#Gulfport beers

[thedaily-beer]

NOLA Hopitoulas IPA at Half Shell Oyster House in Gulfport, MS. A 3 of 4. A pretty standard West Coast IPA profile with pine and citrus in the nose and a medium, moderately bitter body. Wouldn’t necessarily stand out against many others in the style, but it does the job well.

#nola #hopitoulas #ipa #india pale ale #half shell oyster house #gulfport #mississippi #3 #beer

[visceravalentines]

All the Time in the World

Dilf!Bo Sinclair x AFAB!Reader

7.3k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Your regularly scheduled weekend tryst with your Southern gentleman is interrupted by your dad's fancy work party. Or is it?

Smut & fluff & just a smol dash of angst, age gap, dad’s best friend, semi-public sex, Daddy kink, oral, fingering, dirty talk & praise from both Bo and the reader (get it babe, pour filth into HIS ear), soft orgasm denial, creampie, cockwarming, light bondage, reader's parents get very drunk and reader drinks in moderation, reader wears a dress, she/her pronouns used, reader referred to as darlin', baby girl, pretty thing. If you need a pair of surrogate parents to imagine since they have a significant speaking role in this part, here is who I picture while writing lol.

Next Friday was going to be a big night. 

Your dad had been spearheading a massive, important project at work for the last year and it had finally come to its conclusion. The company was hosting a gala to celebrate, with your father as a guest of honor. You and your mother were invited, of course, and expected. No chance of getting out of it. 

“It’s stupid,” you said to Bo. 

The two of you were on his back porch, getting an early start on the evening’s beer stock. “It’s going to take the whole night. They have an open bar and everyone always gets wasted at his work functions. My parents included." 

“It ain’t stupid,” Bo said. “You’re just mad it’s happenin’ on a Friday night so you can’t sneak your ass over here after work." 

“So what if I am?" 

“So what if y’are?" He took a swig of his beer. “Come over Saturday. I’ll even stay in bed for ya." 

“What a sacrifice." 

“I’m a giver, darlin’, you know this." 

You pushed his knee with your bare foot. “What’re you gonna do without me Friday night? Work on that Cadillac in the garage?" 

“Actually, I got a date." 

You choked on your beer. “What?" 

“Y’know Maggie Harper two doors down?" 

You rolled your eyes. “Bo, isn’t she married with like, six kids?" 

“Ain’tcha heard, baby girl? I’m a homewrecker. Ruinin’ marriages and robbin’ cradles." 

“If you go on a date with Maggie Harper, I’m texting Bradley from Gulfport." 

He scowled. “Bradley from Gulfport’s gonna end up a cold case." You giggled. “What’re you wearin’ to this party? Bet I’m missin’ out." 

“You are. It’s a very nice dress. Pretty low-cut. Slits up the sides." 

“Damn." He shook his head mournfully. “Guess I better take you somewhere nice so you can wear it for me." 

“I’ll send you a picture." 

Bo shot you a mischievous look. “Would you do somethin’ for me?" 

You regarded him suspiciously. “Depends." 

He leaned on the arm of his deck chair. “Leave your panties at home and send me a picture o’ that." 

Your mouth fell open. “You’re serious." 

“Always, darlin’." 

“You’re filthy." 

“You bring it outta me." 

“Don’t blame it on me." 

“Ain’t nobody else around." 

“My mom is gonna be there." 

“Well you don’t have to show it to her." 

You laughed, sipped your beer while you considered. “Alright. I’ll do it." 

He grinned. “You’re the best, baby girl." 

The weekend passed too quickly, as it always did, and the week flew by too. Friday afternoon, Bo flipped the sign on the shop door and turned to you with a sigh and the most forlorn expression he could manage. 

“Dunno what I’m gonna do with myself all alone tonight." 

“Don’t say that, you’re making me feel bad." You wrapped him in a hug. “I wish I didn’t have to go." 

“Nah, it’s a good thing. You gotta support your dad." 

“You’re right. Have to earn some points while I still can. Maybe it’ll cushion the blow when they find out you’re paying me for sex." 

“Darlin’, I guarantee it will not." Bo kissed your forehead. “You’re comin’ over tomorrow?" 

“Of course I am." 

“I’ll pick up more o’ those snacks you like." 

You smiled up at him. “You’re a sweetheart." 

“Only for you, baby girl." He kissed you, long and sweet. “I’ll text you later,” he said with a wink and a smirk. 

You got ready for the evening at your parents’ house. The dress really was something, black with a smattering of delicate beaded details, the neckline a deep V, the floor-length skirt long enough that even with the slit up both sides, you weren’t worried about the consequences of fulfilling his request. It hugged your figure in all the right places, made you feel sexy and confident. You wished he could see you in it. 

Before you left your room, you tossed the pair of panties you would have worn onto your bed, took a picture, and sent it to him. Call it a teaser. He responded promptly with a single text:  

Minx. 

You grinned and tucked your phone in your bag. 

The gala was being held at an upscale hotel downtown. You rode with your parents and arrived considerably earlier than most of the guests. You made nice with the introductions, smiled politely, retained nobody’s name, answered the same three questions about college until you were ready to snap. 

The night had only begun. You were ready to go home. 

Playing the dutiful daughter with nothing under your skirt was a new kind of thrill, you had to admit. It was probably better to sneak a scandalous picture now, before the crowd really arrived.

You snagged a champagne flute from a server’s tray on the way to your table, drank it too fast looking for a little extra courage. You’d never taken a nude in a public place; to be fair, there wouldn’t be much of an audience in a bathroom stall. 

When the champagne was gone, you excused yourself and wandered through the building until you found a restroom a little ways away from the event hall. Naturally, the bathroom was impractically luxurious to match the rest of the hotel, brightly lit and opulent. At the far end from the door, there was a vanity with three low stools upholstered in velvet. 

You considered this for a moment. Those stools were cute. You didn’t particularly want to take a picture of yourself straddling a toilet. Maybe…if you were quick…. 

 Desperately trying to seem inconspicuous, you crossed to the vanity, double-checking each stall to be sure it was empty. When you were sure you were alone in the bathroom, you perched on the stool, pulled out your phone. 

You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You really did look good tonight; it was a damn shame you weren’t going to see him until tomorrow. You snapped a couple selfies, made sure to get the dress and the way it hugged your chest in frame. 

Then you adjusted your skirt, glancing behind you with trepidation. You’d had sex in a barn two weeks ago, you reminded yourself. And blown him at work on the clock. And fucked in your bedroom during a block party. 

God, he was just stripping away your inhibitions right and left, wasn’t he? 

You shook off the realization that you loved it and tugged your skirt up the rest of the way. 

After taking a few pictures with your legs in slightly different positions, and then quickly readjusting your dress to salvage a little modesty, you scrolled through to pick the best shots. You could feel your face heating up as you examined yourself, but you knew he was going to love them.

You’d sent him nudes before, but only a couple times, and always from the comfort of your bedroom. No matter how self-conscious you felt, they were always well-received. 

As it happened, he had quite the artistic eye when it came to the dick pics he sent your way. No grainy, overexposed, oddly cropped pictures where it looked like he may have just accidentally dropped his phone into his pants. No, you got well-framed mirror selfies, full-body shots with his hand wrapped around his cock or his thumb tucked in the waistband of his boxers.

They were worthy of salivation. He was always saying Vincent was the artist, but as far as you could tell, Bo was a born photographer. 

The vanity had been a good choice. Hopefully he’d be impressed. You texted him one shot of your face and two of your pussy and called it a night. 

By the time you returned to the event hall, he still hadn’t replied. You were slightly disappointed, but didn’t want to blow it out of proportion, so you tucked your phone away and jumped back into social hour with your dad’s coworkers. It absolutely necessitated another flute of champagne. 

You were zoning out during your dad’s eighth rendition of the same story about golf, pleasantly floaty and counting the minutes, when he deviated from the script. 

“Oh, here’s the guy I was telling you about, Bo Sinclair. Let me introduce you!" 

The words hit your ears like a slap, sobered you up in an instant. You glanced up and sure enough, your smug Southern gentleman was crossing the room, giving Johnny Cash a run for his money in an all-black suit and tie, hair slicked back, gorgeous. 

You didn’t even feel your jaw drop. He looked incredible. Moreover, he was here. 

He greeted your dad with a smile and a handshake, then those baby blues fell on you. “Good seein’ you,” he said with gentility, taking your hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “You look absolutely stunnin’." 

Every drop of champagne in your body rushed to your head and every ounce of blood rushed south and you lamented the fact you were not wearing underwear. 

“Sorry honey, probably should’ve mentioned your boss was going to be here,” your dad said. 

“No, it’s – fine,” you said. 

“’S alright, she doesn’t get enough o’ me at work,” Bo said brightly. “Thanks for invitin’ me." 

“Oh, you had to be here,” your dad was saying. The rest of the conversation was utterly lost on you; you were too preoccupied with the scent of his cologne, how his shoulders filled out the jacket. He was handsome as hell in a suit. He played innocent remarkably well, only shooting you the occasional glance, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards every time. 

Blessedly, the lights dimmed, signaling to everyone that the evening’s presentation was about to start. You, your father, and Bo returned to the table where your mother was sitting nursing a second – or third? – glass of wine. 

“Mind if I sit here?” Bo asked as he slipped into the chair beside you. 

“Not at all,” you said. 

“Got your text,” he murmured. “Think I’m gonna need a closer inspection." 

“Are you talking shop at the dinner table?” your mom interjected. 

You could feel, actually feel, your soul leaving your body. 

“Apologies,” Bo said with a smile. “Y/N was sendin’ me pictures of her friend’s truck, might wanna sell it. Looks real nice in the pictures, but I always say, y’never know ‘til you take it for a ride." 

Your soul did in fact leave your body. Your mother did not seem to notice. Bo flashed you a wicked grin and nudged your foot under the table. 

The lights went down even further and stayed that way as the CEO started her speech. You felt Bo’s fingertips brush your knee, squeeze your thigh. He winked at you when you gave him a sidelong glance, then folded his hands primly on the tabletop. 

You slipped your foot out of your shoe and ran your toes up and down the back of his calf, stoically did not acknowledge when he looked at you. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him slip his phone out of his pocket, type something short. As he tucked it back away, your bag buzzed conspicuously. Your mom looked over, made a shushing face. 

You focused on the CEO, tried to ignore him as he shifted in his chair. Out of the corner of your eye, he vanished. Seconds later, you felt his fingers on your ankle, and then his lips on your knee. You jumped, startled, and he popped back up from beneath the table, smiling. 

“Tyin’ my shoe,” he whispered. You bit your lip and rubbed his spit off your skin. 

The speech ended, the lights came up, and shortly thereafter servers began bringing around the first course. 

"So Bo, how's my kid doing down at the shop?” your dad asked halfway through his salad. “Giving you all kinds of trouble?"

You stopped chewing, braced yourself for the innuendo. 

"Aw, she's a delight," Bo replied. Your eyebrows went up. "Smart as a whip, friendly with the customers, real fast learner. Works harder'n me. I'd keep her around forever if it was up to me, but she's got bigger and better things comin' her way for sure." 

He smiled at you, a genuine, affectionate smile, and you tried your hardest not to light up too much. “Thanks, Bo." 

“Jus’ the truth, darlin’." He looked at your parents. “She’s somethin’ special." 

"I'll drink to that," your dad said. 

As guests finished their meals, many of them wandered to the wide-open center of the room where couples were dancing. Your parents got up from the table to join the handful of people already swaying in slow little circles, your mother admonishing Bo to keep an eye on you. 

"You here all by yourself, pretty thing?" he said once you were the only two left at the table, scooting his chair a few inches closer to yours.

"You look sexy as hell," you told him. “I didn’t know you owned a suit." 

"Thank you, darlin', don't get much occasion to wear it." He fussed with his cuffs. "Think the last time was at Les's weddin'."

"I can't believe you didn't tell me you were going to be here."

"I told ya I had a date."

"You didn't tell me it was with me!"

He gave you a sultry look. "Who else would it be with, baby girl?"

You gazed back at him with open adoration. "You can't just show up here looking like that saying nice things about me."

"Why not?"

"Cause there's no hayloft to hide in."

He laughed. “If you’re that desperate, we can get a room." 

You shook your head. “I don’t think they rent by the hour here." 

“Probably right." Bo stood up suddenly. “Why don’t we visit the courtyard instead?" 

“The what?" 

“C’mon, baby girl." He flashed you a mischievous grin, offered you his arm. “It’s real pretty. And real private." 

“Bo!” you exclaimed. “My parents are here!" 

“When are you gonna stop bein’ sensible and start trustin’ me?" 

You stood up and took hold of his elbow. He set a quick pace around the edge of the room toward the door. “When are you going to behave appropriately in a public setting?" 

“Darlin’, if you think I’m just gonna sit here and stare at you when you’re wearin’ a dress like that with nothin’ underneath, then you ain’t been payin’ attention." 

You stole a wary glance in the direction of the dance floor. You couldn’t see your parents; hopefully they couldn’t see you either. “You are going to get us in trouble." 

He tossed that damn smirk at you over his shoulder. Your heart skipped a beat at the look in his eyes, bright and smoldering with lust. “We can hope, can’t we?" 

Together you stumbled out of the event hall. He slowed down in the corridor so you could keep pace beside him. He seemed to know where he was going, but the place was a maze to you. 

Around the second or third corner, Bo stopped abruptly and pulled you to him, capturing your lips in a kiss. You thought about pushing him away for a second, only a second, before your arms were around his neck and your tongue was in his mouth. 

“God, baby,” he breathed. “Wanna touch you so bad." 

You slid your hands down his chest. “Then you better find that courtyard." 

“’S around here somewhere,” he said, taking your hand and tugging you down the hall. 

You rounded another corner and yanked on his hand, pinning yourself between him and the wall. He smashed his mouth against yours, hands on your waist, running up your sides to your breasts and down to your hips. Fiery, you angled your pelvis flush against his, so few layers between you. His fingertips worried at the top of the twin slits of your dress, pawing desperately at the skin of your thighs. 

“Uh-uh." You pushed his hands away. “Not in the hallway." 

Bo made a disapproving sound. “Then quit kissin’ me like that." 

“Never." You pulled him to you by his tie. 

He wrested his tie and his lips loose, pointed a finger in your face. ��Now who’s gettin’ us in trouble?" 

You grinned at him. “I’d kill to get in trouble with you, baby." 

He groaned. “Y’promise? I got a gun." 

“Cross my heart." 

He buried his face in your neck, his kisses manic, and you tilted your head back against the wall in bliss until he sucked hard on your skin. You shoved him away. “Bo!  You can’t give me a hickey!" 

“I sure can." 

“No you can’t!" 

He smiled smugly and looped his arm around your waist. “This way, pretty thing." 

To your surprise, there really was a door marked Courtyard around the bend. Bo held it open for you and before you could thank him for his chivalry, he grabbed your ass as you passed him. You swatted him away, giggling. 

The courtyard was a large area of greenspace smack in the center of the hotel. A fountain burbled in the center and trees and shrubs were planted thickly among the pavers. A smattering of lamps provided wan white light, leaving ample room in the shadows for shenanigans. The early evening stars were hidden from view by the glow of the city, but the sky was a beautiful deep, swelling blue. 

“How did you know this was here?” you asked. 

“Went with your dad to a golf club happy hour here in the spring." 

You winced. “I am so sorry." 

“Me too. I hate golf. Drinks were good though." 

Bo took your hand and led you to a secluded bench tucked away behind a pair of bushes. It was practically invisible from the door, but plenty of windows loomed overhead like half-lidded eyes. You were hidden beneath the trees, probably. At this rate, you’d be fucking in Times Square by Halloween. 

He straddled the bench and you sat between his legs, adjusting your skirt. The cold concrete touched a bare strip of your thigh, made you flinch. 

“How much time do you think we have?” you wondered. 

“All the time in the world,” he said, kissing you again. His hand wandered from your knee up to the end of the slit in the dress. His thumb played at the inside of your thigh, tantalizingly close to your sex, lighting up the nerves in your groin. 

“You look so damn good tonight,” he said. “Drivin’ me wild." You gripped his lapels, kissed his lips, his cheek, the scar on his chin. “Wanna make you feel good, baby girl. Let me make you feel good?" 

“Please,” you whispered the way you knew he liked, drawn out and plaintive. 

His hand slipped beneath your dress, fingers just parting your lips. Your back arched. His eyebrows shot up. “Soaked, darlin’. Bet you taste even better than you look." 

Heat flooded your face and your core. You wanted to see his head between your legs. “Why don’t you find out?" 

His lips curled into a smile. “If you insist." He leaned forward and gave you one last kiss before pulling away to kneel on the ground in front of you. He looked up through his lashes like a supplicant at the feet of a saint, hands on your knees, urging your legs open with reverence. 

“Nobody in there needs to know you belong to me,” he said, pushing your skirt up and aside. “But I’m gonna make damn sure you know it." 

Your fingers curled around the lip of the bench as he blew gently along your slit, following immediately behind with the tip of his tongue. Your breath hitched in your throat. He sucked at your clit, lapped at your arousal, strong hands holding your thighs immobile even as you strained involuntarily to close them. 

"Don't you mess up my hair, angel," he warned.

"I wo - oohh." You gripped his shoulders instead, hips rolling.

“Bet I can make you cum before I finish spellin’ my name,” he murmured. 

“Full name?" 

“Uh-huh,” he said, open-mouthed, his tongue pressed against you. The vibration made you shudder. 

You were so hot for him already, it wasn’t going to take much, but his name wasn’t long. You could hold out. “You’re on." 

When his tongue dragged lazily over your clit in an unmistakable letter B, your toes curled and you moaned. He punctuated the initial with a merciless suck. The next letter was not an O. You felt yourself clench, ached for him to be inside you. The next letter was also not an O. You were writhing in his grasp and confused in the fog of pleasure. 

“Bo…what – god – what are you spelling?" 

“My name, darlin’." 

“Your name…is two letters." 

He grinned up at you in the dim light. “It’s Beauregard, baby girl." 

“It’s what?" 

“Beauregard Sawyer Sinclair." 

Your mouth hung open. “…fuck." 

“Think you’re about to lose a bet. Now I can’t remember where I was, so I’m startin’ over." He started over. 

His middle fingers were knuckle-deep in your pussy halfway through Beauregard. You did lose the bet, somewhere around the Y in Sawyer. Head thrown back, you saw your own stars spill across the canvas of the sky, your helpless whimpers so soft and so loud in the open air. You melted back into your body with a sigh, blinking bleary-eyed as he sucked his fingers clean. 

“You cum so pretty, baby girl,” Bo crooned. “Gonna be thinkin’ about those sweet little sounds when it’s just me and my hand in bed tonight." 

You frowned. “You don’t want me to take care of you right now?" 

“Nah, we best get back. You can make it up to me later." He winked. “Now, I got the worst knees on this side of the Mississippi, so you’re gonna have to give me about ten minutes to stand up." 

He winced as he rose from the ground, kissed you on his way up. You fixed your dress and his tie, pushed one wayward lock of his hair back in place. 

“Handsome,” you said, smiling. 

“Shucks." Bo wrapped his arms around you. “Kiss me goodnight before we go inside." You obliged. You missed him already. 

He held your hand loosely as you crossed the courtyard, tugging uncomfortably at his slacks. “Gimme a second, I gotta get rid of this situation." 

You snickered. “I offered my services." 

“You hush." 

“Could’ve made you try to spell your name again while I sucked you off." 

“That’s enough." 

“I know what would shut me up, Beauregard." 

“Alright then, smartass, I’ll prance in there with a boner and let you explain where it came from." 

“Couldn’t say. I’m a virgin." 

He snorted as he pulled the door open. “Get inside." 

You held his hand until the last possible second before you stepped back into the event hall. Immediately you were searching for your parents. Anxiety seized you in its clammy grip when you caught sight of them seated at your table. 

“There you are,” your mom said, slurring a little. “Where’ve you been?" 

“Sorry, we went for a walk." You smiled what you hoped was a normal smile. 

“Oh that sounds nice." Man, your parents could drink. 

“When do you want to get going?” you prompted. 

“Well, about that, honey,” your dad said. “The company paid for a room for your mom and I, sort of a surprise weekend getaway." His gaze shifted to Bo. “I hate to ask you this, but could you take her home?" 

You didn’t have to look at him to sense the smirk on his face. You could feel it like a kiss on the back of your neck. “I’d be happy to." He touched your back, your upper back, nothing but propriety. “You just lemme know when you’re ready to leave." 

“Now is fine,” you said immediately. “I’m pretty tired. And you know, I’m meeting…someone tomorrow to do something, remember?" The details of this weekend’s cover story were fuzzy but so were your folks. 

“Right, right,” your dad said. “Have so much fun!" 

“Oh I will." You glanced at Bo. “Shall we?" 

“Of course, darlin’." He shook your dad’s hand, thanked him again for the invite; you hugged your parents and bid them goodnight and a good weekend. 

It was a long walk back out to the hallway. No sooner had you left the room when he clasped your hand, brought it to his lips, and deadpanned, "I'll drop you at yours, then?"

You pushed him playfully. "You'll do no such thing."

"Who is the boss here?"

"I think it's me."

He scoffed, guiding you through the hotel doors with his hand on your back, your lower back, possessive. "I have the keys," he said as he produced them from his pocket. 

With uncharacteristic speed you snatched the keys from his hand and danced away down the sidewalk like a dog with a forbidden treasure, skirt gathered in one hand. "Wrong!"

Bo gave chase without a second thought. "Ooh, you better pray I don't catch you, baby girl."

"What're you gonna do, spank me?"

"Somethin' like that."

You spun, flashed him a grin, prancing just out of his reach. "Can't wait."

He lunged and you shrieked with laughter, feinting away at the last possible second. You moved in the direction of his truck parked just down the street.

"This ain't fair, y'got twenty years on me," he whined, out of breath, hands on his hips like an exasperated Little League coach. 

"Aw, what a shame." You jingled the keys in your hand. "Guess you'll have to walk home, old man."

He shot you a glare and then without warning broke into a dead run. He was unexpectedly fast, had evidently been holding back, and you let out a genuine scream as you scrambled for the truck. The pounding of his footsteps got louder behind you and the next thing you knew, he had you in a vice grip, whirled you both around so your momentum carried him into the side of the truck and you into his chest. 

"Respect your elders, darlin'." He crushed you to him, landing one good slap on your ass. 

You collapsed with laughter. "You're scary as hell."

He smiled darkly. "Nah, I'm a big softie." You went to hand him the keys and he shook his head. "You're drivin'."

"What?"

"Take me home, baby girl."

You'd never driven his truck before. He was protective of the thing, to say the least; washed it once a week, detailed it himself, refused to park it within six feet of another vehicle. "Are you sure?"

"I trust you." 

You grimaced. "No pressure."

"None at all."

"If I'm driving, I can't blow you."

"There'll be more'n enough time for that later. Quit stallin', I'm ready to be outta this suit."

You opened the driver's door and started to climb in. Bo cleared his throat and you paused, frowning. "What's wrong?"

"Ain'tcha gonna open the door for me?" he pouted. 

You rolled your eyes. "Of course, my bad."

Looking pleased, he followed you around the truck and stood back while you opened his door. "Why, thank you, darlin'. Y'sure know how to show a man a nice time."

You grasped his tie and tugged him in for a kiss. "Just you wait."

The anxiety set in with force once you got behind the wheel, but Bo put his hand on your thigh and gave it a squeeze. "Relax, you know how to drive."

"What if I crash?"

"Don't."

"But what if I do?"

"I know a real good mechanic."

With extreme caution, you pulled into traffic and drove five miles under the speed limit the entire way to Bo's house. He kept his hand on your thigh, thumb rubbing circles on your skin, and every time you glanced over at him he was gazing back at you. 

"What's up?"

"Just admirin' you. Y'look fine as hell drivin' my truck. 'S like seein' you wear my shirt. Got me thinkin' thoughts."

"What kind of thoughts?"

Bo pinched his tongue between his teeth, dug his nails lightly into your flesh. "You just focus on the road, darlin', and let me worry about that."

When at last you parked in the garage he smiled proudly at you. 

"That's my girl."

You laughed with relief and peeled your fingers off the steering wheel. "Can't believe you let me do that."

"Neither can I. Think you're the first, baby girl."

Your eyebrows shot up. "Are you serious?"

"'S a privilege I think you've earned. Y'did well."

You led him up to the house and unlocked the door with his keys. Just inside the entryway, Bo took your face and kissed you in earnest, his tongue playing at your lip.

Your fingers smoothed down his lapels. "Let's get you out of that suit, yeah?"

You kissed him sloppily as he shrugged out of his jacket. He pulled you down the hallway feeling for the lightswitch; you fumbled with his belt while he loosened his tie in the time-honored tradition of not being able to shed clothes fast enough. 

You parted lips long enough to pant, "Unzip me?"

"Done."

He spun you around and eased the zipper down your back, peeling the dress open like he was unveiling a piece of art. His kiss on the nape of your neck sent sparks down your spine so hot they gave you goosebumps. 

With a twist of your shoulders the dress dropped to the floor, leaving you bare from head to toe. Bo's hands were on your skin before the air was, cupping your stomach, fondling your breasts, his nose in your hair. 

"Gorgeous," he murmured. "Get over here and sit on Daddy's lap, baby girl."

His fingertips brushed across your skin as he skirted around you to settle on the couch. You sat in his lap, leaned back against his chest as he hooked your legs over his knees, opening you up, exposed and vulnerable. You cast a glance to your right where you could see yourself in the reflection of the windows overlooking the backyard, curved against his body, Bo gazing smug and sultry back at you. 

"'S a mighty fine view, darlin'." His gaze moved over your body like probing fingers, curious and hungry. "Hope someone out there's peekin' in to see it."

He cupped your breasts, rolling each nipple between his thumb and forefinger. You moaned, heat throbbing in your core in time with his ministrations. His lips grazed the slope of your neck, his chin parked on your shoulder.

"Pretty thing." He drew his fingertip in a line from your navel down to the top of your slit and back. Your skin hummed. "Can y'touch yourself for me?"

Without hesitation, you parted your lips and brushed your clit with two fingers. "Like this?" Your voice was breathy and higher than normal already. 

"Just like that," he crooned. "Such a good girl." Your hips bucked against your own hand and you let out a choked, needy sound. You could feel him getting hard beneath your ass. "Who d'you belong to, angel?"

"You." His grip tightened on the flesh of your thigh. "You, Daddy."

"That's right." He caressed the crevice of your hip. Your brow furrowed as you felt his finger push into your slick hole with little resistance. "So tight, sweetness, how'm I gonna fit?"

"You'll fit," you breathed, rubbing tight circles around that most sensitive spot. 

"You sure?" He squeezed in a second finger and you whined. "Think I might have to make you cum a few more times, getcha to relax a little bit."

"Whatever you want," you mumbled, bearing down on his fingers, gasping as he stroked your insides. 

"Look at you bein' so good for me."

He swept the unoccupied fingers of his other hand across your mouth and you opened to admit his first two fingers, sucking on them with desperation, your head cradled in the hollow of his shoulder. You closed your eyes and moaned long, pulsing deliciously around him.

"Goddamn, baby. Someone better fuck you quick." 

You made a pleading sound, mind fragmented between sensations, your own hand moving erratically across your clit in the face of his slow and steady rhythm. You could feel the ebb and flow of pleasure inside you tilting ever so gradually upward, felt yourself clenching just a little tighter, let out a pitiful, indignant whine when he pulled out of you. 

"Aww, c'mon now, darlin'. I'd just rather y'cum on my cock, that's all." He withdrew his fingers from your mouth with a wet pop. "Lay down and keep yourself warm for Daddy, how 'bout that?" he whispered in your ear.

You reclined on the couch, teasing your sensitive clit as you watched him undress. He wrapped one hand around his erection. "Y'see what you do to me, baby girl?" 

He bent low and kissed your forehead, laid his hand over yours and applied just enough pressure that you squeaked with overstimulation. "You trust me?"

"Yes," you said without hesitation. 

The corner of his mouth quirked upwards. "Hold still." 

He braced himself on the back of the couch, bent over you and reached down between the couch and the end table. You heard a jingling sound as he fished up a pair of leather cuffs, lined with suede and attached to a restraint system apparently running underneath the couch. 

Your mouth fell open. "Bo!"

"Yes dear."

"Has that been there the whole time?!"

"Yeah, 's where it goes." You laughed, shocked. "Okay if I strap you in?"

"Absolutely." You were thrilled.

"Y'sure?"

"I'm sure."

Bo looked delighted. "Gimme your hand, angel." He kissed your knuckles before buckling the cuff around your wrist. "Too tight?"

"No, just snug."

"Perfect." He took your other hand, sucked your fingers clean of your arousal, kissed your palm, and secured your wrist. You gave them an experimental jerk. They were fastened firmly above your head so your hands rested on the arm of the couch. 

"Now you want me to turn you loose, the word's crossbow, alright? I'll stop what I'm doin' and get you right out."

"Okay." 

His gaze raked down your supine form and he licked his lips. "Goddamn, I'm a lucky man." 

You tugged against the restraints, arched your back. The feeling of being at his mercy coalesced right between your legs. His fingers trailed down your throat, over one breast, across your stomach. His eyes were hungry and his hand stroked his cock almost absentmindedly. 

"Gonna be so good to you, darlin'. My baby girl."

Bo sat at your feet, lifted your leg, kissing your ankle, up your calf, along the inside of your thigh, sucking at your skin til it left a mark. His tongue licked a wide stripe up your slit, made you quiver. You squirmed, gasping, pulling against the cuffs as his fingertips trailed ticklish over your skin. 

He climbed on top of you, heavy and hot, kissing his way up your body. He lined himself up with your entrance and smiled a crooked smile down at you, eyes alight, before pushing into you slowly, so slowly, with a gentle kind of force, inch after blessed inch. 

Your head rolled back and a vocal sigh slipped from your mouth as he filled you at last the way you'd craved all night. "Oh, Bo."

He groaned in your ear, his hands curled behind your shoulders for leverage. "Baby girl." 

He rolled his hips and sent a wave of pleasure surging through you. With his full weight on top of you and your wrists immobile above your head, there was nothing you could do but accept each languorous thrust. You felt used in the best way, helpless, all his.

He fucked you slow, the swell of him inside you mesmerizing, every inch of his body pressed against yours, every tiny sound you made delivered straight to his ears. 

You wanted to touch him so badly, wanted to stroke his hair and scrape your nails down his back. All you had at your disposal was your voice. He usually had the sweet-talking handled, but through the steady-thickening film of pleasure weaving around your brain, you decided to give it your best shot.

You nuzzled your lips to his ear and whispered, "You feel so good, Daddy…am I being good for you?"

His grip on your shoulders tightened. "Shit, baby, you're bein' so good."

"Do you like my pussy?"

He groaned. "I love your pussy, baby girl." His pace picked up, his thrusts gaining the slightest edge of desperation.

Your tongue grazed his jaw. "Are you going to cum for me, Daddy?"

Bo grunted, his nails digging into your skin, cock bottoming out again and again. "Y'want me to cum for you?"

"Please," you begged softly. "Please fill me up, please cum inside me, please Daddy I need you so bad - "

Bo choked out a whine, hips heaving, head snapping back, whole body taut and shuddering. You craned your neck to kiss and suck at his throat, the vibration of his waning moans satisfying against your lips. 

When his baby blues opened they were glazed and staring. "...I'll be damned," he managed. 

You grinned at him, pleased with yourself. "Was that okay?"

"I think you know the answer to that." He rested his forehead against yours. 

"Better than your hand, maybe?"

He chuckled breathlessly. "A thousand times, darlin'." He kissed you, swept his thumb across your cheek. "I'm gonna let your hands loose but you ain't gettin' me outta that pussy anytime soon."

"Fine with me."

He unfastened the cuffs expertly with one hand and examined your skin. "Hurt at all?" You shook your head and he kissed the inside of each wrist. "Didn't faze you in the slightest. In fact, I think it riled you right up." 

"Oh, it riled someone up." You took his face in your hands and kissed him. "Next time, the dungeon?"

"Next time, I'm gonna strap you to the bed and tease you for a good long while."

"You've got these under the bed too?"

"Of course I do." He gave you a sly look. "There's a lot under that bed, baby girl."

You brushed a few wayward strands of his hair back off his brow, combed your fingers through it to loosen the gel. "Show me."

"It'd be my pleasure." 

"Show me right now?"

He laughed. "Alright, gimme a minute. I need a cigarette and a lil bourbon and then I'll show you what good girls get."

"Wait, don't go yet." You clung to him with all four limbs. 

"Needy little thing, ain'tcha," he said affectionately. "'M not goin' anywhere without you." He bumped his nose against yours and worked his way onto his side. He slipped out of you in the process and you grimaced.

"Eh, cum comes out," he said dismissively. He tucked a blanket around you both, tangled his legs together with yours and cuddled you to his chest. 

You frowned thoughtfully, drawing shapes on his skin with your fingertip. "Bo, what happens at the end of the summer?"

"Well then it's fall, baby girl, you ain't that little."

You rolled your eyes. "Not what I meant."

He smiled grimly. "You're gonna go back to college is what."

"And I won't see you anymore…."

Bo let out a long, quiet sigh through his nose. "I s'pose that's up to you, darlin'." 

"Would you let me come visit on the weekends?"

"If that's what y'want, absolutely. I'd even come see you sometimes if y'let me."

You stroked the scar on his chin. "What do you want?"

His eyes clouded with some complex blend of emotions you didn't think you could coax out of him no matter how hard you tried. His face was so close to yours, you could see the flecks of darker gray that interrupted the pale blue iris. 

"Don't matter what I want," he said. "You got a lotta options, baby girl. Bradley from Gulfport ain't one of 'em - " You snorted and he cracked a smile. "But besides his sorry ass, sky's the limit. Whatever you want." His smile faded around the edges. "Far be it from me to take anythin' from you."

You furrowed your brow. "You're not, Bo, you're not…taking anything from me. You're so good to me. You make me happy."

Something softened in his expression. "'S good to hear that, darlin', that's all I really want."

"Just because I'm leaving, it doesn't mean I'm leaving you. I mean, as long as you…still want me. If you don't, I mean, that would be…fine." What had started as a summer fling had somehow, so quickly, become something else, at least to you. You wondered suddenly if he felt the same. 

It must have been evident in your face because he ran his thumb over your lip. "Hey. I want you more'n anything." He hesitated, suddenly uncomfortable. "You make me happier than I have any right to be, darlin' , don't you ever doubt that."

You murmured his name against his thumb, squeezed him tightly. 

He tucked his finger beneath your chin and looked at you seriously. "But I need you to listen to what I'm sayin', because it's gotta be said. If you meet some fine young man or a nice young lady, and you wanna hold their hand at the movies or whatever, you don't have to feel guilty about it. You don't even have to give me a second thought, you just don't show up on my doorstep some weekend and I'll figure it out. You deserve - "

He faltered, like he was suddenly conscious of the words he was saying, of how many he'd already said. "You deserve the world, darlin', and it don't matter who gives it to you so long as somebody does. Maybe it's not me. But it better be somebody."

You gazed at him for a long time. "Are you done?"

He scowled. "You ain't listenin' to me."

"Bo."

"I need you to - "

"Bo, listen to me."

"Excuse me, I am talking."

"Beauregard."

"Don't you Beauregard me, missy, I'll leave marks on that ass."

"Bo, please!" 

He gave you a look fraught with attitude, lips pursed. "Go'n then, it better be good."

You touched his face. "I just want you." 

"Baby girl…." There was a desperation in his voice. "I don't know how to tell you that you don't."

You shook your head. "You're not gonna change my mind. I just want you."

He leaned his forehead against yours and sighed, frustrated. 

"I get your point," you said. "I understand. I promise I won't deprive myself of this magical college experience you think exists. But I'm going to be comparing everyone to you, and they're going to fall short every time." 

Bo said nothing. You could almost hear the war in his mind playing out, the clash of his desires against his better judgment, against whatever burden he held onto that made him think he was somehow not enough for you.

You rubbed the stubble of his five o'clock shadow with your thumb. "Let me come see you on the weekends," you said. "Or you can come to me. Or we can meet halfway in some shitty motel and pretend we don't know each other."

He acquiesced a small smile. "Sounds like my kinda date."

You grinned at him. "And if I meet someone else I can at least afford you the courtesy of a text, everything doesn't have to be so dramatic all the time."

He snorted. "Well I hope y'don't mind me sayin' I hope I never get that text." 

"You won't." You kissed him. "Now go smoke or whatever, you owe me like five orgasms for that conversation."

Bo laughed. "What conversation? You ain't heard a word I said."

"Go!"

"Well you gotta let me up first, baby girl."

You rolled to the side and he rolled back on top of you. You stared up at him, memorizing the lines in his face, around his eyes, how his lips curved. It made you ache, the way he looked and the way he looked at you.

"Y'know what you mean to me, darlin'?" he said. 

You put your hands on his chest. "What?"

Bo smiled, almost wistful. 

"Everything."

Taglist at the bottom bc this is a monster post already: @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better, @slutforguts, @brandnewhuman, @fluffy-little-demon, @cypressnmarigolds, @slasherlouvre , @g0thl3zz, @frankiethedarkangel, @mad-girl-without-a-box, @likeacidrainn, @thatoneidiotlol. If you’d like to be added to the taglist, let me know!

#bo sinclair x reader #dilf bo sinclair #bo sinclair #slasher x reader #my writing #god they just keep getting longer besties #no one can stop me so don't even try

[mybikesurly]

Making the most of tax day. First leg of trip in the books. Made it to Mobile with my copilot. The Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

665 miles, two disc golf rounds, one brewery, 4?cheese sticks, nearly a gallon of water between us, two burgers and 5 beers.

Three courses tomorrow before we stop in Columbia SC.

Funky course in Gulfport MS. Glad we stopped.

Skip getting the burger with peanut butter on top. You”ll be disappointed.

[freetheshit-outofyou]

I lived all over the South when I was in the Army, did Basic and Advanced School in Fort McClellan Alabama, went to Fort Bragg North Carolina, worked a Customs Detail at Marine Corps Air Station Cherry Point North Carolina for 2 months, went Fort Jackson South Carolina, Joint Maneuver Training Center (FCJMTC) Fort Chaffee Arkansas, Joint Readiness Training Center and Fort Polk Louisianan, and just a couple months at Homestead Air Force Base, Florida for Hurricane Andrew. I leaned a great many things about the South that no book could teach me, one of those things was just how FUCKING CRAZY folks in the south get when a storm is coming in. I mean every time a storm comes in it's like half the population forgot one just came in 2 months earlier. This was brought up yesterday seeing folks at the Walmart here in Upstate Nevada buying up shit like the apocalypse was coming. We are 697.39 miles (1,120.73 km) from Baja California and folks up here are acting like they are in Mobile Alabama or Gulfport Louisianan. They are doing the same dumb shit I saw folks at the H.E.B. in Texas doing, carts full up with milk, bread, and beer. I mean what the fuck are you going to do with 12 gallons of milk when the power goes out? I'm not knockings on the South, I loved living there, for the most part. No, I'm knockings on those folks who "storm horde" every time a breeze blew in off the water. I'd like to say all those folks were "transplants" from some other state but they fact is most of them were just doing what their Ma' and Pa' did and how their Grandma and Grandpa did. The dumpsters and trash cans would wreak of spoiled milk for months after a big storm knocked out the power for a week. This ones for folks who have never experienced a true Southern Hurricane party, GO! Help your neighbors board up their windows, sandbag their foundations, move livestock and cook off all that stuff that will spoil when the lights go out. You will never see a group of people working together for the same ends and flipping the bird to the storm at the same time any place else. The South loves a good storm party.

Side Note: I will never call US military bases and forts by any of the new names, guess its the old guy in me coming through.

#heres to southern hurricane partys #all that milks going to spoil #warm beer is still beer #Youtube

[nanowrimo]

How NaNo Camp-Ins Helped Me Finish My NYT Profiled Book

We all know about NaNoWriMo, but what about CampMo? CampMo is when a bunch of Wrimos get together in a writing-retreat format. Cathy Salustri, author of the NYT Profiled travel writer, talks about her experience with CampMo, and how it helped her finish her book. Disclaimer, we are still cautiously opening up to in-person events like CampMo. It’s tentative that it will happen this year, and if it does, we encourage following COVID-19 protocols and being safe and responsible!

The first time I participated in NaNoWriMo, I hadn’t written anything creative since my undergrad days, which predated email, to give you an idea. I didn’t think I had it in me… until a germ of an idea took hold right about the same time I learned about NaNoWriMo. Most of my writing that year involved late nights at a massive maple table. I crammed in the last few words, checking my word count a few seconds after midnight, thus barely missing “winning” NaNo my first year.

The next year, I discovered write-ins. I also discovered CampMo, or NaNoWriMo camp-ins.

Lest you think this involved huddling in pup tents and writing by firelight, let me disabuse you of that notion: We camped in cabins at Lake Louisa State Park, and these cabins? Well, they weren’t exactly rustic: They had two bedrooms – one with an ensuite bathroom – dishwashers, full-size refrigerators, gas fireplaces, screened porches with rocking chairs, and comfy futon couches and chairs. The only thing missing was an icemaker, but, well, we all have to suffer for our art. 

For three days and two nights, WriMos filled the cabins, writing and eating and writing and drinking and writing some more. The lack of cell service, TV, or wi-fi forced us to spend time in our imaginations, and I wrote something like 25,000 words in three days. 

Some years later, I had an actual book contract for a Florida travel narrative based on 1930s-era road trips. I’d done the research. I’d written the book proposal. I’d gotten the contract. My first meeting with my editor went well, until I casually asked her how much she thought the book would cost readers. She said she’d take a look at the projections and budget from whatever department did those things, and I froze. 

This wasn’t my book any longer, I realized. This was something more; it now lived officially outside my head. However well it sold – which means, of course, however well I wrote it – would impact people’s jobs. My publisher was investing time, money, and talent into bringing my book to print – and if I failed, they would suffer. 

I stayed frozen for a few months more. The voices in my head constantly reminded me how much other people had invested in a book I couldn’t seem to write.

And then it was November. I took a leave of absence from my paying writing job – a hyperlocal weekly newspaper where I covered city council, Little League, and various duck scandals – and focused on churning out a draft.

And I went back to the cabin to find that CampMo magic. I fell upon that cabin like a menopausal woman on an ice floe. I holed up in a chair and, with all the distractions of the world removed, I wrote. And wrote. And then I had a beer, because this isn’t a movie and I’m human. But then I wrote some more. I took a short walk through the woods, sure. I left to go get more beer. But I wrote.

Although I didn’t finish the draft that weekend, I wrote a lot of it, and finished the rest of it by November 30. Months after publication, the New York Times profiled “Backroads of Paradise.” The publisher printed a second run, then a third.

CampMo Magic.

This year, with (hopefully) the worst of COVID-19 behind us, I’m looking at November cabins again, hoping not only to go back and meet the magic, but to share it with other writers. 

Cathy Salustri works out of Gulfport, Florida, travels across Florida on foot, bike, boat, or car to places the Interstate bypassed long ago, as well as those spots where natural beauty has survived the onslaught of overpopulation. She attended the University of Central Florida, and earned her undergraduate degree at the University of Tampa finding the Florida Studies MLA program at the University of South Florida St. Petersburg. Cathy has written travel pieces for USA Today, Visit Florida, regional magazines and local press. You can find all her travel writing at the greatfloridaroadtrip.com.

Photo by baikang yuan on Unsplash  

#nanowrimo #campmo #writing #by nano guest #cathy salustri #nanowrimo experience

[metalshockfinland]

WITHERED Announce Eastern U.S. Tour

Photo by David Parham WITHERED are launching their Southeast U.S. tour this week. The Der Argrund tour starts Thursday May 18 in New Orleans, LA and ends June 4, when the blackened death metal band hits Knoxville, TN.  Along the way, WITHERED are headlining the Metal & Beer Fest on May 20 in Gulfport, MS, and tearing through Baltimore, MD, on May 26 for Hell in the Harbor festival. They’ll also…

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#WITHERED

[madi2112]

Fan Girl in Full Force.

There's an old saying out there that states you should never meet your heros because they'll likely dissapoint you.

Or something like that, based on the dozens of slightly different versions of the saying.

While that may be true sometimes, I can tell you, for sure, it hasn't been true in all the cases I've experienced.

Like today, for instance.

Mitze and I headed for Gulfport, Florida this morning for the ReadOut festival.

The festival was 3 days of panels, signings and events for fans and authors of LGBTQ+ literature.

The 11:30am panel featured Georgia Beers, whose books I read regularly.

But for me the big draw was that Melissa Brayden was going to be there!

Yes! The creator of one of my top 2 (maybe) 3 stories.

The Last Lavender Sister.

My thoughts on the book date in this Blogairy back to October and since then I've read it at least a dozen times (probably more).

She was on a panel discussing the romance genre for an hour that seemed liked 10 minutes.

<Melissa and Georgia>

Afterwards there was an area where you could meet the authors and have them sign your books.

I have to admit I was a nervous wreck!

But I summoned my courage and approached her table.

I then went total "Fan Girl" on her! LOL

She was patient, kind and understanding as I got it out of my system.

It was at this point we actually settled down into a nice conversation.

I told her I had been through the 3 C's (Coma, Cancer and Chemo) and that I find her books a source of joy and comfort and inspiration.

She gave me a big hug.

I got one from Georgia as well!

We posed for a selfie:

<Melissa Brayden and Georgia Beers>

The she signed my copy of The Last Lavenday Sister and I got autographed book marks too!

All in all, I can't begin to tell you how nice they both were to me.

I'm just a fan of thier work (be it a fan with a remarkable back story) but they treated me so well.

It's not often you get to tell the creator of art that has touched you and inspired you how it really means.

I got that rare opportunity today and I'm so glad I did.

Floating down the streets of Gulfport for a couple of hours afterwards I looked around, bought some trinkets and after calming down decided lunch was in order.

I wanted to have something with an oceanview but parking was non-existent on a Saturday so lakeside lunch in Winter Haven, Florida was next up.

The view of the lake from Tanner's was good (not great) the food was good (not great) but the service staff was great (not just good)

The only thing I felt bad about as I think back on the day though was I came off kinda dismissive of Georgia.

I must say I do like her books (have read many of them) and thoroughly enjoyed each one, but none have captured my fancy like The Last Lavender Sister has.

But I did spend almost all my time in conversation with Melissa even though it was really more of a three way discussion.

It wasn't as bad as this (skip to the :50 mark)

But it sure feels like it in hindsight!

My only regret in an outstanding day.

~Madison

#Youtube

[ambassadorbrewingco]

So we did a thing yesterday...We brewed our first hard seltzer 😁 Our inaugural batch features fresh blueberries and lemon juice for a crisp refreshing summertime beverage 🤤 The next batch which will feature fresh watermelon and strawberries 😍 Want to learn more about brewing craft beer, hard seltzers, kombucha, growing your own foods and more? Visit us this coming Saturday from 2pm to 6pm at our June Homebrew Club Gathering. We'll have cottage food for sampling along with various Ambassador brews on tap: 🍻Gulfport Cream Ale 🍻Manny's Mellow Brown (a London brown ale) 🍻Hurricane Saison (a tropical saison with notes of citrus, oak, and white wine) Email us at [email protected] for the address and membership details 👌🏻 See you this Saturday from 2pm to 6pm ☺ #brewsrq #anvilbrewingequipment #imperialyeast #omegayeast #drearthorganics #blackisbeautiful #backyardfarm #microfarm #foodforest #foodnotlawns #growfoodnotlawns #urbangarden #urbanorchard #permaculture #americanhomebrewersassociation #homebrew #womenwhobrew #girlswhobrew #brewster #pinkbootssociety #craftbeer #hardseltzer #drinklocalbeer #shoplocal #stpete #saintpetersburgflorida #gulfportflorida https://www.instagram.com/p/CewJbJMFHxZ/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#brewsrq #anvilbrewingequipment #imperialyeast #omegayeast #drearthorganics #blackisbeautiful #backyardfarm #microfarm #foodforest #foodnotlawns #growfoodnotlawns #urbangarden #urbanorchard #permaculture #americanhomebrewersassociation #homebrew #womenwhobrew #girlswhobrew #brewster #pinkbootssociety #craftbeer #hardseltzer #drinklocalbeer #shoplocal #stpete #saintpetersburgflorida #gulfportflorida

[thebeerbattle]

Chandeleur Island Brewing Company

Chandeleur Island Brewing Company

Almost a year ago we decided to take a trip to Gulfport, Mississippi to visit a unique and creative brewery call Chandeleur Island Brewing Company. Many of their beers have been hitting our local stores and scoring high marks in our beer lab. Why lie, it’s not a lab. It’s our back patio and bar. Either way, the beers still received high marks, especially their take on sour beers. You see, some…

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#beer blog #Chandeleur Island Brewing #Gulfport beers #Sour Beers #The Beer Battle

[gulfportbusinessround-up]

Bars In Gulfport To Spend A Night

Night іѕ best tо spend аt bars. Bars аrе a perfect place fоr tired аnd stressed people tо release thеіr stress, relax аnd hаvе fun. Sоmе аrе аlѕо going tо bars tо meet new people, spend quality tіmе wіth thеіr friends, chill аnd listen tо good music оvеr a bottle оf beer аnd mоrе. In Gulfport, thеrе аrе mаnу bars уоu саn visit tо spend a night, mау іt bе wіth уоur family оr еvеn іf уоu аrе аlоnе. Thеrе аrе mаnу bars іn Gulfport tо mention, аnd tо provide уоu twо оf thеm, check оn thе bеlоw:

49 Sport's Pub: Located аt 12449 US 49, Gulfport, MS 39503, United States, Bar іѕ a perfect place tо thоѕе whо want tо hаvе a night full оf entertainment, great music, dancing аnd huge list оf bar food аnd drinks. Going hеrе еvеn іf уоu аrе аlоnе іѕ ideal аѕ thе place іѕ ѕо warmth, welcoming аnd homey. Yоur night wіll nеvеr bе thе ѕаmе іѕ spent hеrе аt thе Bar.

Shaggy's Gulfport Beach: Thе pub іѕ located аt 1724 E Beach Blvd, Gulfport, MS 39501, United States. It offers thеіr guests wіth bar games, huge beer selection, happy hour drinks, аnd cozy ambiance. If уоu аrе going tо bars іn groups, thіѕ іѕ a perfect place tо spend a night . Going tо memorable аnd enjoying place like Bars durіng thе weekend іѕ a muѕt, staying аt home іѕ possible but definitely nоt аll thе tіmе. Gulf Coast Towing is different, аѕ thеу service thе community оf Gulfport anytime оf thе day, Mondays thrоugh Sundays. Thеу аrе available tо reach wіthоut tіmе оr day limitations. Nоw, уоu hаvе thе freedom tо choose whісh day уоu want уоur vehicle moved, аnd уоu саn аlѕо gо tо аnу places wіthоut thе fear оf getting stuck bесаuѕе оf a broken car. Othеr thаn thіѕ popular towing truck company, Gulfport аlѕо hаѕ Gulfport Business Round-Up. Thе association gives thеіr full support tо mаnу sports clubs аrоund thе city. Thіѕ thеу dо bесаuѕе thеу know hоw essential sports аrе tо lives оf people. If a specific sports club needs sponsorship, thеу аrе mоrе thаn willing tо fіnd a company оr organization tо sponsor fоr thеm.

Contact us

Gulf Coast Towing

5206 W Railroad St suite b, Gulfport, MS 39501

Phone: [phone]

Map Driving Directions

https://goo.gl/maps/NZohEuaQL6eNoJxS9

[goodolboydave]

@sipssudsandsmokes #60secondbeerreview- Little Miss Sour is a 6% #sourale with #tangerine fro @chandeleurbeer in Gulfport, MS. This is a very tasty little beer to take fishing, have at the beach in the hot summer sun, or even sitting in your living room in the Fall, shooting a short review video. The soundness is clean and subtle, in the tangerina flavor is just right to round it out and give it a nice finish. Cheers! . . . . . . . . #beer #craftbeer #podcaster #beerreview #craftbeerreview #beerme #beerisgood #beerpodcast #craftbeernerd #beersnob #beerbelly #beerlover #mscraftbeer #gulfportbeer #drinkcraftbeer #beergeek #beernerd #drinkgoodbeer #drinklocal #beachbeer (at Madison, Tennessee) https://www.instagram.com/p/BoSgB3MAr_J/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=emrpby36fzdi

#60secondbeerreview #sourale #tangerine #beer #craftbeer #podcaster #beerreview #craftbeerreview #beerme #beerisgood #beerpodcast #craftbeernerd #beersnob #beerbelly #beerlover #mscraftbeer #gulfportbeer #drinkcraftbeer #beergeek #beernerd #drinkgoodbeer #drinklocal #beachbeer

[mybikesurly]

Making the most of tax day. First leg of trip in the books. Made it to Mobile with my copilot. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

665 miles, two disc golf rounds, one brewery, 4 cheese sticks, nearly a gallon of water between us, two burgers and 5 beers.

Three courses tomorrow before we stop in Columbia SC.

Funky course in Gulfport MS. Glad we stopped.

Skip getting the burger with peanut butter on top. You”ll be disappointed.

[marblesarelost]

Change Your Mind, Change Your Life

                                             Chapter 11

“I completely understand your concerns, Ambassador,” Darcy said as her office door opened to reveal Jane, freshly tanned and looking thinner, but with a bright glint in her eyes as she grinned. Darcy grinned too, waving madly with the hand not currently busy with the phone.  “And that’s why the guarantee from Stark is written into the treaty.”

“Yes.  The replacement and insurance clauses,” Mr. Minh, the Vietnamese diplomat replied.  “The government of Vietnam would like to see them doubled.  The Hulk by himself can do so much damage, how much more when adding Thor or Loki into the mix?”

“I believe we can accommodate you regarding the insurance clauses, but the replacement clauses are non-negotiable. Stark Enterprises guarantees the replacement of any building necessary.  That’s millions of dollars worth of possible improvements already.”

“I will speak with my government.”

“Of course.  Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon.”  Darcy hung up when the ambassador did, rising from her desk and running around it to fling her arms around Jane.  “OH MY GOD!  When did you get in?  Did you get laid?  You’ve got the “freshly laid” look and I am all of the jealous.”

“Darce!”  Jane blushed, and Darcy nodded.

“Yep!  Got a right root, din’tcha?”  Darcy said in an atrocious Australian accent, and Jane laughed, her body shaking so hard she fell into Darcy’s guest chair.

“Yeh,” Jane managed to say in just as bad dialect.  “Sure did.” Both women dissolved in giggles. “An’ what about y’self?  Foine Sheila like you?”

“Alas, the dry spell continues. But things are looking…interesting,” Darcy offered before glancing at her watch.  “I’m still on the clock.  Listen, um, things are really interesting right now, but I can’t go into detail. Just…wait till five, okay?”

“No problem.  I just got in, and I wanted you to know I was home so when you came up you weren’t surprised,” Jane said.  “I’m exhausted, anyway.  StarkJets are faster than Quantas, but it’s still a heck of a long flight.”

“Right.  Go get some sleep, we can catch up later,” Darcy offered.

“Sure.  Hey, who’s the new guy?”  Jane asked, and Darcy blinked.  “Tall, dark hair, kind of longish, brown eyes?”

“And that’s one of the things we’re going to talk about,” Darcy said.  “Um.  He’s my bodyguard.”

“Bodyguard?  What did you do while I was gone, Darce?”  Jane asked, and Darcy gave her a small smile.

“I…kind of started dating someone important?”

“Oh!  Is he hot?  Who is it? Do I know him?”  Jane gushed, and Darcy shook her head.

“I don’t think you’ve ever met, and I don’t know if he’s hot or not but I kind of -- you know, personality’s really important,” she said, and Jane pulled back, looking at her oddly.

“How do you not know whether the guy you’re dating is hot?”

“When he wears a mask.”

“You’re dating the Phantom of the Opera?”

“No.  I’m dating Victor von Doom.”

Jane blinked slowly a couple of times, opened her mouth and closed it again four times before finally getting some words out.  “Doctor Doom.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re dating Doctor Doom.”

“Yeah.”

“As in the dictator of Latveria, Doctor Doom.”

“Yeah.”  Jane blinked again, then nodded.

“Okay.  Um.  We’re gonna talk about this.  Right?”

“Right.  He likes your work,” Darcy said quickly.  “He really respects your work.”

“That’s…that’s…that’s actually flattering,” Jane admitted.  “But I don’t get why you need a bodyguard.”

“Because Latveria is helping Ukraine repel the New Soviet,” Darcy sighed.  “And helping guard Poland.  He thinks I’m in danger because we’ve been seen together.”

“Oh.  Yeah.  Yeah, I can understand that, sure,” Jane replied, nodding slowly.  “Okay.  Um.  So I -- yeah.  I’m going to go have a nap, and then we’re going to talk about this later.”

“Absolutely,” Darcy nodded. “I promise.”

“Okay.”  Jane’s lips pressed together as she looked at Darcy.  “You know what you’re doing, right?”

“No, but that’s par for the course.  Also we’re mad at Steve,” Darcy said as she helped Jane up.

“We’re mad at Steve. Okay.  Why are we mad at Steve?”

“It’s related.”  Darcy walked Jane to the door of her office. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Okay,” Jane agreed.  

Once Jane was safely out the door, Darcy went back to work, comparing the agreement with Vietnam with several others, concentrating on the reparations, replacement, and repair clauses. The agreements varied, as different countries had different needs and requirements and threat levels, but on the whole, they needed to offer the same thing; an offer of security and trust. Trust that the Avengers would do everything they could not to cause collateral damage.  Trust that they would fix anything they broke.  Trust that they would not go rogue.

Stark Enterprises offering to reimburse, replace, and repair things went a long way toward building that trust.  More, Plan Hippocrates and Plan Hades ensured that where things went wrong (as they would, unfortunately, sometimes they just couldn’t get there in time, and supervillains didn’t care about the cost in human life) they ensured that the survivors of the dead and the living were taken care of without costs to the governments.

She cut off at five as usual, gathered her things and went upstairs, dropping her bags on the easy chair and checking on Jane, first thing.  She was dead to the world, curled around her pillow, and Darcy grinned to herself, closing the door again softly before going to the kitchen and making dinner for two, sliding Jane’s back into the fridge for later.

She had just sunk into her book, Gavin de Becker’s “The Gift of Fear,” when someone tapped lightly on her door. “FRIDAY?”  She said softly.

“Mr. LeBeau, Miss Lewis,” came the answer, and Darcy got up to answer it.  Honestly, he looked yummy; black cotton clung to his torso like a second skin, and his jeans weren’t much better.  

“Cher,” he said softly. “The Avengers are being called out. Some sort of creature appearing in Holland, of all places.  May I?”

“Sure, just stay quiet,” Darcy murmured.  “Jane’s asleep.”

“Of course,” Remy agreed, and she let him in.

“You want coffee or a beer?”

“Coffee, please.  No drinking on the job,” he winked.  “How is my boss today?”

“He hasn’t called today,” Darcy said, leading the way to the kitchen, Remy right behind her after he locked the door.

“I thought he called every day?”

“Every morning, usually, yeah.” She poured coffee, added just a touch of cream, two tablespoons of sugar.  

“Huh.”  Remy’s dark eyes were shadowed as he took the cup from her. “Merci.”

“De rien.  No, he’s probably just busy, I mean, he’s trying to avert a world war, after all,” Darcy shrugged.  

“True,” Remy agreed, sitting down on the end of the couch closest to the door.  “You are taking it much better than I would have expected.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Darcy sighed, picking up her book.  “He’s the leader of a country, he’s trying to restructure his own government, and he’s at war, Remy.  I can’t just expect him to be at my beck and call during a crisis.”

“I agree.  He’s lucky to find such a level headed, lovely woman,” Remy grinned.  “If you could make etouffee, I’d find myself hard pressed not to give him a run for his money, cher.”

“I can make etouffee.  I just don’t, because it’s a giant pain in the ass,” Darcy countered.  “Shelling shrimp is not my favorite way to spend an afternoon, thanks.  You have seen the way people around here eat?”

“Be still my heart.  You make it the right way?  Homemade stock, even?”  Remy’s eyebrow rose, and Darcy laughed as he leaned toward her, giving her what was obviously supposed to be a seductive look.  “Cher.  Mon petit fille la belle, do you know what poor ol’ Remy would do for a decent bowl of etouffee?”

“No.  Nor do I want to,” she grinned.  “You want etouffee that bad, you know where to find it.”

“True,” he sighed, letting himself just fall onto the couch cushion between them rather than sit back up. “The problem is I can’t show my face down home a while longer yet.”

“Yeah.  Issues you don’t wanna talk about, I know.”

“Not don’t want to,” Remy corrected her.  “Can’t. It’s worth more than my life to talk about it.”

“Right.  But you know there’s restaurants here in New York that serve Creole and Cajun --“ she began, and stopped, watching his nose wrinkle up, his mouth twist.

“No.  ‘Less the chef is there, not worth my time, and besides, these days it’s just better to stay ‘round the Tower.  Maybe once your man gets his shit straightened out, might treat myself; there’s places in ‘Bama and Gulfport that are almost as good as Mama Pepper’s,” he sighed, drama leaking off of him like rain.

“Awww.  Ma pauvre petit,” Darcy teased.

“Don’t go stealin’ my lines,” he grinned up at her.  

“No, but do you know how to make it?”  She asked, and he sat up, crossing his arms and looking at her, chin drawn down almost to his chest, affronted.

“Of course!”

“Then maybe the next time you see Bonnie, you can go to hers and teach her how.  There’s you a cute date.”

“You’re a genius, Lewis,” he smirked in return.  “Maybe tomorrow.  Pardon me.” He slid his phone from his pocket and started texting, and Darcy returned to her book.  

  The Black Widow nodded a polite greeting to the generals and Doom as she entered the command center. Monitors covered one wall, each showing a different area of the battlegrounds, one mysteriously dark.

“Agent Romanoff,” a general said. “We are glad to have you here.”

“Thank you.  What information do you have regarding the anomaly?” She asked.  She had read the written debriefs and reports on the flight over, but she knew that they would have fresher information waiting.  She was not disappointed.

“Several drones sent footage,” Doom said, coming to stand beside her.  “Agent.”

“Lord Protector.”

The monitor flickered to life, showing first only a forest, the thick green leaves passing slowly before the camera, before it focused on a dirt track below.  Two more feeds opened to the side, and she watched as a solitary figure appeared in the distance, walking slowly but purposefully toward the cameras.  The bottom left focused, zoomed out, focused again on the stranger, and the Black Widow bit her lip.

Bright pale skin showed from the torso to the head; its hair, too, was white.  Red covered the abdomen, then suddenly unwrapped itself,  several tentacles unwinding, searching, before the camera died.  The same phenomena happened twice more, and the Black Widow’s shoulders stiffened as the monitor went black again.  

“Can you identify it, Agent Romanoff?”  A general asked, and she nodded, turning to face the men and women around her.

“It must be a clone,” she began. “Because its original form is dead. I know it to be dead.  Logan, better known as Wolverine, killed him several years ago.  That is a clone of Omega Red.  Because it is a clone, I’m not sure what powers it has, precisely.  The original mutant -- it was a mutant, enhanced by the Soviet government in the 1970s, given carbonadium tentacles to use as weapons and to enhance its own natural abilities.  It was inhumanly strong and fast.  It had a regeneration ability, and the ability to kill through secreting some sort of gas or emission into the air.  Again, I don’t know what sort of ability this has; clones are notorious for mutating beyond the original’s powers.”

The generals began speaking to one another, an excited hum rising through the air, and Black Widow turned to look up at Doom.  “You might be able to stop it.  But I don’t think any normal human could.”

“No.  They’ve lost four squads already trying to intercept it,” he replied. “It leaves a radioactive trail behind it, villages and small towns have been devastated, almost a 100 percent kill rate.  I intend to intercept it with a group of Doombots before the day is out.  Now that we know what it is, I can check my own records against what it has left behind to try to extrapolate what extra powers this version has.”

Widow nodded.  “That’s a very good idea.”

“Thank you.  I’m known to have them from time to time.”

“So you are.  And I take it I don’t have to give you the don’t do anything stupid speech?”  She asked, one eyebrow rising.  His answering chuckle was low and deep, almost a growl.  

“No, Agent Romanoff.  I will make no move until I am sure of the creature’s abilities and weaknesses,” he told her before stepping away, toward the generals.  “May I suggest that we speed up the evacuation efforts if possible?”  He offered.  “Let no more civilians die before we find a way to stop it.”

Black Widow observed him interacting with the generals and subordinates, silently reevaluating the man. Everything the Widow knew of Doom was being turned on its head.  Doom was traditionally a loner, often acting unilaterally when one could persuade him into acting for the good of humanity at all.  His ego was, like Namor’s, big enough to take on any challenge, and often only his sheer force of will had been the only thing to save him from certain death and/or destruction.

Widow had been ambivalent about his apparent change of heart.  Widow had been concerned when Darcy had expressed interest, her concern only growing when the interest appeared to be reciprocated.  However, Widow had withheld judgment.  Her slowly growing respect for the man had jumped dramatically when he had mentioned having Darcy protected.  Darcy was good.  Widow and ‘Tasha trained Darcy themselves, not willing to trust anyone else with their Kitten, save perhaps Clint.  But Widow was well aware that an enhanced human or a mutant could still easily overpower Darcy, so having Gambit show up had been a relief.  

Widow had to admit, she liked what she saw.  Doom seemed as if he wanted to ensure the safety of the civilians in Omega Red’s path. He seemed as if he were willing to wait for more intelligence regarding the clone’s powers.  While Widow was fairly certain he could squash Omega like a bug, still, caution being a watchword was not a bad thing.  

Widow conferred silently with Natasha, also watching.  Time would tell, they decided.  And until they had observed him longer, they could not tell his true intentions.  The armor was one of the barriers; they could not read his face or his body language properly.  

But this at least was a good start.  And he had to have some sort of tells.  They would find them.  They would memorize them.  And then, when at last Widow and Natasha saw him with Darcy, they would have some sort of measurement.  If he meant her well, fine and good.  Darcy as Queen of Latveria?  Widow and Natasha had no issues with that.  Darcy was clever and intelligent, and would likely be very good for the people.  If he meant anything else…well.  Widow knew several other people that would gladly help her avenge her Kitten.

#the Darcy/Victor Von Doom fic no one asked for #Darcy Lewis #Victor Von Doom #Darcyland #Gambit #Remy LeBeau #Jane Foster #natasha romanoff #Black Widow #@daniissuchadani #@sonjashuterbugjohnson

[ambassadorbrewingco]

Tomorrow, Tomorrow, our a Homebrew Club Gathering is Tomorrow from 2pm to 6pm 😲😁🍻 Like beer? Want to try some homebrewed beer? Want to learn about brewing beer? Want to share share ideas if you are a home brewer? This coming Saturday, May 14th, is our Homebrew Club Gathering from 2PM to 6PM🍻🍻🍻 On tap will be: 🍺Gulfport Cream Ale 🍺Manny's Mellow Brown Ale 🍺Hurricane Saison 🍺Siobhan's Proper Pint - nitro tap Cottage foods will be available Saturday as well 🤤 ⭐️ Starfruit spent grain bars & 🍍 Pineapple spent grain bars. These yummy bars are made from spent grains from the brewing process that have been baked down to a crunchy, nutritional snack with dehydrated starfruit and pineapple grown right here in our garden. 🍞Fresh baked banana nut bread made from 🍌 bananas grown in our garden. 🐶🍪 Peanutbutter spent grain dog cookies *taking orders for Mulberry jam* It's being made fresh daily as the berries are picked. **kombucha made to order** recipes vary depending on seasonal fruits available If you are a new member looking to join our club, the initial membership fee is $40 + TAX. This one time only initial membership fee includes an Ambassador Brewing 32oz growler, 16oz pint glass, koozie, and keychain bottle opener 😁 For returning members, we have kept the membership dues the same (monthly $25 & annual $225 +tax) and added a set time frame of 2PM to 6PM 👍🏻 If you decide to purchase an annual membership and miss a gathering we will still honor your growler fill for that month 🍻 Gathering Dates: May 14th June 18th Email us at [email protected] for the location address and we look forward to seeing you ☺ Slainte, Kristyn & Laura #brewsrq #anvilbrewingequipment #imperialyeast #backyardfarm #microfarm #foodforest #foodnotlawns #growfoodnotlawns #urbangarden #urbanorchard #permaculture #americanhomebrewersassociation #homebrew #womenwhobrew #girlswhobrew #brewster #pinkbootssociety #craftbeer #drinklocalbeer #kombucha #cottagefood #shoplocal #stpete #saintpetersburgflorida #gulfportflorida https://www.instagram.com/p/CdgGyVFudi-/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#brewsrq #anvilbrewingequipment #imperialyeast #backyardfarm #microfarm #foodforest #foodnotlawns #growfoodnotlawns #urbangarden #urbanorchard #permaculture #americanhomebrewersassociation #homebrew #womenwhobrew #girlswhobrew #brewster #pinkbootssociety #craftbeer #drinklocalbeer #kombucha #cottagefood #shoplocal #stpete #saintpetersburgflorida #gulfportflorida

[bllfoxx]

#repostthis #Repost @weatheredsoulsbrewing with @get_repost ・・・ Website link is NOW LIVE!!! (Link in bio) Https://Blackisbeautiful.beer ——————————————— Here is the list of participating breweries so far: Jester King Brewery Hedgehog Brewing TheAnswer Warwick Farm Brewing Bonn Place Brewing Co. Finback Brewery Forager Brewery Trillium Brewing Company NOLA Brewing Ingenious Brewing Company Turning Point Beer Red Horn Coffee House and Brewing Co. St Elmo Brewing Company Crowns & Hops J. Wakefield Brewing Montclair Brewery Southerleigh Fine Food & Brewery Steele & Hops Scofflaw Brewing Company 2Toms Brewing Company Kings Bluff Brewery False Idol Brewing Inu Island Ales Rhythm & Brews Brewing Company Copper Kettle Brewing Company Bookhouse Brewing Islla St. Brewing Birds Fly South Ale Project Back Unturned Brewing Co. Red Bus Brewing Company Black Project Spontaneous & Wild Ales Brew Monkey Beer Company The Brewtorium Brewery & Kitchen Gulfport Brewery + Eatery Green Bench Brewing Co. Cooperage Brewing Company Claimstake Brewing Mraz Brewing Company Long Wooden Spoon Brewing Western Collective Celestial Beerworks Country Club Brewing Central 28 Beer Co. - If you do not see your name on the list and you will like to participate, please send us a comment here from your brewery page with “Count us in” and we will contact you. - - Follow our Facebook page: “Weathered Souls Presents: Black Is Beautiful” for all updates & information. - Thank you everyone & please share & keep tagging all your favorite breweries below as much as you can. We appreciate everyone. #unitedtogether https://www.instagram.com/p/CA-lKmqJW8F/?igshid=7jcpm4lt52bx

#repostthis #repost #unitedtogether

[christianbaileyceramics]

Adding pressmold parts to beer tumblers. Just another Tuesday on the studio. #tumblertuesday #tumbler #pressmold #clay #object #art #artist #video #pottery #wheelthrown #thrownonaskutt (at Gulfport, Mississippi) https://www.instagram.com/p/B-rpw09DisA/?igshid=w6eebefobajb

#tumblertuesday #tumbler #pressmold #clay #object #art #artist #video #pottery #wheelthrown #thrownonaskutt