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In Celebration of Cinco De Mayo! Ajente.com derived from the word Agent in Spanish -- Agente. Replacing the G with a J is how we came up with the name Ajente.
Similar posts: erotic drawing
- Mood:lol
- Music:Robbie Williams
I assured them that little children are Gods innocent creations and that nothing they have done is wrong.
That night in my room at the rectory, as I performed my nightly masturbation, I thought about what I should do. I decided Id speak to Fr. James in the morning about filing a police report.
As I was beating my meat, I heard a childs voice. It is I, my priest.
At the foot of my bed stood two nude, olive-skinned angels a boy and a girl. I would guess they were about ten years old, and they were beautiful. They radiated innocence in their smiles and I wanted to touch and hug them. Of course, they werent children, but were angelic apparitions of the eternal St. Mary Magdeline.
I beckoned for these lovely angels to join me under the covers one on each side. I felt their silky smooth bodies against me as their tiny hands began to softly caress my belly and legs.
The boy-angel I had to remember that this was no child snuggled closer and traced light circles, butterfly soft, through my pubic hair. The sweet little girl-angel gently touched the tip of my cock, which sprang to life. she gasped and smiled! Three years into his public ministry, the angels said. Jesus decided to throw a party for me and his Apostles. I loved those guys and really looked forward to getting together.
Before the party, Jesus and I went out to the garden. He prayed some, and I could tell he was out of sorts. Magdeline to the rescue! I yanked down his robe, knelt before the Messiah and swallowed his cock whole. He hung onto my head while I deep-throated his turgid tool, and when he was about to come, I let him withdraw and shoot his sticky spunk all aver my face. Jesus got a few streaks of his jizz in my hair, a few pearl-drops in my left ear and a gob of goo that hung in thick strands down my chin, drooled down my neck and between my tits.
Fuck, J-Man, I said. m going to look fucked-up for the party. He started off on one of his My sperm is the seed of life for mankind rants and I told him to put a lid on it. I mean, I know Jesus is here on a mission, but, what the fuck!
The cute little boy-angel snuggled closer and continued playing with my cock-hair. Im sure glad these werent children or Id be in hot water, thats for sure. But they were the work of the Saint and a part of her ministry. I would never have sex with kids, I assure you. Angels are a different story.
The adorable young boy-angel crawled between my legs, and I saw his two large, brown eyes staring up at me. he said. Would it be a sin to touch this? he lightly stroked my penis.
My holy St. Magdeline, I said. Be it done unto me according to thy will.
The youngster laid his head on my thigh, gazed intently at my organ and began lightly petting my pud.
he exclaimed. Look at how big youre getting.So Jesus and I went into the party room thats got this long table loaded with food and theres this flute lute musician and most of the apostles are already shit-faced. Everybody eats til theyre stuffed; then Jesus does hi, This is my body and this is my blood thing and now its time for some fun!
I jumped up on the table, hoisted up my skirts and said, Get with the program, ass-holes! This is supposed to be a party.
I did this really hot strip-tease on the table and the apostles whistled and hooted with every piece of clothing I tossed off. Jimmy jumps up and joins me on the table and he starts stripping, too. Soon were both down to loin cloths and the guys are chanting, Take it off. Take it off.I slip off my loin cloth and drape it over Petes bald head. Jimmy tosses his at Jesus, who gives it a big sniff and the whole place breaks out laughing.
About this time, Andy stokes up his bong and passes it around the table. I back up to Jimmy were both buck-ass naked and rub my ass against his dick. Pow! His peckers hard as wood.
s do the doggie, I say, looking over my shoulder. Heres the thing about our little St. James: comes to sex, you dont got to tell him twice. The musicians bring it up a notch, the apostles are getting stoned and Jimmies love muscle is knocking at my back door.
This party is starting to shape up!
As the luscious young boy-angel continued to lightly stroke my dick, the little sweetie next to me said, Father, may I climb on top of you and play with you? May I lick your penis?
Had these been real children, I doubt Id have approved, but these were the holy apparitions of St. Mary Magdeline, patroness of the New Covenant, so what the fuck.
Of course, my child, I said. Her angel body, light and soft as a puppy, slid onto me. Her face was at my glistening love pole and her sweet girl-child ass and kitten-like pussy were at my face.
St. James dips his magic piss-wand in my snatch and starts pumping like a greyhound. When hes ready to come showoff he yanks his dork out and shoots a stream of his ball-yogurt on my ass-cheeks. I turn around with this look on my face and I gobble up his man-meat and suck him bone-fuckin dry.
Jesus and the boys are really mellow, but Im just starting to get hot. I say. Bukkake break! Luke is the first to look up at me.
Shit, yes, he said and everyone got naked!
As these two lovely angel-children innocently stroked my dick and fondled my balls, I let them touch my in ways unimaginable. My penis hardened. Could I fuck these two trusting angels? Could I obey the glorious St. Mary Magdeline?
I pulled the little girl-angel lying on top of me by her small legs and brought her baby-smooth twat to my mouth. I slowly, gently licked her tiny ass-hole and cherry-smooth pink pussy lips.
Oh, Father, she said. This feels so good. Thank you.
At the same time, the boy-angel-child began licking and sucking on my balls and cock. I reached down to stroke the boys hair and rub the girls soft, little buns as they worked me to a fucking frenzy.
Jesus and some of the naked twelve Apostles were already hard, but a couple needed my help. I tell em to stand around the table and I go to each one and do a little push-pull fuck face just enough so I got thirteen purple dicks standing tall as church steeples.
At one point theyre all beatin their meat and I go up to Judas to give him a little help with my droolin lips and he gives me this eat shit look. I tell Judas he can take his knarly ass the fuck outta here, which he does. Judas is a friggin prude!
So now everyones hard as rocks, theyre strokin their dicks and getting ready for some fun. I lie down on the table, face-up, and say, s see what you got! Show me some sperm! that sort of thing.
Jesus, ever the fuckin Messiah, says, My brothers, as we cum together on the nude body of the Magdeline, may your jism become the seed of the New Covenant.Next, he pumps his cock a few times and fires off a thick spray of juicy Jesus-cum that lands on my pussy and drips between my legs. Upon this pussy, he says. I build my fuckin church.With that, its cock-pumping, ball-bouncing grunting and moaning from Jesus and the Apostles, most of whom are oozing threads of pre-cum onto the table and my naked body.
So Im lying there, turned on as all hell, waiting for my cum-bath. Some guys pump like crazy, others are stroking slowly, eyes toward heaven or watching my twitchin snatch whatever. My little clit is peeping out from under its tiny hood, my gash is overflowing with love-juce and Im fuckin hot!
I start to writhe on the table, spread my legs wide apart and open my mouth wide. Then, Bam! at the exact same instant, they give a collective grunt, and then all I hear is, Fuck! Shit! Oh yes! I go from dry to drenched in about five seconds. Theres jizz flying everywhere. My hair, my face, my tits, stomach, cunt, thighs legs, toes friggin everywhere! Its raining man-gravy and Im lovin it! I take one big gob from St. Peter in my mouth and gargle it down. I am nothin but fuckin cum from head to toe and I am ecstatic!
After a few minutes, I see dicks starting to go limp. Come on, ass-holes! Is that all you got? I say. I get another squirt or two and thats pretty much it.
How about rubbing your fuck-wads on my slipery skin, I say. Jesus and a few of the guys slide their fingers through the love-honey and rub it all aver my face and tits. I get a quick finger-fuck from Dr. Luke.
I look up at Jesus and say, How am I going to get this sticky mess off me? As if on cue, Jesus grabs his cock and starts to pee a hot, yellow stream on my belly. In a flash, the whole lot of em is hosing me down with piss. This golden shower feels fuckin awesome.
Matthew, always a wise-ass, says, Hail, Mary! Open wide! I open my mouth and he pisses a stream right in. Man, I spit that pee out, pronto! Ass-hole! Im ready to kick his butt!
Jesus the peacemaker says. Kiss and make up.I crawl over to St. Matthew, take his limp dick in my mouth and give it a little nibble. What the fuck! he shouts, and then we both break out laughing. I love these guys, I really do.
So everyones sitting naked around the table, wasted and fucked-out. Im in Jesus lap. I wish that the camera had been invented, because some dick-head would probably paint this scene in a few hundred years and get the thing totally wrong. No painting will be able to capture the true spirit of Jesus last supper and fuck-fest.
Jesus kisses my cum-soaked hair, looks up and says, Do this in memory of me.
*Become a Sex Minister in the Erotic Order of St. Mary Magdeline*
The heavenly "children" continued to fondle and lick my penis, scrotum and bung-hole and Im bursting at the seams! My cock twitched, my balls contracted and my ass-hole went tight. I fired off salvo after salve of red-hot sperm into the air.
Some landed on the sweet little angel-girls back, wings and hair. A few squirts splashed onto the angelic boys face and the rest formed sticky pools on my bed and floor.
Oh, Father, the adorable girl-angel said, my cum dripping onto her face. This is so wonderful!Yes, wonderful, said the jizz-covered boy-angel.
With that, the two cum-stained innocents were gone and I was left alone to ponder the meaning of St. Mary Magdelines latest revelations. The New Covenant seem to be instructing us to look at our sexuality in a whole new way.
Similar posts: erotic drawing
- Mood:bad
- Music:K-MARO
The Cintas Foundation (www.cintasfoundation.org) will present the 2009 William B. Warren Lifetime Achievement Award in Music Composition to Cuban composer Aurelio de la Vega. The award is named after Cintas Foundation Chairman William B. Warren, who has led the foundation for the last 20 years as is its second president.
Aurelio de la Vega was born in Havana, Cuba, in 1925 and studied at the University of Havana (Ph.D. in Law), at the Conservatorio Ada Iglesias (Ph.D., Music Composition) and, independently, with Fritz Kramer (Havana) and Ernst Toch (Los Angeles). De la Vega settled in California in 1959 and became distinguished professor of Music and the director of the Electronic Music Studio at California State University, Northridge. His vast catalogue of works encompasses compositions in all media except opera. He has been very influential in the U.S. musical scene, promoting the contemporary classical music of Latin America. Throughout his teaching years and in the years since his retirement, de la Vega has been an active composer as well as a lecturer in the field of music. His list of compositions includes symphonic pieces, chamber music works, solo instrumental pieces, vocal works, piano, guitar and ballet music and electronic compositions. Major orchestras and prominent soloists throughout the world have performed his works. The composer has been the recipient of many prizes and distinctions, including the Friedheim Award of the Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts, which he has received twice. In 2000, de la Vega was honored by the Library of Congress when his graphic score, The Magic Labyrinth, was included in the librarys 733-page volume, Music History from Primary Sources. Among the music greats included with him were Bartók, Beethoven, Brahms, Chopin, Gershwin, Handel, Liszt, Mahler, Mendelssohn, Mozart, Puccini, Stravinsky and Verdi.
As one of the best known Cuban composers of his generation, Aurelio de la Vega offers a dramatic, intense and expressive musical style, said Hortensia E. Sampedro, president of the Cintas Foundation in announcing the award. We are pleased to recognize the Maestro for a career that spans more than 50 years and includes recognition from around the world and most recently a nomination for a Latin Grammy for Best Classical Contemporary Composition for his piece Variación del Recuerdo (Variations of a Memory).
The award will be presented at a ceremony at the Frost Art Museum of Florida International University on May 20, 2009 at 7:00 pm. The public is invited.
About The Cintas Foundation
The Cintas Foundation was established with funds from the estate of the late Oscar B. Cintas (b. Sagua La Grande, Cuba 1887- d. New York City, 1957), a prominent industrialist and patron of arts. Since 1963, the Cintas Foundation has awarded more than 300 feelowships to artists of Cuban lineage who reside outside of Cuba. The first William B. Warren Lifetime Fellow in Music was granted to Bebo Valdes. Past music fellows have included Sergio Barroso, Mario Bauza (Known as the father of AfroCuban jazz), Jose Bernardo, Aldo Rafael Forte, Orlando Jacinto Garcia, Tania Leon and Julian Orbon, among many others.
About the Frost Art Museum - Florida International University
The Frost is an AAM accredited museum and Smithsonian affiliate. The museum is located at 10975 SW 17thSt across from the Blue garage and adjacent to the Wertheim Performing Arts Center on the University Park campus. Its hours of operation are Tuesday through Saturday 10 a.m. - 5 p.m. and Sunday noon-5 p.m. The Frost is closed on Mondays and most legal holidays. For more information, please visit www.frostartmuseum.org or call 305-348-2890.
Similar posts: erotic drawing
- Mood:normal
- Music:Backstreet Boys
For counterpoint, the third speaker on this panel was David Thomas, legendary frontman of the great band Pere Ubu. Thomas delivered what can only be called a RANT. It was energetic, hilarious, impassioned, self-conscious and self-reflexive yet entirely sincere, and utterly wrongheaded. Basically, Thomas argued that (as the Romantic poets put it) we murder to dissect. Thomas said that all the talks he had heard in the course of the Pop Conference, brilliant as they were, in effect negated the genius of the creators whose work was being defined, delimited, and analyzed. He especially objected to any attempts to musical creators, citing specifically Robert Finks discussion of masochistic sentiment in the music of Marvin Gaye (this was from a panel that, unfortunately, I missed). He also took a strong (as opposed to ) line, denouncing critics who spent their time analyzing and praising the work of pop icons like Britney Spears, whom he regards as commercial products, rather than artists of genius. His prime example, throughout the talk, was the Raincoats he spoke of his love for this band, and said that critics who talked about them in terms of feminism and womens empowerment were by that very fact negating and besmirching the entirely singular genius of the band and its members.
Now, I thought that Thomas talk was wonderful, in much the same way that Pere Ubus music is wonderful. A lot of this had to do with Thomas performativity as a speaker (or singer), the way that he seemed at the same time utterly hysterical, yet clearly in control and very precise in what he was saying. But this doesnt mean that I buy his argument. To understand feminist empowerment as a context for the Raincoats music does not mean to reduce the Raincoats to being merely another instance of generic politically correct feminism. If done non-reductively, this sort of identification enriches, rather than restricting, our enjoyment of the Raincoats and our sense of what they are doing. All art, popular or elite, depends precisely upon the tensions between the unique or singular, on the one hand, and the generic or familiarly categorized, on the other. (This is precisely what is at issue in Kants notion of the aesthetic as involving universal communicability, while at the same time being singular and ungrounded). To reduce the Raincoats to their singularity alone is as misguided as to reduce them to their generic characteristics alone. If mere generic familiarity does not tell us anything new, absolute singularity does not communicate at all. The spark of aesthetic rapture can only come about when a work is at the same time both communicative (by means of being generic) and singular (or exceeding the bounds of generic recognition, by proposing something new). Thomas purism fails because it ignores one side of this relation without the tension between the generic and the singular, the aesthetic force field simply collapses. In the QA, one person in the audience, supporting Thomas, invoked Norman O. Brown to say that we ought to be fully and bodily involved in all our experiences, rather than distanced and contemplative. Hesmondhalgh, in response, said I hate that shit he said that he was fully and bodily involved when he played soccer, but he certainly didnt want every moment of his life to be like this. And at the end of the QA, Robert Christgau maintained (not nastily, but just in a matter-of-fact tone) that in the last ten years, Britney Spears had produced better music than David Thomas; Thomas nodded and shrugged, but didnt respond (instead, the moderator called for a few moments of silence so that everybody could cool down).
The next panel I went to was called Spectacular Diva Excess a topic I find entirely irresistible. Maureen Mahon gave an account of the career of Ronnie Spector, focusing on her miscegenated racial identity and on her bad girl image, and deployment of sexual suggestiveness, in pre-British Invasion rock of the early 1960s. (She also, unavoidably, spoke about Ronnies marriage to, and abuse by, Phil Spector). Mahon convincingly argued that Ronnie Spector deserves a larger place in the history of rock roll than she has been accorded heretofore: her singing style, and her dancing, were important, innovative, and influential alongside, and in addition to, the (more widely recognized) impact of Phil Spectors wall of sound. Tina Majkowski followed with a discussion of the stange identity play in Chers solo (post-Sonny) career. Chers signature songs, often performed together in a medley, (fictively) identified her as a Cherokee (), a Gypsy (Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves), and as a murderess (Dark Lady). This led to an oddly excessive and off-kilter performance of racial and ethnic difference. Majkowsi thereby discovered in Chers performances and videos something that is embarrassing and laughable, but that somehow cant simply be dismissed, because of how strongly it resonates within the racial and ethnic confusions of 20th century American culture. Lauren Onkey followed with a discussion of the vexing problem of Janis Joplin. Janis is a figure of sexual, sartorial, and narcotic excess, as well as vocal and performative excess. Yet her mythic reputation has turned into an irritating cliche, in the decades following her death; and the way her performance style is really a form of minstrelsy, in its imitation of African American blues singers, is all too obvious. Onkey explored various ways of rethinking Janis Joplin, rather than coming to any definitive conclusions; I found her talk compelling, because it helped me to articulate my own confusions about Joplin: I loved her and her music in my teens and twenties, but later I came to feel that I had become enamoured of her only because of my ignorance of black music. Finally, Lucy OBrien gave a talk about Damaged Divas, in the course of which she looked at Amy Winehouse, both as a singer and as a figure notorious for her drug dependencies and bad behavior, in the context of a tradition dating back at least to Billie Holiday and Edith Piaf. Must female singers lead such damaged lives, and dramatize that damage publically, in order for us to regard their emotional expression as ?
In the afternoon, I was the moderator for a panel on Viral Video. Richard Poplak discussed the phenomenon of sexually suggestive music videos that are broadcast and seen throughout the Arab world, including especially in extremely conservative countries like Saudi Arabia. These videos seem to provide an outlet for sexual expression that is otherwise forbidden; they are hated by religious conservatives, but financed and supported by elements in the Saudi ruling class that see in them a way of managing and channeling desires that otherwise might explode. SMS text messages can be sent commenting on the videos; through these, young people are able to flirt and otherwise express themselves in ways that would be forbidden in any more open and explicit context. One couldnt really call these videos and text messages but they do suggest the complex negotiations of feeling and expression that continue to occur even in societies. Carol Vernallis followed this with a discussion of the expressive power of music videos. She first made general comments about how music videos address their audiences, and create them as audiences; and went on to exemplify this with a close analysis of will.i.ams Yes We Can video for the Obama campaign. Though Vernallis didnt use the phrase, her discussion was consistent with Lauren Berlants notion of an affective public sphere, which was invoked by various speakers throughout the conference (including Barry Shanks presentation that I discuss above). The last speaker on the panel, Kurt B. Reighley, traced the strange history of a song by avant-garde Polish singer Urszula Dudziak, which was first picked up, and danced to, by drag queens in the Philippines during the Marcos era, but subsequently, much later (starting in 2007), became a mainstream dance craze thanks to its being featured on a Philippine game show: it has now spread around the world, appeared on TV in the Us and elsewhere, and inspired more than 17,000 youtube videos. Reighleys account of viral video proliferation made an interesting contrast to that of the will.i.am video discussed by Vernallis.
The next panel I went to was called Sex Machine. Charles Kronengold unearthed, and analyzed in depth, some of the strangest soul songs (from the 1970s) that I have ever heard. I cant reproduce the full subtlety and complexity of Kronengolds argument; but his key terms were articulation and disarticulation. In the course of articulating (i.e. expressing) feelings in these love songs, the musicians also articulated (literally in the sense of joining together) a number of widely disparate, and sometimes even incompatible, musical elements. Kronengold took apart these ungainly articulations, and then brought them together again, in order to evoke a sense of oblique affectivity (this is my phrase, not Kronengolds). Carl Wilson followed with a close look at the widespread use (one might even say, deliberate abuse) of Autotune software in recent pop music, especially hiphop. The current Autotune mania can be related to the use of falsetto and other sorts of voice alteration (like Zapp and Rogers use of the vocoder in the 1980s), predominently by men, throughout the history of soul and r b. This explicit denaturalization of the voice is affectively and erotically ambiguous, modulating machismo with vulnerability, and intimacy with robotic affectlessness and distance. I am not doing full justice to Wilsons argument one result of attending so many talks in a row is that I havent retained as many details as I would have liked but this is another talk which, despite the fuzziness of my explicit recall, continues to resonate richly in my mind. The last speaker on this panel was Daphne Carr, who speculated on our (meaning, music critics, and more generally, writers) autoerotic love affairs with our laptops. This talk was somewhat audience-involving and performative, as Carr asked everyone in the audience carrying a laptop to turn it on, and perform certain actions on her cues. The actions ranged from playing a few seconds of ones favorite mp3s, to allowing strangers to touch or caress ones laptop, to encircling the laptop in ones arms in a sort of protective cocoon. The point of all this was to think hard about how our laptops are not just tools we use, but (erotic as well as prosthetic) extensions of ourselves, and objects with which we interact in highly charged ways. Carr worked through ideas about the emotional costs, as well as the obvious benefits, of our monadic and work-obsessed (or work-avoidance-obsessed) cyborgian relationships with our machines. All in all, this was one of the most intriguing panels I attended; all three speakers spoke suggestively about how subjectivity is mediated and modulated through our technologies (including songwriting and song recording as technologies in their own right; and suggesting that there is no such thing as a pure subjectivity free of any such modulations and articulations).
I will post this now; the remaining sessions (one more Saturday afternoon, and two on Sunday) will be the subject of yet another post.
Similar posts: erotic drawing
- Mood:More emotions
- Music:Craig David
In the afternoon, I was the moderator for a panel on Viral Video. Richard Poplak discussed the phenomenon of sexually suggestive music videos that are broadcast and seen throughout the Arab world, including especially in extremely conservative countries like Saudi Arabia. These videos seem to provide an outlet for sexual expression that is otherwise forbidden; they are hated by religious conservatives, but financed and supported by elements in the Saudi ruling class that see in them a way of managing and channeling desires that otherwise might explode. SMS text messages can be sent commenting on the videos; through these, young people are able to flirt and otherwise express themselves in ways that would be forbidden in any more open and explicit context. One couldnt really call these videos and text messages but they do suggest the complex negotiations of feeling and expression that continue to occur even in societies. Carol Vernallis followed this with a discussion of the expressive power of music videos. She first made general comments about how music videos address their audiences, and create them as audiences; and went on to exemplify this with a close analysis of will.i.ams Yes We Can video for the Obama campaign. Though Vernallis didnt use the phrase, her discussion was consistent with Lauren Berlants notion of an affective public sphere, which was invoked by various speakers throughout the conference (including Barry Shanks presentation that I discuss above). The last speaker on the panel, Kurt B. Reighley, traced the strange history of a song by avant-garde Polish singer Urszula Dudziak, which was first picked up, and danced to, by drag queens in the Philippines during the Marcos era, but subsequently, much later (starting in 2007), became a mainstream dance craze thanks to its being featured on a Philippine game show: it has now spread around the world, appeared on TV in the Us and elsewhere, and inspired more than 17,000 youtube videos. Reighleys account of viral video proliferation made an interesting contrast to that of the will.i.am video discussed by Vernallis.
The next panel I went to was called Sex Machine. Charles Kronengold unearthed, and analyzed in depth, some of the strangest soul songs (from the 1970s) that I have ever heard. I cant reproduce the full subtlety and complexity of Kronengolds argument; but his key terms were articulation and disarticulation. In the course of articulating (i.e. expressing) feelings in these love songs, the musicians also articulated (literally in the sense of joining together) a number of widely disparate, and sometimes even incompatible, musical elements. Kronengold took apart these ungainly articulations, and then brought them together again, in order to evoke a sense of oblique affectivity (this is my phrase, not Kronengolds). Carl Wilson followed with a close look at the widespread use (one might even say, deliberate abuse) of Autotune software in recent pop music, especially hiphop. The current Autotune mania can be related to the use of falsetto and other sorts of voice alteration (like Zapp and Rogers use of the vocoder in the 1980s), predominently by men, throughout the history of soul and r b. This explicit denaturalization of the voice is affectively and erotically ambiguous, modulating machismo with vulnerability, and intimacy with robotic affectlessness and distance. I am not doing full justice to Wilsons argument one result of attending so many talks in a row is that I havent retained as many details as I would have liked but this is another talk which, despite the fuzziness of my explicit recall, continues to resonate richly in my mind. The last speaker on this panel was Daphne Carr, who speculated on our (meaning, music critics, and more generally, writers) autoerotic love affairs with our laptops. This talk was somewhat audience-involving and performative, as Carr asked everyone in the audience carrying a laptop to turn it on, and perform certain actions on her cues. The actions ranged from playing a few seconds of ones favorite mp3s, to allowing strangers to touch or caress ones laptop, to encircling the laptop in ones arms in a sort of protective cocoon. The point of all this was to think hard about how our laptops are not just tools we use, but (erotic as well as prosthetic) extensions of ourselves, and objects with which we interact in highly charged ways. Carr worked through ideas about the emotional costs, as well as the obvious benefits, of our monadic and work-obsessed (or work-avoidance-obsessed) cyborgian relationships with our machines. All in all, this was one of the most intriguing panels I attended; all three speakers spoke suggestively about how subjectivity is mediated and modulated through our technologies (including songwriting and song recording as technologies in their own right; and suggesting that there is no such thing as a pure subjectivity free of any such modulations and articulations).
I will post this now; the remaining sessions (one more Saturday afternoon, and two on Sunday) will be the subject of yet another post.
Similar posts: erotic drawing
- Mood:Very good
- Music:Moby
Again, before we go further, remember: this is my way, and the way of a few writers I know. It is NOT the way of every writer I know; it is not the only way; it is not an iron-clad rule or something which requires complicated flow charts (although the post Patrice Michelle linked to in comments for the last post, which was a post she wrote about, essentially, keeping a flow chart, is a great post and a great method for people who can work that way) or strict word-count deadlines (I'm using a 90k book as an example, and ending the acts at 30k, 60k, and roughly 90k, but you may vary by as much as 10k words or whatever and that's fine). No secret gun-toting Writing Police are going to show up at your home in the dead of night and arrest you for not doing this or not doing it properly or whatever.
These are just guidelines. It's the way I keep the story from getting away from me and the way I keep my pacing on-target. It's not something to obsess about. It's not something to force yourself to do. As Patrice said, if you're writing your first novel or your second or you're still feeling your way through this writing thing (which we all are to some extent, really, no matter how many books we've written), don't get all tangled up in this. You can always go back later and see how you've done and fiddle with it then.
Okay?
So. We've now written our first act, in which we laid out all of our clues and introduced our main characters, and we ended that act with a bang. We've written our second act, where we deepened our mysteries and conflicts, and added depth to our subplots. We also ended the second act with a bang; hopefully a hell of a big one, which turned everything around, but again, this depends on the book.
Our third act is about solving our problems. Whodunnit? What happens with our detective Jennifer's grandma in the home and her ex-lover? Does she end up with him again, or is she suddenly realizing she's got a thing for one of the cops or the drug dealer or whatever? What deadly jeopardy is Jennifer in--or about the be in--when the second act ends, and will she survive act 3? Will anyone? In comments to the last entry Patrice and I discussed how the information a character receives shouldn't come easily. It's not true for everything but for most of it; well, that's where your story actually comes from, right? The difficulties and complications of getting necessary information and/or aid? It wouldn't be a very interesting book if in Chapter Four Jennifer found an eyewitness who told her exactly what happened, and then they just went and caught the Bad Guy, right? (Unless you're going for courtroom drama, of course.)
Anyway. Patrice suggested that sometimes information is paid for in lives, or in giving up things which are important to the characters. And that's very true. So the question of whether everyone survives to act 3, and whether everyone will survive act 3, is a pretty big one. What is your MC going to lose in the climax? What will she gain? Is what she gains going to be worth it?
I digress. The point is, Act 3 is where everything comes together. All those subplots we started, and all those clues we planted, all those threads we expanded on? It's time to wrap them up.
And it's fun. The tricky thing about the third act, though, is making it fun and interesting for the reader as well. Oh, sure, they're going to be interested in your climax and the solution to the mystery or resolution of whatever the conflict is. (Personally, I adore those big Agatha Christie-esque "drawing room" scenes; I don't need a lot of action, I just want to read those slowly and savor them.)
But they're not very fashionable anymore, so usually what we end up with is a big action-filled climax, and I love those too. But you have to have raised the stakes high enough. And you have to keep enough tension going, enough conflict going, that it doesn't feel like you're ticking things off a list.
I generally up the pacing in the third act, which I think helps; shorter scenes. More active ones. A little less internal monologue. The reader feels the tension building, even if they're not conscious of it; they know something is coming, because the shorter scenes move the book along faster, and of course they're aware of how far into the book they've gotten, but it's pacing and increasing conflict which really works magic when we near the book's climax.
To me the third act is like knocking down dominos, for lack of a less-cliched image. I've set all these things up; I have loose threads waving in the breeze. Now I start grabbing them and tying them together.
In act 2 we had Jennifer place her grandmother in a nursing home, which happened to be run by the mother of one of the victims. Now is the moment when one of the nurses at the home can make a casual comment which rings a bell in Jennifer's head; perhaps Jennifer realizes the nurse had a heretofore unguessed motive to kill the first victim. And the second. (I feel guilty making a nurse the Bad Guy, btw; my mother is an emergency room nurse. Sorry, Mom. For the record nurses are AWESOME.) And of course, she had access to the drug which killed them both.
Now Jennifer has to figure out how to get out of the room and call the police. Perhaps the nurse twigs on to Jennifer's newfound knowledge? And insists that she take Jennifer's grandma to get a spongebath or something? And the director of the home, who of course has no idea, backs her up. Now Jennifer's grandma is a hostage, and Jennifer knows the nurse will kill her. Maybe the nurse thought Jennifer had figured it out before, and slipped something into Jennifer's drink.
This is all well and good; we have a climax. But we have other subplots which need to be tied up, and we need to do it before we get into our climax; not all of them, necessarily, and of course if we're writing a series we need to leave some open-ended questions, but some of them.
How you do this is up to you (hey, I warned you the third act was hard to write about.) For a 90k book, I generally start the real run-up to my climax at around 70k; in the above example, this would be when Jennifer arrives at the home. That way we're around 75k or so when she gets drugged and solves the mystery; it gives us some room to play. Your runup may be longer; my climaxes tend to be longer, involving as they do complex rituals and secrets and abandoned asylums full of zombies.
But if you've set up your first two acts properly, really, the third will essentially write itself. Honestly. You'll have some scenes and resolutions in mind; you'll have arranged events in such a way that logic will move you smoothly from one scene to another. And that is extremely important. The last thing you or anyone wants or needs is one of those blink-and-you-miss-it climaxes, or one where everything just falls into place and it ends up being more of an anticlimax than a climax. We've all read books like that, where we fly through 320 pages of excitement and then the hero shoots and kills the bad guy and that's it.
You don't want to do that. You want to make sure you planted enough seeds, and grew them, in the first two acts, that there's plenty of stuff to work with at the end. You want to try and tie at least one subplot directly into your climax; in PERSONAL DEMONS I had the msytery of Megan's past; it was a minor point throughout the book but without it the climax never could have happened, and it figured prominently therein. In our Jennifer example, without Grandma and her poor health we wouldn't have solved the murders. Perhaps Jennifer's ex is involved here somehow too? Maybe he calls her and she says something, an old private joke, which warns him she's in trouble so he can call the cops? However you do it, the key (IMO) to an interesting and fulfilling climax is to bring as many story threads as you can into it, and end them all with the biggest bang you can muster.
Here's the thing about structures like these. Whether you're using a three-act structure or a four-act structure or a twenty-two-act structure (NO, I've never heard of that and know nothing about it, ha) is that at some point, you have to stop setting your book up.
It has to stop. Your book cannot be 300 pages of setup, a climax, and an ending. Well, okay, if you want to look at it a certain way, that's what all books are, but you know what I mean and don't pretend you don't.
The longer your subplots are part of your story, the more interesting and surprising and satisfying their resolution will be for the reader. The more danger you put your MC in, the more exciting the climax will be for the reader.
A book where subplots and plots do not carry through all the way feels episodic; it's not a story, it's a selection of vignettes. This why I stop adding new subplots to the book after the first third (again, I may make an exception if a new character is introduced, but chances are that's actually more of a setup for the next book). Because at some point you have to work with what is already there. You have to deepen and expand what is already there. You have to sink into your story and work at it from the inside, rather than throwing more stuff at it from the outside.
And that's the other big thing (aside from pacing) this structure does for me. It forces me to work with what is already there. I can't write a deux ex machina, because I have to work with what is already there. I can't veer out of the story and suddenly decide to change the focus, because I have to work with what is already there.
It keeps my books focused. It keeps my mind focused. It keeps my pacing even and makes sure my middles aren't long saggy stretches of not-much-happening. It gives me discipline, and discpline is tremendously important for a writer.
So there you go. :-) Like I said, I think the third act is very difficult to write about, because what it essentially boils down to is 'finish the book'. Pick up the seeds and hints and clues you dropped and make sure they have a solid place to land. Make sure you keep the tension high. Make sure you use everything you can in the climax. Remember that if you've written your book logically, so your climax and resolution will also come out logically.
And then you have a book.
Questions? Thoughts.
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How is everyone doing!
Well things for this little author are going well. But yes, as you can see from the title, its attack of the alternate ego. Now to those that do not know me, Im actually a graduate student in Chemistry. Amazing huh? Sounds a bit boring to some, but yes, I do chemical things in the dark recesses of a building. Well its not really dark, its very well lit in all truths but I like to imagine there is lightning cracking over head, my last name is Frankenstein and I have stolen parts to form a human being.
Who here just got a little chill from thathmmm maybe I should explore horror?
Anyhoo, yes I am a Chemist. Writer/Chemist.Flyer of the Invisible Jet. Owner of the Lasso of truth. Kinky! Just kidding, Im not Superwoman but this month sure feels like it!
Well like I said before, my alter ego is a Chemist. This comes with its rewards and drawbacks. At times, it helps me get away to my writing when the stories become too much. At other times, its more fun mixing stuff in the lab and watching the outcomes. Im fascinated by the little stuff.
So this month, and next month the alter ego attacks. Im finishing my Masters Degree and with it comes the writing of the dreaded thesis. In this thesis, you have to explain in your best words what has taken you three years to make. The problem with something like this and in doing what I do is that Ill want to write and make the thesis interesting. Ill want to insert paranormal characters fighting against the evil chemical gelatinous goo namedBOB (little promo to those who havent seen Monsters vs Aliens) and that BOB is slowly mutating to a 4 armed species making its way to the earth. Can you imagine my department head if I were to turn in something like that? Hee hee.
Like I said, its my alter ego here.
Today is no different from any other day. There I am doing a series of tests on the compound that at times can be the bane of 24-hours. And as Im doing so and analyzing the compound, the little voice inside my head starts. Every author knows this little voice, the one that starts screaming at the top of its lungs saying WHY ARENT YOU WRITING ME RIGHT NOW!!! And so you pacify this voice, but to no avail because it gets louder and louder and louder, until before you know it, you are writing or you are naming the inanimate objects around you temporary character names.
After Devon the stapler and the Sahara the computer helped me finish some work, thats when it hits me. Maybe its time to write a book about the one thing I try to avoid writing, Chemistry. This started a Chemical Olympics. Names are flying, ideas are flying for the background. Proposals of what can be done, what should be done for twists and turns within said plot. And what did I do? Packed up my things and headed home.
So as I hide out in my little bungaloo, I ask those who have alter egos. What has been your worse attack to your alter ego?
Ill see you soon next month fellow Junkies!
Keep on writing.
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Collecting the mail, she stomped back into the house angrily, her rage only intensifying as she saw the numerous bills that had arrived, along with several pieces of junk mail. Tossing these to the side, she noticed a letter that was hand-addressed to her. Wonder who sent this, she said to the empty room. There was no return address.
Turning the letter over in her hand, she slid her finger down the top and took out the contents. Just a photograph. On the back of the picture the word Soon was written and she turned it over wondering what the hell that was supposed to mean.
The picture was from when she was in 8th grade, but she remembered it well. The last time her and all her boys had been together, they had taken this photo; she had a copy of it in her photo album. She smiled as she studied the familiar faces in the picture. Dan, Tyler, Scott, Ryan, Adam, Michael, and Chad stared happily back from the picture, surrounding Lauren. She had been the only girl in her class from the 2nd grade till the 8th grade; the joys of going to a small private grade school. She wondered what her boys were doing now.
The photo brought back so many memories; the basketball tournaments which the boys had one, playing football with them, going bowling with them. She found herself digging out the phonebook and looking up numbers. Finally she found one and dialed the number.
Hello, said the deep male voice at the other end.
Is this Dan? she said nervously. She hadn't talked to any of her boys since high school.
Yeah, said the guy. Who's this?
It's Lauren, she said haltingly. Lauren Millford.
Lauren! Dan said happily. I was actually just about to call you.
You were? she asked, surprised.
Yeah, I wanted to ask you if you sent me this picture of us from 8th grade. It just came to my house.
No, I didn't send it, she said confused.
Well maybe it's time to gather the rest of our old classmates and find out who did. He laughed. I haven't seen you in forever, girl.
They chattered back and forth for some time, and she gave him directions to her house. He said he would call the rest of the boys and make sure they came over to her house too. All of a sudden she was in a tizzy, running around like a crazy woman trying to clean her house which hadn't been cleaned in some time. When she was done cleaning, she took a long shower, and then did her hair and makeup, just in time for the doorbell to ring. Just a minute! she yelled as she pulled on a black skirt and a sleeveless white top.
Trying to calm her breathing a bit, she relaxed on the doorknob for a moment before pulling open the door to reveal Dan standing there. His face lit up when he saw her and they hugged. I'm glad you're the first one here, she said to him. Come on in.
They went through all the routines of two friends who hadn't seen each other in a long time. As they talked she couldn't help but compare the Dan of 8th grade to the one sitting across from her now. He had been tall as an 8th grader, but now he towered over her; she guessed six foot something. His dirty blond hair was still the same; he kept it sticking up in messy spikes, a hairstyle that she always liked. He had been skinny in grade school and throughout high school, but a man stood in front of her today. His upper chest had broadened no doubt from playing hockey, a sport that had always been his favorite.
She found herself inching closer to him as he spoke, mesmerized by the lips that she had once thought to be too small. Lauren, he said, pulling her out of her reverie, his voice somewhat breathy. She looked up into his blue eyes and was surprised to find him staring at her with a lustful look. Dan and she had never even come close to hooking up in the past. He placed his hand on her thigh, looking at her to make sure it was alright and she welcomed his touch.
His long fingers slid up her thigh, feeling the heat that emulated from her already moistening pussy. Let's go to my room, she stuttered and they both rose from the couch; her leading the way to her room.
Shirts and pants/skirts came off in a matter of minutes as soon as they entered, both of them trying to control their overwhelming sexual desires. I've never been with a black woman before, he confessed. But I've always had fantasies about you. She smiled and stepped out of her black lace thong. Her fingers reached for his boxers and pulled them off his still bony hips.
It was kind of odd, seeing an old classmate of hers naked, but his nude body was breathtaking as she looked down at him. He was already stiff and his cock, although being rather skinny, was incredibly long. Her body tingled and he gently pushed her against the bed, and positioned himself above her.
Her bare breasts rubbed against his chest as he pressed into her and her nipples grew in sensitivity. He took one of them into his mouth, sucking and biting it. She writhed underneath him as he inhaled the fleshy nub; she could feel her pussy getting wetter by the moment. Finally his mouth left her breast and trailed its way up to her mouth. His deep blue eyes locked onto her soft brown ones for a moment before he lowered his mouth to hers and they kissed softly, nibbling on one another's lips.
He broke the kiss and ran his hands down her body, caressing her breasts lightly before moving to her aching clit. She moaned in anticipation before his fingers ever touched it, and when he finally did she felt as if she would burst. He played with the hardened nub for a moment before reaching for her hand, and bringing her fingers down to her clit, he said, Play with it for me.
Her breasts jiggled with each movement she made and his hungry eyes took in all that cleavage bouncing around. As she began to moan with the pleasure she was giving herself, he began to push at her entrance, slowly, almost lovingly. He slid into her inch by inch, his eyes never leaving her breasts as she used her free hand to pinch her own nipples.
He pushed into her until his sac slapped against her ass and she felt the tip of him hitting against her insides. She moaned loudly, concentrating hard to keep her finger moving on her own clit. He grabbed her legs, throwing them over his strong arms, and finally began pounding himself in and out between her quivering thighs.
She screamed out in a mixture of pleasure and pain as he hit her tender spots time and time again. He bent his head to bite at her sore nipples, his grunts audible even around the mouthful of tit he was sucking.
She could no longer finger her clit, and she let her hands fall back onto the bed, grabbing at the sheets each time he thrust inside of her. I'm going to cum, he announced and his pace quickened, slamming against her body with terrific speed. Oh god! he yelled and threw back his head and moaned, his hot load of cum spilling into the depths of her body. All she could do was groan loudly as his orgasm triggered hers, hot waves of pleasure sweeping over her body. Her pussy clenched and unclenched, milking the seed from him. Her hips jerked spastically and her breath came in short gasps.
He collapsed on top of her, both of them panting with the force of the orgasm.
What a show, he thought as he stood outside her bedroom window, watching as the two mated like animals. It took the little slut a whole five minutes to go to bed with him. He chuckled and rubbed his own stiff cock which throbbed for release beneath his black jeans. There'll be time for you later, he said to his cock, even as he massaged it. He did not want to miss a single moment as Miss Slut Lauren Millford saw her old classmates again, one by one. Little slut doesn't even close her blinds, he thought. That just proved that she wanted him to see. Subconsciously, she knew he was out there watching, and she liked it. You'll get what's coming to you soon enough you little whore, he thought as he backed into the shadows once again, awaiting his perfect moment.
Darkness had come as she and Dan had been fucking and she realized that her classmates would probably show up any minute.
We have to get dressed, she said laughing nervously. He nodded in agreement and slowly redressed. She threw on a robe that hung behind the closet and gathering her clothes, headed to the bathroom. She could still feel his cum, dripping down her legs and knew she couldn't possibly face the rest of her classmates looking like this. Make yourself at home, she called back to him as she closed the bathroom door.
She looked in the mirror, disbelieving that she had just fucked her 8th grade classmate like that after so many years. She had never looked at him in any way besides friends, but now they had just had sex. Christ, she thought. I'm turning into a sex-crazed maniac.
She finished cleaning herself off and after redoing her hair and makeup she stepped out of the bathroom, just in time to hear the doorbell ring. Dan was seated on the sofa, watching some show on TV, making no move to answer the door; although he smiled up at her while she passed.
She turned the light on outside and opened the door. Chad and Scott stood on her front porch. Hey guys, she said excitedly, hugging them both. Come in. Dan's already here.
Chad, always the joker of the group said, Hey Dan, I thought you said the party didn't start till 8. The two men came through the door and sat on the sofa, immediately drawn in by whatever was playing on TV. Ah ha! she thought. He came early so he would get to be alone with me, the little devil. She smiled and then heard another car pull into her driveway.
The Halloween lights she had put out earlier that week automatically turned on illuminating Michael and Tyler as they walked across her yard and up to the front door.
Hey guys! she said happily, giving each of them a hug as well. They looked the same, only a tad older. In grade school she had a crush on both of them, usually switching every year. 8th grade she had been hopelessly in love with Tyler, and he was still the cuter of the two as he smiled down at her with his light blue eyes and dimpled cheeks.
Wow, Mike said as she hugged him, drawing back to look at her fully. You look great. She smiled.
Thanks. Lauren had lost a lot of weight since high school and she felt proud of her accomplishment. So who are we still missing? she asked as she walked around the sofa and took a seat. The sectional sofa was big enough for all of them if they squished close together and when Tyler sat down close enough for her to feel his body heat, her heart beat faster and she began to flush.
Ryan and Adam, Chad said around a mouthful of Skittles. He hadn't changed one bit. Back in 8th grade he had announced to everyone, I'm not fat, I'm fluffy! The name stuck and even though he was no longer fluffy, they still called him that.
So Fluffy, said Dan. And I guess all the rest of you. Did you get a picture of us from 8th grade with the word soon written on the back? Me and Lauren did. Mike and Scott nodded and Tyler and Chad took the pictures from their pocket, handing them to Dan. Same handwriting, said Dan as he handed them to Lauren for examination.
Chad and Tyler had the same photograph as her and Dan. Looking at Scott and Mike, she asked, Did you get this same photo? She showed it to them, and they both nodded confirming they had received it.
Who the hell sent it? asked Scott and they all said, I didn't!
Maybe Ryan or Adam did, she thought out loud. Adam did move away after grade school and it's been a while since he's seen all of us. But I don't know why he would just write soon and nothing else. The boys looked at her wordlessly.
I couldn't find Ryan's number, said Dan. So I called his mom and left a message with her. She said he leaves for days at a time and she has no idea where he is. Adam will be late by the way, he's flying in from Seattle.
Lauren sighed as the mystery of the photograph went unsolved. But they all forgot about it as they ordered a pizza and settled in to watch a movie.
Finally, the doorbell rang, signaling the pizza's arrival and Lauren jumped up to answer the door. Now Fluffy, leave some for the rest of us, she joked as she pulled open the door.
Oh my god! she screamed as a body fell through the door. She fell to the floor hard and scrambled backwards away from it. The boys had risen from the sofa and were standing around her looking at the bloodied body that had landed just inside the front door of Lauren's home. She felt sick and turned her head to the side to vomit. Oh my god, she said again, feeling tears come to her eyes.
Mike stepped forward and examined the body; somewhere in the house she could hear Chad screaming into his cell phone for help. Tyler was looking out the front door for any signs of the murderer. Mike turned the body over and Adam's face stared at them, his mouth open in horror, his eyes wide with pain.
Scott was holding onto her as she screamed wordlessly. She could make out Dan's blanched face in the fog that threatened to overwhelm her. She couldn't think, couldn't feel; she felt like she was outside her body watching the events happening around her. The distant wail of sirens told her the police were on their way. Tyler came to her saying, it's okay, it's okay, over and over again. She finally realized that the cries she heard were coming from her own mouth. Adam's lifeless eyes seemed to be staring directly at her, as if blaming her somehow for his death. She passed out.
He laughed maniacally as soon as he reached his apartment. Oh, for the looks on their faces, he would have done it all again. Especially the slut; he had caught a glimpse of her passed out before he had had to run away, lest the police catch him watching the horrific scene.
His prick was still hard from watching her, lying on the floor so helplessly, unaware that her skirt was up and her legs were spread; through his binoculars he had seen everything, including the wet spot that still stained her white panties. He could barely wait to get his hands on her. But he told himself that patience was the key.
Lauren came to just in time for the police to want to question her. She told them about the photograph she had received and how all the old classmates had decided to get together. They asked her about Ryan. Ryan Long, she told them. The detective went outside to gather any information on Ryan Long that he could.
Adam's body had been removed from the premises, and a police forensic team was cleaning the blood from her living room carpet. She looked around at the boys, her boys; they were now short one member. Tyler came to her as she lay on the sofa.
How do you feel? he asked.
She stared at him helplessly, not knowing how to voice her feelings at the moment. I need to get out of this house.
The police got ready to leave, and after cautioning the group, Lauren especially, to be careful and to stick together, they left. Lauren stayed huddled on the couch underneath a blanket, but inside she felt as if she would never be warm again.
The boys quickly decided that they would go to Tyler's house; no one wanted to be alone. Lauren finally got off the couch and gathered some of her things. She leaned on Tyler's strong shoulders as he led her to his car and buckled her into the front seat. Mike slipped into the back and began to rub her shoulders, comforting her as best he could. Nothing like this had ever happened to any of them before and everyone was scared and confused.
The train of three cars arrived at Tyler's house, and pulled into his gravel driveway. Maybe the murderer wouldn't find them out here in this small town; after all Tyler's phone number and address was unlisted. Lauren decided not to rely on wishful thinking. As Tyler and Mike helped her out of the car; her legs felt ready to give out.
After entering the house, Tyler led her to his room and helped her lay on the large bed. She could see all the boys in the doorway, looking at her with concern. Please, she whispered. Stay here with me. All of you.
Tyler took off his shirt and climbed in next to her; she moved to the center of the bed to make space. She turned her body to face away from him, and let his body heat warm her cold skin. Mike slid in on the other side of her, turning his back to her and she let her arm encircle his small waist. Trapped between the twin warmths of Mike and Tyler, she began to feel much better. Dan lay at the foot of the bed, laughing as he said, Just don't kick me, guys. She smiled and said, I'll try not to. Chad and Scott took places on either side of Mike and Tyler, their hands reaching across to stroke her skin. With so many hands on her body, she couldn't help but feeling safe and as Tyler turned to reach across Scott to turn off the light, she began to fall into a deep sleep. She didn't notice that Tyler was hard, or that her hands had accidentally found Mike's nipples and were playing across them, nor did she notice that he had begun to breathe harder. Her only thoughts as she fell asleep were wishes that she could stay like this with her boys forever.
Daylight had come and gone and now it was Halloween night. He loved Halloween because it meant he could walk down the street however he pleased, and no one would take notice of him.
He was dressed in his customary black jeans and black t-shirt, a Michael Myers type mask covering his face. The small town in which his prey was hidden out was not ideal for hunting. He had parked his car several blocks away from the house, so that police would not notice it. He walked down the street, moon flashing on the silver blade of his knife. He had been right; parents trick or treating with their children paid him no mind as he walked, one even yelling out, Going to Blake's big Halloween party? Don't drink all the beer before I get there, buddy! He smiled beneath his mask at the stupidity of people on Halloween. A group of pre-teen boys came around the corner, stopping short as they got a look at him. Damn, mister! That's an awfully big knife you're carrying, one of the little pests uttered.
I'm going to a Halloween party, he replied calmly. It's part of my costume. Can't you tell? I'm Michael Myers. The boys sniggered and the little brat who had spoken said again, Well you sure look like him! Have fun, mister. They passed him and he walked on without further incident, finally arriving at his prey's house and hiding himself in the shadows.
Lauren had spent the day sleeping, and now the only person who lay next to her was Tyler.
\'Bout time you woke up, he smiled at her and she brought her lips to his. Thanks for taking care of me, she said. His arm was still draped across her waist and she liked the feel of it. You know, you were always my favorite in grade school. He looked at her seriously for a moment, and then kissed her, this time a real kiss. His tongue massaged hers as he slipped it inside her mouth and his hand wandered down her body, stopping on her ass. He pulled her roughly against him and said, So you want me. It wasn't really a question, but a statement. She nodded at him, More than anything.
He dispatched of her shirt and bra quickly, his hands falling to rest on her breasts. These he quickly began to knead together, almost painfully as his big strong hands groped them. His shirt was still off and he got up from the bed, quickly undoing the fastening of his jeans. She watched as his cock popped into view; it was monstrous. She could feel her slit getting wet for him, and she raised herself off the bed, offering her ass to him. He lifted her skirt and pulled down the panties that she wore. In one smooth move, he had shoved his entire cock into her hole; she moaned as she was stretched, but it felt good.
The events of last night had worn on them both, and now they fucked as if it was their last day on earth. He thrust into her, harder and harder; she buried her face in the bed sheets to keep from screaming. She could feel the ridge of his huge head as he sank it into her and she tightened her pussy around him.
A noise from the doorway made them pause and she turned her head slightly to catch Mike standing there with his arms folded across his chest. She flushed at being found in this position and waited for him to leave, but he didn't seem to be going anywhere.
You always wanted Mike too, didn't you? Tyler said and she nodded helplessly. Well come on Mike, shut the door behind you, man. Mike made no hesitation; he shut the door and approached them rapidly, pulling his cock out of his pants as he went. Mike had always been the studious one in the class, and she found it hard to believe that he was now kneeling on the bed in front of her, his cock waiting for her to open her mouth.
Slowly, she opened her mouth and he stuck his cock inside, each thrust from Tyler behind her pushing her mouth further down Mike's hard rod. Oh, God! she tried to moan around his cock which was now poking the back of her throat. Tyler was thrusting his cock into her in a position which allowed him to touch her sweet spot over and over again.
Mike was now face fucking her; his bony hips guiding his cock into her mouth as he threw back his head in pleasure. Both men's grunts echoed in the big room, and she briefly wondered how long it would take the others to figure out what was going on.
Her tongue massaged the large vein in Mike's cock, which was now threatening to spill its load into her mouth at any moment. Her clit throbbed as Tyler's balls slammed into it time and time again; she could feel her orgasm beginning. In the next moment, Mike was shooting wad after wad of hot cum into her mouth and she hungrily swallowed as much as she could. The task was impossible because Tyler had made one last thrust into her and was exploding cum deep into her womb. As she felt his cock jerking and sputtering inside her, her orgasm finally crested; she came moaning loudly, the sounds of her orgasm only stifled a little by Mike's softening cock that was still taking up residence in her mouth.
Keep it down, woman, Tyler laughed and she shot back, Well maybe if you weren't fucking me so hard, I wouldn't be so loud. The two men traded places, but instead of sticking his cock in her mouth as she had expected him, Tyler collapsed on the bed saying, You plum wore me out. She was still on all fours and his eyes rested on her DD's that jiggled underneath as Mike pushed his thick shaft into her. Her pussy was already sore from the beating Tyler had given it, but her adrenaline built and soon she was moaning again as Mike slammed his cock into her dripping pussy.
The pressure of his sac on her clit and the fullness of his cock were too much and he brought her screaming into the bed sheets. Her pussy walls gripped him, and in another minute he released deep inside of her, letting out a loud grunt of pleasure as he did.
They both collapsed on the bed side by side and the two men fell asleep. Lauren laughed silently to herself and got dressed, wasting no time in getting to the bathroom to clean up the cum that was oozing out of her cunt and dripping down her thighs. She opened the door and Chad, Scott, and Dan spilled into the room.
Oh, god! she said angrily and Mike and Tyler awoke on the bed behind her.
Shit, said Chad. I'm sorry, Lauren. Scott said nothing, but blushed and Dan had a distinct look of jealousy on his face.
Feeling better then? asked Dan and she turned angry eyes on him.
Me and you have something to talk about later, she informed him, and stepping over Chad and Scott on the floor, she stepped on Dan's hand and went to the bathroom.
What a little whore! he laughed to himself as he watched the orgy going on in the small country farmhouse. From this angle he could see the bedroom window and the living room window. He noticed the rest of the classmates clustered around the door as the little bitch got fucked. Another good show, courtesy of Lauren Millford.
He had been watching her for some time now; she masturbated every night, never bothering to draw the blinds or care who could be out there watching. But soon, oh yes, very soon, she would be paying the price for her seductive ways. He let his stiff cock pop out of the black jeans and began to stroke it.
Soon he was coming all over his hand and as he looked at the whore, he noticed that she was coming too, screaming into the bed. Just wait till I get my hands on you, Lauren, he thought and zipping his cock back into his pants, he disappeared into the night, leaving one word to be caught on the wind. Soon.
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- Music:Michael Jackson
How to Do It
Straddle your man (lying on his back) and slowly lower yourself onto his pelvis, sliding his penis inside you as you go. But rather than sitting down in a straddle position, raise yourself up off him in a squatting position. Put your hands on his thighs, stomach, rib cage or upper chest for support. Start by sliding yourself up and down his member by lifting your lower body up and down a totally different motion than going forward and back like regular woman-on-top. Vary your pace, starting with some fast, teasingly shallow thrusts that touch only the tip of his penis, then move down into deep, slower thrusts that envelop him completely. The fabulous friction you'll create will give you the double bonus of amazing sensations all along the edge of your vaginal opening when you pump shallow and on your G-spot when you pump deep. And if you try leaning backward and resting your hands on his thighs and knees, the sensation will even spread to your clitoris and the natural arching of your back will open up your body for him to fondle.
The Sultry Sidewinder
Why It's So Hot
The Sultry Sidewinder allows you the sort of languishing, leisurely pace that, in the end, packs a real punch. (Slow and steady can win the climax race!) "Orgasms that result from a long, slow buildup are frequently much stronger than those that are achieved with fast and intense stimulation," explains Stubbs. "By savoring every single sensation, you're able to achieve a higher level of pleasure in the end." (Think of it like a getting-it-on gearshift if you go straight from first to fifth, you get a quick drop-off, but if you go from first to second and so forth, your erotic engine will be humming by the time you get there.) Plus, this side-by-side setup is great for intimacy, which can sometimes get lost in the shuffle and storminess of sex. All the eye contact, kissing and closeness of this position will drive your slow climb to orgasm.
How to Do It
You and your man should be facing each other on your sides, superclose together, says Paget. Raise your upper leg and help him to slide inside you, then drape the leg over his and tight around it. "Try to arrange it so that your feet are braced against a wall or footboard," she advises. "That way, you can use the strength in your feet, legs and toes to give you the action you want." If you tend to get tense before climaxing, this is the perfect move to do as you peak upward. "Some women require a form of strong muscular contraction to get to that next level of stimulation that leads to orgasm," says Paget. "The side-by-side allows you to have that firm, full-body contraction while staying in motion." Adjust the coital fit of his entry by tensing or relaxing your thighs together. You'll hug his trunk, stimulating the inner walls of your entire vagina; by relaxing your legs and opening them somewhat, he'll have a bigger range of motion, which can help you get intense clitoral titillation en route to your climax.
The Canine Coupling
Why It's So Hot
The orgasmic advantage of the Canine Coupling (a special version of doggie-style) is that it directs intense, firm pressure from your man's member to your G-spot; pressure so pointed, in fact, that Stubbs says it's "one of the only positions where the penis is touching the G-spot like a bull's-eye. It's a direct hit." Says Paget, "It's primal. This is how animals do it. So when people want to connect with their raw, unbridled, passionate sexuality, they often look to this position." Then there's the erotic incognito element: The fact that neither of you are able to see the other's face can lead to lower self-consciousness and higher pleasure-consciousness. "When you're not able to use your visual sense, you rely on your senses of touch, sound and smell, which allow you to let go and pay attention to the sensations that will help lead you to climax," explains Paget.
How to Do It
Assume an all-fours crawling position and let him enter you from behind, either standing or kneeling on the bed behind you. "But instead of staying on your hands and knees, tilt your shoulders downward with your forearms flat on the bed in front of you," says Paget. The natural curve in your back from this variation will expand or contract your vaginal wall so you can monitor how deep he goes. If you arch your back into a small hump, it will shorten your vagina and shift the stimulation down a notch; bend it the other way and you'll get deeper, more intense thrusting action. Plus, he'll get strong stimulation to the head of his penis, the most sensitive part. If you don't like him to go deep, have him use a circular motion so his pelvic bones don't push into your tush. Should your arms begin to ache from the exertion, meld with the mattress by lying flat on your stomach but arching your buttocks upward by placing a pillow under your pelvis. He'll be perfectly positioned to hit your G-spot, which is on the anterior (tummy side) vaginal wall.
The Magic Missionary
Why It's So Hot
The Magic Missionary is a twist on the regular missionary position that simultaneously stimulates both your and his hot buttons (he gets extremely firm and strong glans stimulation; you get close clitoral stimulation). "Both the man and woman's groin areas stay in constant contact in this position, which can be amazing for orgasms," says Paget. "The heat and sensation are never ending." Most important, the position is fabulous for inducing the sort of muscular contractions that can move mountains. Mattress-wise, it's not an energetic action, explains Paget, but it puts your bod in more pleasure-enhancing motions than the spread-eagle style because it lets you move and squeeze more to build arousal. Plus, your man will be using some of his strongest muscles his thighs and glutes so he'll endure like the Energizer Bunny.
How to Do It
Have him enter you while you are lying on your back with your legs apart. Once he's inside, bring your legs close together and have him hook his ankles around your calves and raise himself up slightly on his hands with a small arch in his back. "He'll look a bit like a frog," says Paget, "but he'll feel more like a prince." By closing your legs, you will create a more snug entry for him and more sustained clitoral stimulation for you his groin will be doing a rumba on your hot spot. "Also, because it's a short stroke and the angle of his penis in this position will be arching up, he can control his movements better (it's the natural direction of his thrusting) and really reach the front vaginal wall." If too much depth in missionary position causes you discomfort, have him use shallow strokes so he doesn't come in contact with your cervix. As for your movements, Paget suggests that you tighten your lower muscles (your hips, glutes and thighs) to create rhythmic clenching in your pelvic area for heightened sensation.
The Titillating Trapeze
Why It's So Hot
"With this sex pose, a woman is really able to watch her man in action and one hundred percent surrender to the sensations," says Paget. The power of this position is that he gets to take complete control and show off like a stud while you lie back, relax and let yourself have some very intense G-spot pressure, says Paget, because your lower body is lifted up at a perfect angle for his penis to give you maximum penetration. Plus, it will double your pleasure: Besides putting your bod in a prime position for your guy to hit your most sizzling spot, you'll also be more open than ever to manually (and directly) stimulate yourself. This will heat up your hottest genital nerve systems (those around the clitoris and the G-spot) and hold them in harmony, so much so that you can have what Paget calls a blended orgasm.
How to Do It
Start by lying on your back on a bed with your legs spread apart slightly and your honey kneeling in front of you. He should then place the backs of your knees in the crooks of his elbows and pull upward so that your lower back and butt are raised off the bed at a 20- to 30-degree angle and the backs of your thighs are pressed against his stomach and chest. Try using one or more pillows beneath your tush and back (the more pillows, the less you have to do) to hike yourself up a bit so he has a prime pleasure-you angle. He should be able to enter you easily this way, as your buttocks will be cupped between his quads with your genitals pressing right up against his. Although you'll have to expend a bit of effort to keep your thighs together, it will be well worth it! "This position allows the man to maintain his balance and push his hips forward when he pulls your body toward and away from him, attaining a very easily maintained rhythmic motion," says Paget. And the better the rhythm, the better your chances of a mind-blowing orgasm.
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What happened to the birds and bees, have they taken flight. Many moons ago the yarn about the birds and the bees was taken very seriously by parents who believed when children reached puberty was a time of importance to enlighten them on premature sexual encounters and the consequences.
Long gone are the days where yesterdays child - innocent in thought enjoyed passing the hours away playing hide and seek or hop scotch with their special hand picked stone, Children have now become victims of the twentieth century, tarnished in thought. Kids nowadays live their life in rebellious mode, choosing to rebel against having a childhood full of happiness. Many kids know not of the difference between happiness and ignorance because of the way they are programmed. Ignorance prevails in the way of turning a deaf ear to teen sex advice off mum and dad while knocking back alcohol and a fag hanging out of their mouth, or worse still getting high on drugs and not to mention indulging in unprotected boy girl hanky panky behind the bike shed.
Sadly for some parents their hands are tied when teaching right from wrong because their kids dont want to hear about the birds the bees anymore, they want to do what they do, if this be the case then a different approach is advisable to help put your kids on the straight and narrow in relation to having sexual intercourse after their pacifier has not long been discarded. For the parents of a teen sex addict who enjoys having sex before that of playing a card game of snap needs to take drastic action. Some parents find it hard to accept that their children who not long out of nappies them self are close to making babies.
Crucial decisions have to be made by these parents whose beliefs are firmly steadfast to yesterdays upbringing, meaning, if their child becomes rebellious and chooses to regularly couple with different partners having teen sex, then you have learn to accept that this is the twentieth century and guide them on matters of importance, safe sex. This may sound like you are encouraging the child, when in fact you are saving them from self inflicted harm. Acceptance of a new today and tomorrow leaving yesterday behind will certainly help. Life is not so complicated when you have a better understanding on the changes in the world and your child.
No parent can have the perfect child no one is perfect, you may bet every mother and father who seeks perfection in their children will have something hidden in the closet.
The best advice for parents of a promiscuous child is to work alongside them, meaning, if what you say is going unheeded then point them in the right direction for them to maintain a healthy well being. Unprotected sex can lead to an unwanted pregnancy or sexually transmitted diseases, both of which can destroy a life in more ways than one, i.e. having a baby at such a young age with no partner to help raise the child or where an untreated STD can be fatal.
America is noted for having the highest rates of teen pregnancies .Because of teen sex - pregnancy valuation costs in the US totals to approximately $7 billion a year. A staggering 34% of young women fall pregnant at least once by the time they reach 20 years old.. Teen mothers are less likely to complete high school. Figures show that eighty percent of unmarried teen mums rely upon state benefits..
Children need to be taught sooner than later about the dangers of unprotected sex, depending on age group details of man woman and intimacy needs careful planning. It is important you are full of knowledge and in a position to explain about STDs. No knowledge on the facts can hamper your best intentions to help the child instead of putting the fear of god up them. Unwanted pregnancy, they say you learn by mistakes; however mistakes as such can not be brushed aside, so as a parent you need to sweep any embarrassment regarding sex education under the carpet for to help give your child any chance of having a squeaky clean upbringing.
Some parents find this matter hard to discuss with their children but if your childs health is at risk then those nonsensical red blushes need to disappear so that you dont have to take on the role of granny and granddad before your hair turns grey.
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- Mood:smile
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I think only the Japanese can understand this sort of humor among all people from capitalist countries. I have never visited Tokyo, but I read that their metro is just as busy as ours.To be able to laugh at this joke one has to imagine oneself in the middle of a Kyiv metro carriage in a peak hour when people travel to or from work. People are pressed against one another as if they are fish in a can. There used to be jokes that one could get pregnant in the metro and not know by whom.Here is another curious phrase from the same sort of humor. A woman says to a man in a metro carriage: Excuse me! Can you take your hand off! Then to another man: Not you, youre ok. People had to survive with this sort of service and it was easier to endure with laughter.Service remains bad in the metro. But it wasnt just service that was bad, it was the whole philosophy of service back then. Unfortunately, these attitudes persist today.We ironically called it unobtrusive Soviet service. It wasnt tactful or considerate. It existed for its own sake and could easily survive without the consumer. It didnt care about the needs of its hypothetical clients in shops or wherever else transaction with the public took place.Foreign visitors to Ukraine rebelled against such a state of affairs. They did want to accept it, leading to funny situations.In the early 1990s, I worked in the press service of Narodniy Rukh political party. I worked with American Irene Jarosewich. One day we went to drop off some documents at a Kyiv hotel where parliament members lived. Afterwards, Irene felt tempted to dine in the hotels restaurant. I tried to delicately dissuade her, because I knew what restaurants were like, and suspected that it could not have a happy ending. But she insisted.We entered the restaurants great hall that was completely empty. Not a single visitor was to be seen at any of the tables. The waiters told us they will not serve us because they have a reception in a couple of hours. We wont eat for two hours. Well eat quickly and go, she tried to persuade them.They advised us to talk to the administrator. He was sitting in a corner and writing something. He barely looked at Irene and continued his writing. He shook his head to all her arguments, with his eyes still fixed on the paper. Soviet boor! she exclaimed in the end. The administrator did not even so much as move his head to these words.But it didnt end there. She poured out her frustration on to that parliament deputy in whose room we had left our coats. He put on his jacket with a parliament members badge on it, came down to the restaurant and firmly asked the administrator to feed us.Such impudence made the administrator stop writing and lift up his astounded eyes. When he saw the parliament members badge, he ordered the waiters to feed us. They were all afraid of authorities back then. Irene felt as if she were a World War II Red Army fighter who had set the Soviet flag atop the roof of Berlins Reichstag.At that time we, Soviet citizens, had an ironic attitude to foreigners who hoped to receive the same level of service in our country as they were accustomed to at home. We joked that they did not understand our realities. They couldnt understand why a plumber cannot immediately come over to fix a leaky tap. They couldnt understand why, in a shop with almost empty shelves, a sales assistant can just stand there and chat with her colleague, or even disappear for 10 minutes. They couldnt understand why someone is being rude to them when you bring them money, i.e., contribute to the profitability of their establishment.But now I realize that I probably couldnt explain the logic of Soviet service to the generation that was born after the U.S.S.R. These young people have a hard time believing this sort of thing.They have become foreigners to the U.S.S.R. They will hardly be able to imagine that if you said to someone then that ll take my money elsewhere, you would be ridiculed. There were few restaurants; there were queues in them. They didnt have to care about their reputation and fight for clients.But Soviet people should thank former Communist Party General Secretary Leonid Brezhnev for having any service and any service industry at all. Until he came to power in 1960s, there was no such thing. The Soviet people had to be jacks of all trades and service themselves in everything. They had to repair their own flats, fix their own bathroom equipment and so on. There had been some restaurants. But they were meant for people with high incomes; in other words, for party and state bureaucrats.It seems that today we can exhale with relief. And even though the service industry is not flawlessly smooth, at least its philosophy is changing. Its trying to satisfy the client. Former Soviet citizens should be able to rejoice.However, their joy is sometimes cut short by old habits that die hard. Last summer I visited a small town called Katerynopil in Cherkasy Oblast. When it was time to come back home, I came to the bus station. I had to squeeze myself inside the building between several refrigerators and a wall. It looked like a part of the bus station was rented out to someone selling household appliances, and they left it right in the middle of the passageway.I came to the cash desk. There was no one there, inside or outside the booth, not even a queue. Suddenly a woman sprang up from her chair and started sprinting. It turned out she was running towards the cash desk. When I realized that, I felt happier -- someone is hurrying to serve me. But I was about to get disappointed.When she got to her work station, the lady quickly grabbed her ringing cell phone.
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