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You know I’m a little magpie, Daddy.

I can’t help myself.

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Sorry, I just need to interrupt the sexy to say:

Yes. It is okay. It is so okay. It is so very, very okay. What’s not okay is banning a freaking book. 

Works like CandideAnimal Farm and The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy were some of my favorites in high school and, with the exception of the last title, were parts of the curriculum of courses I took. 

So, rock on, kiddo. Because no library should be illegal.

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whyexactly:

It’s gonna be ok.

Growing up is a pretty awful thing isn’t it? Time whisks us along faster than we’d like, our bodies change, and our minds wander places they never used to, and sometimes settle on ideas that we don’t understand. We’ve all woken up in the middle of the night in a sweat, rattled by a dream so vivid we’re nearly convinced it was real, shocked at the pictures that crept into our heads while our backs were turned… It can be enough to spark a small-scale existential crisis.

How did all this stuff get there? What’s happening to me? Why is everything so complicated all of a sudden?

…and what the heck am I supposed to do now?

It’s that last one that’s important. I think maybe our biology, our psychology, the ticking clock on the bedside table… They’re not working against us so much as they’re pushing us to work hard at being “us,” and asking that we consider why we’re here in the first place.

We don’t get to control this uncomfortable metamorphosis. No set of ‘medical theories,’ western or otherwise, has demonstrated a complete understanding of how our bodies work. Fortunately, we are resilient creatures.

We can’t expect to shield ourselves from the influence that’s all around us. Others will try to tell us what they think we should be doing, and while there’s great value in considering their ideas, it’s our own compass that should be our guide. Our ‘gut’ will know, even if we don’t yet understand. Trust it.

So what next?

Start small. Find something you like to do and do it as best you can. Maybe it’s something fancy like playing an instrument, or studying the stars, or maybe something as simple as cooking, or drawing, or even volunteering and helping other people… It doesn’t matter what, it matters that you try your best so that at the end of the day you can be proud of yourself.

…and being proud of yourself isn’t always easy. It takes some practice, but it’s worth the effort. Do what you love as best you can, and be good to the people you meet while you do it. It won’t happen overnight, but in time the pieces will start to come together and you’ll have learned a great deal about yourself in the process.

Growing up is all about realizing what you need in order to be happy, and doing it.

Simple as that.

So, dear little anon, I’m sorry you’re having a rough day, but hang in there and rest assured that you’re not alone. If your ears get bent out of shape along the way, all you need to do is straighten them out as best you can and keep on hopping.

Usually I’m reblogging and liking whyexactly for the really sexy stuff he produces.

But the way he responded to his anon is just wonderful and worth a read, no matter what stage of “growing up” you’re at.

(But don’t go on his tumblr, or mine, until you’re 18. Really, yo. That’s the bottom limit cutoff for stages of growing up.)

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“Speak every time you stand so that you do not forget yourself.
Never let a moment go by you that doesn’t remind you that your heart beats 900 times a day.
That there are enough gallons of blood to make you an ocean.
Do not settle for letting these waves settle and for the dust to collect in your veins." 

– Anis Mojgani, Shake the Dust.

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I’ve always been a bit shaky on boundaries.

So come a little closer.

It’s not crossing the line when I’ve redrawn the line.

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herdirtylittleheart:

It was brought to my attention that these panties, which I had previously declared impractical, are indeed practical for one thing.

It’s the little pink bow that I really like about these panties.

It just gets me.

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quickienewyork:

©2012 The Dirty Gentleman (#561)

We sat across from each other and watched her undress between us.

First she looked at me as she undid straps and clasps, and then it was his eyes she looked into as she stepped out of her dress. She watched me as she dropped her bra to the floor, but she turned again when the black lace slipped off her ass and down over her thighs.

As for us, we undid belts, opened zippers and gripped our cocks in our hands as we struggled to get hard enough for the condoms she left next to our drinks. I watched him watching her, his hand a blur as he squeezed, twisted, and stroked, and his eyes moved between us. By the time she was standing in nothing but her lipstick, we were ready.

It was a slow dance. She lowered herself down onto him like a violinist tuning a string. Her hips moved slowly as I watched him disappear inside her and their fingers touched gently. It was less than a minute later that she turned to face me, kissed me on the mouth and then let me fill her as well. Her lips were soft and her skin was warm.

For half an hour she moved between us. I watched, over and over again, as she lowered herself around him, and when it was my turn I closed my eyes and pretended she was mine. When she finally came I was looking into her eyes as his hand moved furiously behind us. I kissed her mouth and pulled her to me with a hand on the small of her back.

She moaned into my ear as she began to shake, and his voice joined hers as they both found their release in a single perfect moment.

The lovely Heart has informed me that the lap time photo is a QNY photo that someone just decided to make black and white.

And we all know how I feel about when people do that.

So here is the original: even more gorgeous, in my opinion. You lose so much of the clothes and just the general feel of the picture when you put it into black and white. You also TOTALLY DEFY THE ARTIST’S INTENTION COME ON PEOPLE.

And you also lose that really hot story going on up there. Like. Woah. So problematic how hot I find “and when it was my turn I closed my eyes and pretended she was mine” to be.

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No matter how grown-up she tries to be, she’s never too grown-up for lap time.