“Brett pulled his tank top up over his head and stared at himself in the full-length mirror. He pushed down his jeans, then his boxers, and imagined the moment when Jennifer saw him nude for the first time. His feet were average-sized, and there was hair on his toes that he should probably take care of before tonight. He liked his legs just fine, but his thighs were wide and embarrassingly muscular. He tried standing at an angle, a twist at his waist. Some improvement. In that position, it was easier to see his ass and notice that it was not as pert as it had been at 22. He clenched both cheeks, hoping that tightened its look. He sucked in his tummy and pulled his pecs up high, trying to present them like pastries in a bakery window. Would she like him? Were the goods good enough? He pouted his lips and ran his hands over his thighs, masking their expanse. Maybe.”
“There is a particular look about a teenage boy that lets you know what kind of man he’ll be. A certain fullness of lips, a frank sensuality in his gaze. We all know what the word for that is, but it’s not polite to use it until he’s proven he’s that kind of boy.”
“But I don’t get it!” Shea was panting, trying to catch up to Michael as he fled. “The monster ate everyone else. How did you escape?”
Michael reached the boat first, flinging himself in. He waited for Shea to follow him and take the oars, guiding them smoothly away from the shore.
“It’s because I was different from the other boys,” he said, pushing his hair behind his ear and looking away.
“What do you mean, different?” Shea’s muscles rippled and flexed as she rowed them to safety, and Michael could not tear his eyes away.
“Different. Pure, the monster said. Because I’m… I’ve never…” He looked away again, and the moonlight caught on his throat, outlined his clavicle.
“You’re a virgin,” Shea said, realization dawning. “What a waste.”
Michael blushed.
“If we get out of this alive,“ she said. “I’m going to fix that.”
“If you have something really important, write it out and have it delivered by courier, the old fashioned way because I’ll tell you what, no computer is safe. You want something to really go without detection, write it out and have it sent by courier.”
— Donald Trump, on cyber security in his administration
Naomi Ellis and her her husband Seth spent Friday morning — the morning after the sixth night of Hanukkah — trying to explain to their three young sons why someone had vandalized the menorah the family had put out on their yard by twisting the metal pieces into the shape of a swastika.
The Ellis family had only built the 7-foot-tall menorah on the front lawn of their home in Chandler, Arizona, because their sons, ages 5, 7 and 9, had asked their parents if the family could decorate their home like the neighbors did for Christmas, the Washington Postreported. Read more.
The Ellis family had only built the 7-foot-tall menorah… because their sons, ages 5, 7 and 9, had asked their parents if the family could decorate their home like the neighbors did for Christmas.
This is America in the 21st century. Please reblog, even if you’re not Jewish. Especially if you’re not Jewish. Spread awareness and let your Jewish followers know that we’re not alone.
bruce had kissed girls before, of course, but this was so different. girls were all soft and curves and pliant, sighing beneath him. pliant and submissive. but kissing david was nothing like that. his stubble burned bruce’s mouth, his kisses hard and aggressive and bruising. every place bruce’s hands searched for soft curves they found hard planes and angles. so many angles. so incredibly different from the soft submissive girls bruce was used to. every where he touched was another angle. david was angles on top of angles wrapped in a dominant five o'clock shadow. nothing like a supple, tender, mild girl.
david was a dodecahedron, with 12 faces with 5 angles on each, he had a total of 60 entire angles.
(image credit to Jules Feiffer, illustrator of the Phantom Tollbooth, who probably never imagined that his work would appear in anything approaching this context)
Forget the friendzone, tell him he’s the son you’ve always wanted.
Queen Kristina of Sweden literally did this to her cousin Charles Gustav. He had been in love with her for over a decade and had proposed to her on numerous occasions. Under great political pressure to break up with her girlfriend, marry, stop talking to french philosophers, continue fighting a religious war in Germany, etc., she converted from Protestantism to Catholicism and abdicated to throne to her cousin by adopting him as her son. She then moved to rome to pursue her dreams of chilling with the pope, funding the arts, and dating more women.
