Podcasts about mister c

Today we will continue our history and civics lesson with the unflappable Mister C. Richard Archie of the Tennessee Firearms Association. We talk about we the taxpayers are funding the "lobbyists" from the Executive Branch to continue their infringement on our most basic of civil liberties, the right to keep and bear arms. To find out more about the TFA, please visit their website - https://tennesseefirearms.comYou can subscribe to or follow the podcast on Apple or Spotify, or on your favorite podcast platform – Rumble | YouTube | Overcast | Amazon Music | iHeartRadio | Pocket Casts | RadioPublicYou can subscribe to or follow the podcast on Apple or Spotify, or on your favorite podcast platform – Rumble | YouTube | Overcast | Amazon Music | iHeartRadio | Pocket Casts | RadioPublicJoin me on social media:Twitter – both at @LarryForTN12 @LiesLibertyTruth Social – @LarryForTN12Instagram – @larry_conservative_activist @the_l5_podcastFacebook – Larry Linton - Sevier County Conservative Activist Facebook – Liberty, Leadership and LiesGab – @LarryLintonGETTR – @LarryLintonTelegram – t.me/libertyleadershipandliesOr on the web at – https://libertyleadershipandlies.com#LarryForTN12 #LintonForTN12 #LarryLintonForTN12 #LibertyLeadershipAndLies #Liberty #Leadership #Lies #Constitutionalist #Conservative #Tennessee #StandInTheArena #PrincipledLeadership #ServantLeadership #ShallNotBeInfringed #SecondAmendment #DefenseAgainstTyranny #FirstLawOfNature #Transpublicans #RINOs #TennesseeGeneralAssembly #FYP

In this week's episode I have a special guest on the program. Mister C. Richard Archie of the Tennessee Firearms Association sits down with me as we discuss what is going on in Tennessee and when did it start to go wrong. This discussion with be part history lesson and part civics lesson. You can support the good work of the Tennessee Firearms Association by visiting their website to find out more - https://tennesseefirearms.comYou can subscribe to or follow the podcast on Apple or Spotify, or on your favorite podcast platform – Rumble | YouTube | Overcast | Amazon Music | iHeartRadio | Pocket Casts | RadioPublicYou can subscribe to or follow the podcast on Apple or Spotify, or on your favorite podcast platform – Rumble | YouTube | Overcast | Amazon Music | iHeartRadio | Pocket Casts | RadioPublicJoin me on social media:Twitter – both at @LarryForTN12 @LiesLibertyTruth Social – @LarryForTN12Instagram – @larry_conservative_activist @the_l5_podcastFacebook – Larry Linton - Sevier County Conservative Activist Facebook – Liberty, Leadership and LiesGab – @LarryLintonGETTR – @LarryLintonTelegram – t.me/libertyleadershipandliesOr on the web at – https://libertyleadershipandlies.com#LarryForTN12 #LintonForTN12 #LarryLintonForTN12 #LibertyLeadershipAndLies #Liberty #Leadership #Lies #Constitutionalist #Conservative #Tennessee #StandInTheArena #PrincipledLeadership #ServantLeadership #ShallNotBeInfringed #SecondAmendment #DefenseAgainstTyranny #FirstLawOfNature #Transpublicans #RINOs #TennesseeGeneralAssembly #FYP

Samir Salah dit OGB, auteur-interprète, producteur, l'un des membres fondateurs du collectif Mafia K'1 Fry a publié en octobre Je suis venu me dire..., aux éditions Mindset. Un livre dans lequel il raconte son parcours au sein du groupe mythique, et pas seulement. Il témoigne de sa vie en tant qu'homme, père, fils, à la mémoire de sa mère et de sa grand-mère. Il est accompagné de Mister C, artiste rappeur; et Nadège Kakayé, écrivaine. Pour visionner les clips, cliquez sur les titres des chansons :OGB - Gros BonhommeOGB - Press Pause Mister C - Si tu m'aimesOGB - OG BlédardRetrouvez notre playlist sur Deezer. 

A Trolling treatBased on the post by m_storyman_x . Listen to the ► podcast at Explicit Novels. June 2014As a Missouri outdoorsman, Nancy and I stay very involved in our community.Nancy and fellow teacher, Linda, had been best friends since out kids were born over twenty years ago. She was still a very good looking woman, but I never saw much of it because she wore fairly conservative clothing and such. Now that her daughter was living in the house with the new grandbaby, she didn't get much privacy.Since her husband was a deadbeat and not around much, I suspected that the only sex she ever got was at her own hand. We never talked about it of course, but I often wondered what she thought of me. I liked to think that some of the subtle things she did over the years indicated she was attracted to me.Now she lives out in the sticks on a small lake, well away from any neighbors. On one occasion I was headed out to fish on the lake, having a standing invitation, and a day off. She was mowing the lawn when I drove up, wearing a one-piece swim suit because it was so hot out. She didn't need to be concerned about passersby or anything since their driveway was easily a quarter of a mile long through thick woods, making their house and yard well hidden from the main road.As I drove up it was clear that the strapless top of her suit had ridden down considerably from the bouncing of her c cup breasts, exposing the entire top of her breasts, just barely hanging on by her nipples. It looked like one more bounce and they would both be on full display. She looked as shocked to see me drive up as I was to see her home mowing the lawn.I drove by her on the driveway as she mowed along it, her eyes looking at mine and my eyes looking at all the skin on display. I continued down the drive and parked by the lake to put my little boat in. She came down to see me only after she had gone in the house for several minutes, returning with a button down shirt pulled on over her suit and her faced flushed.We chatted amiably while I got the boat ready and then she returned to her mowing while I went out fishing. I couldn't help but watch her mow as I worked along the shoreline. I noticed her look at me several times when she didn't think I was watching.A few months later I was back out again, having changed where I put the boat into the water, now putting it in down by the dam, partly so I didn't disturb her again like I had. It was a hot Saturday, but as evening approached it was starting to cool down into the low eighties. The sun was just touching the tops of the trees as I slowly and silently worked along the weed bank on the west side of the lake where the shadows had started growing first.The woods started right at the shoreline and marched unbroken away from the shore for hundreds of yards. The cat tails had a good year, and were easily seven feet tall. I eased my plastic boat silently as I could along the weeds, a few feet at a time, flipping a floating rubber worm into the tiny gaps in the weeds. There was a cut in the shoreline that I moved into. I tossed my worm into a gap and got hung.It happens, but it's frustrating. It generally ruins the spot for more fishing, but I move silently in anyway. I was right into the edge of the weeds when I first heard it, a gentle moan. I pulled the boat in tighter and looked through the weeds. What I saw was startling.Lying on a folding lounge chair in a small clearing of the brush and weeds was Linda. She was completely naked, her swimsuit laying on the end of the lounge, one of her hands busy squeezing her breasts and nipples and the other franticly rubbing her pussy in circles. It was the second time I had seen her naked, but this time I was getting a much longer look.I couldn't tear my eyes from her, my dick getting harder by the second. She was oblivious to the fact that I was there, and I didn't want to spoil things between us, so I stayed were I was, not able to move away and not wanting to get closer. I was so close to her that I could smell her aroma, my dick responding inside my shorts.I quietly used one hand to undo my shorts and pulled them apart, freeing my dick and silently glad I didn't wear underwear because of the heat. I slowly stroked my rock hard while watching Linda work on her pussy, her flowery lips wet with her moisture and spread wide so I could easily see the entrance to her velvety tunnel. I was tremendously turned on at this point, stroking my dick faster as her moans became more animated.At this point I should have backed off and respected her privacy. If I had been thinking with my brain instead of my dick, that's what I would have done, instead I leaned forward to get a better look.In my mind's eye I watched myself lose balance and start falling forward. The next thing I remember is standing up in thigh deep water, my shorts floating around my legs, leaving me naked from the thighs up.Linda also saw me at this point, one hand going across her breasts and the other covering her pussy. My boat was floating away, leaving me little choice but wade out of the water to the shore so I could gather myself together. I stepped through the tall weeds to the shore, water streaming from my body and wet clothes while Linda tried to cover herself by spreading her swimsuit across her body.She froze in mid motion, partly recognizing who was standing there watching her, and also processing the fact that my soaked shorts were now around my ankles and my hard dick was sticking out like a flagpole, pointing at her. We stood there watching each other for what seemed like hours, but I am sure was only a few seconds. Slowly she allowed her hands to drop from covering her body and pull the material of her swimsuit off to the side. She was sitting on the chair, completely naked, and intentionally exposing herself to me.I pulled my wet shirt off and tossed it aside, allowing her to see as much of my body as she was allowing me to see of hers. I wrapped my hand around my dick and stroked it slowly, aiming it at her while she spread her legs and moved a hand back to her clit, starting to gently stroke it again. I stepped out of my wet shorts and moved slowly to the chair she was sitting on. She lay back down on the chair, putting her feet on the seat and spreading her knees as wide as she could.I watched her fingers disappear in and out of her pussy, moisture glistening on them as they made gently squishing noises. We hadn't said a word to each other yet, and I was afraid to. I moved until I was standing over the end of the chair, my hand still sliding slowly on my dick.I'm not sure either of us really thought about what was happening, it was strictly lust. She lifted her legs from the chair and spread them wide, hooking her heels around my ass and pulling me down toward her. When I was within her reach she put her hand around mine and slowly guided me lower, aiming my dick at her pussy. It was almost electric when the head of my dick touched the moist lips of her pussy. She pulled until I was sitting on the chair, my dick slowly sinking into her.I groaned quietly as her velvety softness enveloped me, pulling herself down my dick by drawing her body closer to mine with her legs."Yes!" she hissed quietly as her pubic hair mixed with mine. I moved one hand to her right tit and my other to her pussy, were I pressed her exposed clit with my thumb. "Uh" she grunted quietly as she began to undulate her hips, working herself up and down my dick a few inches. "Oh god" she breathed as her actions increased in pace.For my own part I couldn't just sit there. I had drempt of screwing her for years, and now I had my dick buried inside her pussy. That combined with the exquisite sensations encouraged me to move in time with her, helping pump my dick in and out of her tight sweet pussy.Between us we were stroking ourselves to the point where my dick was almost sliding out of her pussy before we started pressing back together again. I felt her pussy contract and squeeze my dick as she arched her back, throwing her head back and groaning.She let go of my ass and spread her legs in a wide V to give me more access to her pussy. I moved my hands from her breast and pussy and used them on the chair to lift myself off the chair slightly, and then started stroking in and out of her with more energy.She moaned and began squeezing her tits as I pounded into her, our bodies slapping together quietly. I was getting very close, and I didn't know if she was on the pill anymore or not.When I felt like was about to blow, I pulled from her wet pussy and pressed the bottom of my dick against her pussy lips and continued to stroke using the tunnel made by my hand on top and her pussy on the bottom. She moved one hand to mine and replaced it with hers. My dick now was stroking in and out of the tunnel created by her pussy lips and her hand, my head poking out at the end of each stroke. The change in sensation slowed my climax a little, but looking at her tits wiggling around with each stroke was enough to push me over the top.I pressed my balls tight to her pussy and began spewing a huge load of cum all over her body, shot after shot spraying across her tits and stomach. She wrapped her hand around my dick and stroked the final shots of cum from me, using her other hand to begin rubbing the juice into her body.It took several minutes to get my breath back, both of us sitting and looking at each other, the lust of the moment changing to recognition of what had occurred. She lifted herself up using the arms of the chair and pulled the back up so she was sitting reclined instead of lying."Linda," I started. But she reached out and put a finger over my lips and shook her head. She wasn't frowning, but she wasn't smiling either. We sat there until my dick had softened to its normal size, her legs once again wrapped around me. I moved to get up, but she tightened her grip, encouraging me to stay where I was.We sat and looked at each other, taking in all the details of each other's bodies as the darkness fell leaving only the light of the moon illuminating the lake ,woods and us.Linda finally unwrapped her legs and sat up, pulling me close to her, pressing her tits to my chest as she brought her lips to mine. She kissed me seductively, her tongue invading my mouth as she pulled my face toward hers. We kissed that way for several minutes before she slowly broke the kiss and moved to stand up. She allowed me to kiss her breasts, which were at my face level because she was short, only being five foot three, before stepping over the chair and away from me.She bent over and picked up her swimsuit, and then turned away from me and bent over again, slowly pulling the suit up her legs while giving me as much of a view of her exposed pussy as she could in the dim light.Once she had her suit covering her butt, she turned to face me and pulled it up over her tits. She stepped into a pair of flip-flops, blew me a kiss and then walked off into the dark.I collected my thoughts and then found my shorts and shirt and pulled them on. I saw my boat floating half way across the lake and waded in, swimming out to it. Getting in was tough, but I managed by climbing up and over the outboard on the back. I had to explain to my wife why I was wet, and just told her I slipped in the water loading the boat on the trailer.Since that time Linda and I have never spoken of it. I'm sure she thinks of it on occasion, based on the brief flashes of tit or pussy that I occasionally get from her when she is sure I am the only one that can see. But it has never been spoken of, and probably never will. In the last two years I had hoped for a replay, but that appeared to be out of the question, until last week, but that is another story.Emily's milk factory has surplus issues.I had known Emily since she was a baby. I watched her grow from a young child to an exuberant teen and finally to a very sexy young adult. Yes she was half my age, and to be honest, when she was an 18-year-old gymnast, there were times that I had less than wholesome thoughts about her, but as every father thinking things like that about their kid's friends, I kept them well to myself. I suspect that as she grew into her early twenties, those full body hugs she gave me, the ones where she couldn't seem help but press her hips tight to mine, were an indication that she had picked up on those hidden desires.Over the years I watched her grow, and yes, fill out, till she was quite a sexy looking young woman. At only five thee, and barely over a hundred pounds, she was extremely petite, but her chest had filled out into full C cup. A fact which I was frequently reminded of as she continued to give me full body hugs every time we met. If that meeting was alone, those hugs seemed to last much longer and I often wondered if it was my imagination that she hugged tighter or that she ground her hips into my quickly growing hardon.One thing I was sure of, was that those alone hugs were more than long enough for her to feel that hardon pressing against her body. The hardon caused by the tingles sent through my body by her obviously hard nipples. I pulled her as tight to me as she did, not wanting to miss a moment, and at the same time, not wanting her to realize just how much desire there was to undress her and explore her petite body with my lips. Another thing that I was never quite sure of, was how many of the couple dozen "flashes" that I received in the last few years were accidental. There were times that I swore they had to be intentional. Coming out after a shower without a towel while I was working on something to help her mom, or a bikini top "slipping" out of place. I got more flashes of her body than I could actually chalk up to accidental events.Now that she is married and starting her family, those hugs are a thing of the past. I still got hugs, but now those hugs were from the side, pressing her substantially larger milk filled tits into my side instead of into my chest. Not that it made my dick any less hard, I mean I kind of have a thing for sexy milk filled tits, and hers definitely fell in that category. But Em was my wife's best friend's daughter, my daughter's good friend, and my son's best friend's sister. With all that in the way there was no way I was going to even hint at what was in my mind, not to mention the significant age difference.So over the years I let the desire stay hidden away, but still always there. This day though, those desires bubbled toward the surface as both she and I attended a float trip including all of our direct and extended families.Em showed up in a very skimpy black string bikini, her body looking incredible considering that it had been less than a year since she had given birth. I presumed that the bikini was to show off just how well toned and shaped she had gotten her body back into. I know that I certainly appreciated her showing off all her curves, including her breasts which wiggled so enticingly in the barely adequate black top. Throughout the day I did my best to keep my cock down while also trying to peak at what she was showing.I assumed it was my imagination, but it seemed to me that her breasts were actually growing as the day progressed. Either that or the black triangles of material covering part of them and attempting to hold them in place were shrinking. By the time we got off the river for the day and the tents set up there was no doubt what was going on. I felt almost stupid at not having thought about it before. She hadn't brought her daughter, leaving her with grandma, who didn't want to come canoeing, and her breasts were quite literally brimming with milk. The wet spots on the front of the triangles of cloth were the clear indication that finally brought it to mind. I watched her walk off toward the bathrooms wearing her tiny black top and a pair of satin looking workout shorts as I headed to where the cook grills were being lit.After hanging around the grills for a while, I headed to the bathrooms to take care of my own relief, wondering if it was going to be private enough to get the other kind of relief I needed or if I was going to have to slip off into the woods that were just behind the bathrooms.As it turned out, they were not at all private enough for what I needed to take care of, and was exiting the bathrooms to duck into the tree line for a few moments to relieve the load that had been building all day. With my mind already intent on that action, I guess I wasn't paying attention and nearly walked into Em as she came out of the ladies side."Oh shit. Sorry Em!" I muttered, stopping just short of bumping into her."Not a problem Mister C." She replied with a smile on her face, using the same name for me she most of her life. "Where were you headed?""Uh., Back to the camp site." I answered, my mind not fully engaged yet."The sites are back that way." She said with a crooked grin forming on her face. She leaned closer and whispered to me, "Looks to me like you were going someplace else.""Huh? Why would you say that?" I asked, startled that not only was it obvious to her, but she was being brazen enough to say so."Oh, just a hunch." She said as she took hold of the waist band of my swim suit and pulled on it, stepping backwards to lead me around the corner of the bathrooms toward the back side. She held her finger to her lips and guided me quietly to the more secluded side. "You know. I have a really hard time expressing enough milk so my breasts don't hurt when I don't have baby around. Would you mind helping me?" She whispered as she reached behind her neck and untied the string holding the top up. The two black triangles of material fell away from her body, catching with the loop around her back and hanging at her waist, her full round breasts more fully on display for me than I had ever seen before.I really couldn't help myself, my hands took on a life of their own as they reached out and cupped each magnificent breast, my thumbs rubbing back and forth across each erect nipple, making them dimple her dark areola as they bent to and fro."Oh god." She whispered as her hands fumbled with the knot on the string holding my swim suit around me. "I have wanted you to touch me like this for so long."I gave her no answer as I stepped slightly to her side and leaned my head down to gently kiss one nipple while stroking the other. My tongue could taste the milk seeping from it, warm and almost sweet. I closed my lips around the tip of her breast and gently sucked her nipple into my mouth, suddenly receiving more of the warm treasure along with a gentle moan from her lips. Her hands pushed my swim suit off my butt, allowing it to slide down my legs until I was naked from the ankles up.Her hands found my hard cock and wrapped around it, stroking it long and slow, rubbing the precum that was already leaking from it into the whole shaft. My own hands began roaming again, the one that had slipped around her back sliding down into the back of her shorts, pushing them part way down in the process, and the one caressing her other breast, slipping down her firm stomach and into the front of her shorts. Her hands left my cock long enough to push her shorts down, allowing my hands to now roam freely across her firm round ass and her shaved mound.Her hands went back to my rock hard shaft as one of my left hand worked between her legs from behind, my finger stroking between her wet lips in search of her inviting tunnel. My right hand found and zeroed in on her clit, sending tingles of lightning through her body with each stroke across the hard nub."Oh god. Fuck me, Please fuck me!" She begged in a whisper, grabbing my arms and pulling my hands from her pussy.I stood up and looked down at her, wondering what she had in mind. I didn't have long to wait, her flexible gymnasts body easily lifting one leg high and hooking it over my left arm. I lowered myself slightly while she grabbed my cock and aimed it at her pussy, rubbing the head up and down her slit, teasing her clit with the tip before pushing it back so my head was engaged in her tunnel. She let go and pulled herself against me, arching her back and pushing her sopping wet pussy over my fat cock a few inches."Oh god you're so big!" She moaned quietly rocking her hips in time with the short little strokes I started to make, working my cock into her a little bit at a time."Oh god." I mumbled as my head finally reached the end of her sweet tunnel, my body already on overload. I started stroking longer into her now, each stroke slipping out until I was nearly out of her wet pussy before pushing quickly into her again. Each stoke brought a new grunt, squeak, or moan to her lips, and her whole body was quivering. Her nipples leaked milk, some in drips collecting like rain drops and some in small streams that reached out the few inches between us to wet my chest.

A Trolling treatBased on the post by m_storyman_x . Listen to the ► podcast at Explicit Novels. June 2014As a Missouri outdoorsman, Nancy and I stay very involved in our community.Nancy and fellow teacher, Linda, had been best friends since out kids were born over twenty years ago. She was still a very good looking woman, but I never saw much of it because she wore fairly conservative clothing and such. Now that her daughter was living in the house with the new grandbaby, she didn't get much privacy.Since her husband was a deadbeat and not around much, I suspected that the only sex she ever got was at her own hand. We never talked about it of course, but I often wondered what she thought of me. I liked to think that some of the subtle things she did over the years indicated she was attracted to me.Now she lives out in the sticks on a small lake, well away from any neighbors. On one occasion I was headed out to fish on the lake, having a standing invitation, and a day off. She was mowing the lawn when I drove up, wearing a one-piece swim suit because it was so hot out. She didn't need to be concerned about passersby or anything since their driveway was easily a quarter of a mile long through thick woods, making their house and yard well hidden from the main road.As I drove up it was clear that the strapless top of her suit had ridden down considerably from the bouncing of her c cup breasts, exposing the entire top of her breasts, just barely hanging on by her nipples. It looked like one more bounce and they would both be on full display. She looked as shocked to see me drive up as I was to see her home mowing the lawn.I drove by her on the driveway as she mowed along it, her eyes looking at mine and my eyes looking at all the skin on display. I continued down the drive and parked by the lake to put my little boat in. She came down to see me only after she had gone in the house for several minutes, returning with a button down shirt pulled on over her suit and her faced flushed.We chatted amiably while I got the boat ready and then she returned to her mowing while I went out fishing. I couldn't help but watch her mow as I worked along the shoreline. I noticed her look at me several times when she didn't think I was watching.A few months later I was back out again, having changed where I put the boat into the water, now putting it in down by the dam, partly so I didn't disturb her again like I had. It was a hot Saturday, but as evening approached it was starting to cool down into the low eighties. The sun was just touching the tops of the trees as I slowly and silently worked along the weed bank on the west side of the lake where the shadows had started growing first.The woods started right at the shoreline and marched unbroken away from the shore for hundreds of yards. The cat tails had a good year, and were easily seven feet tall. I eased my plastic boat silently as I could along the weeds, a few feet at a time, flipping a floating rubber worm into the tiny gaps in the weeds. There was a cut in the shoreline that I moved into. I tossed my worm into a gap and got hung.It happens, but it's frustrating. It generally ruins the spot for more fishing, but I move silently in anyway. I was right into the edge of the weeds when I first heard it, a gentle moan. I pulled the boat in tighter and looked through the weeds. What I saw was startling.Lying on a folding lounge chair in a small clearing of the brush and weeds was Linda. She was completely naked, her swimsuit laying on the end of the lounge, one of her hands busy squeezing her breasts and nipples and the other franticly rubbing her pussy in circles. It was the second time I had seen her naked, but this time I was getting a much longer look.I couldn't tear my eyes from her, my dick getting harder by the second. She was oblivious to the fact that I was there, and I didn't want to spoil things between us, so I stayed were I was, not able to move away and not wanting to get closer. I was so close to her that I could smell her aroma, my dick responding inside my shorts.I quietly used one hand to undo my shorts and pulled them apart, freeing my dick and silently glad I didn't wear underwear because of the heat. I slowly stroked my rock hard while watching Linda work on her pussy, her flowery lips wet with her moisture and spread wide so I could easily see the entrance to her velvety tunnel. I was tremendously turned on at this point, stroking my dick faster as her moans became more animated.At this point I should have backed off and respected her privacy. If I had been thinking with my brain instead of my dick, that's what I would have done, instead I leaned forward to get a better look.In my mind's eye I watched myself lose balance and start falling forward. The next thing I remember is standing up in thigh deep water, my shorts floating around my legs, leaving me naked from the thighs up.Linda also saw me at this point, one hand going across her breasts and the other covering her pussy. My boat was floating away, leaving me little choice but wade out of the water to the shore so I could gather myself together. I stepped through the tall weeds to the shore, water streaming from my body and wet clothes while Linda tried to cover herself by spreading her swimsuit across her body.She froze in mid motion, partly recognizing who was standing there watching her, and also processing the fact that my soaked shorts were now around my ankles and my hard dick was sticking out like a flagpole, pointing at her. We stood there watching each other for what seemed like hours, but I am sure was only a few seconds. Slowly she allowed her hands to drop from covering her body and pull the material of her swimsuit off to the side. She was sitting on the chair, completely naked, and intentionally exposing herself to me.I pulled my wet shirt off and tossed it aside, allowing her to see as much of my body as she was allowing me to see of hers. I wrapped my hand around my dick and stroked it slowly, aiming it at her while she spread her legs and moved a hand back to her clit, starting to gently stroke it again. I stepped out of my wet shorts and moved slowly to the chair she was sitting on. She lay back down on the chair, putting her feet on the seat and spreading her knees as wide as she could.I watched her fingers disappear in and out of her pussy, moisture glistening on them as they made gently squishing noises. We hadn't said a word to each other yet, and I was afraid to. I moved until I was standing over the end of the chair, my hand still sliding slowly on my dick.I'm not sure either of us really thought about what was happening, it was strictly lust. She lifted her legs from the chair and spread them wide, hooking her heels around my ass and pulling me down toward her. When I was within her reach she put her hand around mine and slowly guided me lower, aiming my dick at her pussy. It was almost electric when the head of my dick touched the moist lips of her pussy. She pulled until I was sitting on the chair, my dick slowly sinking into her.I groaned quietly as her velvety softness enveloped me, pulling herself down my dick by drawing her body closer to mine with her legs."Yes!" she hissed quietly as her pubic hair mixed with mine. I moved one hand to her right tit and my other to her pussy, were I pressed her exposed clit with my thumb. "Uh" she grunted quietly as she began to undulate her hips, working herself up and down my dick a few inches. "Oh god" she breathed as her actions increased in pace.For my own part I couldn't just sit there. I had dreamt of screwing her for years, and now I had my dick buried inside her pussy. That combined with the exquisite sensations encouraged me to move in time with her, helping pump my dick in and out of her tight sweet pussy.Between us we were stroking ourselves to the point where my dick was almost sliding out of her pussy before we started pressing back together again. I felt her pussy contract and squeeze my dick as she arched her back, throwing her head back and groaning.She let go of my ass and spread her legs in a wide V to give me more access to her pussy. I moved my hands from her breast and pussy and used them on the chair to lift myself off the chair slightly, and then started stroking in and out of her with more energy.She moaned and began squeezing her tits as I pounded into her, our bodies slapping together quietly. I was getting very close, and I didn't know if she was on the pill anymore or not.When I felt like was about to blow, I pulled from her wet pussy and pressed the bottom of my dick against her pussy lips and continued to stroke using the tunnel made by my hand on top and her pussy on the bottom. She moved one hand to mine and replaced it with hers. My dick now was stroking in and out of the tunnel created by her pussy lips and her hand, my head poking out at the end of each stroke. The change in sensation slowed my climax a little, but looking at her tits wiggling around with each stroke was enough to push me over the top.I pressed my balls tight to her pussy and began spewing a huge load of cum all over her body, shot after shot spraying across her tits and stomach. She wrapped her hand around my dick and stroked the final shots of cum from me, using her other hand to begin rubbing the juice into her body.It took several minutes to get my breath back, both of us sitting and looking at each other, the lust of the moment changing to recognition of what had occurred. She lifted herself up using the arms of the chair and pulled the back up so she was sitting reclined instead of lying."Linda," I started. But she reached out and put a finger over my lips and shook her head. She wasn't frowning, but she wasn't smiling either. We sat there until my dick had softened to its normal size, her legs once again wrapped around me. I moved to get up, but she tightened her grip, encouraging me to stay where I was.We sat and looked at each other, taking in all the details of each other's bodies as the darkness fell leaving only the light of the moon illuminating the lake ,woods and us.Linda finally unwrapped her legs and sat up, pulling me close to her, pressing her tits to my chest as she brought her lips to mine. She kissed me seductively, her tongue invading my mouth as she pulled my face toward hers. We kissed that way for several minutes before she slowly broke the kiss and moved to stand up. She allowed me to kiss her breasts, which were at my face level because she was short, only being five foot three, before stepping over the chair and away from me.She bent over and picked up her swimsuit, and then turned away from me and bent over again, slowly pulling the suit up her legs while giving me as much of a view of her exposed pussy as she could in the dim light.Once she had her suit covering her butt, she turned to face me and pulled it up over her tits. She stepped into a pair of flip-flops, blew me a kiss and then walked off into the dark.I collected my thoughts and then found my shorts and shirt and pulled them on. I saw my boat floating half way across the lake and waded in, swimming out to it. Getting in was tough, but I managed by climbing up and over the outboard on the back. I had to explain to my wife why I was wet, and just told her I slipped in the water loading the boat on the trailer.Since that time Linda and I have never spoken of it. I'm sure she thinks of it on occasion, based on the brief flashes of tit or pussy that I occasionally get from her when she is sure I am the only one that can see. But it has never been spoken of, and probably never will. In the last two years I had hoped for a replay, but that appeared to be out of the question, until last week, but that is another story.Emily's milk factory has surplus issues.I had known Emily since she was a baby. I watched her grow from a young child to an exuberant teen and finally to a very sexy young adult. Yes she was half my age, and to be honest, when she was an 18-year-old gymnast, there were times that I had less than wholesome thoughts about her, but as every father thinking things like that about their kid's friends, I kept them well to myself. I suspect that as she grew into her early twenties, those full body hugs she gave me, the ones where she couldn't seem help but press her hips tight to mine, were an indication that she had picked up on those hidden desires.Over the years I watched her grow, and yes, fill out, till she was quite a sexy looking young woman. At only five thee, and barely over a hundred pounds, she was extremely petite, but her chest had filled out into full C cup. A fact which I was frequently reminded of as she continued to give me full body hugs every time we met. If that meeting was alone, those hugs seemed to last much longer and I often wondered if it was my imagination that she hugged tighter or that she ground her hips into my quickly growing hardon.One thing I was sure of, was that those alone hugs were more than long enough for her to feel that hardon pressing against her body. The hardon caused by the tingles sent through my body by her obviously hard nipples. I pulled her as tight to me as she did, not wanting to miss a moment, and at the same time, not wanting her to realize just how much desire there was to undress her and explore her petite body with my lips. Another thing that I was never quite sure of, was how many of the couple dozen "flashes" that I received in the last few years were accidental. There were times that I swore they had to be intentional. Coming out after a shower without a towel while I was working on something to help her mom, or a bikini top "slipping" out of place. I got more flashes of her body than I could actually chalk up to accidental events.Now that she is married and starting her family, those hugs are a thing of the past. I still got hugs, but now those hugs were from the side, pressing her substantially larger milk filled tits into my side instead of into my chest. Not that it made my dick any less hard, I mean I kind of have a thing for sexy milk filled tits, and hers definitely fell in that category. But Em was my wife's best friend's daughter, my daughter's good friend, and my son's best friend's sister. With all that in the way there was no way I was going to even hint at what was in my mind, not to mention the significant age difference.So over the years I let the desire stay hidden away, but still always there. This day though, those desires bubbled toward the surface as both she and I attended a float trip including all of our direct and extended families.Em showed up in a very skimpy black string bikini, her body looking incredible considering that it had been less than a year since she had given birth. I presumed that the bikini was to show off just how well toned and shaped she had gotten her body back into. I know that I certainly appreciated her showing off all her curves, including her breasts which wiggled so enticingly in the barely adequate black top. Throughout the day I did my best to keep my cock down while also trying to peak at what she was showing.I assumed it was my imagination, but it seemed to me that her breasts were actually growing as the day progressed. Either that or the black triangles of material covering part of them and attempting to hold them in place were shrinking. By the time we got off the river for the day and the tents set up there was no doubt what was going on. I felt almost stupid at not having thought about it before. She hadn't brought her daughter, leaving her with grandma, who didn't want to come canoeing, and her breasts were quite literally brimming with milk. The wet spots on the front of the triangles of cloth were the clear indication that finally brought it to mind. I watched her walk off toward the bathrooms wearing her tiny black top and a pair of satin looking workout shorts as I headed to where the cook grills were being lit.After hanging around the grills for a while, I headed to the bathrooms to take care of my own relief, wondering if it was going to be private enough to get the other kind of relief I needed or if I was going to have to slip off into the woods that were just behind the bathrooms.As it turned out, they were not at all private enough for what I needed to take care of, and was exiting the bathrooms to duck into the tree line for a few moments to relieve the load that had been building all day. With my mind already intent on that action, I guess I wasn't paying attention and nearly walked into Em as she came out of the ladies side."Oh shit. Sorry Em!" I muttered, stopping just short of bumping into her."Not a problem Mister C." She replied with a smile on her face, using the same name for me she most of her life. "Where were you headed?""Uh., Back to the camp site." I answered, my mind not fully engaged yet."The sites are back that way." She said with a crooked grin forming on her face. She leaned closer and whispered to me, "Looks to me like you were going someplace else.""Huh? Why would you say that?" I asked, startled that not only was it obvious to her, but she was being brazen enough to say so."Oh, just a hunch." She said as she took hold of the waist band of my swim suit and pulled on it, stepping backwards to lead me around the corner of the bathrooms toward the back side. She held her finger to her lips and guided me quietly to the more secluded side. "You know. I have a really hard time expressing enough milk so my breasts don't hurt when I don't have baby around. Would you mind helping me?" She whispered as she reached behind her neck and untied the string holding the top up. The two black triangles of material fell away from her body, catching with the loop around her back and hanging at her waist, her full round breasts more fully on display for me than I had ever seen before.I really couldn't help myself, my hands took on a life of their own as they reached out and cupped each magnificent breast, my thumbs rubbing back and forth across each erect nipple, making them dimple her dark areola as they bent to and fro."Oh god." She whispered as her hands fumbled with the knot on the string holding my swim suit around me. "I have wanted you to touch me like this for so long."I gave her no answer as I stepped slightly to her side and leaned my head down to gently kiss one nipple while stroking the other. My tongue could taste the milk seeping from it, warm and almost sweet. I closed my lips around the tip of her breast and gently sucked her nipple into my mouth, suddenly receiving more of the warm treasure along with a gentle moan from her lips. Her hands pushed my swim suit off my butt, allowing it to slide down my legs until I was naked from the ankles up.Her hands found my hard cock and wrapped around it, stroking it long and slow, rubbing the precum that was already leaking from it into the whole shaft. My own hands began roaming again, the one that had slipped around her back sliding down into the back of her shorts, pushing them part way down in the process, and the one caressing her other breast, slipping down her firm stomach and into the front of her shorts. Her hands left my cock long enough to push her shorts down, allowing my hands to now roam freely across her firm round ass and her shaved mound.Her hands went back to my rock hard shaft as one of my left hand worked between her legs from behind, my finger stroking between her wet lips in search of her inviting tunnel. My right hand found and zeroed in on her clit, sending tingles of lightning through her body with each stroke across the hard nub."Oh god. Fuck me, Please fuck me!" She begged in a whisper, grabbing my arms and pulling my hands from her pussy.I stood up and looked down at her, wondering what she had in mind. I didn't have long to wait, her flexible gymnasts body easily lifting one leg high and hooking it over my left arm. I lowered myself slightly while she grabbed my cock and aimed it at her pussy, rubbing the head up and down her slit, teasing her clit with the tip before pushing it back so my head was engaged in her tunnel. She let go and pulled herself against me, arching her back and pushing her sopping wet pussy over my fat cock a few inches."Oh god you're so big!" She moaned quietly rocking her hips in time with the short little strokes I started to make, working my cock into her a little bit at a time."Oh god." I mumbled as my head finally reached the end of her sweet tunnel, my body already on overload. I started stroking longer into her now, each stroke slipping out until I was nearly out of her wet pussy before pushing quickly into her again. Each stoke brought a new grunt, squeak, or moan to her lips, and her whole body was quivering. Her nipples leaked milk, some in drips collecting like rain drops and some in small streams that reached out the few inches between us to wet my chest.

A Trolling treatBased on the post by m_storyman_x . Listen to the ► podcast at Explicit Novels. June 2014As a Missouri outdoorsman, Nancy and I stay very involved in our community.Nancy and fellow teacher, Linda, had been best friends since out kids were born over twenty years ago. She was still a very good looking woman, but I never saw much of it because she wore fairly conservative clothing and such. Now that her daughter was living in the house with the new grandbaby, she didn't get much privacy.Since her husband was a deadbeat and not around much, I suspected that the only sex she ever got was at her own hand. We never talked about it of course, but I often wondered what she thought of me. I liked to think that some of the subtle things she did over the years indicated she was attracted to me.Now she lives out in the sticks on a small lake, well away from any neighbors. On one occasion I was headed out to fish on the lake, having a standing invitation, and a day off. She was mowing the lawn when I drove up, wearing a one-piece swim suit because it was so hot out. She didn't need to be concerned about passersby or anything since their driveway was easily a quarter of a mile long through thick woods, making their house and yard well hidden from the main road.As I drove up it was clear that the strapless top of her suit had ridden down considerably from the bouncing of her c cup breasts, exposing the entire top of her breasts, just barely hanging on by her nipples. It looked like one more bounce and they would both be on full display. She looked as shocked to see me drive up as I was to see her home mowing the lawn.I drove by her on the driveway as she mowed along it, her eyes looking at mine and my eyes looking at all the skin on display. I continued down the drive and parked by the lake to put my little boat in. She came down to see me only after she had gone in the house for several minutes, returning with a button down shirt pulled on over her suit and her faced flushed.We chatted amiably while I got the boat ready and then she returned to her mowing while I went out fishing. I couldn't help but watch her mow as I worked along the shoreline. I noticed her look at me several times when she didn't think I was watching.A few months later I was back out again, having changed where I put the boat into the water, now putting it in down by the dam, partly so I didn't disturb her again like I had. It was a hot Saturday, but as evening approached it was starting to cool down into the low eighties. The sun was just touching the tops of the trees as I slowly and silently worked along the weed bank on the west side of the lake where the shadows had started growing first.The woods started right at the shoreline and marched unbroken away from the shore for hundreds of yards. The cat tails had a good year, and were easily seven feet tall. I eased my plastic boat silently as I could along the weeds, a few feet at a time, flipping a floating rubber worm into the tiny gaps in the weeds. There was a cut in the shoreline that I moved into. I tossed my worm into a gap and got hung.It happens, but it's frustrating. It generally ruins the spot for more fishing, but I move silently in anyway. I was right into the edge of the weeds when I first heard it, a gentle moan. I pulled the boat in tighter and looked through the weeds. What I saw was startling.Lying on a folding lounge chair in a small clearing of the brush and weeds was Linda. She was completely naked, her swimsuit laying on the end of the lounge, one of her hands busy squeezing her breasts and nipples and the other franticly rubbing her pussy in circles. It was the second time I had seen her naked, but this time I was getting a much longer look.I couldn't tear my eyes from her, my dick getting harder by the second. She was oblivious to the fact that I was there, and I didn't want to spoil things between us, so I stayed were I was, not able to move away and not wanting to get closer. I was so close to her that I could smell her aroma, my dick responding inside my shorts.I quietly used one hand to undo my shorts and pulled them apart, freeing my dick and silently glad I didn't wear underwear because of the heat. I slowly stroked my rock hard while watching Linda work on her pussy, her flowery lips wet with her moisture and spread wide so I could easily see the entrance to her velvety tunnel. I was tremendously turned on at this point, stroking my dick faster as her moans became more animated.At this point I should have backed off and respected her privacy. If I had been thinking with my brain instead of my dick, that's what I would have done, instead I leaned forward to get a better look.In my mind's eye I watched myself lose balance and start falling forward. The next thing I remember is standing up in thigh deep water, my shorts floating around my legs, leaving me naked from the thighs up.Linda also saw me at this point, one hand going across her breasts and the other covering her pussy. My boat was floating away, leaving me little choice but wade out of the water to the shore so I could gather myself together. I stepped through the tall weeds to the shore, water streaming from my body and wet clothes while Linda tried to cover herself by spreading her swimsuit across her body.She froze in mid motion, partly recognizing who was standing there watching her, and also processing the fact that my soaked shorts were now around my ankles and my hard dick was sticking out like a flagpole, pointing at her. We stood there watching each other for what seemed like hours, but I am sure was only a few seconds. Slowly she allowed her hands to drop from covering her body and pull the material of her swimsuit off to the side. She was sitting on the chair, completely naked, and intentionally exposing herself to me.I pulled my wet shirt off and tossed it aside, allowing her to see as much of my body as she was allowing me to see of hers. I wrapped my hand around my dick and stroked it slowly, aiming it at her while she spread her legs and moved a hand back to her clit, starting to gently stroke it again. I stepped out of my wet shorts and moved slowly to the chair she was sitting on. She lay back down on the chair, putting her feet on the seat and spreading her knees as wide as she could.I watched her fingers disappear in and out of her pussy, moisture glistening on them as they made gently squishing noises. We hadn't said a word to each other yet, and I was afraid to. I moved until I was standing over the end of the chair, my hand still sliding slowly on my dick.I'm not sure either of us really thought about what was happening, it was strictly lust. She lifted her legs from the chair and spread them wide, hooking her heels around my ass and pulling me down toward her. When I was within her reach she put her hand around mine and slowly guided me lower, aiming my dick at her pussy. It was almost electric when the head of my dick touched the moist lips of her pussy. She pulled until I was sitting on the chair, my dick slowly sinking into her.I groaned quietly as her velvety softness enveloped me, pulling herself down my dick by drawing her body closer to mine with her legs."Yes!" she hissed quietly as her pubic hair mixed with mine. I moved one hand to her right tit and my other to her pussy, were I pressed her exposed clit with my thumb. "Uh" she grunted quietly as she began to undulate her hips, working herself up and down my dick a few inches. "Oh god" she breathed as her actions increased in pace.For my own part I couldn't just sit there. I had dreamt of screwing her for years, and now I had my dick buried inside her pussy. That combined with the exquisite sensations encouraged me to move in time with her, helping pump my dick in and out of her tight sweet pussy.Between us we were stroking ourselves to the point where my dick was almost sliding out of her pussy before we started pressing back together again. I felt her pussy contract and squeeze my dick as she arched her back, throwing her head back and groaning.She let go of my ass and spread her legs in a wide V to give me more access to her pussy. I moved my hands from her breast and pussy and used them on the chair to lift myself off the chair slightly, and then started stroking in and out of her with more energy.She moaned and began squeezing her tits as I pounded into her, our bodies slapping together quietly. I was getting very close, and I didn't know if she was on the pill anymore or not.When I felt like was about to blow, I pulled from her wet pussy and pressed the bottom of my dick against her pussy lips and continued to stroke using the tunnel made by my hand on top and her pussy on the bottom. She moved one hand to mine and replaced it with hers. My dick now was stroking in and out of the tunnel created by her pussy lips and her hand, my head poking out at the end of each stroke. The change in sensation slowed my climax a little, but looking at her tits wiggling around with each stroke was enough to push me over the top.I pressed my balls tight to her pussy and began spewing a huge load of cum all over her body, shot after shot spraying across her tits and stomach. She wrapped her hand around my dick and stroked the final shots of cum from me, using her other hand to begin rubbing the juice into her body.It took several minutes to get my breath back, both of us sitting and looking at each other, the lust of the moment changing to recognition of what had occurred. She lifted herself up using the arms of the chair and pulled the back up so she was sitting reclined instead of lying."Linda," I started. But she reached out and put a finger over my lips and shook her head. She wasn't frowning, but she wasn't smiling either. We sat there until my dick had softened to its normal size, her legs once again wrapped around me. I moved to get up, but she tightened her grip, encouraging me to stay where I was.We sat and looked at each other, taking in all the details of each other's bodies as the darkness fell leaving only the light of the moon illuminating the lake ,woods and us.Linda finally unwrapped her legs and sat up, pulling me close to her, pressing her tits to my chest as she brought her lips to mine. She kissed me seductively, her tongue invading my mouth as she pulled my face toward hers. We kissed that way for several minutes before she slowly broke the kiss and moved to stand up. She allowed me to kiss her breasts, which were at my face level because she was short, only being five foot three, before stepping over the chair and away from me.She bent over and picked up her swimsuit, and then turned away from me and bent over again, slowly pulling the suit up her legs while giving me as much of a view of her exposed pussy as she could in the dim light.Once she had her suit covering her butt, she turned to face me and pulled it up over her tits. She stepped into a pair of flip-flops, blew me a kiss and then walked off into the dark.I collected my thoughts and then found my shorts and shirt and pulled them on. I saw my boat floating half way across the lake and waded in, swimming out to it. Getting in was tough, but I managed by climbing up and over the outboard on the back. I had to explain to my wife why I was wet, and just told her I slipped in the water loading the boat on the trailer.Since that time Linda and I have never spoken of it. I'm sure she thinks of it on occasion, based on the brief flashes of tit or pussy that I occasionally get from her when she is sure I am the only one that can see. But it has never been spoken of, and probably never will. In the last two years I had hoped for a replay, but that appeared to be out of the question, until last week, but that is another story.Emily's milk factory has surplus issues.I had known Emily since she was a baby. I watched her grow from a young child to an exuberant teen and finally to a very sexy young adult. Yes she was half my age, and to be honest, when she was an 18-year-old gymnast, there were times that I had less than wholesome thoughts about her, but as every father thinking things like that about their kid's friends, I kept them well to myself. I suspect that as she grew into her early twenties, those full body hugs she gave me, the ones where she couldn't seem help but press her hips tight to mine, were an indication that she had picked up on those hidden desires.Over the years I watched her grow, and yes, fill out, till she was quite a sexy looking young woman. At only five thee, and barely over a hundred pounds, she was extremely petite, but her chest had filled out into full C cup. A fact which I was frequently reminded of as she continued to give me full body hugs every time we met. If that meeting was alone, those hugs seemed to last much longer and I often wondered if it was my imagination that she hugged tighter or that she ground her hips into my quickly growing hardon.One thing I was sure of, was that those alone hugs were more than long enough for her to feel that hardon pressing against her body. The hardon caused by the tingles sent through my body by her obviously hard nipples. I pulled her as tight to me as she did, not wanting to miss a moment, and at the same time, not wanting her to realize just how much desire there was to undress her and explore her petite body with my lips. Another thing that I was never quite sure of, was how many of the couple dozen "flashes" that I received in the last few years were accidental. There were times that I swore they had to be intentional. Coming out after a shower without a towel while I was working on something to help her mom, or a bikini top "slipping" out of place. I got more flashes of her body than I could actually chalk up to accidental events.Now that she is married and starting her family, those hugs are a thing of the past. I still got hugs, but now those hugs were from the side, pressing her substantially larger milk filled tits into my side instead of into my chest. Not that it made my dick any less hard, I mean I kind of have a thing for sexy milk filled tits, and hers definitely fell in that category. But Em was my wife's best friend's daughter, my daughter's good friend, and my son's best friend's sister. With all that in the way there was no way I was going to even hint at what was in my mind, not to mention the significant age difference.So over the years I let the desire stay hidden away, but still always there. This day though, those desires bubbled toward the surface as both she and I attended a float trip including all of our direct and extended families.Em showed up in a very skimpy black string bikini, her body looking incredible considering that it had been less than a year since she had given birth. I presumed that the bikini was to show off just how well toned and shaped she had gotten her body back into. I know that I certainly appreciated her showing off all her curves, including her breasts which wiggled so enticingly in the barely adequate black top. Throughout the day I did my best to keep my cock down while also trying to peak at what she was showing.I assumed it was my imagination, but it seemed to me that her breasts were actually growing as the day progressed. Either that or the black triangles of material covering part of them and attempting to hold them in place were shrinking. By the time we got off the river for the day and the tents set up there was no doubt what was going on. I felt almost stupid at not having thought about it before. She hadn't brought her daughter, leaving her with grandma, who didn't want to come canoeing, and her breasts were quite literally brimming with milk. The wet spots on the front of the triangles of cloth were the clear indication that finally brought it to mind. I watched her walk off toward the bathrooms wearing her tiny black top and a pair of satin looking workout shorts as I headed to where the cook grills were being lit.After hanging around the grills for a while, I headed to the bathrooms to take care of my own relief, wondering if it was going to be private enough to get the other kind of relief I needed or if I was going to have to slip off into the woods that were just behind the bathrooms.As it turned out, they were not at all private enough for what I needed to take care of, and was exiting the bathrooms to duck into the tree line for a few moments to relieve the load that had been building all day. With my mind already intent on that action, I guess I wasn't paying attention and nearly walked into Em as she came out of the ladies side."Oh shit. Sorry Em!" I muttered, stopping just short of bumping into her."Not a problem Mister C." She replied with a smile on her face, using the same name for me she most of her life. "Where were you headed?""Uh., Back to the camp site." I answered, my mind not fully engaged yet."The sites are back that way." She said with a crooked grin forming on her face. She leaned closer and whispered to me, "Looks to me like you were going someplace else.""Huh? Why would you say that?" I asked, startled that not only was it obvious to her, but she was being brazen enough to say so."Oh, just a hunch." She said as she took hold of the waist band of my swim suit and pulled on it, stepping backwards to lead me around the corner of the bathrooms toward the back side. She held her finger to her lips and guided me quietly to the more secluded side. "You know. I have a really hard time expressing enough milk so my breasts don't hurt when I don't have baby around. Would you mind helping me?" She whispered as she reached behind her neck and untied the string holding the top up. The two black triangles of material fell away from her body, catching with the loop around her back and hanging at her waist, her full round breasts more fully on display for me than I had ever seen before.I really couldn't help myself, my hands took on a life of their own as they reached out and cupped each magnificent breast, my thumbs rubbing back and forth across each erect nipple, making them dimple her dark areola as they bent to and fro."Oh god." She whispered as her hands fumbled with the knot on the string holding my swim suit around me. "I have wanted you to touch me like this for so long."I gave her no answer as I stepped slightly to her side and leaned my head down to gently kiss one nipple while stroking the other. My tongue could taste the milk seeping from it, warm and almost sweet. I closed my lips around the tip of her breast and gently sucked her nipple into my mouth, suddenly receiving more of the warm treasure along with a gentle moan from her lips. Her hands pushed my swim suit off my butt, allowing it to slide down my legs until I was naked from the ankles up.Her hands found my hard cock and wrapped around it, stroking it long and slow, rubbing the precum that was already leaking from it into the whole shaft. My own hands began roaming again, the one that had slipped around her back sliding down into the back of her shorts, pushing them part way down in the process, and the one caressing her other breast, slipping down her firm stomach and into the front of her shorts. Her hands left my cock long enough to push her shorts down, allowing my hands to now roam freely across her firm round ass and her shaved mound.Her hands went back to my rock hard shaft as one of my left hand worked between her legs from behind, my finger stroking between her wet lips in search of her inviting tunnel. My right hand found and zeroed in on her clit, sending tingles of lightning through her body with each stroke across the hard nub."Oh god. Fuck me, Please fuck me!" She begged in a whisper, grabbing my arms and pulling my hands from her pussy.I stood up and looked down at her, wondering what she had in mind. I didn't have long to wait, her flexible gymnasts body easily lifting one leg high and hooking it over my left arm. I lowered myself slightly while she grabbed my cock and aimed it at her pussy, rubbing the head up and down her slit, teasing her clit with the tip before pushing it back so my head was engaged in her tunnel. She let go and pulled herself against me, arching her back and pushing her sopping wet pussy over my fat cock a few inches."Oh god you're so big!" She moaned quietly rocking her hips in time with the short little strokes I started to make, working my cock into her a little bit at a time."Oh god." I mumbled as my head finally reached the end of her sweet tunnel, my body already on overload. I started stroking longer into her now, each stroke slipping out until I was nearly out of her wet pussy before pushing quickly into her again. Each stoke brought a new grunt, squeak, or moan to her lips, and her whole body was quivering. Her nipples leaked milk, some in drips collecting like rain drops and some in small streams that reached out the few inches between us to wet my chest.

Ce matin, Elliot a piégé... un participant à Mister Côte d'Azur ! Retrouvez Bruno sur Fun Radio avec Bruno Guillon, Christina, Pino, Karina, Maurine, Elliot et Mikka sur Funradio.fr et sur l'application Fun Radio.

RAY CHARLES – GENIUS + SOUL = JAZZ – New York, – December 26, 1960 I’ve got news for you (rb arr), Mister C (rb arr) Ray Charles (vcl,org) acc by Phil Guilbeau, Thad Jones, Joe Newman, Clark Terry, Snooky Young (tp) Henry Coker, Urbie Green, Al Grey, Benny Powell (tb) Marshal Royal, Frank Wess […]

A part le podcast du la chaîne Planète, jamais vous n'entendrez une émission parler à la fois avec des Congolais, des Chinois, des Syriens et des Grecs. Et tous sont Fançais. N'en déplaise aux fachos, notre pays et Les 30 Glorieuses créent le rire en world wide. Aujourd'hui Yassine Belattar, Thomas Barbazan et Rémi Lufuta, reçoivent le rappeur Seiya et son acolyte cisailleur Mister C. Avec aussi vos rubriques du vendredi : Journal Inversé, Radio Animaux et DJ Chelou. Embraquer sur la compagnie Air Golri. Bon vol. Et si vous voulez des miles et des smiles, subventionnez notre compagnie sur www.legrandrapprochement.lol

The life and times of Michael Cianci

In 1999, the world stood on the brink of massive change: a new millennium, a new reality, the future of our dreams sitting right on our doorstep. Big D had just joined the Army. Roger readied himself for deployment to sleep away camp, and Mister C was just a boy. On the horizon, launching movies into a new era, was "The Phantom Menace." Star Wars' first film after 16 years frozen in carbonite was a prequel, and nobody thought to question at the time what a strange paradox we were about to experience. Episode I promised to show us how it all began by adding big-name actors, mind-blowing computer effects, and exciting new characters. And while that promise was fulfilled, "The Phantom Menace" also opened a sarlacc pit of missteps—inconsistent Jedi powers, an unsatisfying Anakin Skywalker, reckless parents, an abused C3PO, unnecessary characters, and the hyper-animated elephant in the room: Jar Jar Binks. How could a movie with such rich lineage stumble so horribly out of the gate? The cringe-worthy love story, impotent Jedi council, confounding battle scenes, and objectionable politics hit us out of nowhere, overshadowing a valiant performance by Liam Neeson and betraying other success stories in the Star Wars franchise.  Any movie worthy of Fan-Tom Edits is worth of the Shat treatment, and our crew was up to the job. With lightsabers bright and prospects dim, let us begin the Star Wars saga where it started ... before it started ... again. SUBSCRIBE & FOLLOW Android: http://shatthemovies.com/android Apple/iTunes: http://shatthemovies.com/itunes Social Media: Twitch, Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, YouTube, Snapchat Website: http://shatthemovies.com/ HELP SUPPORT THE PODCAST Donate with Paypal: http://shatthemovies.com/paypal Donate With Venmo: https://venmo.com/shatpodcasts Get Podcast Merchandise: http://shatthemovies.com/shop Shop Amazon With Our Affiliate Link: https://www.amazon.com/?tag=shatmovies-20 Sponsor's Listener Survey: http://shatthemovies.com/survey Leave an iTunes Review: http://shatthemovies.com/review Vote for our Next Movies: http://shatthemovies.com/vote Feeds & Social Media: http://shatthemovies.com/subscribe-and-follow Leave a Voicemail: (914) 719-SHAT - (914) 719-7428 Email: hosts@shatthemovies.com Listen to our TV Podcasts: https://shatontv.com/shat-on-podcasts Theme Song - Die Hard by Guyz Nite: https://www.facebook.com/guyznite

Can a movie based on commercial relationships be so bad, it's excellent? That was the question posed by Jim B & family when he commissioned the 1988 rip-off of ET, #MacAndMe. Big D uses a sick day, so Rog invites his cohosts of @TheFloridaMen, Benny & Mister C to review the film that Paul Rudd turned into a cult classic through his numerous appearances on the Conan O'Brien Show. Benny admires the interior decorating skills of the young alien while filmmaker Mister C theorizes MAC's alien race went extinct due to vacuum cleaners. All three hosts feel cheated that neither Ronald McDonald nor the San Francisco 49ers showed up to their birthday parties. So, sit back, grab a straw, and enjoy the healthy products of our corporate overlords. It's the latest episode of STM. SUBSCRIBE & FOLLOW Android: http://shatthemovies.com/android Apple/iTunes: http://shatthemovies.com/itunes Social Media: Twitch, Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, YouTube, Snapchat Website: http://shatthemovies.com/ HELP SUPPORT THE PODCAST Donate with Paypal: http://shatthemovies.com/paypal Donate With Venmo: https://venmo.com/shatpodcasts Get Podcast Merchandise: http://shatthemovies.com/shop Shop Amazon With Our Affiliate Link: https://www.amazon.com/?tag=shatmovies-20 Sponsor's Listener Survey: http://shatthemovies.com/survey Leave an iTunes Review: http://shatthemovies.com/review Vote for our Next Movies: http://shatthemovies.com/vote Feeds & Social Media: http://shatthemovies.com/subscribe-and-follow Leave a Voicemail: (914) 719-SHAT - (914) 719-7428 Email: hosts@shatthemovies.com Listen to our TV Podcasts: https://shatontv.com/shat-on-podcasts Theme Song - Die Hard by Guyz Nite: https://www.facebook.com/guyznite

As the Coronavirus has us all hunkering down in our homes, we figured it’s high time we rolled out the latest tune that we’ve been working on, one that’s all about the love of a good home. Here from a recent rehearsal are Paul Callicoat and Michelle Lewis leading us on a sail through a great old 1960s Sam Cooke composition. And flowing in and out all along the way are sweet solos from everyone, from Paul Martin and Doug Chaffin,  from Veezy Coffman and Sam St. Clair. So, sit back and let our gang — Mister C and Michelle and the rest of the Flood family — bring it on home to you and yours. Be safe our there, friends, and stay happy in your hunkering down. Wash your hands and, please, take care of each other!

Omaha is a city of immigrants, and among the diversity are Italians who came for jobs, homes and connections. More than Mister C’s or an Italian sandwich shop at 30th and Ames, there is a rich heritage in the community that’s almost entirely lost. Adam teaches us the history of Italians in North Omaha. Help us meet expenses and keep the light on at the North Omaha History Podcast by becoming a patron. Please go to Patreon.com/Omaha

This week on the podcast Rachel and Jor-El talk with Henry Calantog, more commonly referred to as Mr. C, Rachel’s past martial arts teacher!  Mr. C talks with us about life as a first generation Filipino, his journey towards reluctant entrepreneurship and how creating your own path and listening to yourself can be powerful keys to success and life satisfaction. Mr. C was so gracious in sharing so much wisdom, and he even shared some great stories about young Rachel along the way. We hope that you enjoy! Don't forget to tweet or DM us your questions and feedback. You can reach us at @vivawellnessnyc, @rachelgersten and @jorelcaraballo on Twitter and Instagram. Don’t forget to leave a rating and review on iTunes!

Meet Kevin Cornell, aka "Mister C", an Educational Consultant, Ohio PBS Digital Innovator, Creator and Host of Full STEAM Ahead (presenting station: ThinkTV - PBS), and CEO Mister C as he discussed creating media in the classroom. Become an e2e Insider: https://www.conoverinnovativeconsulting.com/e2e-educators/ Register for Webinars and Upcoming Events: https://www.conoverinnovativeconsulting.com/events/ ____________________________________ Join Mister C for fun and exciting songs and videos! ► Click HERE to download Mister C's Music: https://goo.gl/dcBfBa ► VISIT Mister C's Store: https://goo.gl/pBCFGQ ► JOIN the Mister C NEWSLETTER - https://goo.gl/E3jRnP ►Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/originalmisterc ►Website: http://www.learningscienceisfun.com ►Twitter: https://twitter.com/originalmisterc ►Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/originalmis... ►Mister C music: https://goo.gl/dcBfBa

Hello! Welcome to GlitterShip episode 43 for August 20, 2017. This is your host, Keffy, and I'm super excited to be sharing this story with you. It's a little bit late (oops!) but we finally have the Summer 2017 issue of GlitterShip available for you to read and enjoy! As before, all of the stories will be podcast and posted on the website over the next couple of months. However, if you'd like to get a head start reading the stories and support GlitterShip, you can purchase copies of the Summer 2017 issue on Amazon, Nook, or right here at GlitterShip.com. Looking forward, the GlitterShip Year One anthology is now available via Amazon, and Barnes & Noble in both print and electronic editions, as well as for direct purchase CreateSpace(print) and GlitterShip.com/buy (electronic)—which also means that copies will FINALLY go out to the people who so generously supported the GlitterShip Kickstarter way back in 2015. Today, we have a GlitterShip original short story by Matthew Bright, as well as a poem by Charles Payseur. Content warning for "In Search of Stars" - some sex and mild domestic violence.   Charles Payseur is an avid reader, writer, and reviewer of all things speculative. His fiction and poetry have appeared at Strange Horizons, Lightspeed Magazine, The Book Smugglers, and many more. He runs Quick Sip Reviews, contributes as short fiction specialist at Nerds of a Feather, Flock Together and can be found drunkenly reviewing Goosebumps on his Patreon. You can find him gushing about short fiction (and occasionally his cats) on Twitter as @ClowderofTwo.     becoming, c.a. 2000 by Charles Payseur   he gives himself to the internet a piece at a time, in chatrooms and message boards and fandom pages, like burning prayers for the next life. he finds himself there as cronus must have found his children, a terrifying future fully formed and armored that he is desperate to consume.   every day he leans into his screen, close enough to brush his lips against the humming glass, feels the snap of static on skin, and pulls away diminished, the sum of his parts no longer quite equaling the whole. he asks friends what they think but all of them are online now, scattered like ghosts, a great ocean of scared boys in nice houses and with each question, each reassurance, each word of a language they build to map their desires, they all find themselves that much more gone.   he is barely a whisper when he puts the last piece of himself into a comment on a garak/bashir slashfic                                 more plz     Matthew Bright is a writer, editor and designer who constantly debates which order those should come. His fiction has appeared or is forthcoming in Tor.com, Nightmare Magazine, Harlot, Steampunk Universe amongst others, and he is the editor of anthologies including Clockwork Cairo: Steampunk Tales of Egypt, Myriad Carnival: Queer and Weird Tales from Under the Big Top and the upcoming A Scandal in Gomorrah: Queering Sherlock Holmes. He pays the bills as a book cover designer in Manchester, England, and you can find him on twitter @mbrightwriter or online at matthew-bright.com.       In Search of Stars by Matthew Bright     It starts with a secret place, as many stories do. On the outside, it is a laundrette. The printed letters on the plate glass are peeling, but still legible: Whites. Below it, a list of numbers is scraped away, leaving the cost of a wash a mystery. Occasionally, I pass it in daylight. During the day, the door is propped open by a rickety stool, and I peer inside. It is filled by graying women with rumpled, dishcloth skin who talk quietly amongst themselves about their children and their husbands. Once, I dare to take my clothes there to wash. An innocent errand, I reason; no shadow of suspicion could fall on a man simply doing his laundry. This does not prevent the women from eyeing me as if the mere presence of a man amongst them is suspect. To compound this, I am unprepared, and am forced to swap a nickel for a palmful of powder, a foolish error met with sad tuts. As I empty the powder into the drum, I study the door in the corner. It takes me several weeks to get the courage to return at night. The front door is no longer propped open advertising itself, but it hangs ajar, distinctly not closed. Inside it is dark, and quiet—none of the machines are awake. But men pass in and out of the doorway with regularity, briefly spilling light from the door in the back across the machines; they are not carrying clothes. I do not know whatever password it is that would grant me access, and neither do I have the will to ask. Perhaps were I to be bold—simply walk up to the door in the back of the laundrette and go in—I might be able to talk my way upstairs. But when my foot breaks the curb to cross the street, my stomach churns, noxious with fear, and I step back. Tonight, it is cold, and so I cross the alley to the diner. The waitress there—a pretty girl, like the small-town ones from back home—knows me by name now. “Usual, Albert?” she says, and I enjoy being someone who has a “usual.” I imagine that perhaps she does too—this is not the sort of diner with regulars. I sit in a booth by the window and drink coffee, covertly watch the laundrette, and the men that come and go. I don’t know what I imagine is on the other side of the door, but I know I want to find out. Perhaps the waitress knows—it seems unlikely that she works here night after night and doesn’t have some idea what is going on opposite. The thought makes me uncomfortable, but I remind myself there is nothing wrong with a man drinking coffee—or a man washing his clothes. There is someone waiting outside the laundrette. He leans against the window-frame, making insolent eye-contact with any man who enters. His boldness—starkly opposite to my own reticence—tugs at me; I dowse the feeling with coffee and look at the chipped table-top. The jukebox is playing music—rock and roll, tinny and weak. It clanks and whirs when the records are changed. After a while, I can feel—in that skin-pricking way that comes from a sense other than sight or hearing—that the man is looking at me. I chance a look, and meet his eyes. The waitress is serving an old man in the corner, her back turned. I gather my coat, and step out into the cold. At the end of the road the city exhales a blare of cars, distant music, police whistles, but its cacophony falters at the corner. Our street is still like midwinter, and the man waits for me in the middle. We exchange words. It doesn’t matter what they are. Suffice it to say, I have spoken similar words before; I am a man who knows their real meanings, just as he. The walk is a few wet streets away. He talks, and I interject enough answers into the conversation to keep it from stagnating. I keep a proprietary distance from him, glance nervously at the darkened windows around us, any one of which might contain a watcher who knows my face—I saw that scientist from round the corner, they might say, and you’ll never guess what? He tells me he is a musician—saxophone, because all the other boys in this city are playing guitar, he says. I picture the pads of his fingers stroking the keys, and the cold reed leeching the moisture from his bottom lip. I ask him if he’s ever played inside, meaning the secret place above the laundrette, hoping he’ll say yes so he can describe it to me. He shakes his head. “I’ve never been in,” he says. We are at the foot of my building, and I fumble in my pocket for keys. He leans in close to me. “Have you?” “I don’t know the password.” A second, then he laughs. “Password? You don’t need a password.” He looks me up and down. He is mentally reconfiguring me from a man of experience to a naïf who imagines cloak-and-dagger, film-noir secrecy. He hesitates. “Come in,” I say. I let him climb the stairs first. With the door closed, my stomach spins in anticipation, as if permission is granted by the cloak of privacy—nobody to see us now, not even if I were to pull his clothes off right here on the stairs. But I don’t—I jam my hands in my pockets and follow his shadow upwards. At the top, he looks around the detritus of my apartment, and asks me what I do. “I’m an artist,” I say, which is not exactly a lie. He looks for a light-switch, but I point him through the door to the bedroom. I pull dustclothes over my work, then follow him. He is already naked on the bed, his clothes a gray pool by the nightstand. He tastes of something I can’t describe. Afterwards he rolls to the cold side of the bed, pulling the damp sheets with him. He looks appraisingly at me, and he is re-evaluating me all over again—perhaps tallying up the number of men that added up to the expertise I had displayed. He looks at me for some time.  An endless parade, he must conclude—all those other men. My chest congeals into a thick, black, furtive shame, soul-deep. I offer him a cigarette, but he refuses, rolls onto his back and closes his eyes. At first the lids are tense, like a child pretending to be asleep after curfew, and then they relax. He breathes slowly. I place the cigarette between my lips, but leave it unlit. Tentative dawn is creeping over the horizon, silvering the rooftops. I left the curtains undrawn when I left earlier, the window fully open—not a conscious choice, but it's fortuitous: the window grates on opening, loud enough to wake someone sleeping. I arise quietly, pad into the other room, and pull aside the dustclothes. The paint is where I left it, viscous and silver in its vat. Its clean, sterile smell stings my eyes. I open a drawer, select the right brush—hog bristle, which is soft and delicate, and will not wake him. On the bed, I kneel, apply the paint gently. I cover him in reverse order of the skin touched by my tongue and fingers, turning it warm pink to cold blue. By the time I have covered his chest and thighs, he is lighter, rising up from the bed. When I cover his arms, they rise above him, as if he is reaching for an embrace. I run the brush to his feet. When I am finished, he floats a foot above the bed, rising. When I lay my hand on his belly, he is light as a feather, and my touch guides him across the room as if he were a leaf on a still pond. He passes below the lintel soundlessly, not waking even when his steady ascendance nudges his shoulder against the frame. My hands on his cheeks anchor him, like a child clutching a balloon that tugs against its string. His feet lift, inverting him. His eyes open when I kiss him gently on the lips. He smiles, and I release him. He turns as he floats up, alternating blue then pink in the watery dawn, and then is higher than I can see any longer, beyond my sight with all the others. I lie down on the bed, pull the still-warm bedsheets around me, and light my cigarette. The smoke rises in clouds, and vanishes as if it was never there.     The story continues with the morning after, as many stories do. Firm block capitals in my diary prevent from lying abed long into the afternoon: I have an appointment to make. I meet Eugene in the foyer of the Mayfair. I wonder exactly how much Eugene has been told about my present circumstances, and whether his choice of venue is a deliberate statement of his success. It would be just like Eugene, though it would be intended without malice. He presses whiskey into my hand, and greets me as if we have never been apart. “Such a surprise when old Selwyn told me you were in LA!” he says. He ushers me to an armchair, and gestures for the discretely hovering waiter to refill our glasses. Eugene has aged well—with a thin, fashionable moustache that I am pained to admit suits him well. I briefly wonder if our mutual acquaintance—Selwyn Cavor, the starchily British professor who pushed us through five years of boarding school—is pushing for something other than the reunion of old school friends; it is he, after all, who told me about the laundrette. But then Eugene tells me about his wife—an ice-queen blonde, so he says, by the name of Marilyn, though aren’t all the blondes called Marilyn these days? Perhaps Selwyn is not as calculated as I imagine. “So, how are you ticking, Mister C?” he asks—habitually, for this was how Eugene had opened nearly every conversation between us since we were both eleven and meeting for the first time in a draughty dormitory. “Finally cracked and come out chasing stars in the city of angels, have we?” I try to smile warmly, and shake my head. “Not exactly,” I say, and try to explain something about my work. I tell him about the two publications that took my reports. I fail to mention that my laboratory consists of a worktop hauled from a garbage tip, and basins purloined from the ruins of a barbers that had burnt down. Those particular details do not jibe well with the foyer of the Mayfair, or the two-hundred-dollar whiskey. “And what is it you’re trying to build?” he asks, though his attention is on the whiskey bottle as he tops it up. “Space travel,” I say, though this hardly covers it. “Smart boy!” Eugene says. “Space—they’re all at it. Give it ten years, and we’ll get there ourselves. But I tell you what though—Hollywood is damn well going to get there first.” I think of my saxophonist, turning lazily on the edge of the atmosphere. Out loud, I point out that Hollywood has been going to space for some time. I remind him of the Saturday afternoons we would sneak from school to the nearest town, and the showing in particular of Woman in the Moon, sucking down ice cream floats and salted caramels. He waves it away. “Oh, Hollywood has moved on since then. Special effects!” He is practically shouting, and heads are turning. I shrink in my seat. “That’s what the studios are excited about. And they want everything to be two hundred per cent accurate at all times. Suspension of disbelief, and all that. That’s why they hired me—an ‘expert consultant,’ that’s me.” He leans forward. I realize he is already a little drunk. “Do you know what one of the directors asked me—he asks, ‘What does space smell like?’” “Goodness,” I say. “Why would they need to know that? It’s only film.” “Some new technology they’re working on—a full experience, you know? Squirt the audience with water, shake the seats, all that lot. And they want to use scent. It’s what we’ve all been waiting for—not only can you watch cinema, you’ll be able to smell it.” He looks pleased with himself. The ice clinks in his glass as he waves it. “What does space smell like?” I ask. He considers. “Gunpowder,” he says. “By all accounts.”     Later, I go to the laundrette. The gray women look at me once when I enter, then disregard me. I am an insignificant little man encroaching on their world, and not worth the energy of observation when there are hampers of clothes to be washed. I run a finger along the grimy edge of a washer, and my fingertip comes away blackened. It satisfies me; in a perverse way, the laundrette, with its washed-out women and secret doorways, makes me feel scrubbed clean of all the gilt decadence Eugene has subjected me to that day. I do not look at the door in the back, although I itch to go through it. This visit is an inoculation: a brief sojourn in the laundrette during the day and then I will not be tempted to return after dark. I will remain in my apartment for the night hours; a small amount of exposure that defends against a greater illness. I empty the bag of clothing into the drum. At the bottom are the saxophonist’s discarded clothes. Turning away so as to go unobserved by the women, I press his undergarments to my face and inhale. I half expect the smell of gunpowder but of course that is absurd—his clothes remained with me. I smell only cotton, soap, and the faint linger of sweat. I drop them in the drum, and pay my cents. The machine starts up, spiralling our clothes together in a wet rush. In the Lucky Seven diner, I order coffee. By the time it has arrived, I know the inoculation is not enough; I will be returning tonight. The waitress squeezes into the booth opposite me. “I have a half-hour break,” she says. “Right,” I say, not quite sure why she’s telling me this. She bites her lip; I recognize this from movies, the coquettish seduction. Only hers is awkward, as if she isn’t used to being this forward. Perhaps she isn’t: she works amongst bottom-squeezes and drawled darlin’s all day; I doubt she ever has to ask. “I have half an hour,” she says. “I was thinking you could take me home and fuck me.” I notice a grease-spot on her lapel, just a few inches above her bare breast. It is just to the left of the name-tag: ‘Marilyn’ in uncertain capitals. It makes me think of Eugene’s ice-blonde wife, and his big job up amongst the stars. Eugene would say yes without hesitation. I could just say no, I tell myself, and then, inoculation. Afterwards, she looks around the detritus of my room and asks what I do. “I’m an engineer,” I tell her, which is not exactly a lie, and go to wash myself in the dirty sink. She remains on the bed, smoking the cigarette I offer her. Naked, I had been able to feel a week of diner grease on her skin. She tasted of the bitter coffee at the bottom of a pot, and my usual expertise had deserted me. I wonder if she washes her clothes at the laundrette. I feel the usual nausea arising, though it is a different kind; this is a physical nausea in the pit of my stomach, as if I have swallowed something rotten. “Good old American filth,” Eugene said to me earlier, as we were leaving the Mayfair, him paused on the curb to hail a cab, me turning my coat collar up for the long walk home. “I’m tired of all the glamour. You know—mansions, cars and movie stars. The whole city’s coming down with a case of shallow—even my Marilyn’s picking it up; won’t fuck without doing her makeup first.” He wanted me to take him out in my parts of the city, with all the implications of what my part of the city entailed. “Well—you’re here amongst it all, aren’t you? Think it’s about time you and I went out on the town. I want some squalor, you know what I’m saying?” I imagine he’d be pleased with me right now. I walk her back to the laundrette with five minutes of her break to spare. On the way, she tells me that she picked me because I didn’t ask. All day long, men suggest things, demand things of her. But I never did, and she liked that. I ignore the bitter irony. We part in the middle of the street, her kissing me quickly on the cheek. In the washing machine drum, I find my white clothes stained blue. I hold up a once-pale vest and wring pastel water from it. One of the gray women looks at me and shakes her head. I bundle my clothing back into my knapsack, and leave the saxophone player’s articles—dark blue shirt, pants, underwear—in a sopping pool at the bottom of the lost and found basket.     Two weeks until the itch to visit the laundrette again outweighs awkwardly encountering Marilyn in the Lucky Seven.. Sitting at my work-bench, listlessly tracing paint along a series of pencils so that they float and turn in the air, I reason with myself. If I am to risk facing the woman with whom I have had less than satisfactory relations with—and not seen since—then it must be for a greater gain than watching from afar. The queasy light of the diner is an oasis that beckons—but tonight I ignore it, although I look long enough to realize that Marilyn is not to be seen. It does nothing to calm me; my hair, still damp from the cold shower I took before leaving, hangs in clammy lumps against my forehead. I feel unwashed—wrapped up tight against the night, I am immediately overheated, sweat springing up in the folds of my body. I cannot imagine anyone wanting to touch me. “There is no password,” the saxophonist told me. No secret or phrase: just the confidence to walk through the door. I end up in the diner, breathing heavily to calm my pulse. There is a stinging pain in the palms of my hands that spreads up my arms and worms its way into my ribcage. The laundrette stares balefully at me across the street. An older waitress materializes beside me. She is dumpy and string-haired. Her name-tag says Marilyn. Eugene was right—every woman in Los Angeles… She fills my cup and putters on to the next booth to serve a hulk of a man who I think I faintly recognize. He is looking down at a newspaper spread on the table, his face lost in a tangle of beard, but when Marilyn the Second departs, he looks up at me. He is round faced, and despite the beard, oddly boyish. “Not brave enough, huh?” he says to me. “Excuse me?” He nods over at Whites. “You go in, you come out,” he says. “Been there, done that.” The itch in my palm redoubles. “Have you?”     He is more discreet than the saxophonist; he maintains a respectful distance from me as we pass through the streets, hangs back as I open the door, and remains three steps behind me as I climb the stairs. As soon as we cross the threshold, the gentleman vanishes—his hands are on me, yanking away my coat and scrabbling at the clothes beneath. With my shirt tangled over my head he is already moving to touch my body before I am free; his fingertips are rough on my skin, and as his mouth skates down my body, his beard scratches like the wire wool I use to scrub away paint. His teeth nip at my belly. I back away, lead him to the bedroom. He disrobes as he follows, revealing a heavy-set body swathed in hair, and a stubby penis peeking from the shadow cast by his bulk. The pale light from the window sweeps around the heavy sphere of his stomach, and I am struck by an absurd image of a fast-motion film of light’s passage around the moon that I dimly remembered from a visit to the planetarium with Selwyn. He pushes me onto the bed and straddles me. He is commanding, guiding my hands where he wants them, tangling my fingers in the hair on his chest and thighs, and then as he pins my shoulders with his knees, thrusts my hand behind him where my fingers slide, sweat-slicked, into him. I open my mouth to receive him and for a second I picture myself outside my own body looking down on us—the same position as the watchers I imagine at my windows. The image is clear: this beast of a man, crouched ursine on his haunches over me, my head and shoulders lost in the dark shadow between his legs. Afterwards, he kisses me.     He does not go as easily as the saxophonist. Firstly, he awakens. None of the others have ever done this. His legs are already several inches off the bed, the room suffused with the anodyne hospital smell of the paint. My mistake is in selecting my brush; still sore and tender, I find poetic justice in selecting the largest, roughest of them. Secondly, he struggles. I doubt he comprehends what I am doing to him, but he has awoken in a panic to sensations he doesn’t understand, and so he lashes out like the animal I pictured. He strikes a blow across my face, and I fall to the floor, tasting blood in my mouth. The time for gentle artistry is past: I upend the tub. It coats his chest, tiny bubbles bursting amongst the strands of my hirsute canvas. There is blind panic in his eyes as he rises, spittle at the corner of his mouth turning blue where it mixes with the paint. He flails, claws at my sheets, but they can’t prevent his ascent and simply rise with him, a useless tether. I jostle him out of the window, which stands open as always. He clings to my bed-sheet and we reach an impasse—him upside down, fist wrapped tight around the cotton and me at the other end, pulling back with all my strength. For a minute, we remain connected. Then his fingers open, and he soars up, up to where the air smells of gunpowder.     “Pineapple!” says Eugene. “Goddamn pineapple. Can you believe it?” Six weeks pass—six weeks in which my frantic scuffle squashes the itch to visit the laundrette, though the image of a door opening to a crowd of men waiting for me slowly recurs nightly in my dreams. Six weeks in which I bury myself in work, in which I dodge the landlord knocking for rent, and in which I write three-quarters of a paper on the gravity-negating properties of an as-yet-unnamed viscous solution of my own devising. Six weeks, and then Eugene. “Gunpowder is too hard to synthesize, apparently, and anyway—it’s not like anyone’s going to know. So according to the head honchos of Paramount Pictures, space will smell of pineapple.” Eugene is on his third Singapore Sling, and already blurring into intoxication. He speaks at great length about his Hollywood consultation business. He tells me I should come advise on engineering, build robots for the flicks. He doesn’t understand why I’m mouldering away in a poxy flat in the cheap end of town. I try to explain what I’m working on—tell him about my three-quarters-written paper—but he doesn’t listen. He starts talking about space flight again. In each bar we go to a pattern repeats: the girls flock at first to his expensive suit, gold watch and big tips, and then, when his generosity has dried up and he has done little beyond leerily grope a behind or two, they ghost away to search for more forthcoming targets. And at each bar, he complains that the place is ‘too swanky’ or ‘too bogus’ and demands I take him somewhere real. Deep in a whiskey glass in a honky-tonk bar that still carried more than a whiff of speakeasy about it, I watch Eugene flirt with a sour-faced woman leaning against the bar. She is lit by neon, and has a look similar to his: rich, but slumming it for the night. He won’t pick her, I know, but flirtation is a habit of his. Even in a single-sex boarding school, he had never had much trouble finding women where he needed them—a couple of the maids, girls from the town. Sneaking back into the dormitory at night, he would describe his latest sexual exploit to me in a low whisper, and I would stiffen under the covers. One night he claimed to have conquered one of the schoolmistresses—new to the school, and on temporary assignment. One of those long evenings in his study I relayed Eugene’s story to Selwyn who laughed quietly, and said, “I don’t doubt. Frightful, really—students and teachers.” We laughed together, conspiratorial. Not for the first time, I wonder why Selwyn has thrust Eugene and I back into each other’s lives. If I focus, I begin to wonder if Eugene’s heart is really in it tonight. He’s effusive with everyone we meet, expounding upon his personal theories of life, love and pleasure, and the opportunity to sneak off and spend himself in a furtive tumble has presented itself on multiple occasions. And yet he seems to be dodging every offer, returning to me with freshly charged glasses. As we descend into that strata of intoxication in which profundity insists itself in half-complete sentences, I wonder if perhaps Eugene fears the same as I: that in the post-orgasmic chill the squalor of a back-alley screw loses its grimy glamour and becomes something furtive and shameful instead. And so he postpones it as long as possible—perhaps indefinitely. Eventually, there are no more bars to go to—or none that will allow two such stumbling fools entry. Early dawn is pricking the horizon, and, like a magnet, I draw us to the Lucky Seven. My waitress is there—Marilyn the First—glimpsed through the kitchen hatch but I am too drunk to care. Besides—it has been two months. We collapse into a booth. Eugene rests his head on the table. I lean against the glass; it is cool and soothing. Across the road, I cannot tell if the laundrette is open or closed—I am too unfocused to make out if the door stands open or not. I suppose even such a place as Whites closes. “Usual?” I squint up at her. She doesn’t sound upset. This is good. Eugene, hearing a female voice, rears up. He strikes what I imagine he believes is a charming smile. “Darla!” he says. “How pleas—pleas—pleasant to meet you.” I blink. “Darla?” She taps her name-badge. “I thought your name was Marilyn?” She leans in close, ruffles my hair, matronly. “No, darling. I forgot my badge, had to borrow one. But at least you remembered my name—I’m flattered.” Darla. Somehow the name changes her. Marilyn is a girl daintily upset when a man does not call her the morning after. Darla takes a man home to screw because she wants to. She leaves to serve the only other customer in the diner, down the opposite end of the window. I lean into Eugene, and tell him—in a whisper that is almost certainly not really a whisper at all—about what Darla and I did in my bed. I don’t know why I did it: I have never been one to brag, but recasting our limp splutter of an encounter as erotic exploit gives me a fraternal thrill I have rarely felt. Eugene grips my wrists and shakes them victoriously. “Albert, my man,” he says. “I knew you had it in you.” For a second I see me as he does now: earthy man of the people, slipping it to waitresses on a nightly basis. And then the image bursts like over-inflated bubble-gum as I look past Darla. She is bending over, pouring coffee, and behind her is a noticeboard. Protest march, singing lessons, artist seeking model, poetry reading and MISSING. Below it a photo of a hulking man, round-faced and boyish despite the beard. Darla sways past us again. “You boys had a good night, then?” Eugene reaches out a hand to her, pulls her back to sit on his knee. His fingers snag on her sash. “Darlin’, not nearly good enough. Not yet…” For the poster to be here in the Lucky Seven, he must be a regular. We’ve all been there, he said, as if he too had sat for long hours in this diner, getting up the nerve to cross the road. And then there is Marilyn and Darla, who see every man and every face. Darla looks at me. It isn’t a look asking for help, to rescue her from my lairy friend, just a calmly assessing look. Eugene’s fingers make it clear what he wants. I do not ask. I know what she likes. “I get off in half an hour,” she says.     The story ends with a decision, as many do. Darla leaves, and I return to the bed as if she is still there, a cold ghost between Eugene and I. Her female presence granted permission: for our naked bodies to share the same space, for my fingers to touch him, provided mine were not the only ones. I wonder if this is where he wanted the night to go: his life, so drearily decadent, that the only thing to jolt him out of his drudgery is the taboo touch of a man. Perhaps he had marked me out as an easy target—the sexless boy from school, the one who spent a bit too much time with Professor Cavor. I realize the room is silent. His snoring has stopped. When I look at him, his eyes are open. Afterwards, I anchor us both to the bed with the sheets, wrapped around our wrists and fixed loosely to the bedpost. I paint him first, until he has risen, tipped on his side, free of gravity but strung by one rebellious limb to the ground. The alcohol in his veins that deadens him to the feeling of my awkward brush-strokes. He hovers above me, eyes closed, like a statue. Then, disjointed with my off-hand, I coat myself. I float to meet him, the front of our bodies pressed together, lips close enough to kiss. I wrestle the knot loose, and we are released. I wrap my arms around him, and press my face into his chest. It is difficult to guide him across the room to the window—I have to kick off against the walls and the ceiling, as one does in deep water. My feet alight on the windowsill. I push away. Light breaks across the city. If my phantom watchers in the windows opposite are looking, they will see us as we rise into the sky, one man clinging tight to another as they ascend like balloons that have slipped from your grasp, until the atmosphere becomes rarefied and thin, and breath freezes before our faces. I catch a glimpse of the sun rising over the edge of the world before I close my eyes and rise up, to where the air smells of gunpowder, and men are waiting for me.   END “becoming, c.a. 2000” is copyright Charles Payseur 2017. “In Search of Stars” is copyright Matthew Bright 2017. This recording is a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives license which means you can share it with anyone you’d like, but please don’t change or sell it. Our theme is “Aurora Borealis” by Bird Creek, available through the Google Audio Library. You can support GlitterShip by checking out our Patreon at patreon.com/keffy, subscribing to our feed, or by leaving reviews on iTunes. Thanks for listening, and we’ll be back soon with a reprint of “The Need for Overwhelming Sensation” by Bogi Takács.

Congrats To Chris Holyfield RIP Chester Bennington Bye Kyrie Bloodline Rocks Game of Thrones Miami Valley Music Fest 2017 Storm Stories GCP #438 Storyteller - Mister C This is a different type of Storyteller podcast. Izzy Rock chats with Mister C. Hereâ??s some details about Mister C My name is Kevin Cornell, aka Mister C. I've been an educator for 15 years in the Dayton area (teacher, principal, Director Human Resources and Director of the Dayton Regional STEM Center) and use music and video to connect with students, teachers and parents all around the country. I have nearly 6000 YouTube subscribers and close to 2 million total views. I was also selected as Ohio's PBS LearningMedia Digital Innovator (1 of 52 across the country) for my digital integration initiatives and connecting with my audience through media. In addition to the music aspect, I also create various educational pieces/content - math and science videos - and post them to social media to provide fun programming to anyone who is interested in learning about cool stuff. Slow motion videos, experiments and more! The best part is that kids and parents both love this stuff! My music and songs have opened the doors to many new and exciting opportunities and would love to share them with your audience. From creating and making a beat on my equipment in my home studio, to being in front of the green screen at PBS working on a pilot program that will air this year, or hosting a local live science show called Science Saturdays with Mister C, connecting with people is what I do. I would love the opportunity to share my story and also encourage families to attend our free and exciting monthly science shows! I look forward to having the chance to meet and chat with you! Have a great day and happy Podcasting! Songs #1 Itâ??s Science Time #2 Chicken Nuggets Apple Sauce #3 Hot To Cold Outro - My Pond Mister C www.learningscienceisfun.com www.youtube.com/learningscienceisfun www.twitter.com/originalmisterc www.facebook.com/originalmisterc www.facebook.com/sciencesaturdaysmisterc Produced by Izzy Rock - @TheIzzyRock on Social Media Tales From The Hardside podcast on iTunes and Stitcher www.GemCityPodcast.com @GemCityPodcast on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram Help fund the podcast. www.gofundme.com/GemCityPodcast

On today’s show, the guys talk about Virtual Reality in the Classroom, music from Mister C, Google tip of the week and more! That’s all up next on EduTechGuys!

Crappy Awesome Podcast… Hip-Hop, comedy, science, culture and all that is Awesometown. Hosted by KILLcRey and (mr)Arash of the Hip-Hop collective, Diego Brown Project. Brought to you by www.PlatformCollection.com --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/crappyawesome/support

Film: The Incredible Shrinking Man, US 1957

Passion-Driven: Mister C shares and discusses the importance of Grabbing the MIC and using music in the classroom and discusses tips and tricks of music integration.

Mister C has once again put together an album of the finest Dirty Deep Sexy Electronic house music. Taking to the International platform, has allowed Rekord Box to become one of the most sought after party lifestyle-party brands offering an uplifting experience of electronic music. New Year 2012 mix we have the infectiously underground ‘Message’. Fitted out from the start with bouncing toms and pulsing beeps and bleeps. A fully dubbed out vocal twists silken a top a chorus of stabbing chords and rushing synths, which may cause euphoria. Happy New Year: Listen, Download, Share & Enjoy xxx

Saturday mornings 11-12 EST www.kcaaradio.com Join Fred Wallin and JB Kaye as they battle it out on the Sports and Political front-lines. Call in at 1-888-909-1050...if you dare! Produced by Chris "Mister C" Klein

I have been co-hosting "The Sports Parade" a sports talk program starring legendary tv/radio sportscaster, Fred Wallin. Co-hosts also include Brett Mallick and the East Coast Barrister of Bootchains, JBK... Here, I announce the show open....

Played on Fun Radio (Party Fun) 25th June (00h-01h)

NEXT DATES : 27 June - B-CLUB // 29 - YOU NIGHT CLUB

Huge summer dates ! Hope to see you there. Check me out on Facebook, just search for Mister C.

Thanks for the support! Check me out on facebook!

House House House !

You have all asked for it ! Iyaz - Replay (Mister C. Piano Cover)

The Kidz Want Electro.

DJ/Producer/Remixer Bartosz Brenes (Owner of 17:44 Records) spinnin' a special mix for Mister C. & Guests.

New Fan Page On Facebook ! Search for MISTER C.

Special Dirty House Mix by Dodii ! More info on Facebook, just search for Mister C.

SPECIAL GUEST JHON B ! www.jhonb.be !

Hip-Hop Special ! Listen, Enjoy & Share... Join me on Facebook. Just search for Mister C. !

Chillax.

Book a Rest in Romania for a great street race without Mister C, Tarmac Mag is a go thanks to Dean Evans, RustySos squeaks, The Hammer Red, Austrian Roasts, F1 goes orange in Valencia, Lars at Sepang preview, CXC simulators again, Late AA delivery, New iPods, iPhone security, meaty dumplings issues as well as all sorts of other crap.