In 2010, Vancouver-based photographer Hana Pesut embarked on a photo project: taking pics of couples, friends, and family twice: once in their own outfits and again wearing each others outfits against the same background.
The result is Switcheroo—a funny, poignant take on gender bending that conveys an enduring bond between Pesut’s subjects, no words necessary.
love
Nanking Decade: Schadenfreude is a powerful force
LinkNanking Decade: Schadenfreude is a powerful force
Dear Tumblr, I had not expected the overwhelming response to my little game with my girl. I had expected 30, maybe 50, but certainly not close to 200 notes. I appreciate that the enthusiasm was well-meaning, but I will take this opportunity to remind everyone that fun and erotic…
I have always had trouble trusting people, in and out of the bedroom. In kink, it manifested in me shying away from vulnerability and using my safeword long before I had left my comfort zone. I did not trust the person to know when to stop or to understand my boundaries.
I tried to put on a brave face about how many people liked and reblogged. I had wanted to enjoyed it – I thought I was going to like it. But I also thought it wouldn’t surpass 30ish likes.
But I honestly felt upset and nauseous. I’m still unsure what specifically bothered me.
It means a lot to me that long before this post was made, he expressed that he would not be sticking to the crazy 3 hour span that this spawned. And it means even more that he took my reluctance seriously.
I told him that I trusted him to intervene before things became too much. He honored my trust. So I suppose something really great did come out of this.
I need a crew of minions to find me this dress.
This. Right now.
Except, not really in terms of looking at other people. More in terms of looking at myself, just myself, and thinking fuck it, I’d like to fall back in love with myself. I’m a goddess. Laurels and all.
Just click through and read it.
Let someone love you just the way you are – as flawed as you might be, as unattractive as you sometimes feel, and as unaccomplished as you think you are. To believe that you must hide all the parts of you that are broken, out of fear that someone else is incapable of loving what is less than perfect, is to believe that sunlight is incapable of entering a broken window and illuminating a dark room.
Marc Hack (via thelittleyellowdiary)
One more. JUST one more.
‘Cause the cuteness is hard to deny.
Source: The First And Cutest Same-Sex Couple To Get Married In Seattle
I’m choked up imagining them having to wait 35 years for this.
Click through and watch the video. The look of elation on their faces is just amazing.
Girlfriend & I have been doing so well lately, honestly the strongest we’ve been since we began lusting for each other a few springs ago. There’s been some challenging moments since she’s recently decided to explore our openness (previously, I have been, with a minor exception, the only one to date outside our relationship) but overall, we’re better than ever.
Last night, after she’d had a kinda shitty date with her new fling, she invited me over. I was hesitant at first, knowing that she’d just been doting over someone else, but I really wanted to see my girl regardless. So at midnight in 40 degree weather, I biked across town to her apartment as fast as I could; for some reason it just felt urgent. As she cuddled me under the covers, warming me up, she asked why I had rushed so. That’s when it came out: “Because I love you.” Somewhat unplanned, completely genuine.
While she’s said those heavy words to me before, I’d repeatedly skirted reciprocation. I’ve always loved her in some capacity, but I was dealing with some residual bullshit from previous loves & simply wasn’t ready to verbally match her sentiment. So as you’d imagine she was quite elated to finally hear me say those three little words.
We basked for a bit in the warmth of shared love for awhile, kissing sweetly & holding each other, but eventually I could feel her wetness on my bare leg. She wanted to celebrate. I positioned myself on her already nude body as if we were going to 69, but I told her to relax & not to touch me. I teased her clit with my tongue until she squirmed under me, needing to be filled. She came a few times this way, but I was determined to make her orgasm. For a few minutes I sucked her little button & pushed two fingers in & out of her pussy slowly until her moans plateaued. Then I abruptly sat up on her belly & fucked her with one finger as fast, deep, & hard as I could. Almost immediately, she orgasmed so intensely she squirted the way I thought only pornstars could. She’d squirted a few times before, but only a little bit in comparison. Honestly, I’m still in awe. I haven’t been so happy in who knows how long.
Long story short: Love is so powerful it can induce squirting.
This. All of this.
“Love, I realized, is something your spine memorized,” Lorrie Moore, Anagrams.
Life may not be that simple, but I’ve been getting a lot of love for my fear lately.
Since being discovered by a classmate and making that post about Shame, I have received some really lovely messages from some really wonderful followers about my feelings, their feelings, and how they intersect. Moreover, I’ve gotten so much love and support that my heart is literally bursting. The kindness of strangers is unfathomable. But, then again, I suppose we’re not strangers.
I’ve been talking to my anonymous classmate and he’s actually a pretty chill person. I felt bad, he felt awful after I made that Shame post. It wasn’t directed at him, but I suppose he was concerned about the whole can of worms that got opened up.
This blog will not be shut down. Identity crises come and go, but the fact is this is the only journal I’ve ever been able to commit to, I’ve come into contact with so many beautiful and fascinating people through it, and I do not want to cut this outlet from my life. Because good ol’ Donnie Darko is right. Life isn’t that simple. I can’t let the fear overwhelm me and I can’t let the love make me cocky. I have to live within the entire spectrum of human experience.
So, thank you, followers, for your love, support and empathy as I process the shame and all the yucky stuff. You are the best readers a gal could ask for.
“Talent. I don’t have talent. I have willingness. What talent?” As a kid, she had always told the raunchiest jokes. As an adult, she could rip open a bone and speak out of it. Simple, clear. There was never anything to stop her. Why was there never anything to stop her? “I can stretch out the neck of a sweater to point at a freckle on my shoulder. Anyone who didn’t get enough attention in nursery school can do that. Talent is something else.”
– Lorrie Moore, in her short story “Willing” from her collection Birds of America.