Raniere's bid for a new trial, which Garaufis rejected last week.
Raniere's sentencing is scheduled to begin Tuesday morning and last for much of the day, as several of his victims plan to deliver statements to the judge.
5:56AM Giuliana Bruno of WTEN tweets from the road:
On the road dark and early this morning. Headed from Albany to Brooklyn for Keith Raniere’s sentencing. I know a lot of you will be interested in this, so I’ll start a thread of some background & recent developments to get you ready for the day. @WTEN
6:47AM Jaclyn Cangro of Spectrum News Albany tweets from Brooklyn:
Good morning from Brooklyn.
#NXIVM co-founder Keith Raniere will be sentenced here this morning.
He faces life in prison.
7:01AM Albany Times-Union: "NXIVM founder Keith Raniere faces sentencing Tuesday" by Robert Gavin
At least eight victims are expected to deliver statements to the judge, including a Mexican woman, now 30, whom Raniere began a sexual relationship with when she was 15. In November 2005, Raniere took photos of the girl, which led to his conviction of a racketeering act of possessing child pornography.
[Ed Note: Here's coverage from national-level media]
CourtTV (on YouTube today): NXIVM 'sex cult' leader Keith Raniere learns his fate
?:??AM Associated Press: "Long prison stint looms for defiant self-help guru" by Tom Hays & Larry Neumeister
6:39AM CNN: "Nxivm founder could be sentenced to life today. A teen victim's father and others are lined up in his defense" by Sonia Moghe
Jurors heard testimony about Raniere grooming the girl, whom CNN is not naming, and having sex with her. Her sister, who was identified only as Daniela during the trial, testified that after she found out Raniere was having sex with her sister, he told her, "... there were some women -- girls -- that were more emotionally mature than others."
In his affidavit ahead of Raniere's sentencing, the girl's father describes Raniere as, "Honest, Whole, Brilliant Intelligence, always ready to help, Cheerful and In Love with Humanity."
That victim is now an adult who is expected to attend Raniere's sentencing and "may wish to address the court further," prosecutors said in a court filing.
6:56AM CBS News tweets
The mastermind of the so-called cult #NXIVM Keith Raniere will be sentenced for his crimes today, which include sex-trafficking. Ahead on @CBSThisMorning, @NikkiBattiste speaks to one victim about what she hopes will come out of Raniere's sentencing.
[Ed Note: remaining items will be sorted by time, regardless of source]
7:35AM Jaclyn Cangro tweets
People are already lining up outside of court. Many are members of the #NXIVM Five/@BlindfoldHer. Some are part of various film and documentary crews. When I spoke to the court yesterday, they said they wouldn’t be letting people in early (due to COVID).
8:27AM Giuliana Bruno tweets video from the scene, and the line has lengthened (there are other -proceedings today so it may not all be Raniere related)
I’ll be live outside Federal Court in Brooklyn in about 5 mins. Keith #Raniere, leader of NXIVM, scheduled to be sentenced at 11 AM. @WTEN
8:43AM Jaclyn Cangro tweets
Some of Raniere’s supporters were at his trial, but they were pretty quiet. In recent months, they’ve been showing more support for the #NXIVM leader. It’ll be interesting to see any interactions between people who have left NXIVM and those who still support him.
8:46AM Spanish-language author Juan Vázquez tweets (w. machine translation below)
Ya afuera de la corte @EDNYnews donde hay una fila de gente esperando ingresar a la sentencia de #KeithRaniere líder de la empresa #NXIVM. En algunas horas más información.
Already out of @EDNYnews courthouse where there is a line of people waiting to enter the sentence of #KeithRaniere company leader #NXIVM. More information in a few hours.
9:06AM J.T. Fetch tweets:
#NXIVM: Good morning from outside Brooklyn Federal court. Waiting in line to head inside for #KeithRaniere's sentencing at 11am. Social distancing is in effect & masks are being worn due to #COVID19. @CBS6Albany
9:26AM Fetch tweets:
#NXIVM just saw Paul DerOhannesian, one of #KeithRaniere's defense attorneys entering the courthouse @CBS6Albany
9:38AM Juan Vázquez tweets (w. machine translation below)
Llegada de la grandiosa Barbara Bouchey a la corte. Su historia a detalle en mi libro *#*NXIVM la Secta que Sedujo al poder en México, publicado por @megustaleermex @TheVowHBO #Raniere #Sentencia
The grand arrival of Barbara Bouchey to court. Her story in detail is my book *#*NXIVM the Sect That Seduced Power in Mexico, published by @megustaleermex @TheVowHBO #Raniere #Sentencia
[Ed note: it's close to the 11AM start-time. I am sticking to aggregating coverage from Twitter and other sources, which will only be sporadic during the actual proceeding due to a blanket ban on devices in the courthouse. I would expect a recess to be called in the mid-late afternoon at which point there will be an update as to who has spoken.]
11:11AM Ryan Parker (of The Hollywood Reporter) tweets:
Wow. Per Keith Raniere sentencing: "Two overflow courtrooms and the cafeteria are full and public/media are not being allowed into the courthouse at this point," court official says.
11:16AM, ibid
They may open yet another courtroom for overflow, official says.
11:54AM Ayla Ferrone tweets (away from the courthouse):
Getting some intel on who will give victim impact statements today. Spoke with @ToniNatalie1017 this morning who is there in person, @catoxenberg says her daughter India is there in person as well. @sarahjedmondson tells me she sent a video statement. #NXIVM @WTEN
12:05PM Reuters: "NXIVM leader Keith Raniere faces possible life in prison at sentencing hearing in New York" by Brandon Pierson
12:15PM Frank Parlato's blog (you know how to search for it) states that Camila has spoken. Awaiting corroboration elsewhere.
❗1:00PM NY Times: "Victim Describes Abuse by Keith Raniere, Leader of Nxivm Sex Cult" by Nicole Hong
Her voice trembling, the witness, identified only as Camila, recalled on Tuesday the precise date that she was sexually abused by Keith Raniere, the leader of a self-improvement company called Nxivm that prosecutors described as a sex cult.
It was Sept. 18, 2005, she said in her victim statement. She was 15, and he was 46. He insisted, she said, that they both recognize the date as their anniversary.
The relationship lasted 12 years, Camila said, with Mr. Raniere repeatedly summoning her, sexually abusing her and taking nude pictures of her. She said she attempted suicide once.
“He wanted me to believe that my only value came from how he felt about me,” said Camila, who was the first victim speak at Mr. Raniere’s sentencing hearing. “It has taken a long time to process the trauma he caused.”
[…] Camila said on Tuesday that Mr. Raniere had “damaged me in so many ways,” and that she had to have an abortion “at his direction.”
❗1:14PM NY Post: "Keith Raniere’s first sex slave breaks her silence about Nxivm’s ‘monster'" By Lorena Mongelli and Kate Sheehy
“He screwed with my mind for so long,’’ said the woman, Camila, during victim-impact statements before Raniere’s sentencing in federal court on charges including sex-trafficking and racketeering.
“It is difficult for me to utter his name, so I will only refer to him as ‘he,’” […]
“I can still hear his voice in my head — it continues to be a daily struggle.’’
Camila said she met the lecherous leader at age 13 — and “from the start, I could not feel comfortable around him,’’ but others pushed her toward him. […]
“He told me to keep it a secret, and he would ask me to sneak out of the home to meet in a place where we were isolated from everyone,’’ Camila told the court.
“He took naked pictures of me — the experience of being photographed is seared in my memory,’’ said the woman — whose porn victimization led prosecutors to charge Raniere with child pornography.
She said Raniere branded her with his initials, as he did several other women, but “to brand someone you allegedly care for is never normal.”
She said the creepy convict, who liked to chow down on pizza and cake — but keep his stable of sex slaves rail-thin — criticized her about her weight to the point where she developed an eating disorder.
“I’m 5’5. His goal for me was to weigh 100 pounds or less,’’ Camila said.
“He robbed me of my youth,’’ the woman said. “He used my innocence to do whatever he wanted with me.
“It has taken a long time for me to begin to process the trauma he caused,’’ the victim said.
“Today, I still have trouble identifying the line between a normal relationship and an abusive one.’’
But “I learned that survival is instinctive even in the most twisted circumstances.”
1:26PM Daily Beast: "NXIVM Victims Confront Sex-Cult Leader Keith Raniere: ‘Nothing Noble About Abusing a Child’ by Pilar Melendez
Sarah Edmondson, a former top recruit in NXIVM who was one of the original whistleblowers against the organization, also addressed the court via video. Speaking directly to Raniere, she slammed the cult leader for being a “liar, parasite, and a grifter” who manipulated people seeking personal growth.
“In a curriculum that focused on personal growth—you have taken none,” she said. The 43-year-old, who was part of a secret group forced to have Raniere’s initials branded on them, said she removed the marking with plastic surgery.
1:48PM Pilar Melendez tweets
“I will be the victim of Keith Ranieres for the rest of my life—but I don’t need to act like one,” India Oxenberg told the court during #KeithRaniere's sentencing today.
"We will always have predators. But this is about taking one predator from the streets and that means something. That moves the needle," Nicole, a former NXIVM member who testified during Raniere's trial, said today.
Read more about Nicole here:
[2:25PM Ed Note: There is a recess and several journalists who were inside are recapping. I will post threads below. Apparently all victim-impact statements have been made, and all that remains is for Raniere and/or his lawyers to speak]
Picking out recaps of note:
Jaclyn Cangro:
Four members of the Mexican family broken by Raniere spoke. Middle daughter confined to a room: “I survived not b/c you were merciful. Because I was resilient” The youngest, who had sex with Raniere at 15: “Survival is instinctive, even in the most extreme circumstances” #NXIVM
Brother: “Chaos follows Keith wherever he goes” Mother: If Raniere could feel what he did to her family “you would fall to your knees and ask for forgiveness.” The oldest daughter and father remain loyal to Raniere. #NXIVM
Giuliana Bruno:
I talked to @bjbouchey while we waited in the security checkpoint heading into court. She said she felt more “at peace” heading into today than she did for Bronfman’s sentencing, adding that her relationship with Keith was “different.”
Jaclyn Cangro (h/t u/swissmiss_76**)**
A number of the people who spoke brought up they have thought of suicide. The most emotional person was Kristin Keefe, who has a son with Raniere. “I can never get back the 20 years he’s subjected me to.” She is still trying to work out a child support agreement #NXIVM
Ayla Ferrone (h/t u/sly_boots)
Just spoke with @GiulianaBrunoTV on her break. She tells me they have wrapped up victim impact statements and are moving on to hear from the prosecution and defense. #NXIVM
3:20PM I'm at the EDNY entrance where there's an incredibly large number of news cameras assembled. Frank Parlato is holding his own miniature press conference with a few reporters.
4:05PM Reporters are beginning to take up tactical positions, possibly in anticipation of a sentence announcement.
(Keep in mind that the court usually comes to a halt between 4-5PM, and the local evening news crews (the largest camera contingent) will want to be ready for live shots.)
BREAKING: SENTENCE IS 120 YEARS @EDNYNews: Nxivm founder and leader Keith Raniere sentenced to 120 years in prison. In addition, Raniere has been assessed a $1,750,000 fine, per Pilar Melendez on Twitter
As u/Trisolaran_arbitrage notes, Pilar Melendez (and Jaclyn Cangro) note that terms of Raniere's sentence include no contact with members of NXIVM. I believe this will require a close reading of Judge Garaufis's ruling, as there are possible issues involving the mother of Raniere's child.
Several persons have reported Raniere engaged in some strange incredible double-talk during his address to the judge. Robert Gavin noted the following:
  • Keith Raniere professed his innocence in court, claimed the victims were lying in their statements and then said he was “deeply remorseful.” Raniere: “I am truly sorry. It’s still painful.”
  • Keith Raniere said not to blame codefendants Nancy Salzman, Clare Bronfnan, Lauren Salzman, Allison Mack,calls them “good souls.”
  • He also dropped in that he knows Mack cooperated with the prosecution.
About the Sentence
Judge Garaufis has filed his own Sentencing Memorandum. This may clarify how the 120 year sentence was imposed. There are also extracts of victim statements that have not made it into the roundup.
But of particular note, the $1.75 million fine imposed on Raniere will result in a lien placed on the estate of the late Pamela Cafritz, Raniere's girlfriend from whom he is believed to have inherited a substantial sum. Cafritz has been accused of acting as Raniere's madam and co-conspirator, so perhaps some justice is being done beyond the grave here.
Last item: Mr. Raniere in the dock
Here is the courtroom artist's sketch of India Oxenberg giving her testimony about Keith Raniere, who was dressed in his prison jumpsuit. It may be the last depiction of Raniere we get for a while.
submitted by incorruptible_bk to theNXIVMcase [link] [comments]

2020.10.23 16:35 fulfilledwhitehouse Mature naked mothers

This may take a while: I will be completely upfront. We take our wedding vows seriously.
First we've raised three children and are subsequently raising two grand children, both are extremely high functioning autism (14M) & (11F) we're not empty nesters. Our relationship has had its ups and downs but recently it has come to a head...during intimate time.
For the past couple years it seems like she was/is giving me pity sex. She was not into it at all which makes me feel fucking useless. I feel devastated. That's how things came to a head. We were naked and read to go at it but I could tell that she was not into it at all which hurt me, I could blatantly tell she didn't want to do it. I asked what was wrong, she lied and said, "Nothing, just go ahead and get it over with." WTF??? I pulled out left our bed and couldn't even look at her, I sat down and lost it, I broke down and cried. I felt destroyed. The woman who I've committed 32+ years of my life and raise kids together was essentially only agreeing to sex because that was her marital duty, and to hurry up and get it over with.
I've opened up a dialogue with her expressing our marriage shortcomings. I let myself go; I've become obese over the past 15 years.
She was a single mother when I met her in January of 1987. She had a 5 year old son. When we married I was 24M stood 72.75 inches tall (Almost 6'1") and weighed 185 pounds. I was serving as an Infantry soldier, an Non-commissioned Officer in the US Army. I served 10 years; the last four with her as my wife. I deployed several times and we have been faithful our whole marriage. Infidelity is a deal breaker, for us both. I can't imagine a life without her.
Now I'm 340 but have changed my eating habits and lost 24 pounds so far, I was up to 364. I realize, though I am a handsome man, how could she possibly be attracted to someone as overweight as I have become. I have 140 more to go. I have bad arthritis in both knees and can't do things. Walking hurts and standing on my feet for periods of longer than 10 minutes are excruciating.
She has been telling me that her medication has reduced her libido and deadened her sensations to her clitoris; that is why she has not been initiating sex. She tells me what she needs for intimacy and over the course of our marriage of 32+ years it has fallen on deaf ears until this incident.
(You ladies call it selective hearing)
Well we had a real discussion and it hurt like hell to know how much I have hurt her over the course of our marriage.
I admit my deficiencies and own up to them. Hence the loss of 24 pounds in the last two weeks to show her that I mean what I say. When I set my mind to do something I will not be deterred, I have determination and the will do my best to complete the mission at hand. However the medications she takes has said that she has no feelings in her genitals as all and does not orgasm. She has not for a couple years. This devastated me all over again, but... The woman I've committed myself to has been faking her orgasms to ...... WHAT THE FUK???
Hey, to be upfront, our sex life is vanilla. She does not want oral, giving of receiving. I want to enjoy the pleasures of oral she does not. Because I love her, I will not force or coerce her do those things she does not want to do. This has limited us to vanilla sex, face to face with me on top, which I enjoy. I get to read her facial expressions and gage how close she is to Cumming. I guess I am not that good of a reader if she can fake it that good. She rarely ever moans but when she does I can tell by how her body reacts to mine during intercourse. Usually when she finishes it causes me to finish by how strongly she grips my member and her bodily reactions to her orgasm.
I want to recapture our intimacy and see if it is possible to restore her libido; I want to be pursued by her again; for her to be the one to initiate sex. I was never happier than when she wanted me to make love to her. That has not happened in over 2 decades, plus its been over a year since he had an orgasm.
A little background: Due to my faith in God we never had sex until our wedding night. She didn't even get a kiss from me until our wedding day. I didn't want to enter into a marriage with God knowing that I had sinned with her before I had married her. That is how I felt; and she found this outs after we married. She asked and I told her the truth. I was born with a congenital birth defect of the penis, a hypospadias with a penoscrotal opening. My penis is perfectly shaped for the most part but is marred by extensive scar tissue from multiple sutures to correct the malpractice of the attending physician at my birth. Seeing that I had 10 fingers & toes and without inspecting me fully he simply performed a circumcision and thereby destroying my chance at having children normally. The foreskin is used to reconstruct a urinary canal to the end of the penis to correct the birth defect. That negligent doctor destroyed my chance to have kids normally by cutting and throwing away my foreskin without inspecting me after birth. My patents didn't even know I had a birth defect for the first 3 months of my life. Mom found out when she was changing my diaper three months later when I peed on her. That's when she understood that I had been born with a birth defect.
Consider the ramifications of surgery on the genitals of a child at 2 & 5 years old and being subjected to all the pain and psychological experiences that I to go through and to be ridiculed by my siblings as I age and mature. It had a lasting effect upon my psyche. Some men are sensitive about the size of their penis. I thought I'd never find a woman who would love me because I was born defective. I was fearful to let her see my penis. I thought she'd reject me and my defective penis. I married her hopeful that she'd love me despite my defect. She did and come to find out I'm above average. 7"+ length and 8" girth. I thought I was smaller than average, sometimes its good to find out you're wrong.
We didn't have sex until our wedding night. I was fearful and nervous with very little experience. I had no game whatsoever even though I was handsome and a physical specimen of extraordinary dexterity. She was the 7th woman that I'd been with and our wedding night was the 12th, 13th, 14th, 15th & 16th time I'd ever had sex. She couldn't get enough of me that first night and it remained that way for the first 7 years of our marriage. I still remember that night like it just happened the night before. There's multiple times that will remain in my memory, for the remainder of my life.
To me, Sex has always been the ultimate expression of love and intimacy between two people, one of the most important aspects of a relationship within a marriage. Can we survive? How can a woman who loves her man fake an orgasm.... you just don't want to deal with hurt feelings from your partner?
I provide the only income in a small 3 bedroom home that we bought and moved into on Father's Day in 1994. She is a stay at home wife. I am blessed. I lover her irrefutably and she says she loves me. I've been cuddling on the couch and relaxing with her while watching TV when I get home now instead of sitting alone in a recliner. I work 9-13 hours a day, 6 days a week. I am a successful Master Electrician. With lots of Overtime I can break 100k a year. I give all of my income to her except for Tithe and $100 a week plus what I use for gas. $100 is my allowance; my spending cash. (I've been saving. I'm going to use it; a surprise Christmas present to her with what ever I don't spend I will give as a present. I've been hoarding my allowance and by Xmas it will be over $2k. I send or buy flowers for her sporadically throughout the year.)
She takes care of the bills, the home and the kids. Honestly its what she wanted; to be a stay at home mother. I worked two jobs and went to school full time to gain my expertise as a master Electrician and graduated at the top of my class, 1993-1997.
I went to UNI from 2003-2008 to attain an AA ECET & BS Business management. 2 & 4 year degrees while working full time 3rd shift while attending UNI on days & evenings.
I've been listening to her when we talk. It hurts deeply to know the truth; from her perspective. I admit, I have not been the emotional support she has needed over the past 2 decades. You ladies are awesome. It has taken years to understand what you need > emotional intimacy. Wow there is so much more to intimacy than what I, as a man, ever considered. She doesn't want to be groped or fondled (something men enjoy doing-our needs not hers) but held and listened to. To be attentive, to understand and to shut-up unless she asks for input.
She likes a neat and orderly home & yard with a man who cares about her financial & emotional needs by listening and not always trying to fix things for her. UGH I still have difficulty providing this to her but I'm a work in progress. I want what she wants, an emotional connection. I want to give her what she really wants. Help me find a way or give me some ideas to establish this emotional connection she wants more than anything. And I want to bring her to Orgasm, to enjoy sexual release again.
I know saying I'm sorry does not negate the neglect she has been through but she sees my efforts to establish that emotional connection to her again. Honestly I've cried more in the past two week than I have since we've been married. I feel devastated by how badly I've been treating her for the past 2 decades. We were on the road to a separation and possibly a divorce and I was the a-hole who was going to initiate it!!!. I've said I'm sorry and show her, by my actions, that I am doing my best to change and become the man she needs. I'm still hurt by knowing that I cannot bring her to orgasm, she says she doesn't care if she ever orgasms again.... that hurts.
I was in a sexless marriage and she was in a loveless marriage, 2 entirely different things but sometimes the two go hand in hand. We were not getting what we needed from each other. Our marriage was comfortable, cordial and convenient, we loved each other but we didn't really communicate, we were both afraid to ask the tough questions. Fearful of disgrace and embarrassment or to voice any concern that could cause a rift that could not be healed. We were existing, not living. Now we both want to live life to the fullest and experience life together with an intimate closeness that married partners are meant to share. Can anyone help a faithful man who love his wife? Please?
Her 59th birthday is next week; I'm having birthday cookies from Cheryl's delivered to our home and I'm taking her to an expensive fancy dining establishment for her birthday after I finish work. (All I've told her is that I have a surprise for her birthday.) Then a horse & carriage ride downtown after dining. I plan on getting a room at a nice hotel for the evening so we can simply talk the night away without interruption or any type of distraction. I will not be the one to initiate any sexual advance on this evening. I want to simply talk about our marriage and find a way to fan the flames of our love. To see if she wants to continue or end this relationship. It breaks my heart to know how deeply I've essentially abandoned and then used her to meet my physical needs during the course of our marriage. I am at a loss as to why she has stayed for so long, but I'm grateful and so very thankful she has. I asked her and she said, "I take my vows to God and you serious. I meant what I said."
Any Ideas would greatly help, Thanks.
submitted by fulfilledwhitehouse to DeadBedrooms [link] [comments]

2020.10.13 04:44 Hexellent3r Mature naked mothers

The entire simpsons movie
Because fuck you
We come in peace for cats and mice everywhere.
Hey, how you doing? Good to see you. Thanks for coming out.
Itchy... Itchy...
Dad, we can't see the movie.
I can't believe we're paying to see something we get on TV for free.
If you ask me, everybody in this theater is a giant sucker.
Especially you.
Especially you.
Movie on the big screen!
Excuse me. My heinie is dipping.
All right, well, thanks a lot for coming.
We've been playing for three and a half hours.
Now we'd like just a minute of your time to say something about the environment.

But the pollution in your lake, it's dissolving our barge.
I thought they touched on a vital issue.
I beg to differ.
Gentlemen, it's been an honor playing with you tonight.
For the latest rock band to die in our town...
...Lord, hear our prayer.
Lord, hear our prayer.
I hate being late.
Well, I hate going.
Why can't I worship the Lord in my own way... praying like hell on my deathbed?
Homer, they can hear you inside.
Relax. Those pious morons are too busy talking to their phony-baloney God.
How you doing? Peace be with you. Praise Jebus.
Today I'd like to try something a little different.
I'm going to call on one of you!
Now, the word of God dwells within everyone.
I want you to let that word out. Let your spirit...
What is it, Ned?
The good Lord is telling me to confess to something.
Gay, gay, gay.
An immodest sense of pride in our community.
Somebody else?
Let the Lord's light shine upon you.
Feel the spirit.
Let it out!
Horrible, horrible things are going to happen!
And they're gonna happen to you! And you! And you! And you.
Whoa, nelly!
People of Springfield, heed this warning:
Twisted tail!
A thousand eyes!
Trapped forever!
Dad, do something!
This book doesn't have any answers!
Beware! Beware! Time is short!
Believe me! Believe me!
Thanks for listening.
Okay, who wants waffles?
I do, I do, I do!
Wait a minute. What about Grampa?
Something happened to that man.
I'll tell you what happened to him. A certain someone had a senior moment.
But that's okay, because we love him and we got a free rug out of it.
What is the point of going to church every Sunday...
...when if someone we love has a genuine religious experience, we ignore it?
Right, Grampa?
I want bananas on my waffles.
I rest my case.
I'm not dropping this.
Wait a minute. I'm still in the car.
Oh, right.
"Take out hornets' nest."
Check. "Fix sinkhole."
"Re-shingle roof"?
Why, you little...!
I'll teach you to laugh at something that's funny!
You know, we are on the roof. We could have some fun.
What kind of fun?
How about a dare contest?
That sounds fun. I dare you to...
...climb the TV antenna!
Homer, I don't mean to be a Nervous Pervis...
...but if he falls, couldn't that make your boy a paraplege-arino?
Shut up, Flanders.
Steady. Steady.
Hello. Sorry to bother you on a Sunday...
...but I'm sure you're as worried about the pollution in Lake Springfield as I am.
Lake Springfield has higher levels of mercury than ev...
Why, it's the little girl who saved my cat.
Lake Springfield is...
Come on over, Lisa.
You can canvass me as long as you want.
Milhouse, you don't care about the environment.
Hey. I am very passionate about the planet.
Say global warming is a myth.
It's a myth! Further study is needed!
That's for selling out your beliefs.
Oh, poor Milhouse.
Dream coming true.
Are you aware that a leaky faucet can waste over...?
Two thousand gallons a year.
And if we kept our thermostats at 68 in winter...
We'd be free from our dependency on foreign oil in 17 years.
I'm Colin.
I haven't seen you at school.
Moved from Ireland. My dad's a musician.
Do you play?
Just piano, guitar, trumpet, drums and bass.
He's pure gold. For once in your life, be cool.
So is your name as pretty as your face?
You okay there?
Twisted tail! A thousand eyes! Trapped forever!
What could that be?
I believe it's the sound the Green Lantern made...
...when Sinestro threw him into a vat of acid.
Yeah. Thanks for coming over.
Thanks for giving me your pregnancy pants.
Never known comfort like this.
Why did I suggest this?
All right, boy, time for the ultimate dare.
I dare you to skateboard to Krusty Burger and back...
Girls might see my doodle.
Oh, I see. Then I hereby declare you chicken for life.
Every morning, you'll wake up to "Good morning, chicken."
At your wedding, I'll sing:
I like men now.
Don't look where I'm pointing!
Stop in the name of American squeamishness!
Boys, before we eat, don't forget to thank the Lord for this bountiful...
Listen, kid, nobody likes wearing clothes in public, but, you know, it's the law.
You can't just leave me out here.
Don't worry, we found a friend for you to play with.
Nelson, honey, where have you been?
Tell him you dared me to do it.
If that's true, then you should be taking the rap here, not your son.
And what happens to me if it's my fault?
You'll have to attend a one-hour parenting class.
It was all his idea! He's out of control, I tell you!
I'm at my wits' end.
It's so...
See you in court, kid.
Okay, son, let's get some lunch.
Did you at least bring my clothes?
Shirt, socks, everything you need.
This is the worst day of my life.
The worst day of your life so far.
If you need pants, I carry an extra pair.
You know how boys are, always praying through the knees.
Why are you helping me? I'm not your kid.
We're neighbors. I'm sure your father would do the same for my boys.
Thank you.
Of course I do.
What kind of a father wouldn't care about...?
A pig wearing a hat!
Hey, hey! It's your old pal Krusty, for my new pork sandwich, the Klogger.
If you can find a greasier sandwich, you're in Mexico!
And we're clear.
Perfect. Cut, print, kill the pig.
What...?! You can't kill him if he's wearing people clothes!
You're coming home with me.
"A thousand eyes." What could that be?
I'm pretty sure a thousand is a number.
Hey, Marge. Isn't it great being married to someone who's recklessly impulsive?
Actually, it's aged me horribly.
Then say hello to the newest Simpson.
I believe what happened in church was a warning about precisely this.
Please, get rid of that pig.
Oh, you're gonna love him. Look, he does an impression of you.
You nailed her.
He also does me.
You smiled. I'm off the hook.
Oh, you have so many looks.
So that's what snug is.
Who's a good pig?
Who's a good pig?
Rough day, huh, son?
You don't know what rough is, sister.
Bart, you know, whenever my boys bake up a batch of frownies...
...I take them fishing.
Does your dad ever take you fishing?
Dad, it's not fair to use a bug zapper to catch the fish.
If you love fish like I do, you want them to die with dignity.
I think I have a nibble.
I think fishing might be more fun with you.
Oh, great. Now, how about I fix you some cocoa?
No way. Cocoa's for wusses.
Well, sir, if you change your mind, it's on the windowsill.
Oh, my God.
Oh, wait. I didn't tell you the best part. He loves the environment.
Oh, wait! I still didn't tell you the best part. He's got an Irish brogue.
No, no, wait! I still didn't tell you the best part.
He's not imaginary!
Oh, honey, that's great.
But the very best thing is that he listens to you.
Because nothing means more than for a man to...
How did the pig tracks get on the ceiling?
♪ Spider-Pig, Spider-Pig ♪
♪ Does whatever a Spider-Pig does ♪
♪ Can he swing from a web? ♪
♪ No, he can't, he's a pig ♪
♪ Look out He is the Spider-Pig ♪
Are we having fun yet?
We are now. You've got a bite.
Whoa, mama!
Oh, no, my good pole!
You're not strangling me.
What the...? Strangling's only good for...
Well, it's not good for anything.
The only time you should lay hands on a boy... to give him a good pat on the back.
Hey, what the hell are you...?
One more time.
Honey, I'm home.
We are at the tipping point, people.
If we don't do something now...
I'm sorry, I lost my train of thought. Isn't he dreamy?
Okay, so here's the bottom line:
If we don't change our ways right now...
...pollution in Lake Springfield will be at this level.
That's not so bad.
No, the lift is stuck.
Am I getting through to anyone?
Hell, yeah. We need a new one of those things.
All in favor of a new scissor lift, say "aye."
This lake is just one piece of trash away from a toxic nightmare.
But I knew you wouldn't listen.
So I took the liberty of pouring water from the lake in all your drinking glasses.
This is why we should hate kids.
This is serious, people.
No more dumping in the lake. I hereby declare a state of emergency.
Code black.
Black? That's the worst color there is.
Sorry, sorry. No dumping in the lake.
Fine. I will put my yard trimmings in a car compactor.
Chief, I think there was a dead body in there.
I thought that too, until he said "yard trimmings."
You gotta learn to listen, Lou.
Let us now make sure this barrier is completely idiot-proof.
Try to dump something in the lake.
I can't. I simply can't.
Don't get any ideas.
Maybe we should kiss, just to break the tension.
What's going on here?
Nothing. Nothing.
I'm not sure that pig should be in the house.
And by the way, what are you doing with his leavings?
Don't worry. I've devised a most elegant solution.
It's leaking.
It's not leaking, it's overflowing.
He filled up the whole silo in just two days?
Well, I helped.
Homer, stop! Stop. I know it's easy for your mind to wander...
...but I want you to really concentrate on me.
I can't escape the feeling that this is the crisis Grampa warned us about.
You have to dispose of that waste properly.
Okay, Marge. I will.
You can take Spider-Pig with you.
He's not Spider-Pig anymore, he's Harry Plopper.
Homer, you gotta get over here.
Health inspector shut down the doughnut store, they're giving out free doughnuts!
Oh, my God, oh, my God! I just got one thing I gotta do first.
Well, you better hurry. They're going fast.
Whoa, that was close.
Drive, drive, drive!
Oh, right.
Look at that. You can see the four states that border Springfield:
Ohio, Nevada, Maine and Kentucky.
Oh, yeah.
And if you look real close, you can almost...
Well, this certainly seems odd...
...but who am I to question the work of the Almighty?
We thank you, Lord, for this mighty fine intelligent design.
Good job.
Jabbity, jabbity, jab, jab, jab!
Hey! Jab one more eye and it's a federal crime.
Russ Cargill, head of the EPA, here to see the president.
Mr. President.
Ja, that is me.
Pollution in Springfield has reached crisis levels.
I hate this job. Everything's "crisis" this and "end of the world" that.
Nobody opens with a joke. I miss Danny De Vito.
You want a joke, huh? Stop me if you've heard this one.
Look at those angry eyes and giant teeth.
It's like Christmas at the Kennedy compound.
You know, sir, when you made me head of the EPA... appointed one of the most successful men in America... the least successful agency in government.
And why did I take the job?
Because I'm a rich man who wanted to give something back.
Not the money, but something.
So here is our chance to kick some ass for Mother Earth. five unthinkable options.
Each will cause untold misery...
I pick number three.
You don't wanna read them first?
I was elected to lead, not to read. Number three!
We're being sealed in a dome!
What do I do? I don't know what to do!
If I stay, I'm trapped. If I leave, I'm alone.
Oh, God. In, out, in, out!
I never saw Venice.
"Trapped forever."
It's all come true.
That crazy old man in church was right.
All right, men, open fire.
Who's hurt? Raise your hands.
Without the attitude.
People, people. I have an important announcement.
I have just perfected an acid-firing super-drill...
It's right there.
Just outside of the dome.
What ruthless madmen could have done this to us?
The United States government.
My name is Russ Cargill and I'm head of the EPA.
The what?
Look, I'm a man on a big TV. Just listen.
The most polluted city in the history of the planet.
Drama queen!
To keep your poisons from spreading...
...your government has sealed you in this dome.
It's the last thing we wanted to do.
I own the company that makes the dome, but that's beside the point.
You mean we're trapped like rats?
No, rats can't be trapped this easily. You're trapped like carrots.
Wait. We couldn't be more polluted. Everyone stopped dumping in the lake.
Apparently someone didn't get the message.
Act natural.
Hey, buddy, sooner or later, people are gonna discover this.
Don't worry about that. We found a way to take you off the map.
Coming up on your right:
This is Kent Brockman, reporting to you on a crisis so serious... has its own name and theme music.
The dome has put an end to life as we know it.
The town is running low on supplies of everything from gasoline to Botox.
Moment, please.
Now, as always, we end our news on "The Lighter Side."
It's the time of year when the swallows return to Springfield.
I think the thing I miss most is a simple summer breeze.
We've got dome wax, dome polish, dome freshener, all your dome needs... Dome Depot, located at the 105 and the dome.
Dome Depot!
Maggie got out! Maggie got out!
Maggie was right there, just outside the dome.
Marge, she's right here.
This dome can play tricks on you. You just have to keep calm and...
Oh, my God.
I'm out of the dome. Fresh air! Freedom!
I'll write you. Lead good lives!
Good evening, this is Kent Brockman.
Efforts to find out whose selfish crime...
...caused our entrapment have been fruitless.
Until moments ago!
A shocking discovery has been made here at Lake Springfield.
That could be anybody's pig-crap silo.
Homer, it was you.
You single-handedly killed this town.
I know. It's weird.
Just a reminder, this station does not endorse vigilante justice.
Unless it gets results. Which it will.
You didn't listen to me after I warned you.
Don't worry, nobody watches this stupid show.
What's that ominous glow in the distance?
Kill! Kill! Kill!
Marge, look. Those idiots don't even know where we live.
Kill! Kill! Kill!
We want Homer! We want Homer!
You monster. You monster!
Did you see the news?
Honey, come on, we have bigger problems.
But I'm so angry.
You're a woman. You can hold on to it forever.
Homer, you have to go out there, face that mob...
...and apologize for what you did.
I would, but I'm afraid if I open the door, they'll take all of you.
No, we won't. We just want Homer!
Well, maybe not you, but they'll kill Grampa.
I'm part of the mob!
Teeny! Take out the baby.
Here, let me get that for you.
Stay back. I got a chain saw.
Crawl across. Hurry.
But if they see you helping us, they'll kill you.
I'm sure your father would do the same for...
Point taken. Now, hustle your bustles.
I'm using a red arrow so I know who I kill.
No, Plopper. If you push that, Daddy will die.
Hey, my luck's beginning to turn.
Wait! There's something I have to get.
We lost them.
Up here.
Get them! Get them!
Little help?
You know, the word "apology"... tossed around a lot these days, but when it comes from in here...
Mom, what are we gonna do?
Maggie, not now.
We'll play later.
The sinkhole. Follow me, kids!
So long, losers!
The top of his head is still showing. Claw at it!
Well, they're China's problem now.
I can't hear you!
I never thought my life would have an absolutely perfect moment, but this is...
Lisa's got a boyfriend that she'll never see again!
I'm afraid we lost them, sir.
Damn it!
Well, then, you find them and you get them back in the dome.
And so nobody else gets out...
...I want roving death squads around the perimeter 24/7.
I want 10,000 tough guys...
...and I want 10,000 soft guys to make the tough guys look tougher.
And here's how I want them arranged: Tough, tough, soft, tough...
...soft, soft, tough, tough, soft, soft, tough, soft.
Sir, I'm afraid you've gone mad with power.
Of course. Ever try going mad without power? It's boring. No one listens to you.
You'll stop right now.
You come back here, little man.
I miss Flanders. There, I said it!
Let's quickly rebuild our lives while he's gone.
Hey, guys?
What's the secret knock, again?
Look, I know I screwed up. This is big.
It's huge! We're homeless!
Our friends wanna kill us!
Before we can even stay in the same room with you...
...I need to know what was going through your mind...
...when you didn't listen to me...
...and dumped that silo in the lake.
I don't know what to tell you, Marge. I don't think about things.
I respect people who do...
...but I just try to make the days not hurt until I get to crawl in next to you again.
I mean, oh.
Look, I'm really sorry. But I'm more than just sorry...
...I'm prepared with a solution.
I've always been afraid I'd screw up our lives so badly we'd need a backup plan.
And that plan is right here!
Bear with me.
Alaska. A place where you can't be too fat or too drunk.
Where no one says things like:
"Let's see your high school equivalency certificate."
I don't know, Homie.
I'm not saying it right.
Look, the thing is, I can't start a new life alone.
And I've really come to like you guys.
I just don't see it.
Marge, in every marriage, you get one chance to say:
"I need you to do this with me."
And there's only one answer when somebody says that.
Okay, Homie, I'm with you.
Thank you, my sweetheart.
You just bought another load of crap...
...from the world's fattest fertilizer salesman.
You'll pay for ruining this golden family moment!
How are we supposed to get to Alaska without any money?
All right, son. If you don't believe in me, believe in America.
America. Where any man can make quick money with no questions asked.
Step right up and win my truck!
All you have to do is conquer the Ball of Death.
Just ride the motorcycle all the way around just one time.
Three tries for $ 10.
That counts as a try.
That's two.
And that's three.
Here's what I'll do, because I like seeing you hurt yourself:
I'll give you one on the house.
When you get to the top, don't slow down, speed up!
Yay, Dad!
I'll take that truck now.
Oh, man. My wives are gonna kill me.
Next stop, Alaska!
Day 37 under the dome.
We are facing intermittent power failures which...
Okay, very funny. I'm gonna turn the lights off again.
When they come back on, I want all my booze back the way it was.
Yeah, okay. Okay.
I'm very proud of you, Bart. Over 24 hours sober.
We're giving your father another chance, and we owe it to him to...
We need diapers.
No! No. No, we don't. I forgot, we're European.
Just give us beef jerky.
Lots and lots of beef jerky.
That's right. That's what we need. That's all we came in for.
Oh, my God. There they are!
So you want some of my electricity, do you?
Well, for once, the rich white man is in control.
I have two buttons behind this desk.
One will supply your town with power, the other releases the hounds.
Reach me. Make me your brother.
The hospital's generator is about to give out.
Lives will be lost.
"Lives lost." Go on.
We got a convict we were gonna fry tomorrow, but now we can't.
Tempting. Tempting.
Look, all our reasons mean nothing.
Just look into your heart and you'll find the answer.
What...? This isn't the way I pictured Alaska at all!
Oh, that's better.
Well, at least my poster didn't get torn.
Welcome to Alaska. Here's $ 1000.
Well, it's about time! But why?
We pay every resident $ 1000... allow oil companies to ravage our state's natural beauty.
I'm home!
Oh, thanks.
What are you doing, Bart?
Just passing the time.
My boy loves Alaska so much, he's applauding it.
Clap for Alaska!
Well, Marge, we're separated from the kids by a wall of snow.
All my dreams are coming true.
We're going to need more birds.
Day 93 under the dome.
With necessities growing dangerously low...
...who knows what spark will set off this powder keg?
If we don't get a new book, I'm going to puke.
You're the five people I'm going to meet in hell!
We're out of coffee!
I can't take another minute in this dome!
Take that.
Oh, no! Blowback!
Look what they're doing to our dome.
You know what that is, sir?
People got out of the dome before, they're gonna get out again.
When they do, there's gonna be hearings, investigations...
I'll have to go back to making family comedies.
Don't worry, I have a solution for you, sir.
In fact, I have five solutions.
You don't have to read them. You'll have deniability.
I'll take care of it. You know nothing.
No. I need to know what I'm approving.
Absolutely. But on the other hand, knowing things is overrated.
Anyone can pick something when they know what it is.
It takes real leadership to pick something you're clueless about.
Are you tired of the same old Grand Canyon?
Here we are, kids, the Grand Canyon.
It's so old and boring. I want a new one. Now!
Hello. I'm Tom Hanks.
The U.S. Government has lost its credibility... it's borrowing some of mine.
Tousle my hair, Mr. Hanks.
Sure thing, son.
Now, I'm pleased to tell you all about the New Grand Canyon.
This weekend. East of Shelbyville and south of Capitol City.
That's where Springfield is!
It's nowhere near where anything is or ever was.
This is Tom Hanks, saying:
If you're going to pick a government to trust, why not this one?
Did you see that?
Yes, they're going to destroy Springfield.
But we're going to stop them.
Homie, get your clothes on. Homie?
I'm happy here. Screw Springfield!
I can't believe you'd say something so selfish.
Marge, those people chased us with pitchforks and torches.
Torches! At 4 in the afternoon!
Which is on at 4 and 7.
Dad, how can you turn your back on everyone who loved us?
Flanders helped when we were in trouble.
Who cares what he did? He's not your father.
I wish he was.
You don't mean that. You worship me.
Oh, yeah? Look what I did to your picture.
Look at it.
How-dilly-doo-dilly. How-dilly-doo-dilly.
Why, you little...!
I'll strangle-angle you!
Bart, stop it! Leave this to me.
Homer... every marriage, you get one chance to say:
"I need you to do this with me."
That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard.
Homer Simpson!
We're saving Springfield!
Listen to me, all of you. We are staying.
We have a great life in Alaska...
...and we're never going back to America again.
I have spoken!
Well, I guess I've let her worry about me long enough.
Marge? Kids?
Okay, here goes.
...I've always stood up for you.
When people point out your flaws...
...I always say:
"Well, sometimes you have to stand back to appreciate a work of art. "
Way back.
Lately, what's keeping us together... my ability to overlook everything you do.
And I overlook these things because...
Well, that's the thing.
I just don't know how to finish that sentence anymore.
So I'm leaving with the kids to help Springfield...
...and we're never coming back.
And to prove to myself that this is the end...
...I taped this over our wedding video.
Goodbye, Homie.
I love you.
Marge? Kids?
Looking through people's luggage.
I'm the mascot of an evil corporation.
Get down from there. We have to keep a low profile...
...till we get to Seattle to tell the world of the plot to destroy Springfield.
I don't know if you guys should be talking so loud.
Oh, Lisa, it's not like the government is listening to everybody's conversation.
Hi, I'm calling about your Meat Lover's pizza.
I like meat, but I don't know if I'm ready to love again.
She hung up on me!
But we're fugitives. We should just lay low till we get to Seattle.
Hey, everybody, I found one!
The government actually found someone we're looking for!
Yeah, baby, yeah!
Homer Simpson... you know why you are here?
Because my family cares more about other people than they do about me.
Drink this liquid.
More, please.
Now we will cleanse your spirit... the ancient Inuit art of throat singing.
Throat singing?
How long are we doing this?
What's an epiphany?
Sudden realization of great truth.
♪ Spider-Pig, Spider-Pig ♪
♪ Does whatever a Spider-Pig does ♪
♪ Look out! ♪
♪ He's a Spider-Pig ♪
Unless you have an epiphany... will spend the remainder of your days alone.
Epiphany, epiphany, epiphany.
Bananas are an excellent source of potassium.
Americans will never embrace soccer?
More than two shakes and it's playing with yourself?
Hey, what are you doing?
Oh, do whatever you want to me. I don't care about myself anymore.
Because other people are just as important as me.
Without them, I'm nothing.
In order to save myself...
...I have to save Springfield!
That's it! Isn't it?
That was the most incredible experience of my life.
And now to find my family, save my town and drop 10 pounds!
Thank you, boob lady.
This is it, kids. Seattle.
Russ Cargill! Do you think he saw us?
Yes, I did.
Run! Run!
Run! Run!
Run! Run!
Jump! Jump!
Land! Land!
Rest! Rest!
Run! Run!
Now, I know we've had a rough day...
...but I'm sure we can put all that behind us and...
That's my whipping arm!
Why does everything I whip leave me?
Must keep going. Must keep going.
No, I can't. I can't keep going.
Yes, you can.
No, I can't!
Oh, shut up!
You shut up.
No, you. No, you.
No, you. Oh, real mature.
How could you say that?
Oh, what's the point?
It's hopeless.
Don't give up, Homer. You are closer than you think.
But which way do I go?
Much obliged.
Lisa! Knock off that racket.
They captured my family. What do I do? What do I do?
There's something strange about that "sop" sign.
I hope it's okay.
Look, we can't keep stopping at every "sop," "yeld" or "one vay" sign.
Just move on.
Let us out! Let us out!
Stop that. You'll scratch your shackles.
I hope I do.
Oh, way to go, Bart.
You stink.
No, you stink.
I can't believe it, but it got even crappier.
Oh, man.
Oh, hi, Midge.
Moe, what happened?
With the town sealed off from the rest of the world, things got a little nutty here.
Why are you dressed like that?
Well, I don't like to brag, but I am now the emperor of Springfield.
No, you're not!
Yes, I am!
Okay. Hail, emperor.
Attention, Springfield.
Your government realized that putting you inside this dome was a terrible mistake.
Therefore, we're commencing with Operation Soaring Eagle.
Which involves killing you all.
As I speak, we're lowering a small but powerful bomb into your midst.
Despite everything, I miss your father.
Me too.
His big, fat ass could shield us all.
At ease. I'm General Marriott Suites...
...and I have an urgent note from the president.
It says to release this town immediately.
Why is it written on a leaf?
Now Homer Simpson's gonna show he has cojones!
Mom, I've gotta go find Colin.
Not now, sweetie. Doomsday is family time.
Hey. If one of us distracts Cargill, the rest of us can climb up that thing.
Who'd be dumb enough to stay behind while we escape with our lives?
My time to shine.
Hey, Mr. Big TV Man, lookie here!
What do you want?
Look what I can do with my thumb.
You wanna know how I do it?
Four generations of inbreeding?
I can smell fresh air.
I can hear birds.
I taste freedom.
Excuse me! Watch out! Coming through!
I was tricked by an idiot.
Hey, I know how you feel. I was beat in tic-tac-toe by a chicken.
Homer do good?
Actually, you doomed us all. Again. Nice knowing you, Homer.
But I...
I can't do anything right.
Get out of here!
I've spent my entire life doing nothing but collecting comic books.
And now there's only time to say:
Life well spent!
Okay, boys. When you meet Jesus, be sure to call him Mr. Christ.
Will Buddha be there too?
How good to see you. And how terrible you're here.
Listen. I was just wondering if...
...before I died...
...I could pretend I had a father who...
...cared for me.
Come here, son.
There's always room for one more in the Flanders clan.
Come on, bomb-disarming robot. You're our last hope.
Red wire. Blue wire. Black is usually the ground.
So much pressure.
He'd been talking about it, but I didn't take him seriously.
Marge! Marge!
Oh, no, the "epipha-tree"!
Hey, I tried my best. What am I supposed to do?
But how am I supposed to get up there?
Here. Buy yourself something nice.
Homer? What the hell are you doing now?
Risking my life to save people I hate...
...for reasons I don't quite understand. Gotta go!
But first, one stop.
Bart? Son?
You think you could find it in your heart... give your foolish old man one more chance?
Oh, I don't know.
It seems to me, son, that your father's saying that...
...he wants to spend his last minute with you.
No. I can't do it.
I want a father who's the same in the morning as he is at night.
What's that word?
Thanks, losers.
Sorry, Homer.
I'll let you hold the bomb.
The man knows me.
I wish Homer was my father.
And I wish you didn't have the devil's curly hair.
I've been taking your crap all my life!
This feels good. No wonder you do it.
Okay, you've only got one shot to throw that bomb through the hole.
Dad, in case I miss...
...I'm sorry I said I wished you weren't my father.
I don't blame you, son. I wasn't much of a father.
Maybe it starts with the way my dad raised me.
Yes. It's clear to me. It's just been one long, unbroken cycle of...
Somebody throw the goddamn bomb!
What? What's going on?
We did it, boy!
It's amazing no one was hurt.
Bye, everybody.
Now, that was a great father-son activity.
Hello, Homer.
So we meet at last, whoever you are.
There's two things they don't teach you at Harvard Business School.
How to cope with defeat, and how to handle a shotgun.
I'm going to do both right now.
Wait! If you kill my dad...'ll never know where the treasure is buried.
What treasure?
The Treasure of Imawiener.
I'm a wiener?
Well, always leave them laughing.
Goodbye, sir.
Maggie! What a great little accident you turned out to be.
Colin? Colin!
Lisa? Colin's dead.
But his last words were:
"Milhouse, take care of Lisa. Hold her hand."
I got her all warmed up for you.
Colin. Hi.
Well, I was gonna say get some ice cream, but okay.
I like ice cream.
Kind of sweaty. Sorry.
Boy! You survived! How?
I did things no dog should do.
They will haunt me forever.
I love you too.
Best kiss of my life.
Best kiss of your life so far.
Thanks, boy.
They've taken everything, sir.
Smithers, I don't believe in suicide...
...but if you'd like to try it, it might cheer me up to watch.
This is Tom Hanks, saying:
If you see me in person, please, leave me be.
♪ Spider-Pig, Spider-Pig ♪
♪ Does whatever a Spider-Pig does ♪
♪ Can he swing from a web? ♪
♪ No, he can't, he's a pig ♪
♪ Look out! ♪
♪ He is a Spider-Pig ♪
♪ Look out! ♪
♪ He is a Spider-Pig ♪
Come on, Dad, let's go. I've been holding it since they put the dome over the town.
You can wait. A lot of people worked really hard on this film...
...and all they ask is for you to memorize their names.
Well, I wanna make sure no animals were harmed...
...during the filming of this movie.
Floor popcorn.
Wait, wait, wait! It looks like Maggie has something to say.
Oh, my God. Her first word.
♪ Springfield doesn't have an anthem ♪
♪ We thought we had one But we don't ♪
♪ We paid a short guy to write it ♪
♪ But we never saw him again ♪
♪ The tune we stole from the French ♪
♪ There's a few things they do well ♪
♪ Like making love, wine and cheese ♪
♪ Like Roqueforts, Camemberts and Bries ♪
♪ Springfield, we're going to die ♪
♪ Springfield, I'm scared, goodbye ♪
Assistant manager isn't all it's cracked up to be.
Four years of film school for this?
submitted by Hexellent3r to copypasta [link] [comments]

2020.10.12 04:57 captaincolts Mature naked mothers

Buckle up boys and girls this is going to be a wild ride.
I woke up sweating profusely after a long uninterrupted 14 hour sleep. I felt as if I had awoken from a coma. The dream I had last night was lucid one and I had a large amount of control over it. I couldn't forget about it afterwards either. It's like it's now as vivid as the memories of today's breakfast. So I decided to write it all down in hopes to capture it. I've written it from start to finish in great detail. I made a few embellishments, but it's pretty much shot for shot what happened.

Here goes...

It's early morning and I just finished watching my favorite show. I've left the TV on to play what's next. My sister joins me on the couch. She's tired and scruffy. She’s hap hazardously thrown her school uniform on. She leans up against me sapping what little warmth I have left. Fixed to the tv, I peer at a school. The school feels strangely familiar as if I've been there, My sister watching too. The screen flickers to a classroom full of young children. They look around my sister's age, eager and vulnerable. The teacher flashes a wicked smile and announces to the class that today's a special day. She scribbles strange symbols on the blackboard which doesn't seem to phase the children. The teacher then proceeds to flick on the tv mounted in the corner of the room. The screen starts to hiss. The screen flashes with strange images, some cute and innocent, some graphic and sexually explicit. My sister huddles up close to me clearly afraid but doesn't want to interrupt my curiosity. The class begins fidgeting, some just can't sit still and begin to claw at themselves, scratching and scraping. The teacher continues to maintain her wicked smile with her piercing gaze staring right through me. As if she can see me, through me. My sister's grip tightens around my arm and she finally begins to utter words, her voice quietly trembling. I'm scared, this is scary can we turn it off? Her voice falls on deaf ears. I'm too fixated and locked to the screen. My morbid curiosity taking control. The class within the tv continues to escalate now starting to flail their arms striking students. One of the students leaps up to their feet and begins to laugh a crazed laugh with a wicked grin plastered over his face. Some other students begin to follow suit. My sister pleads burrowed into my side. Turn it off! Turn it off! But i still continue to ignore her. Frozen in front of the tv. The classroom full of students erupts into chaos and students begin to sprint around the room grabbing, clawing and swiping at anything sharp object they can find. Pens, rulers, paintbrushes whatever and begin to throw them around the room. They can’t control themselves. They have become rabid. My sister scurried off the couch in search of the tv remote, crawling on all fours. I however maintain my gaze towards the tv. The students begin thrusting there makeshift weapons into themselves puncturing all manner of flesh and orifice. They seem to be impervious to the pain and their crazed faces emitting only wild pleasure. The children begin painting themselves in each other's blood, the teacher standing composed at the front of the room smiling her wicked grin. Stopping periodically to scrape her nails against the chalkboard which only serves to further enrage the classroom. The kids attempt to climb walls and swing from light fixtures. The screams and wails of young children reverberate throughout the living room, my sister growing more frantic. The brutish and chaotic violence inside the classroom fuels the children like ecstasy. Their eyes popped open wide seeking more, more, more. One child throws a chair across the room. The sharp metal legs puncturing a child in the chest pinning them to the ground. The other kids swarm him and claw at the top of his skull. Finally sinking deep enough they pull his head apart in a fountain of blood. The children all laugh with their heads tilted and mouths gaped hoping to catch the rain now torrenting from the boy. A piercing laugh from the teacher snaps me out of my trance. “Oh fuck oh fuck, no no no…” I drop to the floor and scramble around the living room looking for the remote, the tv still billowing out suffering. James! My sister calls out, my gaze snaps to look at her. She's crying. She has been for a while now. In her hands rests a remote snapped into 3. How on earth did that happen? I think to myself. Stumbling forward to embrace her. I pull her into a hug. She begins to calm. Burying her face into my stomach. I sigh and close my eyes.
Upon opening my eyes it’s sunny, a cool breeze wafts over me. Where am I? I look around me feeling intrinsically familiar with my surroundings. It’s my school. Or was my school I no longer go to school, but my sister does. How did we get here? My sister prys herself away from me. The destroyed remote still in her hands. “I’m going to find Dad”, she exclaims.”What? Why? Where?” Before I can stop her she disappears out of my sight. I take off and begin exploring the school. The school looks abandoned and eerily quiet. I feel cripplingly alone. It’s suffocating. Jogging past empty classroom after empty classroom, calling my sisters name. I hear a voice. It’s a woman's voice soft and gentle. I bolt around the corner to locate the disembodied voice but as soon as I clear the corner I freeze. It’s a class of young kids lined up in double file. With a young teacher standing in front of them. The woman looks up with a pleasant smile and gazes at me. Her gentle smile peels away revealing a crazed grin. I’m still standing frozen like a deer in headlights. My heartbeat begins to thump... Hard. Blood filling up in my head, I begin to tremble. The noises in my head become piercing and debilitating. Shaking away her gaze I dash away frantic and panicked. Where is she? I mutter as I scrabble around the school grounds. Found her. She stood in front of none other than my father. She holds up the tv remote to him. His stare switches from her to me. He looks at me with a stern and serious face, but his eyes tell another story. His eyes drowned in fear and sadness. “Take your sister! Hide! Make sure they can’t find you!” He yells gesturing at my sister towards me. I’ll be back. My father pushes my sister into my arms and takes off leaving me and my sister. She looks up to me, trembling in fear, blinded with anxiety. My fight or flight response kicks in as she looks at me and I grab her wrist and pull her along with me. I’m unable to sprint because she wouldn’t be able to keep up with me. I glance around the school looking for a secure and hidden spot to hide. There is nothing. The school was a small private installation and was designed to be quite open, I enjoyed it when I was younger but now it only appears problematic. AAAUAUAUAUGH! A piercing scream echoes down the halls. The sound emulating the screams of the kids on our tv. My sister begins to cry, I pull her in close, panicked hoping to shush her. I glance around hoping nothing has spotted us. A hand suddenly grabs my shoulder yanking of balance, I spin around and steady myself. “James! Take this and hand me your sister.” It's my father. He drops a sub machine gun into my arms. I recoil in shock. “It’s a p90, I recognize it”. But it’s way heavier than i’d imagined, I guess not everything is the same as in the games. My father has a large rifle strapped to his back. And my sister firmly held in his arms. “Follow me!” He commands and runs off to a side room. It looks like a bag locker, small and cramped, but hidden. We scramble into the back of the small room. Father rests on his stomach peering through the glass of the door we came through. “If they find us I want you to grab your sister and climb through the window behind us”. I look behind me and there is a small window about a meter high. I preemptively open the window and stick my head out. The drop appears to be about 4 meters. That's gonna hurt, I think to myself. Crouching in the back of the room, I clutch my p90, it feels alien and cold. My father looks at me and says do not fire it unless absolutely necessary. Loud and frequent thuds start to shake the small room. Peering through the glass I can’t see anything. Just a clear pavement with chalk drawings scribbled across it. The thuds become louder and more frequent. My father grips my sister's mouth, shushing her breathing. I Take a deep breath and hold my own. The thuds stop. A pair of bare legs walks in front of the door; they look like the legs of a teenager much less a child. Sharp gashes and cuts resemble markings down the thighs. The legs halt. And twist on the balls of their feet in front of the door. Panic swells inside of me. My heart begins to thump against my rib cage and the pressure in my head builds. I feel dizzy and my vision blurry. The legs are still, blood running down from the wounds. A torso swings down to look through the glass window at the bottom of the door presumably attached to the legs in front of us. Eyes pierce through the small glass window. It’s a girl she looks much older than the kids I saw earlier but I recognize her. She's just older. Maybe by five or six years. Her figure has matured quite a bit and her bare legs are strangely alluring. She gazes into the dark room. Her eyes burning a fiery yellow. Frozen in fear I pray we are shrouded by the darkness off the room. It feels like an eternity, like time is standing still. The girl finally stands up straight and continues past the door. I release the breath I’d been holding in and continue to hyperventilate, starved of oxygen. The loud thudding continues, only now there are more. Thump thump thump. It’s like a gallop of horses increasing in volume. The room is violently shaking. The violent thuds reach a crescendo and a loud bang follows. Father grips his rifle tighter in anticipation. Cracks begin forming on the wall to the left of my father. I stand up leaning against the window behind me prepared to jump. My father, climbing to his feet. The banging continues as the crack begins to form into a large gash. Maniacal laughter and screeching leaks through the hole in the wall. A body punctures through the wall. Luckily it gets stuck halfway through, swinging and clawing at my father's pant leg. My sister clutches my father's arm, shifting his focus. I have my p90 locked onto the crazed teenagers face. He’s missing an eye and dripping blood, gurgling and babbling about the suffering and the blackness. “Don’t!” My father exclaims, “hold your fire”. He looks me in the eye. Staring at my father I notice the crack in the wall begin to bloom. Rupturing and crumbling forward onto my father. Ruble tumbles towards him along with a torrent of students all crazed and blood soaked. “FATHER!” I call out. The only response I hear back is only a muffled “GO!” Stumbling back I tumble out the window. Falling hard against my back… Shaking off the pain I stare at the window I just fell through. My father is attempting to roll out of the window. My sister his arms.. They’re being mauled by the torrent of crazed students. My father plummets out the window. Dragging several bodies with him. They crash into the ground and more begin to barrel out the window. All landing into a pile atop my father. They writhe and slam against one another trying to take out my father. AAAAARGH! The pile of the crazed erupts and students fly backwards tossed from the epicenter. Using the but of the rifle my father smacks the remaining students off of him. His clothes a little torn and wiping the blood from his teeth he runs towards me grabbing my upper arm and dragging me to my feet. He spurs me into a sprint, my sister is missing. “Where is Grace?” “Dead”, my father responds coldly. “You don’t know that, we have to go back for her.” “No she’s dead we must keep moving.” my questioning is silenced. Sprinting across a grass field I check over my shoulder. A hoard of now fully grown teenagers chase us. They look nearly my age, maybe eighteen, nineteen. They sprint with aggressive vigor, their wounds only appear to fuel their rampage, clawing and scraping at each other. They all seem to be fighting to be the first to tear me apart. Many of them are brandishing sharp chunks of metal piercing through their skin like armor or defensive weapons. I’m pulled aside to a long hallway. A blade narrowly whizzing past my head, a large wire tied to the end of it, leading right to one of the crazed students. Continuing to sprint my body is exhausted, pain envelopes my whole body. Some of the crazed begin to catch up brandishing wicked smiles. One of the girls begins to run alongside me, her uniform mostly intact. Razor blades fastened to her skirt. Large needles thrust deep into her ear canals. She laughs at my horrified expression and lunges toward me. Her eyes, lusting over my flesh. I press my palm hard against her face pushing her away from me, snagging and tearing out one of her needles. Turning my attention back in front of me, the hallway has come to an end with only a singular classroom left. I quickly dive through the window into the room gashing my arm on the broken glass. The girl I fended off tumbles sweeping the legs of the front few students. Under the heavy foot of the hoard the fallen students are crumpled. One unfortunate to be trodden on the face. Their head, immediately exploding like a melon, showering the students in chunks of meat and bone. One of the girls in the hoard gazes at me as I lean up against a wall in the back of the classroom. Still in a sprint she licks her lips with lust sparkling in her eye. It’s the girl from earlier. Her markings across her legs matching, yet now appear as metal inlaid tattoos. One of the crazed students barrel through the window crashing hard against the wall next to me, dazing itself. 3 massive spikes pierce through his skull splitting it in two. I roll away frantically and stare back in shock. The girl with the markings grinding her crotch against the face of the crazed who had just been eviscerated. Massive spikes are fastened to her pelvis. She snaps her gaze toward me. Her eyes burning through me like a fire. Large plates of metal slide from beneath her skin forming armor. She holds her arm up halting the entire hoard. The room falls silent. And four other students walk up behind her. Coated nearly head to toe in metal they look nearly insectoid. Coated in shiny metal exoskeletons. I quiver in fear crumpled into the corner of the room, surrounded by children's books. One of the monstrosities tosses something at me, violently thudding into my chest. I clutch it and take a deep breath. Rolling the object over my heart sinks to the bottom of my stomach and my face ghost white. Violently shaking, I stare into the disembodied head of my sister. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head. I Erupt into a scream of existential terror staring up at the metal automatons stood in front of me. The metal woman in front of me, no longer human at all starts to walk toward me, wielding a wicked smile and that lustful gaze. I close my eyes in anticipation of my demise. Clutching the head in my arms, I close my eyes.
Cold metal fingers stroke beneath my chin raising my head. I open my eyes to the woman, staring me in the eye. She pauses. Looking deep into me, as if judging my soul. Bang! A large 50 caliber round pierces through the window striking the woman in the head knocking her off balance. She seems dazed, but the bullet deflected off her metal exterior. The hoard erupts and clears out of the classroom, chasing after the source of the bullet. It’s just me and the woman in the classroom now. Completely naked and coated in metal, she steadies herself. And licks her lips. She lowers herself down to her knees in front of me, metal clinking against the floorboards. Grabbing my chin once again she leans in toward me, maintaining eye contact. She brushes her face against the side of mine breathing heavily in my ear. Running her metallic hand down my chest she presses her chest into me. Sliding one knee into my pelvis, I tense up and she bites the tip of my ear off. Aarrgh! I cry out only to be silenced by her lips pressing against mine. Feeding the chunk of flesh from my ear into my mouth. Strangely calmed by the interaction my heart rate begins to settle. Her tongue slowly sliding down the back of my throat. Frozen, and in shock I can’t move. She’s still slowly brushing her metal body against me. Her tongue now thrust deep into my esophagus. It’s quiet, the air has settled. Her eyes alight and gazing into mine. A piercing pain floods up from my chest and up into my mouth. The most excruciating pain I've ever felt pierces through every nerve in my body. She pushes away from me, ripping her tongue from my throat, a heart skewered on the end of it. My heart. My vision quickly begins to fade as she engulfs my heart. My vision blinking in and out she stares at me licking her lips. That lustful gaze piercing me as I Fade.
After a while I open my eyes, I see me. My corpse resting in front of me. I’m dead, but still floating here like a disembodied soul, observing my final fate. Thankfully the pain has left me along with my body. I watch as the woman leaves the room. Floating along behind her, I’m no longer tethered to my body. She struts down the halfway clearly searching for the horde and my father. Rising up into the sky seeking a better view I phase though the ceiling and peer down to the school below. I can see my father, running in between classrooms. Battered bruised and shaken he still fights on sprinting away from his four pursuers. The four other metal automatons from earlier. They appear to be what's left of the hoard, swiping and slashing at him seeking blood. Using the rifle as a shield he deflects the majority of the attacks. Smashing between classroom after classroom. The metal horde taking out chunks of each room as they rampage and smash through. Running into an open field he sprints towards a cliff. The school grounds are sat on a massive vertical pillar extending far above a metal city below. All four sides of the school are a vertical drop, he has nowhere to go. The sides of the structure have forest growing up like the vines of a tree. Forced away from the toxic city below. They spiral and climb the pillar, protruding from all four sides. As father narrows in on the edge of the pillar the trees begin to grow towards him. They look to be drawn to him, trying to take hold of him. With the cliff approaching father does not slow down, lest he speeds up. Embracing his fall. Launching himself off the edge. plummeting down below. His four pursuers tumble off after him. The fifth automaton following not far behind dives off to continue her pursuit. Falling and falling my father looks up at the crazed metal monstrosities snapping and clawing at him, out of reach he calmly breaths and accepts his fate. The trees enveloping around the pillar appear to part as he passes by allowing his fall. The four automatons aren’t so fortunate getting smashed and swatted as they fall shattering and splintering the massive tree trunks. The fifth automaton brandishes blades along her arms to slash and cut away the trees, maintaining her speed and rapidly closing in on my father. Vines begin enveloping my father, careful not to slow his descent. Cocooning around him as he falls into the metropolis below. Far into the under belly and out of sight. I look out across the horizon, The cold metal city extending as far as I can see. Metallic structures devoid of life pierce the clouds. The air is still, silent, undisturbed. once again I’m cripplingly alone. I stare up at the pillar, made entirely of stone. It looks timeless against the cold sunset. There are no birds, no bugs, the only life left are the trees which seek to shelter against the pillar, like weeds. I think back on what has happened. I think about my Father and my sister. The way her head felt cold and lifeless in my arms. Her hair flowing across my forearms. The gaze of the metal woman piercing my soul and the fear that welled up inside me. All of which I now feel indifferent towards now that i’m separated from my body. The feeling of the metal woman brushing up against me erks at my mind, her hand against my chest. Her breath in my ear. Those fiery yellow eyes gazing at my soul. I shudder.
Floating back atop the pillar I stare at the school, reduced mostly to ruble. Chunks of people lay sprawled across every surface. Some look like fully grown adults and others only just barely old enough to read. Floating past limbs and severed heads punctured by sharp weapons, pens, knives, and any other blade close at hand. I float in and out of classrooms some left untouched like echoes of the past. Young children's desks, beanbags and reading corners. The teacher’s messages, written along the blackboards. Passing through the next wall I emerge in another classroom. Ground zero. The same class from the tv I was so fixated on. Blood coats every surface. Pieces of child laden everywhere. Looking up at the blackboard I see the severed head of the teacher still brandishing her wicked smile pinned up to the wall alongside the claw marks grazed deep by her own nails. BOOOM! A massive explosion erupts, shaking the classroom, knocking desks and furniture around. Rushing outside I glance along the horizon at a massive green explosion with vines emitting from the center. Wrapping and strangling the buildings all throughout the city. A figure emerges from amongst the chaos swinging and propelling itself around the city coating it in lush green as it passes by.. 5 Metal automatons chasing close behind rocketing around behind it. Scraping along, in and out of buildings. The figure remains elusive. I fly alongside the figure. It’s my father imbued with the last of mother earth's life force. Looking back at the pillar every tree that once dotted up along it has withered and died. Crumbling and brittle. The last hope of mother earth now held within my father's hands. coiling and swinging through the once blacked city he leaves his mark. Life sprouting throughout the city. Wildlife flooding out of the structures and the once silent metropolis is coated in a thick layer of hope. The metal automatons struggling to claw through the thick vines and trees . Their once foreboding chaos and unruly terror being swatted and snuffed out. Green is pulsing from the epicenter of the earlier explosion and envelops the city as the sun falls below the horizon shrouding the city in inky blackness. Succumbing to the black my consciousness fades and I pass away, My tether broken and my last light flickers out…
Clink, clank. I can hear the sound of knives and forks knocking against a plate, opening my eyes. I'm in a living room. My living room. I’m still a lost soul it appears. The room looks massive, dwarfing me. Glancing at the coffee table ahead of me 3 metal automatons stand, only they are tiny as well. Appearing only about 5 inches tall. Two of them are struggling with a knife and fork, trying to cut apart a bagel. The other trying to fish a marshmallow from the top of a large mug of hot chocolate. Pressing up against the back of the couch, I look on in confused terror. Though my fear quickly washes away as I see my father emerge from around the corner. A plate with a bagel in one hand and a hot mug of coffee in the other. He looks like a giant easily 20 times my size. I look at him and cry. Everything is alright. Another tiny automaton wrestles out from his breast pocket falling to the table below. A strange yet humbling sight. My farther grins then parts his mouth. The fifth and final automaton wriggles from his mouth. It’s her. She gazes at me, at my soul and grins… Dropping from my father's mouth, striking the tv remote as she lands flicking the tv on. Words flashing up on the screen...
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2020.10.07 16:21 Meda7Octl Mature naked mothers

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2020.10.04 19:39 normancrane Mature naked mothers

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3 <-- You are here.
- - - I awoke to a world without women.
I rolled off the bed into sore thighs and guilt, got up to emptiness that echoed the slightest noise, and left my wife’s clothes on the sheets without thinking that eventually I’d have to pack them into a plastic bag and slide them down the garbage chute. I felt magnified and hollow. In the kitchen, I used the stove top as a table because the actual table had my wife’s tablet on it, and spilled instant coffee. What I didn’t spill I drank in a few gulps, the way I used to drink ice cold milk as a boy. I stood in front of the living room window for a while before realizing I was naked, then realizing that it didn’t matter because men changed in front of each other at the pool and peed next to one another into urinals in public restrooms, and there weren’t any women to hide from, no one to offend. The world, I told myself, was now a sprawling men’s pisser, so I slammed the window open and pissed.
I wanted to call someone—to tell them that my wife was dead, because that’s a duty owed by the living—but whom could I call: her sister, her parents? Her sister was dead. Her father had a dead wife and two dead daughters. There was nothing to say. Everyone knew. I called my wife’s father anyway. Was he still my father-in-law now that I was a widower? He didn’t accept the connection. Widower: a word loses all but historical meaning when there are no alternatives. If all animals were dogs, we’d purge one of those words from our vocabulary. We were all widowers. It was synonymous with man. I switched on the television and stared, crying, at a montage of photographs showing the bloody landscapes of cities, hospitals, retirement homes, schools and churches, all under the tasteless headline: “International Pop”. Would we clean it up, these remnants of the people we loved? Could we even use the same buildings, knowing what had happened in them? The illusion of practical thinking pushed my feeling of emptiness away. I missed arms wrapping around me from behind while I stared through rain streaked windows. I missed barking and a wagging tail that hit my leg whenever I was standing too close. Happiness seemed impossible. I called Bakshi because I needed confirmation that I still had a voice. “They’re the lucky ones,” he said right after I’d introduced myself. “They’re out. We’re the fools still locked in, and now we’re all alone.”
For three weeks, I expected my wife to show up at the apartment door. I removed her clothes from the bed and stuffed them into a garbage bag, but kept the garbage bag in the small space between the fridge and the kitchen wall. I probably would have kept a dead body in the freezer if I had one and it fit. As a city and as a world, those were grim, disorganized weeks for us. Nobody worked. I don’t know what we did. Sat around and drank, smoked. And we called each other, often out of the blue. Every day, I received a call from someone I knew but hadn’t spoken to in years. The conversations all followed a pattern. There was no catching up and no explanation of lost time, just a question like “How are you holding up?” followed by a thoughtless answer (“Fine, I guess. And you?”) followed by an exchange of details about the women we’d lost. Mothers, sisters, daughters, wives, girlfriends, friends, cousins, aunts, teachers, students, co-workers. We talked about the colour of their hair, their senses of humour, their favourite movies. We said nothing about ourselves, choosing instead to inhabit the personas of those whom we’d loved. In the hallway, I would put on my wife’s coats but never look at myself in the mirror. I wore her winter hats in the middle of July. Facebook became a graveyard, with the gender field separating the mourners from the dead.
The World Health Organization issued a communique stating that based on the available data it was reasonable to assume that all the women in the world were dead, but it called for any woman still alive to come forward immediately. The language of the communique was as sterile as the Earth. Nobody came forward. The World Wildlife Fund created an inventory of all mammalian species that listed in ascending order how long each species would exist. Humans were on the bottom. Both the World Health Organization and the World Wildlife Fund predicted that unless significant technological progress occurred in the field of fertility within the next fifty years, the last human, a theoretical boy named Philip born into a theoretical developed country on March 26, 2025, would die in 93 years. On the day of his death, Philip would be the last remaining mammal—although not necessarily animal—on Earth. No organization or government has ever officially stated that July 4, 2025, was the most destructive day in recorded history, on the morning of which, Eastern Time, four billion out of a total of eight billion people ceased to exist as anything more than memories. What killed them was neither an act of war nor an act of terrorism. Neither was it human negligence. There was no one to blame and no one to prosecute. In the western countries, where the majority of people no longer believed in any religion, we could not even call it an act of God. So we responded by calling it nothing at all.
And, like nothing, our lives persisted. We ate, we slept and we adapted. After the first wave of suicides ended, we hosed off what the rain hadn’t already washed away and began to reorganize the systems on which our societies ran. It was a challenge tempered only slightly in countries where women had not made up a significant portion of the workforce. We held new elections, formed me boards of directors and slowed down the assembly lines and bus schedules to make it possible for our communities to keep running. There was less food in the supermarkets, but we also needed less food. Instead of two trains we ran one, but one sufficed. I don’t remember the day when I finally took the black garbage bag from its resting place and walked it to the chute. “How are you holding up?” a male voice would say on the street. “Fine, I guess. And you?” I’d answer. ##!! wrote a piece of Python code to predict the box office profitability of new movies, in which real actors played alongside computer-generated actresses. The code was only partially successful. Because while it did accurately predict the success of new movies in relation to one other, it failed to include the overwhelming popularity of re-releases of films from the past—films starring Bette Davis, Giulietta Masina, Meryl Streep: women who at least on screen were still flesh and blood. Theatres played retrospectives. On Amazon, books by female authors topped the charts. Sales of albums by women vocalists surged. We thirsted for another sex. I watched, read and listened like everyone else, and in between I cherished any media on which I found images or recordings of my wife. I was angry for not having made more. I looked at the same photos and watched the same clips over and over again. I memorized my wife’s Facebook timeline and tagged all her Tweets by date, theme and my own rating. When I went out, I would talk to the air as if she was walking beside me, sometimes quoting her actual words as answers to my questions and sometimes inventing my own as if she was a beloved character in an imagined novel. When people looked at me like I was crazy, I didn’t care. I wasn’t the only one. But, more importantly, my wife meant more to me than they did. I remembered times when we’d stroll through the park or down downtown sidewalks and I would be too ashamed to kiss her in the presence of strangers. Now, I would tell her that I love her in the densest crowd. I would ask her whether I should buy ketchup or mustard in the condiments aisle. She helped me pick out my clothes in the morning. She convinced me to eat healthy and exercise.
In November, I was in Bakshi’s apartment for the first time, waiting for a pizza delivery boy, when one of Bakshi’s friends who was browsing Reddit told us that the Tribe of Akna was starting a Kickstarter campaign in an attempt to buy the Republic of Suriname, rename it Xibalba and close its borders for all except the enlightened. Xibalba would have no laws, Salvador Abaroa said in a message on the site. He was banging his gong as he did. Everything would be legal, and anyone who pledged $100 would receive a two-week visa to this new "Mayan Buddhist Eden". If you pledged over $10,000, you would receive citizenship. “Everything in life is destroyed by energy,” Abaroa said. “But let the energy enlighten you before it consumes your body. Xibalba is finite life unbound.” Bakshi’s phone buzzed. The pizza boy had sent an email. He couldn’t get upstairs, so Bakshi and I took the elevator to the building’s front entrance. The boy’s face was so white that I saw it as soon as the elevator doors slid open. Walking closer, I saw that he was powdered. His cheeks were also rouged, and he was wearing cranberry coloured lipstick, a Marilyn Monroe wig and a short black skirt. Compared to his face, his thin legs looked like incongruously dark popsicle sticks. Bakshi paid for the pizza and added another five dollars for the tip. The boy batted his fake eyelashes and asked if maybe he could do something to earn a little more. “What do you mean?” I asked. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I could come upstairs and clean the place up a little. You two live alone?” Bakshi passed me the two pizza boxes—They felt hot in my hands.—and dug around in his wallet. “It’s not just the two of us,” I said. The boy smiled. “That’s OK. I’ve done parties before if that’s what you’re into.” I saw the reaction on Bakshi’s face, and I saw the boy’s grotesque caricature of a woman. “There’s condoms and lube in the car,” the boy said, pointing to a sedan with a pizza spray-painted across its side parked by the curb. “My boss says I can take up to two hours but it’s not like he uses a stopwatch.” I stepped on Bakshi’s foot and shouldered him away. He was still fiddling with his wallet. “We’re not interested,” I said to the boy. He just shrugged. “Suit yourselves. If you change your mind, order another pizza and ask for Ruby.” The elevator dinged and the doors opened. As we shuffled inside, I saw Bakshi’s cheeks turn red. “I’m not actually—” he mumbled, but I didn’t let him finish. What had bothered me so much about the boy wasn’t the way he looked or acted; in fact, it wasn’t really the boy at all. He was just trying to make a buck. What bothered me was how ruthlessly we’d already begun to exploit each other.
For those of us who were heterosexual, sex was a definite weakness. I missed it. I would never have it with a woman again. The closest substitute was pornography, whose price rose with its popularity, but which, at least for me, now came scented with the unpleasantness of historicity and nostalgia. Videos and photos, not to mention physical magazines, were collector’s items in the same way that we once collected coins or action figures. The richest men bought up the exclusive rights to their favourite porn stars and guarded them by law with a viciousness once reserved for the RIAA and MPAA. Perhaps exclusivity gave them a possessive satisfaction. In response, we pirated whatever we could and fought for a pornographic public domain. Although new pornography was still being produced, either with the help of the same virtual technology they used for mainstream movies or with the participation of young men in costume, it lacked the taste of the originals. It was like eating chocolate made without cocoa. The best pornography, and therefore the best sex, became the pornography of the mind.
The Tribe of Akna reached its Kickstarter goal in early December. On December 20, I went to church for the first time since getting married because that was the theoretical date that my wife—along with every other woman—was supposed to have given birth. I wanted to be alone with others. Someone posted a video on TikTok from Elia Kazan’s On The Waterfront, dubbing over Marlon Brando’s speech to say: “You don’t understand. I could’a had a piece of ass. I could’a been a school board member. I could’a been a son’s daddy”. It was juvenile and heartbreaking. By Christmas, the Surinamese government was already expelling its citizens, each of whom had theoretically been given a fraction of the funds paid to the government from the Tribe of Akna’s Kickstarter pool, and Salvador Abaroa’s lawyers were petitioning for international recognition of the new state of Xibalba. Neither Canada nor the United States opened diplomatic relations, but others did. I knew people who had pledged money, and when in January they disappeared on trips, I had no doubt to where. Infamy spread in the form of stories and urban legends. There’s no need for details. People disappeared, and ethicists wrote about the ethical neutrality of murder, arguing that because we were all slated to die, leaving the Earth barren in a century, destruction was a human inevitability, and what is inevitable can never be bad, even when it comes earlier than expected—even when it comes by force. Because, as a species, we hadn’t chosen destruction for ourselves, neither should any individual member of our species be able to choose now for himself. To the ethicists of what became known as the New Inevitability School, suicide was a greater evil than murder because it implied choice and inequality. If the ship was going down, no one should be allowed to get off. A second wave of suicides coincided with the debate, leading many governments to pass laws making suicide illegal. But how do you punish someone who already wants to die? In China: by keeping him alive and selling him to Xibalba, where he becomes the physical plaything of its citizens and visa-holders. The Chinese was the first embassy to open in Xibalban Paramaribo.
The men working on Kurt Schwaller’s theory of everything continued working, steadily adding new variables to their equations, complicating their calculations in the hopes that someday the variable they added would be the final one and the equation would yield an answer. “It’s pointless,” Bakshi would comment after reading about one of the small breakthroughs they periodically announced. “Even if they do manage to predict something, anything, it won’t amount to anything more than the painfully obvious. And after decades of adding and subtracting their beans, they’ll come out of their Los Alamos datalabs like groundhogs into a world blanketed by storm clouds and conclude, finally and with plenty of self-congratulations, that it’s about to fucking rain.”
It rained a lot in February. It was one of the warmest Februaries in Toronto’s history. Sometimes I went for walks along the waterfront, talking to my wife, listening to Billie Holiday and trying to recall as many female faces as I could. Ones from the distant past: my mother, my grandmothers. Ones from the recent past: the woman whose life my wife saved on the way to the hospital, the Armenian woman with the film magazine and the injured son, the Jamaican woman, Bakshi’s wife. I focused on their faces, then zoomed out to see their bodies. I carried an umbrella but seldom opened it because the pounding of the raindrops against the material distorted my mental images. I saw people rush across the street holding newspapers above their heads while dogs roamed the alleyways wearing nothing at all. Of the two, it was dogs that had the shorter time left on Earth, and if they could let the rain soak their fur and drip off their bodies, I could surely let it run down my face. It was first my mother and later my wife who told me to always cover up in the rain, “because moisture causes colds,” but I was alone now and I didn’t want to be separated from the falling water by a sheet of glass anymore. I already was cold. I saw a man sit down on a bench, open his briefcase, pack rocks into it, then close it, tie it to his wrist, check his watch and start to walk into the polluted waters of Lake Ontario. Another man took out his phone and tapped his screen a few times. The man in the lake walked slowly, savouring each step. When the police arrived, sirens blaring, the water was up to his neck. I felt guilty for watching the three officers splash into the lake after him. I don’t know what happened after that because I turned my back and walked away. I hope they didn’t stop him. I hope he got to do what he wanted to do.
“Screw the police.” Bakshi passed me a book. “You should read this,” he said. It was by a professor of film and media studies at a small university in Texas. There was a stage on the cover, flanked by two red curtains. The photo had been taken from the actors’ side, looking out at an audience that the stage lights made too dark to see. The title was Hiding Behind The Curtains. I flipped the book over. There was no photo of the author. “It’s a theory,” Bakshi said, “that undercuts what Abaroa and the Inevitabilists are saying. It’s a little too poetic in parts but—listen, you ever read Atlas Shrugged?” I said I hadn’t. “Well, anyway, what this guy says is that what if instead of our situation letting us do anything we want, it’s actually the opposite, a test to see how we act when we only think that we’re doomed. I mean what if the women who died in March, what if they’re just—” “Hiding behind the curtains,” I said. He bit his lower lip. “It sounds stupid when you say it like that but, as a metaphor, it has a kind of elegance, right?” I flipped through the book, reading a few sentences at random. It struck me as neo-Christian. “Isn’t this a little too spiritual for you? I thought we were all locked into one path,” I said. “I thought that, too, but lately I’ve been able to do things—things that I didn’t really want to do.” For a second I was concerned. “Nothing bad,” he said. “I mean I’ve felt like I’m locked into doing one thing, say having a drink of water, but I resist and pour myself a glass of orange juice instead.” I shook my head. “It’s hard to explain,” he said. That’s how most theories ended, I thought: reason and evidence up to a crucial point, and then it gets so personal that it’s hard to explain. You either make the jump or you don’t. “Just read it,” he said. “Please read it. You don’t have to agree with it, I just want to get your opinion, an objective opinion.”
I never did read the book, and Bakshi forgot about it, too, but that day he was excited and happy, and those were rare feelings. I was simultaneously glad for him and jealous. Afterwards, we went out onto the balcony and drank Czech beer until morning. When it got cool, we put on our coats. It started to drizzle so we wore blue plastic suits like the ones they used to give you on boat rides in Niagara Falls. When it was time to go home, I was so drunk I couldn’t see straight. I almost got into a fight, the first one of my life, because I bumped into a man on the street and told him to get the fuck out of my way. I don’t remember much more of my walk home. The only reason I remember Behind The Curtains at all is because when I woke up in the afternoon it was the first thing that my hung over brain recognized. It was lying on the floor beside the bed. Then I opened the blinds covering my bedroom window and, through my spread fingers that I’d meant to use as a shield from the first blast of daylight, I saw the pincers for the first time.
They’d appeared while I was asleep. I turned on the television and checked my phone. The media and the internet were feverish, but nobody knew what the thing was, just a massive, vaguely rectangular shape blotting out a strip of the sky. NASA stated that it had received no extraterrestrial messages to coincide with the appearance. Every government claimed ignorance. The panel discussions on television only worsened my headache. Bakshi emailed me links to photos from Mumbai, Cape Town, Sydney and Mexico City, all showing the same shape; or rather one of a pair of shapes, for there were two of them, one on each side of the Earth, and they’d trapped our planet between themselves like gargantuan fingers clutching an equally gargantuan ping-pong ball. That’s why somebody came up with the term “the pincers”. It stuck. Because I’d slept in last night’s clothes I was already dressed, so I ran down the stairs and out of my apartment building to get a better look at them from the parking lot. You’re not supposed to look at the sun, but I wasn’t the only one breaking that rule. There were entire crowds with upturned faces in the streets. If the pincers, too, could see, they would perhaps be as baffled by us as we were of them: billions of tiny specks all over the surface of this ping-pong ball gathering in points on a grid, coagulating into large puddles that vanished overnight only to reassemble in the morning. In the following days, scientists scrambled to study the pincers and their potential effects on us, but they discovered nothing. The pincers did nothing. They emitted nothing, consumed nothing. They simply were. And they could not be measured or detected in any way other than by eyesight. When we shot rays at them, the rays continued on their paths unaffected, as if nothing was there. The pincers did, however, affect the sun’s rays coming towards us. They cut up our days. The sun would rise, travel over the sky, hide behind a pincer—enveloping us in a second night—before revealing itself again as a second day. But if the pincers’ physical effect on us was limited to its blockage of light, their mental effects on us were astoundingly severe. For many, this was the sign they’d been waiting for. It brought hope. It brought gloom. It broke and confirmed ideas that were hard to explain. In their ambiguity, the pincers could be anything, but in their strangeness they at least reassured us of the reality of the strange times in which we were living. Men walked away from the theory of everything, citing the pincers as the ultimate variable that proved the futility of prognostication. Others took up the calculations because if the pincers could appear, what else was out there in our future? However, ambiguity can only last for a certain period. Information narrows possibilities. On April 1, 2026, every Twitter account in the world received the following message:
as you can see this message is longer than the allowed one hundred forty characters time and space are malleable you thought you had one hundred years but prepare for the plucking
The sender was @. The message appeared in each user’s feed at exactly the same time and in his first language, without punctuation. Because of the date most of us thought it was a hoax, but the developers of Twitter denied this vehemently. It wasn’t until a court forced them to reveal their code, which proved that a message of that length and sent by a blank user was impossible, that our doubts ceased. ##!! took bets on what the message meant. Salvador Abaroa broadcast a response into space in a language he called Bodhi Mayan, then addressed the rest of us in English, saying that in the pincers he had identified an all-powerful prehistoric fire deity, described in an old Sanskrit text as having the resemblance of mirrored black fangs, whose appearance signified the end of time. “All of us will burn,” he said, “but paradise shall be known only to those who burn willingly.” Two days later, The Tribe of Akna announced that in one month it would seal Xibalba from the world and set fire to everything and everyone in it. For the first time, its spokesman said, an entire nation would commit suicide as one. Jonestown was but a blip. As a gesture of goodwill, he said that Xibalba was offering free immolation visas to anyone who applied within the next week. The New Inevitability School condemned the plan as “offensively unethical” and inequalitist and urged an international Xibalban boycott. Nothing came of it. When the date arrived, we watched with rapt attention on live streams and from the vantage points of circling news planes as Salvador Abaroa struck flint against steel, creating the spark that caught the char cloth, starting a fire that blossomed bright crimson and in the next weeks consumed all 163,821 square kilometres of the former Republic of Suriname and all 2,500,000 of its estimated Xibalban inhabitants. Despite concerns that the fire would spread beyond Xibalba’s borders, The Tribe of Akna had been careful. There were no accidental casualties and no unplanned property damage. No borders were crossed. Once the fire burned out, reporters competed to be first to capture the mood on the ground. Paramaribo resembled the smouldering darkness of a fire pit.
It was a few days later while sitting on Bakshi’s balcony, looking up at the pincers and rereading a reproduction of @’s message—someone had spray-painted it across the wall of a building opposite Bakshi’s—that I remembered Iris. The memory was so absorbing that I didn’t notice when Bakshi slid open the balcony door and sat down beside me, but I must have been smiling because he said, “I don’t mean this the wrong way, but you look a little loony tonight. Seriously, man, you do not look sufficiently freaked out.” I’d remembered Iris before, swirling elements of her plain face, but now I also remembered her words and her theory. I turned to Bakshi, who seemed to be waiting for an answer to his question, and said, “Let’s get up on the roof of this place.” He grabbed my arm and held on tightly. “I’m not going to jump, if that’s what you mean.” It wasn’t what I meant, but I asked, “why not?” He said, “I don’t know. I know we’re fucked as a species and all that, but I figure if I’m still alive I might as well see what happens next, like in a bad movie you want to see through to the end.” I promised him that I wasn’t going to jump, either. Then I scrambled inside his apartment, grabbed my hat and jacket from the closet by the front door and put them on while speed walking down the hall, toward the fire escape. I realized I’d been spending a lot of time here. The alarm went off as soon I pushed open the door with my hip but I didn’t care. When Bakshi caught up with me, I was already outside, leaping up two stairs at a time. The metal construction was rusted. The treads wobbled. On the roof, the wind nearly blew my hat off and it was so loud I could have screamed and no one would have heard me. Holding my hat in my hands, I crouched and looked out over the twinkling city spread out in front of me. It looked alive in spite of the pincers in the sky. “Let’s do something crazy,” I yelled. Bakshi was still catching his breath behind me. “What, like this isn’t crazy enough?” The NHL may have been gone but my hat still bore the Maple Leafs logo, as quaint and obsolete by then as the Weimar Republic in the summer of 1945. “When’s the last time you played ball hockey?” I asked. Bakshi crouched beside me. “You’re acting weird. And I haven’t played ball hockey in ages.” I stood up so suddenly that Bakshi almost fell over. This time I knew I was smiling. “So call your buddies,” I said. “Tell them to bring their sticks and their gear and to meet us in front of the ACC in one hour.” Bakshi patted me on the back. Toronto shone like jewels scattered over black velvet. “The ACC’s been closed for years, buddy. I think you’re really starting to lose it.” I knew it was closed. “Lose what?” I asked. “It’s closed and we’re going to break in.”
The chains broke apart like shortbread. The electricity worked. The clouds of dust made me sneeze. We used duffel bags to mark out the goals. We raced up and down the stands and bent over, wheezing at imaginary finish lines. We got into the announcer’s booth and called each other cunts through the microphone. We ran, fell and shot rubber pucks for hours. We didn’t keep score. We didn’t worry. “What about the police?” someone asked. The rest of us answered: “Screw the fucking police!”
And when everybody packed up and went home, I stayed behind.
“Are you sure you’re fine?” Bakshi asked.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Because I have to get back so that I can shower, get changed and get to work.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said.
“And you promise me you’ll catch a cab?”
“I’m not suicidal.”
He fixed his grip on his duffel bag. “I didn’t say you were. I was just checking.”
“I want to see the end of the movie, too,” I said.
He saluted. I watched him leave. When he was gone, my wife walked down from the nosebleeds and took a seat beside me. “There’s someone I want to tell you about,” I said. She lifted her chin like she always does when something unexpected catches her interest, and scooted closer. I put my arm across the back of her beautiful shoulders. She always liked that, even though the position drives me crazy because I tend to talk a lot with my hands. “Stuck at Leafs-Wings snorefest,” she said. “Game sucks but I love the man sitting beside me.” (January 15, 2019. Themes: hockey, love, me. Rating: 5/5). “Her name was Iris,” I said.
Iris “What if the whole universe was a giant garden—like a hydroponics thing, like how they grow tomatoes and marijuana, so there wouldn’t need to be any soil, all the nutrients would just get injected straight into the seeds or however they do it—or, even better, space itself was the soil, you know how they talk about dark matter being this invisible and mysterious thing that exists out there and we don’t know what it does, if it actually affect anything, gravity…”
She blew a cloud of pot smoke my way that made me cough and probably gave her time to think. She said, “So dark matter is like the soil, and in this space garden of course they don’t grow plants but something else.”
“Just eyes, or body parts in general?” I asked.
“Just eyes.”
The music from the party thumped. “But the eyes are our planets, like Mars is an eye, Neptune is an eye, and the Earth is an eye, maybe even the best eye.”
“The best for what? Who’s growing them?”
“God,” she said.
I took the joint from her and took a long drag. “I didn’t know you believed in God.”
“I don’t, I guess—except when I’m on dope. Anyway, you’ve got to understand me because when I say God I don’t mean like the old man with muscles and a beard. This God, the one I’m talking about, it’s more like a one-eyed monster.”
“Like a cyclops?” I asked.
“Yeah, like that, like a cyclops. So it’s growing these eyes in the dark matter in space—I mean right now, you and me, we’re literally sitting on one of these eyes and we’re contributing to its being grown because the nutrients the cyclops God injected into them, that’s us.”
“Why does God need so many extra eyes?”
“It’s not a question of having so many of them, but more about having the right one, like growing the perfect tomato.” I gave her back the joint and leaned back, looking at the stars. “Because every once in a while the cyclops God goes blind, its eye stops working—not in the same way we go blind, because the cyclops God doesn’t see reality in the same way we see reality—but more like we see through our brains and our eyes put together.”
“Like x-ray vision?” I asked.
“No, not like that at all,” she said.
“A glass eye?”
“Glass eyes are fake.”
“OK,” I said, “so maybe try something else. Give me a different angle. Tell me what role we’re playing in all of this because right now it seems that we’re pretty insignificant. I mean, you said we’re nutrients but what’s the difference between, say, Mars and Earth in terms of being eyes?”
She looked over at me. “Are you absolutely sure you want to hear about this?”
“I am,” I said.
“You don’t think it’s stupid?”
“Compared to what?”
“I don’t know, just stupid in general.”
“I don’t.”
“I like you,” she said.
“Because I don’t think you’re stupid?” I asked.
“That’s just a bonus. I mean more that you’re up here with me instead of being down there with everyone, and we’re talking and even though we’re not in love I know somehow we’ll never forget each other for as long as we live.”
“It’s hard to forget being on the surface of a giant floating eyeball.”
“You’re scared that you won’t find anyone to love,” she said suddenly, causing me to nearly choke on my own saliva. “Don’t ask me how I know—I just do. But before I go any further about the cyclops God, I want you to know that you’ll find someone to love and who’ll love you back, and whatever happens you’ll always have that because no one can take away the past.”
“You’re scared of going blind,” I said.
“I am going blind.”
“Not yet.”
“And I’m learning not to be scared because everything I see until that day will always belong to me.”
“The doctors said it would be gradual,” I reminded her.
“That’s horrible.”
“Because you wouldn’t want to find someone to love and then know that every day you wake up the love between you grows dimmer and dimmer, would you?”
“I guess not,” I said.
“Wouldn’t you much rather feel the full strength of that love up to and including in the final second before the world goes black?”
“It would probably be painful to lose it all at once like that.”
“Painful because you actually had something to lose. For me, I know I can’t wish away blindness, but I sure wish that the last image I ever see—in that final second before my world goes black—is the most vivid and beautiful image of all.”
Because I didn’t know what to say to that, I mumbled: “I’m sorry.”
“That I’m going blind?”
“Yeah, and that we can’t grow eyes.”
This time I looked over, and she was the one gazing at the stars. “Before, you asked if we were insignificant,” she said. “But because you’re sorry—that’s kind of why we’re the most significant of all, why Earth is better than the other planets.”
“For the cyclops God?”
“He cares about my feelings?”
“Not in the way you’re probably thinking, but in a different way that’s exactly what the cyclops God cares about most because that’s what it’s looking for in an eye. All the amazing stuff we’ve ever built, all our ancient civilizations and supercomputers and cities you can see from the Moon—that’s just useless cosmetics to the cyclops God, except in how all of it has made us feel about things that aren’t us.”
“I think you’re talking about morality.”
“I think so, too.”
“So by feeling sorry for you I’m showing compassion, and the cyclops God likes compassion?”
“That’s not totally wrong but it’s a little upside down. We have this black matter garden and these planets the cyclops God has grown as potential eyes to replace its own eye once it stops working, but its own eye is like an eye and a brain mixed together. Wait—” she said.
I waited.
“Imagine a pair of tinted sunglasses.”
I imagined green-tinted ones.
“Now imagine that instead of the lenses being a certain colour, they’re a certain morality, and if you wear the glasses you see the world tinted according to that morality.”
I was kind of able to imagine that. I supposed it would help show who was good and who was bad. “But the eye and the tinted glasses are the same thing in this case.”
“Exactly, there’s no one without the other, and what makes the tint special is us—not that the cyclops God cares at all about individuals any more than we care about individual honey bees. That’s why he’s kind of a monster.”
“Isn’t people’s morality always changing, though?”
“Only up to a point. Green is green even when you have a bunch of shades of it, and a laptop screen still works fine even with a few dead pixels, right? And the more globalized and connected we get, the smoother our morality gets, but if you’re asking more about how our changing morals work when the cyclops God finally comes to take its eye, I assume it has a way to freeze our progress. To cut our roots. Then it makes some kind of final evaluation. If it’s satisfied it takes the planet and sticks it into its eye socket, and if it doesn’t like us then it lets us alone, although because we’re frozen and possibly rootless I suppose we die—maybe that’s what the other planets are, so many of them in space without any sort of life. Cold, rejected eyes.”
From sunglasses to bees to monitors in three metaphors, and now we were back to space. This was getting confusing. The stars twinkled, some of them dead, too: their light still arriving at our eyes from sources that no longer existed. “That’s kind of depressing,” I said to end the silence.
“What about it?”
“Being bees,” I said, “that work for so long at tinting a pair of glasses just so that a cyclops God can try them on.”
“I don’t think it’s any more depressing than being a tomato.”
“I’ve never thought about that.”
“You should. It’s beautiful, like love,” she said. “Because if you think about it, being a tomato and being a person are really quite similar. They’re both about growing and existing for the enjoyment of someone else. As a tomato you’re planted, you grow and mature and then an animal comes along and eats you. The juicier you look and the nicer you smell, the greater the chance that you’ll get plucked but also the more pleasure the animal will get from you. As a person, you’re also born and you grow up and you mature into a one of a kind personality with a one of a kind face, and then someone comes along and makes you fall in love with them and all the growing you did was really just for their enjoyment of your love.”
“Except love lasts longer than chewing a tomato.”
“Sometimes,” she said.
“And you have to admit that two tomatoes can’t eat each other the way two people can love each other mutually.”
“I admit that’s a good point,” she said.
“And what happens to someone who never gets fallen in love with?”
“The same thing that happens to a tomato that never gets eaten or an eye that the cyclops God never takes. They die and they rot, and they darken and harden, decomposing until they don’t look like tomatoes anymore. It’s not a nice fate. I’d rather live awhile and get eaten, to be honest.”
“As a tomato or person?”
I thought for a few seconds. “That explanation works for things on Earth, but nothing actually decomposes in space.”
“That’s why there are so many dead planets,” she said.
submitted by normancrane to stayawake [link] [comments]

2020.10.03 13:29 Pennywise_Poop_99 Mature naked mothers

As you all know, recently, the media has accused Eugenia of multiple offences, which have been proven valid. Eugenia's responses to her controversies have been meagre at best. I just wanted to say that we should treat these matters with a grain of salt. Granted, they are incredibly serious, so Eugenia must take accountability for them; however, she is, by no means, a normal-functioning adult.

  1. She has struggled against an eating disorder for most of her life, which has affected her cognitive skills severely. Early photos indicate that Eugenia was scrawny and obsessed with Bratz Dolls upon entering her youth; perhaps the disorder impacted her neurological development. Regardless of this assumption, low BMI can lead to cognitive decline, as it decreases haemoglobin count, a substance, found in the blood, that carries oxygen to the brain. [1] Malnourishment starves the brain of nutrients, as the body breaks itself down to remain afloat. Eugenia displays signs of mental deterioration, her failure to string a cohesive sentence together, for instance, so why wouldn't her condition affect her capacity to make rational decisions? After all, her IQ has dropped a few points since her illness, presumably, and anorexia warps its victim's perception. I doubt a healthy Eugenia would make the same judgments as the sick and infantilised woman before us. Why treat her as if she could?
  2. The abuse she suffered in the hands of family and strangers has left her in a childlike state, with poor judgement and values. Throughout her life, people have abused Eugenia. Beginning in babyhood. Mama Cooney neglected her child by laying her in a car seat, instead of a cot. [2] Eugenia had her first kiss with a random guy and without consent, failing to recognise the incident as sexual assault. Maybe these such situations were more frequent than Eugenia cared to reveal; during her early YouTube years, she
  1. Eugenia's Mother might be manipulating the situation behind-the-scenes. Based on the arguments above, Eugenia Cooney, despite being 26-year-old adult, is incredibly immature, naive, and easily manipulated, due to her eating disorder and upbringing. From this summary, we could conclude that Eugenia does not have full control over her social media. She depends upon her mother to provide for her- why not her career, too? Maybe, just maybe, Mama Cooney has been dictating all the offences and Eugenia is just her puppet, her Venus Angelic, her singing skylark, her tennis ball.
Essentially, we cannot trust Eugenia's resolutions because of her malnutrition and barbaric circumstances. That's all I wanted to say. Just to be clear, I AM NOT JUSTIFYING HER BEHAVIOUR IN ANY SHAPE OR FORM, only speculating the reasons for the absurdity in defence of the impeached.
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2020.09.19 12:11 Dickee33 Mature naked mothers

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