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ghost-in-the-stalls · 3 years

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What are ur tilda hcs?

Okay im finally gonna answer this!! Thank you so much for asking!!! I love receiving asks and I love sharing my headcanons. Sorry again it's so late ❤❤❤

This isn't gonna be nearly as well worded and eloquent as I originally planned. The first time I wrote it it basically became a drabble about her life. And then I lost that whole draft. Lmao

I just don't have it in me to recreate that whole thing again but I still wanna share my headcanons about her because I do have a lot!

I also wanna say this is in no way to like... excuse her behavior or try and redeem her. She was a terrible person. But people aren't born terrible. And I like taking 2 dimensional fictional women and making them make sense. So this isn't to excuse but instead to explain? I guess?

cw for all the shit you expect with the minyards by now, but specifically drug addiction and statutory rape. Also this is LONG so its going under a cut.

So first of all, I imagine her and Luther as being half siblings. Their father was a preacher or something- someone with a big role in their church's community and a big reputation of being a reliable, wise, holy man.

When Luther was maybe around 3 years old, there was this teenage girl in the congregation who would often come to Mr. Hemmick for advice, guidance, comfort, etc. She didn't quite fit in in school, wasn't great at academics and struggled to keep up with her siblings achievements, and was overall going through a lot of the turmoil thats unfortunately common for teenagers.

So she, like many people in the congregation, went to Mr Hemmick for guidance and ended up seeing a lot of him. She felt listened to and believed in with him. She felt like he treated her as more mature than the way her family treated her. She trusted him. He abused that.

If you asked her at the time, she would have said it was consensual between them. But she was 16. And when she became pregnant, he turned on her REAL fast lemme tell you. He made her promise not to tell anyone that he was the father, and he only told his wife. And of course, when he told his wife, he talked at length about how this 16 year old girl tempted him to sin; how he regretted it and only hoped she could learn to truly find God.

So he took the child in upon being born as a way to "attone" for what he'd done, but the whole community (not knowing he was the father) just saw it as an act of good will. And of course he'd tout off a lot in his sermons about how he'd be able to give the baby a much better, holier lifestyle than a teenager who turned her back on god by having sex.

So he and his wife end up raising Tilda from birth, but they make sure she knows from the beginning the circumstances of her birth. They drill it into her that her mother was a dirty sinner and that she herself is tainted as a result. She is raised always feeling like she needs to be twice as good to even be considered half as good as her brother in her parents eyes.

Naturally, she stops trying pretty early. In middle school, I imaging her being one of those bullies. The really nasty ones who get violent at their victims for even looking at them wrong. Idk about anyone else, but in my schools growing up the fights between the girls were always way bloodier than the ones between the guys. And I imagine those as the types of fights she got in- especially when one of her victims decides to stand up for themselves by throwing her own baggage back in her face.

By high school, she was thoroughly committed to the role of problem child. She would do everything she could to upset her family and get herself into shit. She'd do drugs, skip classes, show up to school drunk, stay out late, etc. In addition to all this, she would purposefully find whatever guy seemed like the most trouble and take him home. Whether this was the school drug dealer, a boy who got expelled for some rough shit, or college boys who caught her eye at parties.

So she's basically dug this hole for herself where she's committed to actually being the child of sin that her family has always seen her as anyway. The few people who tried to reach out to her wouldn't get far. She would push and push at them to see how far she could stretch their patience (to see how long it took them to give up on her like everyone else).

She even had one teacher who never did give up on her. But she outright told Tilda that she can't help someone who doesn't want to be helped. Those words would ring in Tildas ears for years to come, even if she never found it in herself to put the concept into action.

So eventually she'd graduate- just barely because she rarely put in effort in school- and she'd be left to suddenly have to find a place in the world when she previously never even thought she'd have a future. She started batting heads with her family even more (which no one thought was possible at that point) but it became less antagonistic on her end. She was still a shit stirrer, don't get me wrong. But she was getting tired. The fights were less about her being intentionally aggrevating and aggressive and more about her continuously being unable to live up to their expectations.

Luther already had a promising job as a cop at this point, meanwhile she was still living at home and bouncing between jobs that barely kept her afloat and boyfriends that barely made her feel worth something. She'd gotten into drugs in high school, and the habit only got worse now that she was out. It was the only thing that made her feel something other than misery or numbness. She could lose herself in the drugs and the boyfriends and the late nights out. She would come home to see her parents less and less and would speak to them only when absolutely necessary.

Eventually Mr. Hemmick died fairly young (heart attack or something equally as tragic. Whatever I dont care about him enough to pick the details) and his wife followed soon after by suicide. The house was left to Luther, who moved back in immediately and said there'd be changes in the household. He basically told Tilda to quit the drugs and go back to church if she wanted to stay in the house. He also had other rules like keeping a job, dumping her current boyfriend, giving her a curfew, etc.

So she left. She took her shitty beat up car an ex had fixed up for her and headed to California. A friend from high school lived out that way, so that's where she headed.

During this period in her life the drugs got a lot worse. This is also when she realized that she had become addicted. Mainly this is because, even after being away from her family and having freedom, she was still miserable. She didn't know how to get through a day sober. The constant variation between numbness and misery was too much to bare, but she wasn't ready to help herself. She wasn't ready to commit to her own healing and health.

She was in and out of therapy and rehab as quickly as she'd change jobs and partners. She wouldn't commit, and as soon as she had an out she'd take it. Had to miss an appointment for scheduling? Didn't make it back to the shelter in time to claim her bed for the night? Forgot to call back one of the few people who tried to reach out? No going back.

This is my main thing with Tilda. She was a shitty person who had a shitty life. But she never found the strength and commitment in herself to put in the work to be better. She instead let herself fall further and further down the hole because it was easier than pulling herself out. Because part of her still believed deep down that she had succeeded in living up to her birthright- that she wasn't deserving of ever healing or being better.

It was in one of these rehab facilities that she met the twins' father (and this part is absolutely inspired by Luke and Joey from the haunting of hill house). He was a guy with a similar past to hers- always sure he was meant to be bad so he committed to the role and never learned to commit to anything else. The difference between them, though, was that he was ready to get better.

They became fast friends and leaned on one another a bit while in rehab. She didn't see him as anything other than a friend, but he unfortunately became set on this idea that they would heal and move forward together. She knew he had feelings for her and enabled him (she didn't love him back but had never actually felt cared for like this before). He believed in her even when she didn't believe in herself, which was a lot. Unfortunately for him, he also ended up being more committed to her healing than she was. When she eventually started spiraling again, all other feelings for him were overshadowed by the part of her that just saw an opportunity.

She took advantage of him. She slept with him, took his money while he was sleeping, and bailed to get high and never see him again. Now I'm not gonna say she was just a devil who entered this poor man's life. He saw her more as a potential for an ideal life than a person. He was more in love with the dream he had of them getting better and starting a life together than he was actually in love with her and who she was as a person. Bad match all around.

So she never saw or heard from him again. When she found out she was pregnant, she went home to Luther and his wife and son. She didn't tell him right away that she was pregnant. Instead, she pretended she was just finally ready to commit to God and turn her life around. She played the part alright for a while, went to church with them and got sober and everything, but tried to leave and move into a women's shelter when she started showing. Luther found out and brought her home.

At first he was actually super supportive- mainly because he just genuinely thought she wanted to find God and stop "living in sin". But when she finally told him she didn't plan to keep the child, he turned on her.

We know the story from there. Personally I think the night that she stole the money and ran as her point of no return. Years down the line, when she knew she was being a terrible mother and person, she'd remember that night. And she'd think to herself how this is who she was always meant to be. How she doesnt deserve to be any better than how she is. And she'd dig the hole deeper.

-----

So yeah thats my take on Tilda Minyard. Sorry it was so long. I like the idea of giving depth and complexity to female characters- even the bad guys and the ones I don't like. I have a similar lengthy life concept for Mary Hatford as well, but it isn’t nearly as long. If anyone is curious lol

Thanks again for asking!

#aftg #aftg meta #tilda minyard #andrew minyard #aaron minyard #twinyards #tfc #give female characters depth and complexity 2k21 #my writing

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bisymmetra · 7 years

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i. title: détente

ii. fandom: overwatch

iii. characters/ships: jack morrison, ; gen, background ships, might be reaper76 if i make this a thing but rn it’s shipless

iv. warnings: uh, discussion of ptsd/panic attacks/nightmares, but like vaguely? like nothing triggery really but if youre sensitive, brief mention of alcohol, more specific champagne and the pop of it setting off a panic attack

v. tags: dogs, im using forty nine for jack’s age bc the timeline’s all over and i put 45 - 55 in a rng and got forty nine, angela ziegler has #connections, this is five pages and just short of 2k words wtf, tenatively, bonnie the dog, therapy dog, this is jack centered tbh but if i write more hana’s getting a cat, idk if i truly like this

vi. summary: “Uh,” Jack says, the stumble coming out before he can stop it. “That’s a dog.”

“It sure is,” Angela says agreeably, depositing it in his arms and sipping her coffee. “Merry Christmas.”

“It’s June,” he deadpanned, as the wriggling little thing laps at his visor.

vii. notes: i wrote this in an hour and i dont know if i truly like it but bonnie the dog is a thing now. i literally just listened to alberta by eric clapton while writing this. will be on ao3 in half an hour. @snowsheba saw these hcs that inspired this first.

It’s four in the morning the first time he tells Angela about the dreams.

Nightmares, really. The kind that leave him grasping at catching his breath, the sweat on his brow chilly wet and clingy in the Spanish night. The kind that leaves your heart thrumming in his ears. He doesn’t - he doesn’t think this is anything important, really. It should be expected, really. He’s old, now, and he’s been military for forty damn years. He’s seen some shit.

Most people who got up real early to find him already awake didn’t question it - dreams of their own, he guessed, or maybe just expecting career military to be up at the crack of dawn. And they weren’t wholly wrong - years on a farm and years in the military have him waking up earlier than most the base, on the nights where he doesn’t wake up around two or three.

It’s the fourth time that Angela’s woken up at three in the morning to find him awake. The kitchen. this time. The practice range twice before, and once in between that in one of the commons, a book on his lap. (He didn’t much like being there, on one of those nights, but he’d had a nightmare about an incident in Kuwait, and the walls of the room had been suffocating. Hana had also been sitting there, playing some vintage game in the low light. He figured they were there for similar reasons, and didn’t say a word for hours.)

“Jack,” Angela said. The clock on the wall is a bright, neon blue 3:49 AM. Jack, to his credit, manages to look up from his coffee and at her. In the fluorescent kitchen light, her dark circles look more prominent, the mess of her hair tied in a loose not. She has a bottle of water in her hand. She looks exhausted. Momentarily, he wonders how much sleep she’s getting, then feels like a hypocrite.

“Angela,” he musters, swallowing. “Lovely morning.”

“The sun won’t be up for another few hours,” she said. “Why are you up?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says, which - it isn’t a lie, really. He couldn’t get back to sleep, after tonight.

“Doesn’t seem like you ever do,” she says, sliding down across from him. “That’s not good for your health.”

“I get a few hours,” he says. Three and a half, tonight. “Could be worse.”

“Jack,” she admonishes. “This isn’t - have you been dreaming?”

“Most people do sometimes,” he says, which - technically correct, but not what she’s asking. There is a beat, which is mostly filled with Angela frowning deeply at him and Jack staring at his coffee. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

Except it doesn’t really work, because Angela is phenomenal at seeing through bullshit, and this isn’t the first accident she’s seen. (There was once, with a bottle of champagne, and the noise and laughing sounds like screaming so easily and. Jack had excused himself, mumbling, hands shaking. Angela had followed when everyone was distracted. Angela knows. How could he think he could win at lying to her?)

“There are people who can help with - everything,” she says. “I know a few that are - they’re good.” Jack fixates on everything but Angela’s face, feeling naked without the visor. He instead stares at where her neck meets her shoulder, the marks Fareeha had left. There’s a stain on her shirt’s collar, of what’s chocolate, coffee, or blood. It’s dried brown, almost reddish brown in the light. Out the window, the Gibraltar night is interrupted with crickets.

He wonders what Angela dreams of. People she couldn’t save, his mind fills in. Genji’s corpse-body, when they first brought him in. People she can’t save. Gunshots.

Jack sighs. It’s a gesture that makes him feel older than he is.

“They’re just bad dreams,” he says, voice low and deep. It feels like a confession. “Omnic Crisis. Overwatch. Old things. I’m an old man, Angela, it doesn’t mean anything’s wrong just because it keeps me up.”

“You’re not that old, compared to the average,” she muses absently. “You’re only forty nine.”

“Fifty in a few weeks,” he said, hoping for a diversion. “I’m not a young man anymore, anyway. And I can’t really see a therapist, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

“Why not?”

“I’m legally dead, remember?” Angela nods, clearly contemplative. He closes his eyes. “‘s just dreams, either way. Doesn’t matter a bit.”

There’s a long pause. Angela rises from her seat. “Good night, Jack,” she murmurs.

For days, he waits to see if Angela brings it up again, or tells someone, or something. He’s worried about it.

It’s just dreams, and anxiety and - it doesn’t matter. He just doesn’t want people to look at him differently. But no one does and Angela doesn’t say anything. It’s almost as if their early morning conversation is forgotten.

It’s been nine days when he first realizes Angela didn’t forget at all. He’s sitting in a common room, talked into joining most of the other agents. People are mostly in their own groups. Hana and Genji are playing some Mario Kart thing, the engineers at a table discussing - schematics, he thinks, but he’d heard the words Pop Tarts and doubted himself - Jesse and Hanzo and Fareeha talking in soft voices. Lena, Reinhardt and Ana at a table, Wid- Amelie, he corrects himself - Amelie joining them. Sombra and Lucio at a table hollering about the game Hana and Genji are playing. Who had cajoled two thirds of their ex Talon agents and how is lost on him, but he’s almost glad Gabriel wasn’t here, even knowing - this is a talk for another day. Jack is at one of the old, worn seats, an old book in his lap.

“Jack!” Angela’s voice comes in from the hall, and most look up as she pushes the door open with her hip. It takes only a moment to discern why: in one hand is a mug of what is definitely coffee, and the other is a -

“I got you a present, you’re welcome,” Angela says.

“Uh,” Jack says, the stumble coming out before he can stop it. “That’s a dog.”

“It sure is,” Angela says agreeably, depositing it in his arms and sipping her coffee. “Merry Christmas.”

“It’s June,” he deadpanned, as the wriggling little thing laps at his visor.

“Happy early birthday,” she replies. “You turn fifty in two weeks. There.”

The puppy - which, relatively, is pretty big, a St Bernard if he had to guess - laps at his cheek next. “This is a dog,” he repeats. “Where did you get this?”

“Her,” Angela corrects. “She flunked out of being a therapy dog because she liked to lick strangers or something along those lines. She needed a home. Dogs, I’ve been told, lower stress. You’re going to give yourself a stroke or a heart attack at this rate.”

In that moment, he realizes this is about what they discussed but Angela doesn’t want to say it in public. He can appreciate that much. “Can we even keep a-”

Lena is by his side, scooping her up in a second. Her, the dog, not Angela. “Why are you protesting? It’s a dog! Accept it and move on.” The dog licks Lena’s face delightedly, and everyone resumes talking over each other about - well. Jack rises, giving Angela a look. She just grins back, satisfied.

“Fine,” he acquiesces. Arguing isn’t going to do much, anyway. Angela’d kill him if he tried to return her, anyway, even if he hasn’t had a dog since he was a teenager. His family had kept hunting and herding dogs, all of which loved his mother more than anything. She gave them the most scraps. Lena shoves the bundle of fur back into his arms after one last lick, and he stares at her as she returns to licking his face. Her, the dog, that is. Not Lena.

The dog follows him around all the time. When he sits, she sits on his feet, gets comfortable. Angela tells him she’s a six month St. Bernard. They called her Nessie in training, but she never learned the name and really, it just makes him think of conspiracy theories. (Dimly, he remembers Reinhardt rambling about - he really wants to say Bigfoot, but the memory is twenty five years old.)

He mostly just calls her Dog, which outrages an alarming amount of people. Expectedly, Ana, Lena, and Angela are most fond of Dog. Unexpectedly, he’s caught Hanzo giving her scraps four times in three days. When he enters a room that Hanzo and Bonnie are already in, she’s in his lap and he looks like a deer in the headlights. (It’s actually really fucking funny.)

He sets her on the floor before bed, but she’s always curled up next to him when he awakens, like a really furry pillow.

It takes five days for him to really get used to the idea she could provide actual help.

It’s - another bad dream, because of course it is. Jack gasps for breath, kicks off the blanket, brow slick cool with sweat. His heart pounds in his ears. Him kicking the blankets must of woke the Dog, as she bounces up, presses next to him.

She shoves her head and back against his hands, in a way that would be petting if it was his hands moving, not her body. She licks his face tentatively, as if seeing if that helps. Jack can feel his heart start to slow, faster than his normal calm down times. He moves his hands, callouses running against soft fur. Dog takes this as encouragement, licks him more excitedly. Jack closes his eyes.

Normally, he’d get up. He wouldn’t be back asleep regardless, so he may as well get up. But Dog settles in next to him, and petting her evens him out, makes it easier to settle. He lets himself be lulled to sleep.

In the morning, he names her Bonnie. It seems fitting, somehow. She seems like a Bonnie. He’ll talk to Angela about a collar, soon.

In the meantime, he sits down at the cafeteria table, Bonnie by his feet, and pretend he doesn’t see no less than five people feeding her scraps.

He goes on a day long mission on July 3rd. His birthday’s the next day (he’s getting old, he thinks). It’s a short thing, mission wise. Fifteen hours securing a payload in the heart of London and back.

He’s with Lucio, D.Va, Genji, Mei, and Sombra for it, all these young kids making him feel much older than he is. (Mei, Genji, and Sombra are all in their thirties, he remembers. But he’s fifty tomorrow. They’re kids to him, anyway. They all have much more.. zest than he does.)

He gets back late, and he’s a little sad to not have Bonnie at the door when he enters the room. He discards his jacket to the desk and changes fast, glancing at the bed to locate his dog. She’s sleeping in her exact normal spot, with an approximately Jack sized spot next to her. Jack slides in next to her, and she shifts awake, moving to press into him. She licks his face hello, and he calms her by petting her back for a few minutes.

He breathes easy, relaxed. After a few, he glances at the clock. 12:02.

“Happy birthday,” he hums warmly, closing his eyes.

He sleeps well that night.

now on ao3!

#jack morrison #my writing #overwatch #soldier: 76 #snowsheba #bonnie the dog #is this any good? we just don't know

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maritabaptiste2-blog · 6 years

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atk scary hairy - A Review Of Hot Hairy Vagina Pics

I didnt go on my first legitimate date until I was 19 and in college, and the sum total of sexual experiences I had during this blissful undergraduate years wouldnt even require the remaining fingers of a grizzled old high school Wood Shop teacher to count, so while I wasnt completely inexprienced, Id hardly say I had a particular set of skills, acquired over a long career. Somewhere between general study at one university and applying for much higher education sexy furry pussy at another, there was a seismic shift in my ability to interact with women I find attractive and, more importantly, their overall interest in me. Im wired a bit differently than a lot of guys I meet - flat tummies and thigh gaps do fuck-all for me. As a result, I now refer to my graduate school career as the Era of Man Slut, because sweet bouncing bits, I had a lot of sex during that time. Stephanie was a bit on the thick side, meaning she had a little extra of all the things I particularly enjoy - tits, ass, thighs, and that bit of belly that drives me completely insane. So Stephanies body was on point, but what really pulled me in was her hair. If you enjoyed this article and you would like to get additional details concerning hairy cunt women kindly see the internet site. Good god, she had this huge mane of thick red curls. In my first year, I met a young woman well call Stephanie. I went from zero to erection in one single stare. This was during a time when big hair wasnt really in fashion, so at the time having her natural hair be so giant was a major and immediate turn on for how different it was. However, we were both attracted to each other, so it was inevitable that during one of our afternoon hang out sessions at her apartment that we would finally make out, which was enough for me but atk hairy login naked amateurs I didnt realize for a while was not enough for her. Im not going to bore everyone with the slow story of how we met, the multiple conversations we shared, the gradual flirting, and etc. Its not that I cant appreciate a woman who works hard on maintaining that figure, but I get so much more from a woman with a little more substance. Instead, she threw me for a loop when she said, "I need you to be aggressive. Stephanie told me early on that she didnt want a boyfriend, and that was fine with me, because as much as I enjoyed talking to her, she wasnt what I was looking for in a long term relationship either (we had some ideological differences that would have made a serious relationship fall apart eventually). I felt a bit like an idiot for not realizing shed wanted more, and tried to rectify my mistake immediately by grabbing her and holding her close to me as I began to kiss her neck, and suck her earlobe into my mouth to nibble it. " I had to pause at this because her words could mean a lot of different things and I needed to make sure we were all very clear, because I was definitely not going to be okay with anything involving hitting or choking or other simulations of physical abuse. She wanted me to use her to get off, basically. I breathily asked her what she wanted to do, assuming shed just shyly kick her pants off and pull me into her on her couch. This changed when I entered graduate school, though to be honest, I dont know what specifically changed, or how I can harnass it for amazing personal gain (because if I could do that, Id already be living in Atlantis and fucking my harem of mermaids - I like to dream big). It was perhaps Day 3 of making out and some general feeling up that she finally became frustrated and began to ask me if we were ever going to do anything else. Give your partner what she wants is a pretty solid philosophy thats served hairy cunt women me well and resulted in some pretty phenomenal sex. I pondered this for all of a nanosecond before I reached out to run my hand through her hair and pull her face into mine for an extremely hard kiss. I tightened my hand in her hair as I kissed her and pulled, which caused her to gasp into my mouth - a moment that still puts a smile on my face when I remember it - and I saw in her eyes the exact moment that she went from curiosity to full-blown lust. Fortunately for me, she sighed, shook her head and explained that she wanted me to "be selfish," to have her do what I want to do. I leaned in close to her ear and in a voice that wasnt quite a whisper but wasnt loud enough to be heard beyond that couch, I said to her, "I want you to get on your knees and show me what that slutty little mouth can do. My dirty talk game is generally on point but I recognize that it is not for everybody, and its a real crapshoot determining if your partner is going to be into it or completely offended by it. I have some personal history there that still renders me feeling a little sick if I think I might be hurting somebody. " That statement was a gamble, I realize in hindsight. At this early stage of my life I didnt quite realize that dropping a "slut bomb" even in the height of passion can have the potential to end sex really fucking quick (I learned this lesson the hard way later). Can I quickly say as an aside that I love watching a woman do the slow descent to her knees? I decided right then and there that if this is what she wanted, Id deliver something a bit rougher. She moved slowly, photos of hairy women pulling me out, but then seemed unsure of herself. " Not in a commanding way, or a laughing way, but in a voice that communicated that I had an expectation and couldnt see any reason why it would not be met. For her part, she was still a bit slow. In later hook-ups from her I came to realize that she did this on purpose to coax me to be rougher or meaner, but at the time I genuinely thought she was a bit shy and wasnt sure what do do now that I was legitimately delivering on her request. Luck was with me that day because she immediately bit her lip and stood up from the couch only to sink down to her knees between my legs. This wasnt some tender necking session at this point. As my hand was already in her hair, I once again tightened my grip, giving a very light pull close to her scalp. She held me in her hands and sort of looked back and forth from my cock to my face, as though she coudlnt really figure out what came next. I asked you to suck my cock. It was cute, but definitely not what Id asked for. That was all the evidence I needed that I was on the right track, so I decided to up the ante a bit by saying, "I didnt ask you to lick my cock, sweetie. She gasped again and I distinctly remember her legs came together, and as I held her hair she was squirming in place. " This demand, coupled with the hair pull (which I later found out was the way to get her from zero to soaking wet in a matter of seconds), caused her to drop all pretense of being coy. She crammed so much of my cock in her mouth it actually surprised me, because nobody in control of themselves or their words would have experienced that scene and uttered out, "Whoa! She dove onto my cock, for lack of a better word. I was still a bit high off of taking on a more dominant role, so I gently pulled her head forward and said, "Now suck my cock. She was very regularly gagging herself on me, to the extent where my concern began to rise and I had to fight back from saying, "Jesus, holy shit, maybe we should calm it down for a second; its not like the cock is going anywhere. Try to imagine James Bond saying that the next time a supermodel joins him in the shower, just really shocked and surprised but mostly happy to be there. " It felt like every other second I heard this glangh sound come from her mouth and throat. Rather than immediately taking me in her mouth, she began a series of slow licks up my cock punctuated by tiny kisses to the head. Im normally not into frantic, fast blowjobs full of noise and drool, but damn if this girl didnt try to convert me. I can honestly say no girl has ever blown me like that since and Im not sure Id want any of them to because it was so fast and intense that my cock reached a sort of heightened numbness that more or less gave me a zero chance of achieving orgasm. Now, its not necessarily important that I set much more of the scene, but just in the interest of full disclosure, Ill mention that she wasnt dressed for classic seduction. I could feel her spit just collecting at the base of my cock and dripping down my balls. She was wearing loose sweats and a t-shirt. " To be fair, the reaction was appropriate, because she proceeded to give me one of the sloppiest blowjobs Ive ever received. 007 emphatically crying out, "Whoa! And to be fully honest, that laid-back comfort look does more to turn me on than any sexily cut dress or lace covered night-time attire that can inevitably accumulate in a womans closet specifically for those times when she suspects shes going to get lucky. They werent the biggest, but they were more than big enough to work for me. And, when she quickly and quietly assumed her position at the end of her couch, I found a matching green thong as I pulled those loose sweatpants to the ground. Shed been prepared for the whole thing. Lazy home clothes that communicate disdain at the idea of another evening of light kissing and then solo frustration, but underneath? No, wear the old oversized t-shirt you got for free at some stupid event - the one that communicates "business hours are over. The "I might get lucky, who knows? The somewhat frumpy outerwear hid secret treasures underneath. " underwear collection. I was in love with it the moment I saw it, and Im not exaggerating this because I immediately kissed each one of those pale white cheeks and said, verbatim, "I am in love with this ass. The thong was a good choice. " I never claimed to be smooth. She was so wet that I actually saw a droplet run down her leg. Her t-shirt had come off at some point during her insane blowjob and for a good portion of her head game I was treated to this green lacy push-up bra that did an amazing job of putting her tits on display. " So I pulled her panties to the side and, with very little preamble, began to slide myself in. An amazing choice, because while she didnt have the biggest tits, she did have an enormous, fantastic ass. I had the remedy for this because, quite frankly, I felt like shed more than earned something for her as well, so with yet another tug on her hair, I pulled her off my cock and, breathing heavily, told her to bend over the arm of her couch. I was just outside of her, and then, suddenly, all the way in. Id intended to tease a little bit but this one singular action caused her to grip the couch and growl out, "Holy shit, just fuck me. Within seconds I had both hands gripping her hips so tight I swear my knuckles turned white as I began colliding with her repeatedly. From that point forward every time I fucked her was either doggy style or with her bent over some piece of furniture, because there was no way Id ever miss the sight of that ass jiggling and reverberating with each hard thrust I gave her. I licked it, and the trail it left, all the way up her leg and back to her pussy. There was no need to ease myself in. " She, on the other hand, picked up all of my slack about halfway through, turning her head to look behind her at me (thats a fucking power move, FYI, save that - face forward until you need your partner to go nuts and then do the look behind) and her face was just all angry lust as she spouted out a litany of amazing material that I cannot remember verbatim but I can paraphrase thusly: "You like that tight pussy? Yeah, you take that pussy. That pussy is yours, you take it whenever you want. The most I was able to utter out was an occasional "Fuck, that feels good," or "Love this fat ass. Her pussy clenched tightly on me several times, as Id later come to learn she orgasmed very easily, and my constant hard fucking drove her over the edge repeatedly. My capacity for dirty talk was completely out the window and all I could concentrate on at that point was just fucking her with every last fiber of my soul. She was tight, but so wet that I hit bottom without the slightest hint of resistance. This pussy was fucking made to milk that fat cock. I was not wearing a condom and even though she was on birth control, it was my first time having sex with her and for all I knew she could have been a harbinger of sexually transmitted diseases that modern science has yet to even discover. Quick PSA, sorry to interrupt the fapping - this was fucking stupid of me. On her end, she wasnt kidding about the milking part, because with each blast of cum I shot inside her, those inner walls were stroking me, tightening and releasing to try and get every last drop out. I completly collapsed on her back, kissing her neck and for a long while she just worked her inner muscles on me. She was nice enough to let me take a shower with her, but nothing particularly sexy happened and I eventually softened up again. I came hard inside her. " That whole built for comfort look just makes me want to extend business hours. Thats the power of a solid gold fuck. She did such a good job that I never went completely soft, and in no time at all I was fully hard again, but at that point shed decided she had enough and she booty bumped me backwards, sliding me out. I am massively, massively lucky that I didnt wind up with some kind of penis rot. I wasnt complaining - Id just had fantastic sex with every indication that Stephanie and I would hook up again (and we did, several times, until she found an actual relationship and wanted to keep it monogamous with him), so after I gave her a kiss on the cheek and she playfully told me to get out, I was able to walk back to my car with a spring in my step which is miraculous considering that my next stop that day was a tutoring job for a guy I nicknamed Pringles because the dude always smelled like Pringles. " She threw out so much dirty talk all at once that she drove me completely over the top. Or silver if you have some kind of gold allergy. Thanks for reading, everyone! Even Pringles couldnt keep me down that day. I hope all your fucks are also solid gold!

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