Podcasts about Nah

My Honey Cousin: Part 3. Wine and wanton lusts. Based on a post by Guzzler 21. Listen to the Podcast at My First Time. The sexual tension between Darren and Amy was palpable, and there was a great chance that she might want to get at it again, during the day. Maybe it was just best for him to have nothing underneath, he thought. Darren steadied himself with some deep breaths and thoughts of rugby, then he made his way down to the kitchen. Aunt Lily had made them ham and cheese sandwiches with a side of potato crisps. A classic lunch he remembered always having here. As he was watching Lily eat her lunch, he couldn’t help but to think that those lips, that mouth had tasted his cum just moments ago! Had she noticed? Did she like his cum? Most likely, his aunt hadn’t noticed anything different about the creamy milkshake she swallowed. But just the thought was still very arousing to Darren. Farm Chores. After lunch, aunt Lily proclaimed that it was ‘chore time.’ This was an often occurring event whenever Darren had stayed at their house, during the years. It was sort of a farm, anyway; so there were actual chores that had to be done on it. Some days she let Amy and Darren roam free; but every once and again, she made them help out with different chores on the farm. “Darren, can you repair the old canvas on the shelf in the barn, and Amy, I need you to feed the chickens and chop some fire wood;” Lily said. Some years ago, Lily had shown Darren how to repair and sew in heavy canvases. It was called sailmaking and used different tools, like a heavy duty twine and needle and a gadget you had in the palm of your hand called a sailmaker’s palm; to make it easier to push the needle through the thick canvas. Darren had proved to be gifted in this craft; and egged on by his aunt, he took pride in being good at it. Amy didn’t have the patience for it, so it kind of became Darren’s ‘thing,’ to repair canvases around the farm. Darren was happy for the assignment and made his way out to the barn. He found the old canvas, it was a huge thing, often used to cover hay stacks during bad weather. It was also heavy. He sat himself down on some hay bales and spread out the large canvas over his knees, tools at the ready. It was probably about 5 x 5 yards, at least. Sewing was about as masculine a skill as Darren was a rough and tough guy. But when it was about handling this thick and tough textile with a big needle and the sailmaker’s palm, he actually felt a bit more masculine. He felt like a tough sailor on some harbor dock; doing manly stuff. The weather was nice, and the air pleasant. He sat in the shade of the barn and started repairing the corner of it that had begun to fray. It was conducive to meditating and time passed as he sat there, concentrating on his work. He was so focused that Amy’s sudden presence looking out at him from the barn door, startled him! “Hey there, Darren;” she said in a cheerful manner. She looked beautiful. Amy stepped out into the sunlight. She was standing there in the afternoon sun, shining through her thin dress. The silhouette of her bare legs could be seen through the yellow cotton fabric. She walked up to him with the posture of someone who has an idea. ”Are you done with that?” she asked; and nodded to the large canvas spread out over his lap and the hay around him. “I have a bit left. Have you already done your chores?” Amy just nodded, with that mischievous smile. She was biting her bottom lip and obviously wanted to say something more; “I’ll be just 10 more minutes;” Darren said, trying to soothe her impatience. He was also curious about what she had in mind. She wanted something, that much was clear. Amy was still fidgeting and looking at him with hungry eyes. He suspected she wanted to suggest something; seductive. “I’m not happy about mom getting to taste you before I did, and she got so much more of you even! Now I want you, just for myself;” Amy said, the last part ending in a deep whisper. “Spread your legs;” she continued and pulled the canvas covering Darren’s groin away. With the needle in one hand and the sailmaker’s palm in the other, Darren did as he was told. His sweat pants were already becoming a tent for his rising cock. Amy was very determined. She yanked Darren’s sweatpants down and her expression was of a surprised happiness when she noticed he had chosen not to wear anything under. His semi swollen cock came into her view. Darren didn’t even have time to feel embarrassed before she was crouched down between his legs, her face just inches from his twitching cock. Darren was frozen in erotic shock! It was happening! He’d only heard, read, and fantasized about it. But now; he was finally going to get; a blow job! Amy looked up and their eyes met. She had a seductive grin. “Darren!” His heart sank. He heard aunt Lily calling him! “Darren! Are you in the barn?” Her voice was coming closer! Amy whispered, “I’m not here!” and pulled the canvas over his lap, hiding herself under it, still crouched between his legs. Double Sucking. Darren tried to play it cool, as aunt Lily came into view at the barn door. Her big tits swinging under that flimsy shirt as she moved. Just as with Amy's dress, he could see the contours of her naked body underneath, against the afternoon sun shining through the fabric. She came up to him, “Have you seen Amy?” Darren felt Amy’s hand gripping on to his thighs. He felt her breath on his semi swollen cock. “Uh, no; I don't see her.” he croaked. “Oh. Good” Lily said. She sounded a bit winded from the brisk walk to the barn, “I wanted to speak to you alone.” She sat herself down on the bale of hay Darren was sitting on. He felt the warmth of her thick thigh against his own, even through the heavy canvas he had over his lap. Lily put her hand on Darren’s shoulder and looked him seriously in the eyes, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you; to explain;” she started hesitantly, “You know that I breast feed your cousin; well, you’ve seen it, twice now.” Darren sat in awkward silence. He could feel his aunt's body heat against his side and at the same time, he could feel Amy’s head between his legs, the warmth of her breath on his aroused cock, under the canvas. Darren felt like he was trapped! Aunt Lily took on a more intimate tone, “I don’t want you to think that we are weird. I know it’s not strictly unnatural for a mother to still tit feed her grown up daughter. See, what not many people know is that it’s very healthy and nutritious. Mother's milk, I mean.” Darren sat in silence. Aunt Lily’s hand on his shoulder, her thumb caressing him slowly as she spoke. “I saw the great benefits of nursing, to help build Amy's immunities.” Aunt Lily explained. “Plus, it also helped prevent food allergies. The local hospital refers struggling mothers to me, when they need a wet nurse.” He tried to keep his eyes away, but they were drawn like magnets to her deep luscious cleavage. “What is unusual, is that I never actually dried up. This makes me very dependable as a wet nurse. Amy helps me stay producing, so she's also helping other families have a resource for natural mother's milk.” Lily was trying her best to gain Darren's acceptance of her family secret. Her large tits jiggled every time she moved, they heaved as she took a breath. It was mesmerizing to see. Lily went on; “Darren, I love the wonderful contentment that comes over me when I release milk. It's not a perverted thing, but it is hard for judgmental people to accept.” The fact that his cousin Amy was perched between his legs didn’t make it less sensual. He tried hard to think of rugby, or calculus, but his body was betraying him. He could feel his cock swelling, there under the heavy canvas across his lap. “Amy and I are very affectionate people, and my post-natal hormones sort of compel me to be openly affectionate and somewhat of a naturalist. I hope you can accept us as we are, Darren?” Darren simply nodded, not because he was shy or avoiding Aunt Lily's topic, but because her daughter is orally engrossed in his cock right now. Lily carefully avoided saying anything about how having her nipples sucked on, gives her some amazing climaxes. But even if she doesn't fully climax, it's just a matter of a few minutes of frigging herself alone, and her euphoria is sure to arrive. “If you want; you can try it;” aunt Lily offered, looking at him with the most puppy dog eyes he’d ever seen. She was taller than him, but even though she was looking down at him; in reality, it felt as if she’d exposed her soul to him and he was now the judge, jury and executioner of her total soul! Lily knew very well what she was doing. Darren would never cut her down in such a sensitive moment. “Okay;” was all that Darren could offer as a retort. His eyes flailed, trying not to look at aunt Lily’s huge tits visible there under her loose cotton blouse. Even though that was what the subject was all about. Lily’s voice took a more sultry tone, “Lie down;” she softly pushed Darren’s shoulder, guiding him to lean back on the hay bales behind him. As his body was laid back, his hips slid forward, he felt the tip of his growing phallus touch Amy’s face, under the canvas. His body flinched and Lily shushed him, sensing his hesitance. She had his eyes locked with hers, she was on a mission. What was worse, or better, was that he now felt Amy’s lips cautiously closing around the head of his cock! Darren found himself on his back, Aunt Lily was now towering over him, her familiar strands of unruly hair, framing her sensual face, one hand placed heavily on his shoulder, her other hand slowly pulling her shirt to the side, letting her large tit fall out and pendulously swing up closer to his face. Darren felt his eyes enlargen. Her bulbous nipple, as big as his fingertip, caught all of his attention. As she moved herself over him, it swung seductively over him, the nipple closing in on his face. He felt his cock quickly swell as Amy’s lips encircled it and her tongue circled around his phallic crown's ridge! Amy was not discouraged by the fact that her mother was leaning over Darren with her tit exposed. She was crouched between his legs and had just taken his cock into her mouth. She was going to make good use of the situation. The feeling was amazing! Darren could very much feel Amy’s hesitant lips enclose around his hardening cock. As it quickly grew, and journey deeper into her mouth, he also felt his tip reach in over her warm, wet tongue. Aunt Lily shifted, to place herself a bit above Darren, and then sank her tit down over him. Instinctively Darren opened his mouth and Lily’s nipple landed perfectly in between his lips. As she moved, her strong and shapely leg pressed his own legs together, which meant that he now caught Amy’s head in a vice between his thighs. Her face was pushed into his groin, swallowing all of his meat to the hilt. Darren could feel Amy's breath on his skin, her nails digging into his thighs. He felt that Amy’s face was now wedged in between his thighs, squeezed in place, his growing cock inside of her mouth. Before he could ponder more about where his cock was now embedded, his aunt lowered herself on him. Her big nipple dipped into his mouth and instinctively his lips closed around it! The feeling of aunt Lily’s full and heavy tit weighing down over his face was amazing. As he gave her swollen hard nipple a small suck, he heard her gasp gently. His theory of Aunt Lily enjoying arousal from nipple-play, was all but confirmed. He also felt his cock twitch, as Amy’s closed mouth constricted around it. Her tongue was pushing at it, as it increased quickly in size! Aunt Lily shifted again, to make herself more comfortable and now both her hand and thigh were pushing Darren’s legs together even more. He felt Amy’s head was squeezed even deeper into his groin! Her lower lip was now touching his ball sack, and her upper lip was planted on the root of his hard cock. He felt her nostrils exhale on his pubes! He was all the way into her throat! Her nails were gently clawing at his legs. But Darren’s legs were heavily pressed over her shoulders and she was well stuck in! A small part of his brain was feeling sorry for his poor cousin, down there under the canvas. Her mouth pressed down over his growing cock. But the more dominant part of his brain was feeling a surge of horniness. Amy’s tongue was sprawling around, stroking the underside of his turgid cock. The warmth his rod was enclosed in was intense, her lips around the base of his shaft did nothing to dampen the feeling. The warm and heavy tit of his aunt pressed down over his mouth, the sweet liquid soon flowed out from her nipple; Darren knew he’d never last long in this sensuous heaven! Darren soon felt Amy calming down. Instead of her panic of being stuck with his cock wedged deep into her throat, she seemed to accept it. Her breathing somehow found its rhythm and her tongue was caressing the underside of his cock. Her mouth was trying to make sucking motions, but it was hard, since it was so far pressed onto the root of him! Just the thought of being so deep into Amy’s throat. was intoxicating. Aunt Lily was slowly humming in pleasure, and softly stroking his hair as he sucked on the huge tit she had buried his face under. Her milk tasted amazing. Darren didn’t know what it should taste like, but it was hard to imagine anything tasting better than this! It was like milk with sugar. Her nipple felt so stiff and big in his mouth. His tongue flicked it in between sucks. He could hear Aunt Lily respond with quick inhalations whenever he did so. Amy couldn’t really move her head back and forth, but she started tilting her head from side to side, letting her tongue reach even more of his now fully-grown rocket. Her lips were also pressing and squeezing around the base of it. Now he was feeling it; the familiar force. Hard to say where in his body it began, but it was very clear to predict where it was heading. He was euphoric and light-headed. A serene peace came over his countenance, followed by an urgency to blast his cockful of cream. He felt he should warn Amy about what was coming, but his left arm was stuck under aunt Lily’s other tit and his right one was held down by her hand. His thighs clenched up and his pulsating cock twitched in her mouth; then he came! He didn’t know exactly how deep into Amy the head of his cock was, but; wherever it was, it was now pumping out all of his jizz with immense force! Amy’s hands were now gripping his calves hard! He could hear Amy faintly making some muffled sounds from between his legs, so he tried to compensate with his own louder humming and sucking. The vibration from his mouth was sending waves of pleasure through aunt Lily’s tit it seemed. She was breathing heavier, which was good. It hopefully made it so that his own suppressed breathing wasn’t noticed! He could feel the swallowing motions around his cock as he was coming! Darren's eyes were closed. He could now only endure and enjoy the two women he was stuck in between. Auntie’s sweet milk squirting into his mouth and his own fluids squirting into Amy’s. This was surely a dream! It was again hard to estimate how much time had passed. But his cock finally softened a bit and he could feel Amy more relaxed again. Her tongue playing slowly with his spent cock. Aunt Lily seemed to enjoy his, now slower pace of sucking. Her breathing became restless and soon she just held her breath completely. Her chest dropped down, pressing her one nipple into Darren's tongue, while her other nipple pressed against his shirt. Finally Aunt Lily exhaled. A deep slow breathe followed, and she finally uttered; “Ah!” Finally she raised herself up. Darren's mouth didn’t want to let go of her life giving teat. So it stretched out a bit and she had to almost sit up fully before it broke free from his lips with a 'pop'. He opened his eyes and was now looking at his aunt from below. Some of her face obscured by her large tits. The nipple he’d had in his mouth was drenched and he could see that the other one was dripping with milk. Trying to hide her encumbered breathing, aunt Lily said, “I’m sorry Darren, but I’m gonna have to save some for your cousin also.” She smiled and stroked his cheek. Then she closed her shirt and her lovely round tits were covered. The huge nipples were tenting the blouse with great pride. Amy was still letting her tongue slide around Darren’s semi-stiff cock, in silence under the canvas. “I’ll meet you inside; for supper;” Lily said as she rose from the hay bale beside him, and went back towards the house. Darren slowly let his thighs part, now that Lily had left. He was a bit afraid of how Amy was going to react. She had really been put through an ordeal down there and no chance to get out of it “I’m sorry, but auntie was pushing on my legs;” he started saying, as he lifted the canvas from his lap. Looking down between his legs he could see Amy’s eyes looking at his. She drew her head back a little, still having his cock in her mouth and gave off a sexy smile. As much as she could smile, while still having her whole mouth stuffed. With a long, surging suck, she slowly drew her head back all the way, pulling his cock with it, until it finally plopped out. Her chin was shining and covered in saliva. Her face was red, but she licked her lips and looked very satisfied! “Wow! That was intense;” she said, “I didn’t think I’d be deep-throated you, but wow; It was great!” Darren could only give her a relieved smile back. He was very happy that she took it so well. “So, how did mom’s milk taste?” she continued. Darren had no problems admitting that it tasted amazing and how he now understood why Amy liked to feed from Aunt Lily so often. He would do the same, if she’d let him. Amy straightened out her clothes and wiped her face while Darren finished up the stitching on the canvas. Then they made their way back down to the house. The sun was setting and it was getting darker outside, Twisted Positions. Back at the house they were met with the lovely smell of lasagna. Aunt Lily was still in her baggy white blouse, but had now also added an apron. It had a wide waistband and was snugly tied around her waist, accentuating her buxom hourglass figure, and pressing her cleavage up to an impressive size. Darren did all in his power not to stare! It still didn’t feel real to him, that just a while ago, he had actually been sucking on one of those big tits, drinking aunt Lily’s milk. A familiar twitch in between his legs made him quickly sit down at the table. Amy skipped into the kitchen and gave her mother a hug, pressing her head against Lily’s ample tits. While she did she gave Darren a wink and pursed her lips. They all sat down and ate. The food was delicious and Amy asked her mother if they all couldn't have some wine also, to celebrate that Darren now was here for the summer. Aunt Lily was hesitant at first. They were of course all grown up now, but she still thought of them as ‘kids.’ But Amy’s pleading worked and Lily brought out some red wine from the cupboard. It was a great moment. The wine was buzzing and the talks were funny and nice. Some reminiscing about what antics Amy and Darren had gotten up to years ago, and some stories about life on the farm in general. After they had emptied two bottles of wine and were starting a third one, Darren was feeling a good bit buzzed. From the amount of laughing and joking, both Amy and aunty were probably affected too. Darren sometimes forgot and found himself staring at aunt Lily’s big nipple bumps; or Amy’s blouse being half unbuttoned, that were making her tits a very public presence. But no one seemed to notice, so Darren thought that he probably got away with his wandering eyes. Amy suggested that they play some game of something. She was clearly full of energy and getting a bit tipsy. They all moved out to the living room and Lily and Darren sat themselves down on the sofa while Amy started rummaging through the shelves where all kinds of board games and stuff was kept. As they were a bit unsteady, Darren couldn’t help but to notice that Lily had happened to sit very close beside him on the sofa, with her arm resting on the backrest. He felt her warm, soft hip against his own, and her firm sideboob pressing against his arm. Again the images of her tit being lowered down over his face and her stiff nipple between his lips, floated up to the forefront of his brain. He shifted his legs, to try to hide the growth between his legs. Lily seemed oblivious to the fact that they were so close to each other, or that her tit bounced and brushed against his arm every time she responded to Amy’s different suggestions of games she was finding on the shelves. Now Darren really wanted to get a hold of that quilt on the sofa so he could cover himself before anyone would notice his swelling crotch rocket. But the quilt was what they were sitting on, so that was out of the question. “Here! Read the rules!” Amy threw some pamphlet at Darren. By a saving grace it landed right in his lap! He quickly held it as cover to the emerging tentpole in his pants! Twister? Amy had decided on the game Twister! She was already splaying out the mat on the floor in front of the sofa they were seated in. “Oh no, Amy. I’m so bad at this;” Lily complained. “Nah, it’ll be fun!” Amy persisted as she was on her hands and knees on the floor, trying to straighten out the mat with the colored circles on it! Darren quickly finding his rescue in the rule book proclaimed, “I’ll be the referee!” “What? No. All of us have to play!” Amy pouted. Darren explained that there has to be a referee. A person that spins the spinner and tells the other players where to place their hands and feet. If there is no referee, how could they know in which colored circles to place their hands or feet? He pointed to the rule book to accentuate what he had just said. At first Amy seemed defeated from this logic but soon wised up and decided that they’d play each other in pairs. Amy and Lily would go first and Darren could be the referee and then the one who lost would be out and take over being referee for round number two. Darren wasn't really comfortable with having to play at all. He didn’t really trust his cock to not poke out visibly, but was happy to at least get to start out as referee. Maybe his cock would relax enough until it was his turn, he thought. Lily grudgingly agreed to join in, but assured them that she would surely lose. The game started with Amy and Lily standing on opposite sides of the mat, one foot each on a blue and yellow circle. There were four lines of colored circles, outside of the rows of blue and yellow were green and red circles. Darren flicked the spinner and called out, “Right foot blue!” “But I am already on blue;” aunt Lily giggled. “Then you just move your right foot to another, unoccupied blue circle;” Darren explained. Lily took a step forward with her right foot and placed it on another blue circle, closer to Amy. Amy had to move her foot to a blue circle, making her stand with her back to Darren. Being tipsy from the multiple glasses of wine, they both wobbled more than necessary for such a small challenge. Their balancing acts were a pleasure for Darren's eyes. Aunt Lily’s swaying boobs were easy to follow as they moved under her pale thin white blouse. Her stiff nipples did nothing to hide themselves under the fabric. Amy was wearing her short yellow dress that ended just under her ass. Which made Darren very happy, as the next spin said; ‘Right hand, red’. This meant Amy had to lean forward to place her right hand on a red circle. Her short dress did nothing to cover up her tight, round ass. The plump contents of her panties was well exposed to him. But what was even more arousing was that aunt Lily now had to lean backwards to get her right hand on a red square. She had to bend her knees and spread her legs as she leaned backwards to get her hand on a red circle beside Amy’s hand. Lily’s shirt was too long to give any upshot view, but the shirt was tightened over her strong thighs and the gaps between her shirt's buttons gave him a view of her underboobs and her pussy mound was pushing prominently up against the straining cloth. Lily’s large tits jiggled around as she was trying to stay balanced. Darren came to the realization that this was not helping his cock to soften; But he had the rule book strategically placed in his lap to obscure his swelling boner. “Left hand, blue;” was next. Amy now had to put her left hand on a blue circle between her legs, making her show off her ass even more to Darren and aunt Lily needed to bend even more backwards to reach the blue circle to where her foot had been standing at start. Aunt Lily’s shirt buttons were now really straining to not pop open! Darren felt himself salivating and had to swallow, “Right hand, green;” he called out. Lily managed to crouch herself down and get her right hand from a red circle to a green one. This did however give Darren a very nice view down her cleavage as she had to lean a bit towards him. Her bust squeezed in between her arm and thigh. “But that’s impossible!” Amy groaned, “How am I supposed to do that?” Amy tried to bend her knees, she was now squatting with her left hand between her legs and needed to get her right hand all the way to a green circle behind her back. She did try, but thumped down on her ass! Aunt Lily had a smile of actual surprise on her face when she realized that she’d won. The sight of her standing up and waving her arms in the air to celebrate was extremely sexy to Darren. Her tits were sensual works of art, swaying around there under her partly unbuttoned shirt. Amy muttered and took the spinny thing from Darren, “Yeah, yeah. Alright, Mom wins the first round.” Darren now felt a chill run through his spine. It was his turn! But his boner was rock solid and pointing upward in his sweat pants! How the hell was he gonna cover this up? “Assume your starting positions!” Amy demanded as she snuggled up on the sofa with the spinner in front of her. Aunt Lily seemed happy and confident and stood herself on the mat where Amy had started previously. Darren was trying to think and went with what had saved him last night when he’d been trying to hide his boner from Amy. Instead of standing up straight, which would immediately reveal the tent in his pants, he crouched to his starting position like a hunch back. Playing it as if he was acting ‘sneaky’. It probably looked weird, but at least it made it so that his boner didn’t stretch against his pants. He stood in place, with his feet on a yellow and a blue circle, but he leaned his upper body forward and bent his knees enough so that the front of his sweat pants were still baggy enough to hide his bulge. Aunt Lily was now opposite of him, standing tall and gave him a challenging smile, “If I win this round I’ve beaten you both.” “Yeah, yeah;” Amy said and then the orders came quickly. Right foot blue, left foot yellow. In practice, this just meant that Darren and Lily had stepped closer to each other on the mat. But aunt Lily was turned around, her back to Darren. This served Darren well and he could straighten himself out a bit. As he glanced over to Amy, it was clear that she could see the tent in his pants. She smiled and had her tongue between her teeth. Luckily aunt Lily was turned around away from him, so she couldn’t see the front of his sweatpants pointing straight at her curvaceous ass. “Right hand red!” Amy called out. Lily now bent over forward, her wide hips stretching her shirt over those well rounded orbs. Darren had no choice but to put his hand on a red circle to the right and a little behind him, making him lean back and now supporting himself mostly on his right arm! The other option would’ve been to lean forward, over aunt Lily to reach a red circle, but then his throbbing cock would inevitably press right in between her ass cheeks and he would be given away! Next was: left hand, yellow. It was an easy move for Lily, she just had to stand on all fours now, her shirt slipping up a little more but still covering enough of her thighs to not show off her secret spot. Darren now had to stand like a crab. His back towards the mat, but at least he could support himself on both arms better now. Right foot red; They both had to widen their stance. Lily hiked her shirt dress up a little to have room enough to spread her leg to the right more. Darren had to move his right leg more forward and more under Lily’s hips. His hard cock was now towering in his pants. Only a few inches from his pole slipping up under aunt Lily’s shirt. Darren could see the muscles in Lily’s thighs flexing as she kept her balance. He didn’t dare to look at Amy but he could feel that she was probably enjoying the sight of him being so hard under his sweatpants. Left foot, yellow. Their feet were already on yellow circles, so they just had to shift to another circle in the same line. Darren didn’t have many options if he wanted to keep his balance, so he moved his foot forward a bit. This was good as it lowered his groin, away from between aunt Lily’s spread legs. Aunt Lily tried to move her left foot backwards, toward Darren, but it resulted in her stepping on his hand instead. “Oh sorry!” She got startled and instead tried to move her leg forward. But this only resulted in her losing her balance and falling down, on top of Darren! On top of Darren's erection, to be precise! Had they both been naked Darren would’ve surely plunged himself deep into her spread crotch. But as they were now wearing clothes the result instead became that his aunt sat herself heavily down on his rock-hard boner. Her legs were spread so wide that even through his thick sweat pants and aunt Lily’s panties, he could feel her vaginal lips on each side of his rock hard pole. As they landed Lily tried to scramble to her feet. She must’ve felt it too! Her scrambling made it so that her pussy’s meaty folds rubbed several times along Darren's raging boner. No sweatpants were thick enough to hide those sensations! Lily got up and inadvertently allowing Darren to have another good look down her generous cleavage before she got to her feet. She was blushing, “Oh no! I lost!” Lily's Early Bedtime. Aunt Lily straightened out her shirt dress and did everything humanly possible to not let her eyes look at Darren. But they deceived her and it was clear that they stole a glance at what had poked at her so hard, when she had sat down on it. “I think I might be a bit drunk!” she blathered, "I think it’s best I hit, the hay.” With a very cute hiccup, she rushed out of the room and up the stairs. Darren was now sitting on the Twister mat, his pants still tented and Amy was silently laughing her ass off! She looked so excited and amused, but didn’t make a sound! When aunt Lily had disappeared to the top of the stairs, Amy snuck from the sofa to joining Darren on the twister mat. Her gaze was locked onto Darren’s bulging sweat pants. Crouching down beside Darren, Amy let her hand slowly grasp around his hard-on, over his pants. Darren shuddered from the sensation of his cousin's hand softly gripping around his pole. “Mom must’ve felt this when she landed on you;” she whispered in lewd fascination. “Did you cheat with the spinner?” Darren asked. Amy, still holding her hand around Darren's erection, looked a bit mischievous, “Yeah; I wanted to situate you guys;” she jumped to her feet and pulled Darren up, “Like this!” she exclaimed and stood herself with her back against him, legs wide spread. Darren’s tenting pants were now lined up very well with Amy's bent over ass. Reached way under her own widespread legs, she grabbed at Darren' pants just above his knees. Swiftly she tugged down Darren’s sweatpants, resulting in his rock hard boner flung out with a bounce, smacking her in her bald cuntlips.. “Put your feet on blue and yellow;” she ordered as she spread her buttcheeks more, revealing her glistening slit from behind. Her short yellow dress only hid the top part of her ass. Darren almost forgot to breathe. Looking down, the head of his cock was just at her opening, as Amy leaned her upper body forward, resting her hands down on the ottoman; making her wet entrance push back against Darren's sensitive purple cock head. “If I had my hand on this cushion;” she said and placed her hand on the padded corduroy upholstery, “...and you find a stable place for your hands;” She pulled at Darren's arm, pulling him forward and making his cock head press against her moist opening. He could feel the top half of his glans pressing into her. Amy sounded a bit flustered now, “Come on’ lean more forward;” she said as she pulled his arm more. She had to bend her knees to let Darren be able to reach over her back, as she did, her opening parted more and Darren sank in to her! They both gasped and stood still. The position was very awkward, but the feeling of having half of his cock pressed into her hot, wet cunt depths, was amazing! “Oh god;” Amy breathed, “and the next move would be; right foot blue and left foot yellow; also, left hand green and right hand red.” Darren found it hard to concentrate on the instructions. The feeling of Amy’s inner walls squeezing against his cock were so very erotic. Darren tried to slide his right foot up another circle, resulting in him pressing a couple of more inches into her. In a feat of acrobatics, Amy lifted her right leg and flung it back over his thigh, pressing her weight down on his hips. To not fall he had to lean back and hold himself up with both hands. Darren was now in a crab-like position, his belly up, Amy planted her hands above Darren's, resulting in her ass straddling over his groin and her legs spread wide to each side of his hips. She was putting a lot of weight on him, pressing herself as deep as she could, over his pulsating cock! Darren was too horny and too aroused, now. He just wanted to grab her hips and fall to the floor, that would bury him so deep into that luscious womanhood slipping around his proud soldier. “Kids. I’m gonna go to bed, you can finish the wine;” aunt Lily’s voice was heard from the staircase. To their shock her steps coming down, could also be heard! Amy and Darren froze in position! Aunt Lily was coming down! Darren quickly analyzed their predicament. Although Amy’s dress was short, in this position it was covering both his and her own groin. Most likely aunt Lily would not be able to see that they were joined together under her skirt! Darren was hoping that Lily was only going to the kitchen to get herself a glass of water or something, but froze in terror as he saw her instead make her way towards them as they were squatting onto each other there on the game mat! She leaned over Amy, “Good night sweetie;” and gave her a kiss. Her kiss made Amy weigh down even more on Darren. He could feel his cock pressing up into her even more! Her fluids threatened to run down onto his balls and thighs. “Mom! Don’t make me fall;” Amy said, trying to sound casual and not make Lily suspect that she was sat on a spike of throbbing meat. “Good night to you too, Darren;” Lily said and gave him a stroke on his cheek. Lily leaning down to him, again gave him a perfect view down her cleavage. He could feel Amy’s tight entrance rhythmically squeezing around the root of his cock inside of her! Aunt Lily backed away, “Don’t hurt yourselves now;” she snickered as she left them and went upstairs. Amy and Darren stayed still, until they heard the bathroom door close upstairs, then Darren let himself fall to the ground. Amy fell with him and gave out a deep, throated groan as she landed heavily on top of him. His cock pressed deeper than possible, so deeply into her soaked cunt! Amy's knees landed astride Darren's hips, and the cowgirl rode for glory and started shaking. Darren could feel her pussy twitching around his cock! For a while she just sat on top of him, letting her climax wind down. When her breath had steadied, she looked over her shoulder at Darren, “Imagine if I’d gotten you and mom into that position;” she fired off a broad smile and slowly rose herself off of him. It was an amazing sight, to see his still hard cock slowly slip out from her innards, pulling her tight lining out nearly an inch with the cock which her lusty cunt resisted parting with. Strands of clear fluids hanging from her pussy lips, stretched to his rod. Amy crawled on all fours over to the sofa table and got the bottle of wine for them. Darren felt exposed and pulled his sweat pants up again. He felt Amy’s heated fluids still around it and slowly being soaked up by his pants. In silence they sat on the mat gulping down the rest of the bottle. Darren couldn’t help but to notice a small puddle forming on the mat, between Amy’s legs. But he didn’t say anything. The whole thing was so hot! Aunt Lily had been standing right beside them as he had been plunged into her daughter in secret! Damn that was hot. His cock was still twitching. It really wanted release, but he felt that Amy was the one in charge of their ‘relationship’. He didn’t dare ask to put it in again. And she had obviously just cum, so probably she was spent for the moment. “I think I know what she’s doing now;” Amy said with a secretive tone. Milking Momma. Darren had been in his own erotic world for the last few minutes. Trying to ignore his pulsating manhood, swallowing down the wine at a fast pace and feeling the buzz in his head increasing, “Huh?” “Come on!” Amy said and took his hand. They both rose and Darren followed Amy sneaking up the stairs. She stopped dead still outside of the bathroom door. Amy gave Darren's hand a squeeze and held her ear to the door. All was silent and Darren wasn’t sure what was going on. If Amy wanted to sneak him into her bedroom, then why did she stop here, by the bathroom door. Amy moved herself forward, pulling Darren along and making room for him by the door. He couldn’t see Amy’s face as he was behind her back, but she seemed to be listening intently at the door. Darren followed suit and also put his ear to the door; that’s when he heard it! Fast paced, shallow breaths, barely detectable through the wooden door. What was that? As it dawned on him, Darren felt stupid for being so naive. It was aunt Lily; masturbating! Shit! His horny mind did not have any trouble imagining the sight behind that closed door! He could see it clear as day. Aunt Lily, one arm between her legs, the other leaning against the bathroom sink. Her heavy tits jiggling along with her hand rapidly rubbing at her pussy between those thick and well carved thighs! Suddenly the sound stopped. A moment's silence and then a soft, muffled moan could be heard. If Darren had been hard before, he was in steel mode now! In his imagination he saw aunt Lily lean her head back, the shirt stretching thin over her bulging boobs and her mouth open, eyes closed, cumming over her own hand! This was better than any porn flick he’d ever seen! He was suddenly pulled out of his wet dream by Amy. She quickly tippy-toed with him in tow into her room. “Quick, get in the bed;” she whispered as she pulled off her yellow dress in one single motion, “Like last night!” Darren was dumb founded. Maybe it was because all of his blood was flowing down to his crotch or maybe he was just slow. But it was hard to look away as Amy revealed her sexy body in front of him. The soft light from the little lamp by her bed made her look so incredibly sensual. Her nice tits bouncing, her hairless pussy mound flashing between her legs and the wetness on her inner thighs was hypnotizing! The now-naked Amy smiled and pushed Darren into her pink, girly bed, “Go on Darren! Get in!” She pulled his pants down and shoved him back in the bed until his ass hit the familiar wall. She quickly slunk into bed and pulled the covers over them, hiding Darren completely under it. It all went so fast and Darren was a bit slow and dizzy from the wine and the immense horniness that had been ravaging his mind and body for the last couple of hours. He felt Amy’s hand grip around his cock from behind and steer it in between her legs. Everything down there was wet and slippery. As soon as she felt his head against her opening she pushed her hips back. With hardly any resistance, Darren sank all the way! Just like last night, he was pressed against the bedroom wall from behind and Amy’s sex from the front! He came instantly. He gritted his teeth and let out a muffled groan. The only thing he now felt was his cock exploding inside of his cousin and, for some reason, her wild hair in his face there under the dark covers! Amy was slowly rolling her hips on him, purposely massaging his loins as his cock pumped batch after batch of his seed into her hot crevice! Darren couldn’t move and just let Amy’s rolling hips make the releasing friction last for as long as possible. Her hand was holding onto his waist under the covers, not letting him pull out, even if he had wanted to. Darren was feeling drunk and relaxed. His breath was slowing and his whole body felt as if it was embedded in a cave of sex! Some time passed and he was once again regaining some feeling in his throbbing cock. He could feel how Amy’s inner walls were slowly milking his cock. “I think she’s asleep now;” Amy whispered. “Huh?” Darren, again, felt that he was not connecting dots like he should be. “My Mom. I think she’s sleeping;” Amy explained, not making anything clear to Darren. “Come on..” she said and slid herself off of Darren's now semi hard intruder. Still naked, she snuck over to her bedroom door and listened at it. She opened it a little and peered into the dark hallway. She waved at Darren who sluggishly crawled himself out of the bed. He pulled his pants up and felt the wetness his cock was drenched in, smear out over his inner thighs. ‘I’m really gonna have to wash some clothes tomorrow’, he thought to himself as he silently moved up to Amy. She grabbed his hand and led him out into the dark hallway. The soft runner rug made them totally soundless. Darren didn’t know what was going on but let himself be led, his eyes sneakily checking out Amy’s round and swaying ass as she moved in front of him. She then stopped by aunt Lily’s bedroom door! The door was cracked and Amy was peeking in; She looked back at Darren with a sly grin, “I didn’t get my milk tonight.” Before Darren’s brain could make sense of the words he just heard she pulled him into aunt Lily’s room. It was dark, but moonlight flowed through the window, lighting up Lily’s bed with a pale blueish glow. Lily was resting peacefully on the bed. She was on her back, the blanket only covering her legs. Up top she had some kind of flannel pajama nightshirt on, and her massive chest was slowly rising and falling with her breath. The lighting from outside of the barn and the moon blended together lit up the beautiful milf sleeping on the bed. In her prone position, Lily’s boobs didn’t stick out as much from her chest, they were more flat and receded to her sides, but still very large. Lily's nipples, however, were only the size of Amy's fingertip Amy motioned to Darren to move over to the side of her bed while she placed herself on the other side, closest to the door. Darren moved as silently as ever, when he came to the side of auntie's bed he found himself blocking the light, so he hunched down. Her face was too beautiful to be in the shadow he thought. Her long, brown hair was draped over the pillow, her head tilted slightly down towards her chest and her sexy lips pouting in her sleep. On the opposite side, Amy knelt down by the bedside and laid her elbows on the mattress beside Lily. Darren did the same, not being able to tear his eyes from that full bosom, slowly rising and falling in Lily’s sleep. Darren’s eyes widened as Amy carefully unbuttoned aunt Lily’s pajama nightshirt. There were only like 4 pretty big buttons and the shirt was loose fitting, so it was easily done without disturbing her. Amy slowly pulled the pajama nightshirt off Lily’s chest, revealing her large, scrumptious tit! She nodded encouragingly to Darren, hesitantly he did the same. The tit uncovered close to him looked even bigger than he’d remembered it from earlier today. A dark, stiff nipple perched on top of it. Darren wondered if her nipples were maybe always hard? He couldn’t remember ever seeing aunt Lily without stiff nipples poking through her dresses or shirts. Amy moved her face closer to her mother’s tit, locking eyes with Darren and nodding for him to follow suit. Darren moved himself closer also, but was now very afraid to wake his aunt. It was exciting enough to expose her lovely, large tits while she slept, but now he felt Amy might be going a bit too far. They’d gotten away with doing stuff to each other so many times already. This felt like pushing their luck. Amy shrugged at his cowardice and leaned her face in. She gave Lily’s stiff nipple a lick of her tongue. Nothing happened. Amy did it again; and again. At the third lick, aunt Lily let out a soft moan and her lips opened up a little. Amy smiled and softly planted her lips around Lily’s nipple. Lily inhaled, still sleeping. Amy closed her eyes and started slowly sucking. Lily was breathing heavier but still calmly and her eyes were closed. Darren's semi-hard cock geared up to full hard cock again, now. The sight was so incredibly arousing. His sexy cousin's soft lips surrounding her mother’s nipple and gently sucking at it. It looked like a sensual fantasy. Without even noticing it himself, Darren had moved his face closer to Lily’s other tit, her nipple just inches from his mouth. He felt his mouth watering. The wine and his libido made him brave, or maybe foolish enough. He leaned his face down over her heaving tit and closed his lips around the stiff nipple as delicately as he possibly could manage. Lily rustled a little and gave off a soft moan. With her nipple still between his lips he threw a glance at his aunt. She was still fast asleep. But her body was clearly feeling the sensations of having her nipples in warm, hungry mouths. Just as carefully as he took her nipple in his mouth he started to suck on it. He felt her nipple deeper on his tongue and some of her boob flesh swelling into his mouth. A few seconds in, he could feel the sweet, warm wetness emerging from it! In thin squirts it hit the roof of his mouth and spread over his tongue! It was glorious! Aunt Lily was still sleeping, only now and then did she move her head, inhale or moan lightly from the nipple massage she was getting. Then Darren felt Amy’s hand over his own, she pulled his hand onto Lily’s naked belly. His palm could feel her soft, silky skin under it. In extreme slow motion she led his hand downward. The gentle curvature of Lily’s lower abdomen made his stiff cock start throbbing in his pants. Looking at Amy, although she still had her mouth over Lily’s tit, he could see a smile on the corner of her lips as she was still sucking away. As his hand was moved down, Amy’s hand over his, he felt his pinky hit the hem of aunt Lily’s pyjama bottoms. Amy’s nimble fingers lifted the hem just enough for their hands to slide in under it! The heat inside was intense. He could feel it on his hand and on Lily’s skin. His fingers and palm then were pushed over his aunt’s well trimmed bush. He remembered the feeling of having those hairs pressed up against his lower back yesterday in the bath. Everything felt blurry. The wine was now fully inebriating his awareness. He knew where this was going and could’ve stopped it. Instead he let Amy guide his hand further down. His ring finger was the first to touch it! Lily's wet slit! Amy pushed his hand a bit further and then just held it there, pressing on his. Lily’s breathing was more shallow now. Amy pressed on Darren's hand so that his ring finger was squeezed in between aunt Lily’s vaginal lips. They felt so well rounded and full, and in between them was hot, soft dampness! A part of Darren's mind was screaming in fear, afraid that his aunt would wake up and find him with his finger almost inside of her, sucking on her tit! There would be no coming back after that! Then there was the other part of his mind. The drunken, horny, and smitten part. This was something he’d never dreamed of, but now that he was here, he never wanted to wake up! Because it had to be a dream! But the feelings and sensations were very real, and his throbbing cock reminded him of that. It was almost painful now. It was so hard that it could crack stone! The lovely torment went on for a while, Amy just holding his hand firmly over aunt Lily’s vulva. His finger embedded between her moist, soft lips, they both still sucking milk from her nipples as she slept a wine-saturated peaceful bliss. Amy took her hand off his and moved it away. Darren was pulled back to reality a bit and guessed that this part was done now. He slowly slid his hand out of Lily’s pajama bottoms and looked at Lily as Amy let go of her mother's milky nipple. “Come over here. Stand behind me;” she whispered so low that only some of the syllables were detectable. Darren reluctantly let go of the stiff and swollen nipple in his mouth and leaned back away from it, but observed just how huge her lactating nipple swelled to, when aroused. He held his thumb up next to it and both were of similar size. He saw small droplets of milk still emerging from the tit, and he licked his lips. He didn’t feel he was done, but Amy had something else in mind, it seemed. As he leaned back from the bed Amy stood up from her kneeling position. But she kept her mouth latched onto Lily’s tit as she raised her naked ass up. She supported herself with one elbow on the bed and motioned with her other arm for him to come over to her side. Like a sleepwalker, Darren obeyed. His erect cock swung around in his dampened pants as he moved; and he felt his cock, confirming it was uncomfortably hard. As he made his way around the bed it was clear what was expected of him. Amy was now leaned down over her mother, sucking at her tit, her ass lifted high up on straight and spread legs. Darren dropped his pants and positioned his rocket, like a missile with only one target. The moonlight came from a window on the opposite wall, so Amy’s ass and pussy were shrouded in darkness, but he used his thumb to find the wet gash where utopia was hidden. He mustered all of the discipline still left in his body to not just bash his cock into Amy as hard as he could. If he did, she’d be pushed onto Lily’s tit and then she’d surely wake up and chaos would commence. No. He bit his lip and slowly pressed his swelling cock into the wet folds between Amy’s spread legs! He could see Amy’s back tense up as he sunk a few inches in. He saw her ribcage divulge her increased breathing. He felt her thighs tighten and her entry hole clench around his rod! Darren pulled out, only leaving the tip still in her. He paused before he again pushed into her. Deeper this time, but just as slowly. He could feel every inch of her soaked insides surrounding his hard cock. And again; out, almost all the way, then with determination; slowly back in, deep! Amy couldn’t help but to hum with pleasure at his invasion of her love canal. The vibrations of Amy’s hum on Lily’s tit made mother stir. Damn! If Lily woke up now; well, this would be really hard to explain. Darren was ready to just give up and throw himself towards the bedroom door in a panicked escape. But instead, Lily shifted a little and placed her hand on the back of Amy’s head; seemingly still in her sleep. She was now holding Amy’s head pressed onto her tit while Darren was buried deep into her from behind. Darren was in a daze. He felt himself on the edge. The pressure inside of his loins was explosive now. A few more times he managed to pull out and push slowly into Amy until he knew it was too late! Too far gone. He felt the crashing wave ready to be released inside of him. And just then, Amy’s entrance clamped down hard around his cock and she came in a silent vibration! Darren involuntarily joined in on her climax, with his own! He felt his cock swell and compress with every violent squirt of manly juices into Amy’s shuddering hole! Amy's thighs were shaking but her face was still held steady onto Lily’s tit. Darren could feel Amy’s legs losing strength as the orgasm pulsated through her body. He took hold around her hips to give her some help in standing. He was still deep into her as he felt himself also coming down from the ecstatic high. Finally, Lily’s hand slid off her daughter's head and Amy raised herself up from the bed. Her body was trembling and she let out a fatigued gasp as Darren moved his hips back and let his cock slide out of its warm home. Amy sleepily turned around to face him, her arms around his neck. He could feel her soft tits against his chest and his semi hard, drenched cock pressing against Amy’s slippery mound. Her eyes were half shut as she kissed him. Darren could taste aunt Lily’s sweet milk on Amy’s tongue. Their tongues sway slowly and passionately around each other. Amy presses her body more into Darren and he feels her nostrils flaring for air. Amy pulled up Darren's pants while her tongue played with his. Eventually the kiss broke and they both wearily make their way out of auntie’s bedroom. Darren glanced back before shutting her door. The amazing sight of his topless aunt there on the bed is stuff of dreams. Her large tits, covering her whole chest. Her stiff nipples still glistened from milk and saliva. The only thing that co

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My Honey Cousin: Part 3. Wine and wanton lusts. Based on a post by Guzzler 21. Listen to the Podcast at My First Time. The sexual tension between Darren and Amy was palpable, and there was a great chance that she might want to get at it again, during the day. Maybe it was just best for him to have nothing underneath, he thought. Darren steadied himself with some deep breaths and thoughts of rugby, then he made his way down to the kitchen. Aunt Lily had made them ham and cheese sandwiches with a side of potato crisps. A classic lunch he remembered always having here. As he was watching Lily eat her lunch, he couldn’t help but to think that those lips, that mouth had tasted his cum just moments ago! Had she noticed? Did she like his cum? Most likely, his aunt hadn’t noticed anything different about the creamy milkshake she swallowed. But just the thought was still very arousing to Darren. Farm Chores. After lunch, aunt Lily proclaimed that it was ‘chore time.’ This was an often occurring event whenever Darren had stayed at their house, during the years. It was sort of a farm, anyway; so there were actual chores that had to be done on it. Some days she let Amy and Darren roam free; but every once and again, she made them help out with different chores on the farm. “Darren, can you repair the old canvas on the shelf in the barn, and Amy, I need you to feed the chickens and chop some fire wood;” Lily said. Some years ago, Lily had shown Darren how to repair and sew in heavy canvases. It was called sailmaking and used different tools, like a heavy duty twine and needle and a gadget you had in the palm of your hand called a sailmaker’s palm; to make it easier to push the needle through the thick canvas. Darren had proved to be gifted in this craft; and egged on by his aunt, he took pride in being good at it. Amy didn’t have the patience for it, so it kind of became Darren’s ‘thing,’ to repair canvases around the farm. Darren was happy for the assignment and made his way out to the barn. He found the old canvas, it was a huge thing, often used to cover hay stacks during bad weather. It was also heavy. He sat himself down on some hay bales and spread out the large canvas over his knees, tools at the ready. It was probably about 5 x 5 yards, at least. Sewing was about as masculine a skill as Darren was a rough and tough guy. But when it was about handling this thick and tough textile with a big needle and the sailmaker’s palm, he actually felt a bit more masculine. He felt like a tough sailor on some harbor dock; doing manly stuff. The weather was nice, and the air pleasant. He sat in the shade of the barn and started repairing the corner of it that had begun to fray. It was conducive to meditating and time passed as he sat there, concentrating on his work. He was so focused that Amy’s sudden presence looking out at him from the barn door, startled him! “Hey there, Darren;” she said in a cheerful manner. She looked beautiful. Amy stepped out into the sunlight. She was standing there in the afternoon sun, shining through her thin dress. The silhouette of her bare legs could be seen through the yellow cotton fabric. She walked up to him with the posture of someone who has an idea. ”Are you done with that?” she asked; and nodded to the large canvas spread out over his lap and the hay around him. “I have a bit left. Have you already done your chores?” Amy just nodded, with that mischievous smile. She was biting her bottom lip and obviously wanted to say something more; “I’ll be just 10 more minutes;” Darren said, trying to soothe her impatience. He was also curious about what she had in mind. She wanted something, that much was clear. Amy was still fidgeting and looking at him with hungry eyes. He suspected she wanted to suggest something; seductive. “I’m not happy about mom getting to taste you before I did, and she got so much more of you even! Now I want you, just for myself;” Amy said, the last part ending in a deep whisper. “Spread your legs;” she continued and pulled the canvas covering Darren’s groin away. With the needle in one hand and the sailmaker’s palm in the other, Darren did as he was told. His sweat pants were already becoming a tent for his rising cock. Amy was very determined. She yanked Darren’s sweatpants down and her expression was of a surprised happiness when she noticed he had chosen not to wear anything under. His semi swollen cock came into her view. Darren didn’t even have time to feel embarrassed before she was crouched down between his legs, her face just inches from his twitching cock. Darren was frozen in erotic shock! It was happening! He’d only heard, read, and fantasized about it. But now; he was finally going to get; a blow job! Amy looked up and their eyes met. She had a seductive grin. “Darren!” His heart sank. He heard aunt Lily calling him! “Darren! Are you in the barn?” Her voice was coming closer! Amy whispered, “I’m not here!” and pulled the canvas over his lap, hiding herself under it, still crouched between his legs. Double Sucking. Darren tried to play it cool, as aunt Lily came into view at the barn door. Her big tits swinging under that flimsy shirt as she moved. Just as with Amy's dress, he could see the contours of her naked body underneath, against the afternoon sun shining through the fabric. She came up to him, “Have you seen Amy?” Darren felt Amy’s hand gripping on to his thighs. He felt her breath on his semi swollen cock. “Uh, no; I don't see her.” he croaked. “Oh. Good” Lily said. She sounded a bit winded from the brisk walk to the barn, “I wanted to speak to you alone.” She sat herself down on the bale of hay Darren was sitting on. He felt the warmth of her thick thigh against his own, even through the heavy canvas he had over his lap. Lily put her hand on Darren’s shoulder and looked him seriously in the eyes, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you; to explain;” she started hesitantly, “You know that I breast feed your cousin; well, you’ve seen it, twice now.” Darren sat in awkward silence. He could feel his aunt's body heat against his side and at the same time, he could feel Amy’s head between his legs, the warmth of her breath on his aroused cock, under the canvas. Darren felt like he was trapped! Aunt Lily took on a more intimate tone, “I don’t want you to think that we are weird. I know it’s not strictly unnatural for a mother to still tit feed her grown up daughter. See, what not many people know is that it’s very healthy and nutritious. Mother's milk, I mean.” Darren sat in silence. Aunt Lily’s hand on his shoulder, her thumb caressing him slowly as she spoke. “I saw the great benefits of nursing, to help build Amy's immunities.” Aunt Lily explained. “Plus, it also helped prevent food allergies. The local hospital refers struggling mothers to me, when they need a wet nurse.” He tried to keep his eyes away, but they were drawn like magnets to her deep luscious cleavage. “What is unusual, is that I never actually dried up. This makes me very dependable as a wet nurse. Amy helps me stay producing, so she's also helping other families have a resource for natural mother's milk.” Lily was trying her best to gain Darren's acceptance of her family secret. Her large tits jiggled every time she moved, they heaved as she took a breath. It was mesmerizing to see. Lily went on; “Darren, I love the wonderful contentment that comes over me when I release milk. It's not a perverted thing, but it is hard for judgmental people to accept.” The fact that his cousin Amy was perched between his legs didn’t make it less sensual. He tried hard to think of rugby, or calculus, but his body was betraying him. He could feel his cock swelling, there under the heavy canvas across his lap. “Amy and I are very affectionate people, and my post-natal hormones sort of compel me to be openly affectionate and somewhat of a naturalist. I hope you can accept us as we are, Darren?” Darren simply nodded, not because he was shy or avoiding Aunt Lily's topic, but because her daughter is orally engrossed in his cock right now. Lily carefully avoided saying anything about how having her nipples sucked on, gives her some amazing climaxes. But even if she doesn't fully climax, it's just a matter of a few minutes of frigging herself alone, and her euphoria is sure to arrive. “If you want; you can try it;” aunt Lily offered, looking at him with the most puppy dog eyes he’d ever seen. She was taller than him, but even though she was looking down at him; in reality, it felt as if she’d exposed her soul to him and he was now the judge, jury and executioner of her total soul! Lily knew very well what she was doing. Darren would never cut her down in such a sensitive moment. “Okay;” was all that Darren could offer as a retort. His eyes flailed, trying not to look at aunt Lily’s huge tits visible there under her loose cotton blouse. Even though that was what the subject was all about. Lily’s voice took a more sultry tone, “Lie down;” she softly pushed Darren’s shoulder, guiding him to lean back on the hay bales behind him. As his body was laid back, his hips slid forward, he felt the tip of his growing phallus touch Amy’s face, under the canvas. His body flinched and Lily shushed him, sensing his hesitance. She had his eyes locked with hers, she was on a mission. What was worse, or better, was that he now felt Amy’s lips cautiously closing around the head of his cock! Darren found himself on his back, Aunt Lily was now towering over him, her familiar strands of unruly hair, framing her sensual face, one hand placed heavily on his shoulder, her other hand slowly pulling her shirt to the side, letting her large tit fall out and pendulously swing up closer to his face. Darren felt his eyes enlargen. Her bulbous nipple, as big as his fingertip, caught all of his attention. As she moved herself over him, it swung seductively over him, the nipple closing in on his face. He felt his cock quickly swell as Amy’s lips encircled it and her tongue circled around his phallic crown's ridge! Amy was not discouraged by the fact that her mother was leaning over Darren with her tit exposed. She was crouched between his legs and had just taken his cock into her mouth. She was going to make good use of the situation. The feeling was amazing! Darren could very much feel Amy’s hesitant lips enclose around his hardening cock. As it quickly grew, and journey deeper into her mouth, he also felt his tip reach in over her warm, wet tongue. Aunt Lily shifted, to place herself a bit above Darren, and then sank her tit down over him. Instinctively Darren opened his mouth and Lily’s nipple landed perfectly in between his lips. As she moved, her strong and shapely leg pressed his own legs together, which meant that he now caught Amy’s head in a vice between his thighs. Her face was pushed into his groin, swallowing all of his meat to the hilt. Darren could feel Amy's breath on his skin, her nails digging into his thighs. He felt that Amy’s face was now wedged in between his thighs, squeezed in place, his growing cock inside of her mouth. Before he could ponder more about where his cock was now embedded, his aunt lowered herself on him. Her big nipple dipped into his mouth and instinctively his lips closed around it! The feeling of aunt Lily’s full and heavy tit weighing down over his face was amazing. As he gave her swollen hard nipple a small suck, he heard her gasp gently. His theory of Aunt Lily enjoying arousal from nipple-play, was all but confirmed. He also felt his cock twitch, as Amy’s closed mouth constricted around it. Her tongue was pushing at it, as it increased quickly in size! Aunt Lily shifted again, to make herself more comfortable and now both her hand and thigh were pushing Darren’s legs together even more. He felt Amy’s head was squeezed even deeper into his groin! Her lower lip was now touching his ball sack, and her upper lip was planted on the root of his hard cock. He felt her nostrils exhale on his pubes! He was all the way into her throat! Her nails were gently clawing at his legs. But Darren’s legs were heavily pressed over her shoulders and she was well stuck in! A small part of his brain was feeling sorry for his poor cousin, down there under the canvas. Her mouth pressed down over his growing cock. But the more dominant part of his brain was feeling a surge of horniness. Amy’s tongue was sprawling around, stroking the underside of his turgid cock. The warmth his rod was enclosed in was intense, her lips around the base of his shaft did nothing to dampen the feeling. The warm and heavy tit of his aunt pressed down over his mouth, the sweet liquid soon flowed out from her nipple; Darren knew he’d never last long in this sensuous heaven! Darren soon felt Amy calming down. Instead of her panic of being stuck with his cock wedged deep into her throat, she seemed to accept it. Her breathing somehow found its rhythm and her tongue was caressing the underside of his cock. Her mouth was trying to make sucking motions, but it was hard, since it was so far pressed onto the root of him! Just the thought of being so deep into Amy’s throat. was intoxicating. Aunt Lily was slowly humming in pleasure, and softly stroking his hair as he sucked on the huge tit she had buried his face under. Her milk tasted amazing. Darren didn’t know what it should taste like, but it was hard to imagine anything tasting better than this! It was like milk with sugar. Her nipple felt so stiff and big in his mouth. His tongue flicked it in between sucks. He could hear Aunt Lily respond with quick inhalations whenever he did so. Amy couldn’t really move her head back and forth, but she started tilting her head from side to side, letting her tongue reach even more of his now fully-grown rocket. Her lips were also pressing and squeezing around the base of it. Now he was feeling it; the familiar force. Hard to say where in his body it began, but it was very clear to predict where it was heading. He was euphoric and light-headed. A serene peace came over his countenance, followed by an urgency to blast his cockful of cream. He felt he should warn Amy about what was coming, but his left arm was stuck under aunt Lily’s other tit and his right one was held down by her hand. His thighs clenched up and his pulsating cock twitched in her mouth; then he came! He didn’t know exactly how deep into Amy the head of his cock was, but; wherever it was, it was now pumping out all of his jizz with immense force! Amy’s hands were now gripping his calves hard! He could hear Amy faintly making some muffled sounds from between his legs, so he tried to compensate with his own louder humming and sucking. The vibration from his mouth was sending waves of pleasure through aunt Lily’s tit it seemed. She was breathing heavier, which was good. It hopefully made it so that his own suppressed breathing wasn’t noticed! He could feel the swallowing motions around his cock as he was coming! Darren's eyes were closed. He could now only endure and enjoy the two women he was stuck in between. Auntie’s sweet milk squirting into his mouth and his own fluids squirting into Amy’s. This was surely a dream! It was again hard to estimate how much time had passed. But his cock finally softened a bit and he could feel Amy more relaxed again. Her tongue playing slowly with his spent cock. Aunt Lily seemed to enjoy his, now slower pace of sucking. Her breathing became restless and soon she just held her breath completely. Her chest dropped down, pressing her one nipple into Darren's tongue, while her other nipple pressed against his shirt. Finally Aunt Lily exhaled. A deep slow breathe followed, and she finally uttered; “Ah!” Finally she raised herself up. Darren's mouth didn’t want to let go of her life giving teat. So it stretched out a bit and she had to almost sit up fully before it broke free from his lips with a 'pop'. He opened his eyes and was now looking at his aunt from below. Some of her face obscured by her large tits. The nipple he’d had in his mouth was drenched and he could see that the other one was dripping with milk. Trying to hide her encumbered breathing, aunt Lily said, “I’m sorry Darren, but I’m gonna have to save some for your cousin also.” She smiled and stroked his cheek. Then she closed her shirt and her lovely round tits were covered. The huge nipples were tenting the blouse with great pride. Amy was still letting her tongue slide around Darren’s semi-stiff cock, in silence under the canvas. “I’ll meet you inside; for supper;” Lily said as she rose from the hay bale beside him, and went back towards the house. Darren slowly let his thighs part, now that Lily had left. He was a bit afraid of how Amy was going to react. She had really been put through an ordeal down there and no chance to get out of it “I’m sorry, but auntie was pushing on my legs;” he started saying, as he lifted the canvas from his lap. Looking down between his legs he could see Amy’s eyes looking at his. She drew her head back a little, still having his cock in her mouth and gave off a sexy smile. As much as she could smile, while still having her whole mouth stuffed. With a long, surging suck, she slowly drew her head back all the way, pulling his cock with it, until it finally plopped out. Her chin was shining and covered in saliva. Her face was red, but she licked her lips and looked very satisfied! “Wow! That was intense;” she said, “I didn’t think I’d be deep-throated you, but wow; It was great!” Darren could only give her a relieved smile back. He was very happy that she took it so well. “So, how did mom’s milk taste?” she continued. Darren had no problems admitting that it tasted amazing and how he now understood why Amy liked to feed from Aunt Lily so often. He would do the same, if she’d let him. Amy straightened out her clothes and wiped her face while Darren finished up the stitching on the canvas. Then they made their way back down to the house. The sun was setting and it was getting darker outside, Twisted Positions. Back at the house they were met with the lovely smell of lasagna. Aunt Lily was still in her baggy white blouse, but had now also added an apron. It had a wide waistband and was snugly tied around her waist, accentuating her buxom hourglass figure, and pressing her cleavage up to an impressive size. Darren did all in his power not to stare! It still didn’t feel real to him, that just a while ago, he had actually been sucking on one of those big tits, drinking aunt Lily’s milk. A familiar twitch in between his legs made him quickly sit down at the table. Amy skipped into the kitchen and gave her mother a hug, pressing her head against Lily’s ample tits. While she did she gave Darren a wink and pursed her lips. They all sat down and ate. The food was delicious and Amy asked her mother if they all couldn't have some wine also, to celebrate that Darren now was here for the summer. Aunt Lily was hesitant at first. They were of course all grown up now, but she still thought of them as ‘kids.’ But Amy’s pleading worked and Lily brought out some red wine from the cupboard. It was a great moment. The wine was buzzing and the talks were funny and nice. Some reminiscing about what antics Amy and Darren had gotten up to years ago, and some stories about life on the farm in general. After they had emptied two bottles of wine and were starting a third one, Darren was feeling a good bit buzzed. From the amount of laughing and joking, both Amy and aunty were probably affected too. Darren sometimes forgot and found himself staring at aunt Lily’s big nipple bumps; or Amy’s blouse being half unbuttoned, that were making her tits a very public presence. But no one seemed to notice, so Darren thought that he probably got away with his wandering eyes. Amy suggested that they play some game of something. She was clearly full of energy and getting a bit tipsy. They all moved out to the living room and Lily and Darren sat themselves down on the sofa while Amy started rummaging through the shelves where all kinds of board games and stuff was kept. As they were a bit unsteady, Darren couldn’t help but to notice that Lily had happened to sit very close beside him on the sofa, with her arm resting on the backrest. He felt her warm, soft hip against his own, and her firm sideboob pressing against his arm. Again the images of her tit being lowered down over his face and her stiff nipple between his lips, floated up to the forefront of his brain. He shifted his legs, to try to hide the growth between his legs. Lily seemed oblivious to the fact that they were so close to each other, or that her tit bounced and brushed against his arm every time she responded to Amy’s different suggestions of games she was finding on the shelves. Now Darren really wanted to get a hold of that quilt on the sofa so he could cover himself before anyone would notice his swelling crotch rocket. But the quilt was what they were sitting on, so that was out of the question. “Here! Read the rules!” Amy threw some pamphlet at Darren. By a saving grace it landed right in his lap! He quickly held it as cover to the emerging tentpole in his pants! Twister? Amy had decided on the game Twister! She was already splaying out the mat on the floor in front of the sofa they were seated in. “Oh no, Amy. I’m so bad at this;” Lily complained. “Nah, it’ll be fun!” Amy persisted as she was on her hands and knees on the floor, trying to straighten out the mat with the colored circles on it! Darren quickly finding his rescue in the rule book proclaimed, “I’ll be the referee!” “What? No. All of us have to play!” Amy pouted. Darren explained that there has to be a referee. A person that spins the spinner and tells the other players where to place their hands and feet. If there is no referee, how could they know in which colored circles to place their hands or feet? He pointed to the rule book to accentuate what he had just said. At first Amy seemed defeated from this logic but soon wised up and decided that they’d play each other in pairs. Amy and Lily would go first and Darren could be the referee and then the one who lost would be out and take over being referee for round number two. Darren wasn't really comfortable with having to play at all. He didn’t really trust his cock to not poke out visibly, but was happy to at least get to start out as referee. Maybe his cock would relax enough until it was his turn, he thought. Lily grudgingly agreed to join in, but assured them that she would surely lose. The game started with Amy and Lily standing on opposite sides of the mat, one foot each on a blue and yellow circle. There were four lines of colored circles, outside of the rows of blue and yellow were green and red circles. Darren flicked the spinner and called out, “Right foot blue!” “But I am already on blue;” aunt Lily giggled. “Then you just move your right foot to another, unoccupied blue circle;” Darren explained. Lily took a step forward with her right foot and placed it on another blue circle, closer to Amy. Amy had to move her foot to a blue circle, making her stand with her back to Darren. Being tipsy from the multiple glasses of wine, they both wobbled more than necessary for such a small challenge. Their balancing acts were a pleasure for Darren's eyes. Aunt Lily’s swaying boobs were easy to follow as they moved under her pale thin white blouse. Her stiff nipples did nothing to hide themselves under the fabric. Amy was wearing her short yellow dress that ended just under her ass. Which made Darren very happy, as the next spin said; ‘Right hand, red’. This meant Amy had to lean forward to place her right hand on a red circle. Her short dress did nothing to cover up her tight, round ass. The plump contents of her panties was well exposed to him. But what was even more arousing was that aunt Lily now had to lean backwards to get her right hand on a red square. She had to bend her knees and spread her legs as she leaned backwards to get her hand on a red circle beside Amy’s hand. Lily’s shirt was too long to give any upshot view, but the shirt was tightened over her strong thighs and the gaps between her shirt's buttons gave him a view of her underboobs and her pussy mound was pushing prominently up against the straining cloth. Lily’s large tits jiggled around as she was trying to stay balanced. Darren came to the realization that this was not helping his cock to soften; But he had the rule book strategically placed in his lap to obscure his swelling boner. “Left hand, blue;” was next. Amy now had to put her left hand on a blue circle between her legs, making her show off her ass even more to Darren and aunt Lily needed to bend even more backwards to reach the blue circle to where her foot had been standing at start. Aunt Lily’s shirt buttons were now really straining to not pop open! Darren felt himself salivating and had to swallow, “Right hand, green;” he called out. Lily managed to crouch herself down and get her right hand from a red circle to a green one. This did however give Darren a very nice view down her cleavage as she had to lean a bit towards him. Her bust squeezed in between her arm and thigh. “But that’s impossible!” Amy groaned, “How am I supposed to do that?” Amy tried to bend her knees, she was now squatting with her left hand between her legs and needed to get her right hand all the way to a green circle behind her back. She did try, but thumped down on her ass! Aunt Lily had a smile of actual surprise on her face when she realized that she’d won. The sight of her standing up and waving her arms in the air to celebrate was extremely sexy to Darren. Her tits were sensual works of art, swaying around there under her partly unbuttoned shirt. Amy muttered and took the spinny thing from Darren, “Yeah, yeah. Alright, Mom wins the first round.” Darren now felt a chill run through his spine. It was his turn! But his boner was rock solid and pointing upward in his sweat pants! How the hell was he gonna cover this up? “Assume your starting positions!” Amy demanded as she snuggled up on the sofa with the spinner in front of her. Aunt Lily seemed happy and confident and stood herself on the mat where Amy had started previously. Darren was trying to think and went with what had saved him last night when he’d been trying to hide his boner from Amy. Instead of standing up straight, which would immediately reveal the tent in his pants, he crouched to his starting position like a hunch back. Playing it as if he was acting ‘sneaky’. It probably looked weird, but at least it made it so that his boner didn’t stretch against his pants. He stood in place, with his feet on a yellow and a blue circle, but he leaned his upper body forward and bent his knees enough so that the front of his sweat pants were still baggy enough to hide his bulge. Aunt Lily was now opposite of him, standing tall and gave him a challenging smile, “If I win this round I’ve beaten you both.” “Yeah, yeah;” Amy said and then the orders came quickly. Right foot blue, left foot yellow. In practice, this just meant that Darren and Lily had stepped closer to each other on the mat. But aunt Lily was turned around, her back to Darren. This served Darren well and he could straighten himself out a bit. As he glanced over to Amy, it was clear that she could see the tent in his pants. She smiled and had her tongue between her teeth. Luckily aunt Lily was turned around away from him, so she couldn’t see the front of his sweatpants pointing straight at her curvaceous ass. “Right hand red!” Amy called out. Lily now bent over forward, her wide hips stretching her shirt over those well rounded orbs. Darren had no choice but to put his hand on a red circle to the right and a little behind him, making him lean back and now supporting himself mostly on his right arm! The other option would’ve been to lean forward, over aunt Lily to reach a red circle, but then his throbbing cock would inevitably press right in between her ass cheeks and he would be given away! Next was: left hand, yellow. It was an easy move for Lily, she just had to stand on all fours now, her shirt slipping up a little more but still covering enough of her thighs to not show off her secret spot. Darren now had to stand like a crab. His back towards the mat, but at least he could support himself on both arms better now. Right foot red; They both had to widen their stance. Lily hiked her shirt dress up a little to have room enough to spread her leg to the right more. Darren had to move his right leg more forward and more under Lily’s hips. His hard cock was now towering in his pants. Only a few inches from his pole slipping up under aunt Lily’s shirt. Darren could see the muscles in Lily’s thighs flexing as she kept her balance. He didn’t dare to look at Amy but he could feel that she was probably enjoying the sight of him being so hard under his sweatpants. Left foot, yellow. Their feet were already on yellow circles, so they just had to shift to another circle in the same line. Darren didn’t have many options if he wanted to keep his balance, so he moved his foot forward a bit. This was good as it lowered his groin, away from between aunt Lily’s spread legs. Aunt Lily tried to move her left foot backwards, toward Darren, but it resulted in her stepping on his hand instead. “Oh sorry!” She got startled and instead tried to move her leg forward. But this only resulted in her losing her balance and falling down, on top of Darren! On top of Darren's erection, to be precise! Had they both been naked Darren would’ve surely plunged himself deep into her spread crotch. But as they were now wearing clothes the result instead became that his aunt sat herself heavily down on his rock-hard boner. Her legs were spread so wide that even through his thick sweat pants and aunt Lily’s panties, he could feel her vaginal lips on each side of his rock hard pole. As they landed Lily tried to scramble to her feet. She must’ve felt it too! Her scrambling made it so that her pussy’s meaty folds rubbed several times along Darren's raging boner. No sweatpants were thick enough to hide those sensations! Lily got up and inadvertently allowing Darren to have another good look down her generous cleavage before she got to her feet. She was blushing, “Oh no! I lost!” Lily's Early Bedtime. Aunt Lily straightened out her shirt dress and did everything humanly possible to not let her eyes look at Darren. But they deceived her and it was clear that they stole a glance at what had poked at her so hard, when she had sat down on it. “I think I might be a bit drunk!” she blathered, "I think it’s best I hit, the hay.” With a very cute hiccup, she rushed out of the room and up the stairs. Darren was now sitting on the Twister mat, his pants still tented and Amy was silently laughing her ass off! She looked so excited and amused, but didn’t make a sound! When aunt Lily had disappeared to the top of the stairs, Amy snuck from the sofa to joining Darren on the twister mat. Her gaze was locked onto Darren’s bulging sweat pants. Crouching down beside Darren, Amy let her hand slowly grasp around his hard-on, over his pants. Darren shuddered from the sensation of his cousin's hand softly gripping around his pole. “Mom must’ve felt this when she landed on you;” she whispered in lewd fascination. “Did you cheat with the spinner?” Darren asked. Amy, still holding her hand around Darren's erection, looked a bit mischievous, “Yeah; I wanted to situate you guys;” she jumped to her feet and pulled Darren up, “Like this!” she exclaimed and stood herself with her back against him, legs wide spread. Darren’s tenting pants were now lined up very well with Amy's bent over ass. Reached way under her own widespread legs, she grabbed at Darren' pants just above his knees. Swiftly she tugged down Darren’s sweatpants, resulting in his rock hard boner flung out with a bounce, smacking her in her bald cuntlips.. “Put your feet on blue and yellow;” she ordered as she spread her buttcheeks more, revealing her glistening slit from behind. Her short yellow dress only hid the top part of her ass. Darren almost forgot to breathe. Looking down, the head of his cock was just at her opening, as Amy leaned her upper body forward, resting her hands down on the ottoman; making her wet entrance push back against Darren's sensitive purple cock head. “If I had my hand on this cushion;” she said and placed her hand on the padded corduroy upholstery, “...and you find a stable place for your hands;” She pulled at Darren's arm, pulling him forward and making his cock head press against her moist opening. He could feel the top half of his glans pressing into her. Amy sounded a bit flustered now, “Come on’ lean more forward;” she said as she pulled his arm more. She had to bend her knees to let Darren be able to reach over her back, as she did, her opening parted more and Darren sank in to her! They both gasped and stood still. The position was very awkward, but the feeling of having half of his cock pressed into her hot, wet cunt depths, was amazing! “Oh god;” Amy breathed, “and the next move would be; right foot blue and left foot yellow; also, left hand green and right hand red.” Darren found it hard to concentrate on the instructions. The feeling of Amy’s inner walls squeezing against his cock were so very erotic. Darren tried to slide his right foot up another circle, resulting in him pressing a couple of more inches into her. In a feat of acrobatics, Amy lifted her right leg and flung it back over his thigh, pressing her weight down on his hips. To not fall he had to lean back and hold himself up with both hands. Darren was now in a crab-like position, his belly up, Amy planted her hands above Darren's, resulting in her ass straddling over his groin and her legs spread wide to each side of his hips. She was putting a lot of weight on him, pressing herself as deep as she could, over his pulsating cock! Darren was too horny and too aroused, now. He just wanted to grab her hips and fall to the floor, that would bury him so deep into that luscious womanhood slipping around his proud soldier. “Kids. I’m gonna go to bed, you can finish the wine;” aunt Lily’s voice was heard from the staircase. To their shock her steps coming down, could also be heard! Amy and Darren froze in position! Aunt Lily was coming down! Darren quickly analyzed their predicament. Although Amy’s dress was short, in this position it was covering both his and her own groin. Most likely aunt Lily would not be able to see that they were joined together under her skirt! Darren was hoping that Lily was only going to the kitchen to get herself a glass of water or something, but froze in terror as he saw her instead make her way towards them as they were squatting onto each other there on the game mat! She leaned over Amy, “Good night sweetie;” and gave her a kiss. Her kiss made Amy weigh down even more on Darren. He could feel his cock pressing up into her even more! Her fluids threatened to run down onto his balls and thighs. “Mom! Don’t make me fall;” Amy said, trying to sound casual and not make Lily suspect that she was sat on a spike of throbbing meat. “Good night to you too, Darren;” Lily said and gave him a stroke on his cheek. Lily leaning down to him, again gave him a perfect view down her cleavage. He could feel Amy’s tight entrance rhythmically squeezing around the root of his cock inside of her! Aunt Lily backed away, “Don’t hurt yourselves now;” she snickered as she left them and went upstairs. Amy and Darren stayed still, until they heard the bathroom door close upstairs, then Darren let himself fall to the ground. Amy fell with him and gave out a deep, throated groan as she landed heavily on top of him. His cock pressed deeper than possible, so deeply into her soaked cunt! Amy's knees landed astride Darren's hips, and the cowgirl rode for glory and started shaking. Darren could feel her pussy twitching around his cock! For a while she just sat on top of him, letting her climax wind down. When her breath had steadied, she looked over her shoulder at Darren, “Imagine if I’d gotten you and mom into that position;” she fired off a broad smile and slowly rose herself off of him. It was an amazing sight, to see his still hard cock slowly slip out from her innards, pulling her tight lining out nearly an inch with the cock which her lusty cunt resisted parting with. Strands of clear fluids hanging from her pussy lips, stretched to his rod. Amy crawled on all fours over to the sofa table and got the bottle of wine for them. Darren felt exposed and pulled his sweat pants up again. He felt Amy’s heated fluids still around it and slowly being soaked up by his pants. In silence they sat on the mat gulping down the rest of the bottle. Darren couldn’t help but to notice a small puddle forming on the mat, between Amy’s legs. But he didn’t say anything. The whole thing was so hot! Aunt Lily had been standing right beside them as he had been plunged into her daughter in secret! Damn that was hot. His cock was still twitching. It really wanted release, but he felt that Amy was the one in charge of their ‘relationship’. He didn’t dare ask to put it in again. And she had obviously just cum, so probably she was spent for the moment. “I think I know what she’s doing now;” Amy said with a secretive tone. Milking Momma. Darren had been in his own erotic world for the last few minutes. Trying to ignore his pulsating manhood, swallowing down the wine at a fast pace and feeling the buzz in his head increasing, “Huh?” “Come on!” Amy said and took his hand. They both rose and Darren followed Amy sneaking up the stairs. She stopped dead still outside of the bathroom door. Amy gave Darren's hand a squeeze and held her ear to the door. All was silent and Darren wasn’t sure what was going on. If Amy wanted to sneak him into her bedroom, then why did she stop here, by the bathroom door. Amy moved herself forward, pulling Darren along and making room for him by the door. He couldn’t see Amy’s face as he was behind her back, but she seemed to be listening intently at the door. Darren followed suit and also put his ear to the door; that’s when he heard it! Fast paced, shallow breaths, barely detectable through the wooden door. What was that? As it dawned on him, Darren felt stupid for being so naive. It was aunt Lily; masturbating! Shit! His horny mind did not have any trouble imagining the sight behind that closed door! He could see it clear as day. Aunt Lily, one arm between her legs, the other leaning against the bathroom sink. Her heavy tits jiggling along with her hand rapidly rubbing at her pussy between those thick and well carved thighs! Suddenly the sound stopped. A moment's silence and then a soft, muffled moan could be heard. If Darren had been hard before, he was in steel mode now! In his imagination he saw aunt Lily lean her head back, the shirt stretching thin over her bulging boobs and her mouth open, eyes closed, cumming over her own hand! This was better than any porn flick he’d ever seen! He was suddenly pulled out of his wet dream by Amy. She quickly tippy-toed with him in tow into her room. “Quick, get in the bed;” she whispered as she pulled off her yellow dress in one single motion, “Like last night!” Darren was dumb founded. Maybe it was because all of his blood was flowing down to his crotch or maybe he was just slow. But it was hard to look away as Amy revealed her sexy body in front of him. The soft light from the little lamp by her bed made her look so incredibly sensual. Her nice tits bouncing, her hairless pussy mound flashing between her legs and the wetness on her inner thighs was hypnotizing! The now-naked Amy smiled and pushed Darren into her pink, girly bed, “Go on Darren! Get in!” She pulled his pants down and shoved him back in the bed until his ass hit the familiar wall. She quickly slunk into bed and pulled the covers over them, hiding Darren completely under it. It all went so fast and Darren was a bit slow and dizzy from the wine and the immense horniness that had been ravaging his mind and body for the last couple of hours. He felt Amy’s hand grip around his cock from behind and steer it in between her legs. Everything down there was wet and slippery. As soon as she felt his head against her opening she pushed her hips back. With hardly any resistance, Darren sank all the way! Just like last night, he was pressed against the bedroom wall from behind and Amy’s sex from the front! He came instantly. He gritted his teeth and let out a muffled groan. The only thing he now felt was his cock exploding inside of his cousin and, for some reason, her wild hair in his face there under the dark covers! Amy was slowly rolling her hips on him, purposely massaging his loins as his cock pumped batch after batch of his seed into her hot crevice! Darren couldn’t move and just let Amy’s rolling hips make the releasing friction last for as long as possible. Her hand was holding onto his waist under the covers, not letting him pull out, even if he had wanted to. Darren was feeling drunk and relaxed. His breath was slowing and his whole body felt as if it was embedded in a cave of sex! Some time passed and he was once again regaining some feeling in his throbbing cock. He could feel how Amy’s inner walls were slowly milking his cock. “I think she’s asleep now;” Amy whispered. “Huh?” Darren, again, felt that he was not connecting dots like he should be. “My Mom. I think she’s sleeping;” Amy explained, not making anything clear to Darren. “Come on..” she said and slid herself off of Darren's now semi hard intruder. Still naked, she snuck over to her bedroom door and listened at it. She opened it a little and peered into the dark hallway. She waved at Darren who sluggishly crawled himself out of the bed. He pulled his pants up and felt the wetness his cock was drenched in, smear out over his inner thighs. ‘I’m really gonna have to wash some clothes tomorrow’, he thought to himself as he silently moved up to Amy. She grabbed his hand and led him out into the dark hallway. The soft runner rug made them totally soundless. Darren didn’t know what was going on but let himself be led, his eyes sneakily checking out Amy’s round and swaying ass as she moved in front of him. She then stopped by aunt Lily’s bedroom door! The door was cracked and Amy was peeking in; She looked back at Darren with a sly grin, “I didn’t get my milk tonight.” Before Darren’s brain could make sense of the words he just heard she pulled him into aunt Lily’s room. It was dark, but moonlight flowed through the window, lighting up Lily’s bed with a pale blueish glow. Lily was resting peacefully on the bed. She was on her back, the blanket only covering her legs. Up top she had some kind of flannel pajama nightshirt on, and her massive chest was slowly rising and falling with her breath. The lighting from outside of the barn and the moon blended together lit up the beautiful milf sleeping on the bed. In her prone position, Lily’s boobs didn’t stick out as much from her chest, they were more flat and receded to her sides, but still very large. Lily's nipples, however, were only the size of Amy's fingertip Amy motioned to Darren to move over to the side of her bed while she placed herself on the other side, closest to the door. Darren moved as silently as ever, when he came to the side of auntie's bed he found himself blocking the light, so he hunched down. Her face was too beautiful to be in the shadow he thought. Her long, brown hair was draped over the pillow, her head tilted slightly down towards her chest and her sexy lips pouting in her sleep. On the opposite side, Amy knelt down by the bedside and laid her elbows on the mattress beside Lily. Darren did the same, not being able to tear his eyes from that full bosom, slowly rising and falling in Lily’s sleep. Darren’s eyes widened as Amy carefully unbuttoned aunt Lily’s pajama nightshirt. There were only like 4 pretty big buttons and the shirt was loose fitting, so it was easily done without disturbing her. Amy slowly pulled the pajama nightshirt off Lily’s chest, revealing her large, scrumptious tit! She nodded encouragingly to Darren, hesitantly he did the same. The tit uncovered close to him looked even bigger than he’d remembered it from earlier today. A dark, stiff nipple perched on top of it. Darren wondered if her nipples were maybe always hard? He couldn’t remember ever seeing aunt Lily without stiff nipples poking through her dresses or shirts. Amy moved her face closer to her mother’s tit, locking eyes with Darren and nodding for him to follow suit. Darren moved himself closer also, but was now very afraid to wake his aunt. It was exciting enough to expose her lovely, large tits while she slept, but now he felt Amy might be going a bit too far. They’d gotten away with doing stuff to each other so many times already. This felt like pushing their luck. Amy shrugged at his cowardice and leaned her face in. She gave Lily’s stiff nipple a lick of her tongue. Nothing happened. Amy did it again; and again. At the third lick, aunt Lily let out a soft moan and her lips opened up a little. Amy smiled and softly planted her lips around Lily’s nipple. Lily inhaled, still sleeping. Amy closed her eyes and started slowly sucking. Lily was breathing heavier but still calmly and her eyes were closed. Darren's semi-hard cock geared up to full hard cock again, now. The sight was so incredibly arousing. His sexy cousin's soft lips surrounding her mother’s nipple and gently sucking at it. It looked like a sensual fantasy. Without even noticing it himself, Darren had moved his face closer to Lily’s other tit, her nipple just inches from his mouth. He felt his mouth watering. The wine and his libido made him brave, or maybe foolish enough. He leaned his face down over her heaving tit and closed his lips around the stiff nipple as delicately as he possibly could manage. Lily rustled a little and gave off a soft moan. With her nipple still between his lips he threw a glance at his aunt. She was still fast asleep. But her body was clearly feeling the sensations of having her nipples in warm, hungry mouths. Just as carefully as he took her nipple in his mouth he started to suck on it. He felt her nipple deeper on his tongue and some of her boob flesh swelling into his mouth. A few seconds in, he could feel the sweet, warm wetness emerging from it! In thin squirts it hit the roof of his mouth and spread over his tongue! It was glorious! Aunt Lily was still sleeping, only now and then did she move her head, inhale or moan lightly from the nipple massage she was getting. Then Darren felt Amy’s hand over his own, she pulled his hand onto Lily’s naked belly. His palm could feel her soft, silky skin under it. In extreme slow motion she led his hand downward. The gentle curvature of Lily’s lower abdomen made his stiff cock start throbbing in his pants. Looking at Amy, although she still had her mouth over Lily’s tit, he could see a smile on the corner of her lips as she was still sucking away. As his hand was moved down, Amy’s hand over his, he felt his pinky hit the hem of aunt Lily’s pyjama bottoms. Amy’s nimble fingers lifted the hem just enough for their hands to slide in under it! The heat inside was intense. He could feel it on his hand and on Lily’s skin. His fingers and palm then were pushed over his aunt’s well trimmed bush. He remembered the feeling of having those hairs pressed up against his lower back yesterday in the bath. Everything felt blurry. The wine was now fully inebriating his awareness. He knew where this was going and could’ve stopped it. Instead he let Amy guide his hand further down. His ring finger was the first to touch it! Lily's wet slit! Amy pushed his hand a bit further and then just held it there, pressing on his. Lily’s breathing was more shallow now. Amy pressed on Darren's hand so that his ring finger was squeezed in between aunt Lily’s vaginal lips. They felt so well rounded and full, and in between them was hot, soft dampness! A part of Darren's mind was screaming in fear, afraid that his aunt would wake up and find him with his finger almost inside of her, sucking on her tit! There would be no coming back after that! Then there was the other part of his mind. The drunken, horny, and smitten part. This was something he’d never dreamed of, but now that he was here, he never wanted to wake up! Because it had to be a dream! But the feelings and sensations were very real, and his throbbing cock reminded him of that. It was almost painful now. It was so hard that it could crack stone! The lovely torment went on for a while, Amy just holding his hand firmly over aunt Lily’s vulva. His finger embedded between her moist, soft lips, they both still sucking milk from her nipples as she slept a wine-saturated peaceful bliss. Amy took her hand off his and moved it away. Darren was pulled back to reality a bit and guessed that this part was done now. He slowly slid his hand out of Lily’s pajama bottoms and looked at Lily as Amy let go of her mother's milky nipple. “Come over here. Stand behind me;” she whispered so low that only some of the syllables were detectable. Darren reluctantly let go of the stiff and swollen nipple in his mouth and leaned back away from it, but observed just how huge her lactating nipple swelled to, when aroused. He held his thumb up next to it and both were of similar size. He saw small droplets of milk still emerging from the tit, and he licked his lips. He didn’t feel he was done, but Amy had something else in mind, it seemed. As he leaned back from the bed Amy stood up from her kneeling position. But she kept her mouth latched onto Lily’s tit as she raised her naked ass up. She supported herself with one elbow on the bed and motioned with her other arm for him to come over to her side. Like a sleepwalker, Darren obeyed. His erect cock swung around in his dampened pants as he moved; and he felt his cock, confirming it was uncomfortably hard. As he made his way around the bed it was clear what was expected of him. Amy was now leaned down over her mother, sucking at her tit, her ass lifted high up on straight and spread legs. Darren dropped his pants and positioned his rocket, like a missile with only one target. The moonlight came from a window on the opposite wall, so Amy’s ass and pussy were shrouded in darkness, but he used his thumb to find the wet gash where utopia was hidden. He mustered all of the discipline still left in his body to not just bash his cock into Amy as hard as he could. If he did, she’d be pushed onto Lily’s tit and then she’d surely wake up and chaos would commence. No. He bit his lip and slowly pressed his swelling cock into the wet folds between Amy’s spread legs! He could see Amy’s back tense up as he sunk a few inches in. He saw her ribcage divulge her increased breathing. He felt her thighs tighten and her entry hole clench around his rod! Darren pulled out, only leaving the tip still in her. He paused before he again pushed into her. Deeper this time, but just as slowly. He could feel every inch of her soaked insides surrounding his hard cock. And again; out, almost all the way, then with determination; slowly back in, deep! Amy couldn’t help but to hum with pleasure at his invasion of her love canal. The vibrations of Amy’s hum on Lily’s tit made mother stir. Damn! If Lily woke up now; well, this would be really hard to explain. Darren was ready to just give up and throw himself towards the bedroom door in a panicked escape. But instead, Lily shifted a little and placed her hand on the back of Amy’s head; seemingly still in her sleep. She was now holding Amy’s head pressed onto her tit while Darren was buried deep into her from behind. Darren was in a daze. He felt himself on the edge. The pressure inside of his loins was explosive now. A few more times he managed to pull out and push slowly into Amy until he knew it was too late! Too far gone. He felt the crashing wave ready to be released inside of him. And just then, Amy’s entrance clamped down hard around his cock and she came in a silent vibration! Darren involuntarily joined in on her climax, with his own! He felt his cock swell and compress with every violent squirt of manly juices into Amy’s shuddering hole! Amy's thighs were shaking but her face was still held steady onto Lily’s tit. Darren could feel Amy’s legs losing strength as the orgasm pulsated through her body. He took hold around her hips to give her some help in standing. He was still deep into her as he felt himself also coming down from the ecstatic high. Finally, Lily’s hand slid off her daughter's head and Amy raised herself up from the bed. Her body was trembling and she let out a fatigued gasp as Darren moved his hips back and let his cock slide out of its warm home. Amy sleepily turned around to face him, her arms around his neck. He could feel her soft tits against his chest and his semi hard, drenched cock pressing against Amy’s slippery mound. Her eyes were half shut as she kissed him. Darren could taste aunt Lily’s sweet milk on Amy’s tongue. Their tongues sway slowly and passionately around each other. Amy presses her body more into Darren and he feels her nostrils flaring for air. Amy pulled up Darren's pants while her tongue played with his. Eventually the kiss broke and they both wearily make their way out of auntie’s bedroom. Darren glanced back before shutting her door. The amazing sight of his topless aunt there on the bed is stuff of dreams. Her large tits, covering her whole chest. Her stiff nipples still glistened from milk and saliva. The only thing that co

Strap in, America—because the Qatar Grand Prix was supposed to be a snoozefest… until McLaren woke up and chose chaos. An early safety car dropped in, the entire field dove into the pits, and McLaren said, "Nah, we're good." Spoiler: They were not good. By refusing to pit, they handed Max Verstappen the Golden Ticket to cruise straight to victory. Oscar Piastri? He drove like an absolute superhero—one of the best races of his career—but strategy roulette meant P2 was all he could salvage. And now? We roll into the FINAL race with three drivers separated by just 16 points. This championship is going FULL American Gladiators in the finale and we are here for it.

In today's show David and Chas innumerate a Gratitude List and explain why the modern era is the best time to be a surfer, welcome Benedict Cumberbatch into the brotherhood, honor Mom John as the greatest mother of all time, wonder where they'd be without surfing's quiet gift of discipline, realize that cold plunges are free, and explain why it's okay to pretend to be religious. Plus Barrel or Nah?! Enjoy! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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Parents, banyak yang pengen anaknya jauh lebih baik dari orang tuanya.. Tapi berharap perubahan dari anak itu sulit, kalo orang tuanya sendiri belum berubah..Nah, di episode Podcast Curhat BaBu kali ini bersama Keke Kania, terungkap kalo banyak yang harus diupayakan oleh orang tua agar anak bisa tumbuh jadi versi terbaik dirinya. Mulai dari aktualisasi diri, menerapkan active listening, sampai memutus siklus trauma dari generasi sebelumnya.Teh Keke juga mempromosikan buku yang baru ia rilis, yakni ‘Can I Talk To You,' berisi obrolan-obrolan bermakna beliau bersama dua orang buah hatinya, juga cerita-cerita menarik di dalamnya. Simak sampai selesai buat obrolan-obrolan seru dan insightful ya!Timestamp:00:00 Opening02:50 Membangun kedekatan dengan orang tua dan mertua08:30 Menerapkan ‘active listening' dan aktualisasi diri13:45 Cara membuat anak bisa terbuka ke orang tua21:15 Gak bisa sekadar nanya ‘how was your day?' ke anak24:00 Kekhawatiran ketika anak tumbuh dewasa26:58 Gak nyiapin peninggalan investasi buat anak-anak30:43 Pentingnya nyontohin relationship yang baik ke anak38:05 Cerita yang ditulis di buku ‘Can I Talk To You?'42:46 Perspektif anak-anak dan ‘learning shutdown'45:42 Detail buku ‘Can I Talk To You?'Link pembelian buku Can I Talk To You: https://www.tokopedia.com/geometrymedia/can-i-talk-to-you-conversations-with-my-children-a-mother-s-reflection-kania-annisa-anggiani-1732946712951882907Website Keke Kania: https://www.kekekania.com/

Friendzone Skeptics: Part 1. Old classmates spend a week together, and find more. Based on a post by cilma rae. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. Chris Benbury and Jennifer Sanders tell the tale of how their friendship took decades to transform into a life connection. We're going to let them tell just how it happened. I'm Jennifer Sanders. In high school, I was Jenny, or Jenn. One fall day in the early nineties, Chris and I met at our high school. When? What, like the exact moment? Heck, I dunno. It was a small school, and everyone knew everyone; for the most part. It wasn't until after college that we'd connected again. Just friends, we'd meet up for lunch here and there. A text about family would show up, and one of us would respond with a smile or a few updates on their own life. He was always supportive of my goals, and I was very proud to know him and to witness all he had accomplished as well. Chris would date here and there, but there was never anything serious. I was so busy trying to move up in my career field that sometimes, I'd not even realize that two months had gone by since my last; um, well, even the thought of sex was rare. I was pretty happy excelling in the successes of my own business. It was when I turned 35 that I realized I might have let a little too much time go by. "Jenn," my mom lamented in her usual way on our weekly call, "when am I gonna have grand babies?" "Um, Mom? You have six grandchildren," I reminded her as I thought about my three nephews and three nieces produced by the mix of my three brothers and their amazing wives. "Oh, Jennifer," Mom chided, "you know what I mean. You're my only daughter. No boyfriend, at least that I've heard of. No talk of relationships at all. What about Chris? Do you still talk to him? He was always such a sweet boy in high school. You mentioned that you two keep in touch, right?" "Oh, Mother!" I argued. "Chris is a friend, a very good one at that. It's not like that though." "Well, just think on it, OK?" she requested as if my answer wasn't acceptable. "You never know. I mean, remember how I told you that I didn't realize I was meant to be with your father until;" "Until he kissed you, I know," I mocked and shook my head as I had said each word exactly as she had, only my words were dripping with sarcasm. "Mom, I have never been in a position to kiss Chris. He's a good friend. He dates. We share stories and encourage each other in our work ventures. It's just not like that." "OK, I'm just saying;" she announced as she always did when she finally gave up. "Are you coming for Easter?" "Of course, Mom," I answered as I pinched the bridge of my nose. "I'll bring the pistachio salad as usual, and it's my turn to bring their basket contents this year." "Oh, honey," Mom noted and signed. "I know you're the only one without kids, but the boys sure do appreciate that you participate in the 'taking turns' idea for the kids." I couldn't help but smile as she called my 31 , 32, and 34 year-old brothers "the boys." I think I'd actually have to put more brain power into grasping who they were if she were to refer to them as "my brothers." She had always grouped them together when speaking with me. "Oh, believe me," I corrected of her apology, "it's not only no bother, but I'm stoked to get to fill their baskets once every four years. I look forward to earning my properly worded title of 'Best Aunt Ever' twice in those years. Naturally, I have that honor every Christmas!" "Yes, well, just don't show up your brothers with too expensive gifts," she reminded me as she did all the time. She was unaware that I made sure to reach out to my sisters-in-law each year to not only get great (and appropriate) gifts for the family celebration, but also added a few for under their trees in their own homes which would be marked from "Santa." It made my heart full to give them a little extra since I had the means to do it. As I laid in bed that night, I thought about what my mom had suggested. Chris? Really? Had I ever thought about that option? I scoffed and shook my head in the dark. Nah. He was just a friend! I was about to fall asleep when my phone chirped. It was charging on the table next to my bed, so I reached over blindly and picked it up. "I'm really sorry if this is waking you, but I need to talk to you." I didn't think twice and called Chris' sister, Cindy, to see what was going on. We hadn't talked in a long while, but I had her number saved from a surprise party we had thrown for Chris when he had turned 30. "Jenn?" Cindy questioned when answering on the second ring. "Yeah, Cindy, it's me," I confirmed. "What's up?" "Chris was in a car accident!" she exclaimed and let out a sigh as she took the moment to catch her bearings. "Well, oh, gosh," I reacted as I wasn't sure what the severity was. "Is he OK?" I asked as most humans would think to ask next. "Yes, thank God!" Cindy answered and hiccupped. "Oh, I guess I should have led with that. His car is totaled thanks to the jerk who cut him off, but we are at the hospital because he has some injuries." "That makes sense," I replied and shook my head. "Cindy, what's up? I mean, I appreciate the call, and I am happy to check in on him tomorrow, but;" "Well, that's just it," Cindy quickly interrupted. "Um, yeah; so, Dex and I were supposed to be leaving tonight for a week away. Chris is going to need some assistance, so I was wondering, you know, if maybe you could help out?" "Help out?" I asked, dumbfounded. "Cindy, what exactly does 'need some assistance' mean?" "Um, well; he has a concussion, so the doctor mentioned that he shouldn't be left alone for a while," she explained. "No more than a week or so, I think. I mean, as his only sibling, it was logical that I was asked to do it, you know? But we have these tickets, and the trip;" "So, how would it work?" I asked before she rubbed in her little romantic vacation anymore. "He will obviously not be able to work. Would he be able to come to stay at my place, or?" "Oh, I asked that too," Cindy answered. "The doctor said it is best at his place since he knows it the best. You know, corners, walls, and stuff in case he gets dizzy." "So, I'd have to move into his place?" "Yeah," she answered and got quiet. I ran over the short list in my head of other people who could possibly take the position of which I was being offered and realized there was no one else who could do it. His mom was too old and didn't get around very well. His dad was out of the picture. His guy friends were either busy with their married lives or irresponsible enough to not trust in such a position. No, Cindy was right to call me. Now I had to get going. Did I pack? What about my place? Could I leave to check on it throughout the week? Could he come with me? So many questions. "Jenn, are you still there?" I nearly dropped the phone when I heard Cindy calling out to me. "Shoot! Oh, Cindy, I'm sorry. Yes, tell the doctor I'll be there within the hour. I'll grab my things and figure out the other stuff tomorrow. Will you be there?" "Oh, um, we were going to go since he's asleep. Did you need me to stay;" "No, go," I answered and shook my head as I said it. "Go have a blast on your trip. Check in as you can, but don't worry. I'll take care of him." "Oh, thank you, Jenn! I knew you'd be there for him." We continued our niceties as I got dressed again and packed while she told me his room number and promised to text me the information too. We hung up as I zipped my bad shut and headed for the bedroom door. I pointed at the several places my most immediately needed items were usually located and found that I'd packed them all, including my phone charger.     When I entered the hospital, I made my way to the elevator to go straight to Chris' room. I knew it was after hours for the most part, but if I was going to be his person, I had to get in there to speak with the doctor to find out what was required of me. "Excuse me? Can I help you?" a nurse asked as I was looking at the wall to find which direction I needed to go to find the room. "I'm here to see Chris Benbury," I explained. "My name is Jennifer;" "Sanders?" She questioned and nodded when I showed surprise. "Sorry. Chris' sister, Cindy, told us to be expecting you. I'm Marita, and I was here when Chris was brought in, so you can come to me if you have any questions or concerns until 6am when the shift changes. Come with me, hun, and we'll get you comfortable in his room. When I see the doctor, I'll send him in to answer your questions." "Thank you," I answered quietly. The severity of Chris' injuries was still in question, but the fact that I was walking in a hospital being led by a nurse hit me a little. I felt the emotions welling up, so I put up my finger as if to request that we stop so I could collect myself. "Oh, honey! It's alright!" Marita sympathized and rubbed my back. "He's going to be just fine!" I laughed a little at her need to comfort me and shook my head as I wiped my eyes. "Oh, my gosh. This is so stupid. I can't believe I'm standing here crying. I don't know what's come over me!" I inhaled deeply and accepted the tissue Marita offered. As I wiped my eyes, I let out another laugh. "I'm alright. It's just that I am standing here in a hospital, and the sudden realization that Chris could have been really hurt badly, or even;" "Oops! No, no, girl," Marita chided. "No, we aren't going down that road. Chris is going to be just fine. He just got banged up a little. We are monitoring him well, but once you take him home, he'll improve each day. It's just the concussion that has us worried a little bit." "I appreciate it," I responded and nodded. "Thank you. Thanks for letting me get this out before we go in there." "Honey, I gotchu," Marita offered and patted my back again. "Ready? He's right in here." I nodded, so the nurse gave a gentle knock on the door and then pushed it open. It would appear that she did the knocking thing as a habit, but she also seemed to know he was going to be asleep when we walked in. "He has a concussion from the collision. From what I heard, he was turning right onto the street when an impatient son of a b, ," she began to say but stopped herself and cleared her throat. "Excuse me, I mean; when the other driver came along on the shoulder to pass him. I don't know for sure, but the police indicated that the man was being impatient and tried to go around illegally. Because the other driver wasn't paying attention, Chris' continued proper turn into his lane caused a sudden need for the other guy to have to swerve and slammed directly into Chris' car." "Yeah," I replied as I bent over to look at the face of the man who held the honor of one of my longest running friendships, "Cindy mentioned that his car was totaled. It's a shame," I noted as I pushed some hair from Chris' forehead, "because he loved that car. He had it ordered exactly the way he had wanted it only about nine months ago." "That is a shame," Marita echoed. "Well, he's going to have some bruises and aches and pains for a good few days, but other than that, it's the dizziness which might be an issue." Marita continued to check stats and document them since she was in the room. "Well, I'll leave you to visit with him. You can pull out the bed, and the remote is next to his bed if you want to watch something. When I see the doctor, I'll let him know you're here and waiting for instructions." "Thank you, Marita," I responded and nodded.   My name is Christopher Benbury. This is how I got around to getting together with Jennnifer. "Jenn?" My best friend, Jenn Sanders, awoke and looked around as if to try figuring out where she was and who was calling her name. "Jenn? What are you doing here?" I repeated. "Hmm, Chris," she answered and raised her arms to stretch. The chair must have been comfortable, but I don't think she had expected to fall asleep quite so deeply. "Cindy called me after your accident," she explained. "Since she's got her trip with Dax, I came to be your aide for the next week as you heal." "She called you?" I asked and reached up to touch my head. "Ow, stupid headache. Oh, crap! Cindy's trip. Wasn't there anyone else she could have called?" "Wow," she answered sarcastically. "Thanks." "Oh, shit, Jenn," I responded suddenly. I wanted to smack my forehead for acting the way I was. It wasn't her fault I was in an accident, my car had been totaled, and I was waking up in a hospital. "Oh, crap, that's not what I meant. I just; why did she have to bother you?" "Well, I did the math as I pondered my ability to help out, and it comes down to the fact that I'm the only logical person since she's not available. Your mom isn't capable. Andy, Doug, and Erik are either married or, let's face it; not entirely responsible enough to hardly care for themselves; Doug," she muttered, though audibly. I couldn't blame her. Last she'd heard, Doug had locked himself out of his house in a drunken stupor and just slept on the concrete porch one late night. It turned out that he'd also opened his garage door and could have just gone into the house through there. Idiot. Had the weather been ten degrees colder, he could have died. When telling the story, though, he laughed all the way through it and proudly showed off his frozen burnt skin on his arm. I had to reach for Jenn's hand while he told his story to remind her that beating the crap out of the moron wasn't going to change anything. "OK, I suppose you have a point," I realized and laid my head back on the pillow. "Has the doctor been in?" "If he came in while I was sleeping, he didn't wake me up," she answered and stood up to stretch. "Would you want me to call Marita?" "Who?" I asked. Was I supposed to know who that was? Was she already trying to get out of helping me? Was Marita an aide who helped my mom? Why would Jenn know Mom's aides' names? "The nurse," she answered. "I can push the call button and have her come here to check on you, and maybe we could;" "Knock, knock!" Marita announced as she opened the door. "I thought I heard voices! Well, hello there, handsome! And good morning, Jennifer. Last time I was in here, you were hovering over him like a concerned lovebird." I looked over at Jenn, but she was watching Marita, and I couldn't see her face. Was she looking at me with concern? Lovebird? In all the time we'd be hanging out and talking, it had only ever been friendly. Lunches, a rare trip to the movies and shared popcorn, and texts almost every day. But more than friends? Why had Marita said it like that? "The doctor got called away to do surgery in the big city," Marita explained as she messed with the computer and attachments hooked up to my body, "so he left your case, Chris, with Dr. Chesney Ryan. She's due to come in at around 7am this morning. It's 5:30am now. Do either of you need anything? Chris, what is your pain level? Anything other than your head hurting, hun?" "Ask me again once I get out of bed," I requested and sighed. I pulled over the covers and realized I was in a gown. Well, crap. Nice way for my friend to see me for the first time in something other than normal clothes. Maybe I could hold the back together; "How about you, Jenn?" Marita asked. Fortunately, she was keeping Jenn's attention. Or maybe Jenn was just being kind and sparing me the humiliation. I held both sides of my gown together as I hurried to the bathroom to do my business. My friend. Jennifer Sanders and I met during our freshman year of high school. She was always kind to me. We hung out in large groups on occasion, and we laughed a lot when we sat next to one another in homeroom two years in a row. That was a lucky thing for me when many of the other parts of my life sucked so badly. I won't get into it, but let's just say, going to school was a blessing, especially when I got to see Jenn. I chickened out when dances came around, so she was never the wiser that I had a huge crush on her. All throughout high school, I had the pleasure of her company, so why ruin that? I decided during our junior year when I had heard that she'd accepted yet another request for her companionship as the quarterback's date for the next dance of the year to just let go of the dream that one day, she'd want me. And so it went. We graduated from high school in May. We went our separate ways, crossed paths at a restaurant and exchanged cell phone numbers, and reconnected. I have heard from her at least once a week, though recently, if I go two days without hearing from her, I check in. She has always given me the indication that she enjoys my company when we go out to lunch together, and laughter and endless chatting is a given. After countless times of having my mother and sister asking me why Jenn wasn't more to me, I threw up my hands and told them it just wasn't meant to be. Friendship is important to me, and the idea of scaring her away with my declaration of love just wasn't one to deal with. Waking up this morning and finding her there in the room with me was a shock, and I wasn't in the right mindset to acknowledge that my sister had asked Jenn to stay with me. It still wasn't sinking in. I think once the doctor came into the room to discuss the upcoming week of healing, we'd both begin to understand just what was expected of her. I just hoped she wouldn't abandon ship. OK, yes, she'd never do that, but would it cross her mind? When I walked into the room again, Jenn was going through her bag. "Oh, hey," she greeted me again. "I'm supposed to remind you to let Marita know before she leaves if you have any other concerns or pains. She's off at 6am." With her arm full of clothes, she pointed with her other hand. "Are you done in the bathroom? I was hoping to freshen up." "What for?" I asked as I covered myself with the sheet. "You're beautiful as always." "Oh, Chris," she chided and shook her head. "You're both biased and obligated to say so. We old people need to stick together," she claimed, to which I shook my head while rolling my eyes. Because she was always teasing that we were getting old. "And you have to say that because you know if you're mean to me, you'll be left all alone in that big house of yours when I storm out leaving you without anyone to pick you up when you faint." "Doesn't mean it's not true," I argued as she closed the bathroom door. If I was going too far, because I'd never said much of anything before indicating that I saw her as more than a friend, I could claim the concussion as an excuse.   Jenn Dr. Ryan came in just as Marita had indicated at around 7am. She was pleased with the tests she ran on Chris, but she was extremely glad to know that I had planned to spend the week with him at his place. "In the first few days, you should not spend much time on your feet. A shower is fine; but leave the door open so she can hear you. Try not to stand at the stove, for instance." "Oh, I've got meals covered all week," I interjected. "But what about walking?" "OK, good to know about the meals," Dr. Ryan responded. "No strenuous exercise, obviously, but walking is good. Jenn, perhaps plan to hold his arm so that you can feel his speed and stability. Fresh air is definitely helpful." "His bedroom is on the second floor," I informed the doctor. "Oh, I'll be taking the couch," Chris noted. "What?" I asked and shook my head. "Why would you?" "Actually, that's probably a great idea," Dr. Ryan responded. "Even if you help him up the stairs, he will need to come down. If everything is on the main floor, less to be concerned about." "Ha!" Chris teased. I stuck my tongue out at him. He was chivalrous, sure, but he was also stubborn. I could just as easily have stayed on the couch. "Well, I think I'm going to get the paperwork going for discharge," Dr. James told us both as she smirked at our playful nature. Jenn, if you have any concerns, don't hesitate to call my number." I reached out to take her card and gave her raised eyebrows. Her personal number? "I've found that having the patient or caregiver calling me instead of a hospital has dramatically helped in reducing unnecessary trips to the hospital, not to mention going through the painful process of hunting me or another doctor down. I'd say eight out of ten times? Yeah, one-minute Q & A, and the situation is handled. I can give up a minute here or there." I shook my head while smiling. Dr. Ryan just shrugged and winked at Chris. "Welp, are you ready to ditch this joint?" I asked Chris and laughed at my own expression. "Meals? Walks? And you're totally taking my bedroom," Chris added and pointed at me. "How long have you been planning these things?" "Before I fell asleep, I made a list of things I wanted to do or have handled. My brother will stop at my house to get the stuff I'll be texting him once I've assessed things at your house." "Which brother?" Chris asked. "Luke. Duh," I teased. He knew that too. Not only was Luke the brother I was closest to, but he lived closest also. "Well, I never know for sure which gospel writer it'll be," Chris teased. "Well, you know the answer is never John," I lamented. As you can probably surmise, my brothers' names are Matthew, Mark, and Luke, but my parents started with Luke (after me). Since my dad is John, he decided to go in reverse order. I never got that question wrong in Sunday school. "Anyways, he, Luke, will stop in each day at my house. I've contacted my troop and informed them of this situation. I'll be off work other than checking emails, so you can have my full attention." "Oh, well, lucky me," Chris teased. "I'd say so," I shot back. "So, my mail and house are covered. Luke will bring me my food and ingredients for all meals I have planned, and I will order the rest to be delivered." "My treat, of course," Chris interrupted. "I already have an account. I'll add whatever you want to get, but I'm paying." I huffed dramatically. "Ugh, fine," I whined. "We can watch movies, take naps, go for walks, and see how you're feeling each day." "I think Cindy called my boss last night, so I'll just check in with him when we get to my place," Chris noted. He inhaled for a second and then let out the air in a huff. "Jenn, are you sure you want to do this?" "Alright, that's twice," I accused. "What's with you? We went over this already. Why don't you want me to be with you? What did I do? Do you want me to call Doug?" "Jenn! No!" Chris exclaimed. He motioned for me to come sit by him. Seeing as he was still wearing that stupid gown, he couldn't exactly get up. I bowed my head and walked over to stand by the bed. He reached over to take my hand. "Sit, please." Once I did, he continued. "Jenn, I can't begin to explain to you how much it means to me that you're willing to help me out. This stupid accident, my totaled car, Cindy's vacation, my concussion, missing work, rearranging your life so that you can move in with me to babysit me;" "Wait, wait," I argued. "I'm not just some caregiver off the street. It's not like we just met at work a few years ago. I'm not just doing this because you need someone to help you. You're like; my best friend, Chris." I sighed and relaxed a little. "This is stupid, this little fit we're having. Look, you're in a situation that requires help. I'm in a situation that allows me to help you. You'd totally do the same for me, right?" "I mean, I guess, but your parents could easily;" "Chris, cut it out," I argued and playfully slapped his arm. "You'd totally do it and hardly take 'no' for an answer, right?" Chris nodded. "Let me do this. Let's make the most of it. We're always saying at lunches that we should do that more often. Well, we've got about a week's worth of meals to enjoy together. Besides," I teased, "you can see what kind of a cook I am. Maybe after this week, you'll see why it's good that we meet up at restaurants all the time." I shrugged, but Chris didn't laugh. "I just really appreciate it, Jenn," Chris stated quietly. "I'm not used to this, you know? I live alone. I don't depend on anyone. I haven't in years." "Yeah, well, me too," I agreed. "So, let's just see what happens, alright?" I requested and got up because the daytime nurse had knocked and entered the room. "Time to get dressed, young man," Georgie instructed and winked at me as she stood behind him to make sure his bottom remained covered. I turned and checked my bag to give him the decency of a little privacy. As we made our way to Chris' place, we made small talk. I had a list in my head of things needing to be done, but for now, I was thinking that picking up coffee and breakfast sandwiches seemed like the right move. The way Chris' face lit up at the mention of those things made me smile. Once in the house, I began going over my list of necessary items to make all the meals I'd planned for the week. I had a good idea of what I had at my own place since I had made my plans for the weeks' worth of meals a day earlier, so I just had to see what Chris had. I texted my brother the list, thanked him, and told Chris what needed to be purchased for delivery. Once that was all done, I took my things upstairs to his room and set myself up. I still felt bad for taking his room, but he assured me that he was going to sleep just fine on the couch. I only agreed if he was cool with me checking on him randomly throughout the night. He shrugged and agreed. He and I both handled work things for about an hour until the delivery came. I unpacked the groceries and made lunch. Chris joined me at the table, and we talked about movies we'd enjoy throughout the week. It was decided to go with any movies from our high school days for nostalgia's sake. While on a short walk around the block, I offered my arm, but he suggested holding my hand instead. I shrugged and gave it to him. I can't explain what happened, but something inside me awakened. My stomach tightened, my head swam a little, my heart rate sped up, and my skin tingled. He didn't seem to notice, so I tried to play it off and listen to what he was telling me.   Chris "What a beautiful day, huh?" I asked and looked around at our surroundings. "I'm surprised we don't even need a jacket. Easter is a couple weeks away, and I feel like it might even be shorts weather for some egg hunters this year." Jenn laughed. "Remember a couple years ago when you said that at lunch? It snowed on Easter morning that year. I made a comment to my mom about it when I woke up and found it white outside. I literally said aloud to my bedroom, 'Ha! Chris was totally wrong this time!'" "Alright, alright," I admitted and laughed with her. "I suppose I can be wrong some of the time." I squeezed her hand which made her look over at me. She had a different look in her eye than usual, but then again, we didn't ever hold hands like we were either. I admit, I suggested holding her hand for a few other reasons than just her ability to sense that I was losing stability. I had always wondered what it would be like to hold her hand. I wondered if I could get her to dance with me one day too. Maybe it wasn't too late to know what it felt like to hold her in my arms like I had wished for all those years ago. "Shall we go once more around, or was that enough for the day?" Jenn asked, which snapped me out of my little daydream. "Let's play it safe," I suggested and nodded toward the house. "Come on. I feel a little nap coming soon." "Ooo, a nap sounds amazing," Jenn reflected and smiled. "I might even sneak one in too. So, how's your head?" "Oh, I didn't even realize that the headache is practically gone," I informed her and smiled. I almost made mention about her ability to leave earlier than expected, but she didn't seem to like those comments. I guess it did make me seem hard on myself. I just didn't want her to feel like she had to be there if she didn't want to be. I made a pact with myself to stop the shitty comments degrading my self-esteem. She wasn't wrong. It was rather depressing to hear those words, even coming out of my own mouth. "That's great!" Jenn responded and gave me a thumbs up. "Well, let's get you inside and set you up for a nap." Jenn stopped and turned to face me. I had just realized that we were still holding hands. "In fact, let's head upstairs. We can both lie down, and that way, if you need something or don't feel right, I'll be right there." "Um, I mean, yeah. That seems like a good idea." "Right?" Jenn answered. "And also, you can take a shower, grab some fresh clothes, and then we can head down to have dinner and watch a movie or two." So, that's what we did. Jenn laid on the other part of my king size bed once I was set up on my usual side. We fell asleep facing away from each other. She'd set her alarm for two hours for "just in case." We didn't think a longer nap would be good for us. Sleeping the day away wasn't going to help me any, and she didn't want to be too awake at bedtime. I took my shower and tried not to think about the gorgeous woman sitting in my room waiting for me to finish. I thought about a quick release while in there, but even I was nervous that doing so would possibly cause me to become dizzy, and I certainly didn't need her to figure out what had caused me to pass out. Apparently, Luke had come while I was in the shower, so the kitchen was a little more stocked with meal stuff Jenn had planned for. When I came out of the shower, a few more items were sitting on her bag too, so I guessed she'd put those things in the bathroom for herself to use once I was situated downstairs on the couch. Dinner was awesome. The movies were fun and provided several opportunities to laugh, talk about memories that came from the time we had seen the movie or who we saw it with. My mom called to check in on me, and Cindy apparently texted Jenn to let her know that they had made it safely to their destination. Jenn tucked me in, and then she retired upstairs to go to bed. I think she checked in on me a few times, but she didn't disturb me. I woke up to smells of coffee and breakfast. This chick sure knew the way to my heart, intentional or not. I sat up and jumped when Jenn came walking in with a plate and fresh cup of coffee. "Good morning! Rise and shine," Jenn greeted me and set the items down on my coffee table. She left me alone for a minute and then brought her own plate and coffee mug in with her to join me. I generally preferred to eat at the kitchen table for all meals, but this just felt; natural. I really liked it. We checked in on work stuff, watched a little daytime television, walked around the block holding hands, ate lunch, took a little trip to the pharmacy to pick up my prescriptions and a few other things Jenn needed. I wasn't sure. I stayed in the car because she said she'd just run in to grab them along with my meds. When we got home, she took me by the hand and led me upstairs so we could take a nap. There weren't many words. We did that a lot lately. It was like we could just communicate without using all the words. We were falling into a nice routine which seemed to be working for us. I fell asleep facing her back this time.   Jenn When I woke up, I realized first that my back was pressed up to something, and something else was holding me there. I opened my eyes to find myself being spooned by Chris. I froze. Wait, why was this so incredibly comfortable? Was it simply because I hadn't been intimate with anyone in; ? Well, it had been a long time. He stirred behind me and squeezed me to his body. Good; ness, did it feel amazing, or what? I closed my eyes and let myself imagine what could happen if I allowed myself the idea of being with Chris. The way it felt to hold his hand was really nice. The way we were always laughing, talking, being open with one another; oh crap! Was my mom possibly right about him? Had I never even given the idea a thought because we'd been friends for so long? I slid my hand down the arm he had over my stomach and rested it on top of his. I sighed and tried to imagine what a life with him could look like. Oh, gosh. What was I doing? Was I just caught up in this special circumstance where we happened to both be off work, hanging out with no obligations? Well, it was only Day Two, right? Couldn't I just see where it went? Chris stirred behind me, so I waited to see what he'd do. Slowly, he pulled back from me and gently slid his hand out from under mine. He must have assumed I was still sleeping. I inhaled deeply and stirred as if his movement woke me. "Hmm, hey," I greeted him and turned to face him. He'd slid far enough away that it didn't feel too awkward. "How'd you sleep?" Nothing came across as awkward, so we went on with our day and continued to go on with the day as usual. Days Three and Four went very much the same, each event bringing us closer together. A routine had been setting in, and the two of us seemed to enjoy the familiarity of each other and the circumstances in which we'd found ourselves. On Day Five, I found myself feeling rather sleepy during the late morning walk, so Chris pleaded for me to allow him to make us some lunch this time. I nodded and rested back into my cozy living room chair as the TV lulled me to sleep.   Chris So, I was making lunch when I realized that Jenn was fast asleep on the chair. I knew I could just leave her there, but I was going to be good for a nap too, so I ate my sandwich after packing hers up in a baggie and walked into the living room to assess the best approach. I covered her with a blanket since she had her hands tucked into her armpits and slid my arms beneath her to carry her up to the bedroom. Once she was settled, I faced her and smiled at the beautiful woman lying beside me in my bed. I leaned forward and kissed her forehead before closing my eyes to fall asleep. What woke me actually surprised me. It wasn't the movement on the bed, but the little kiss I felt against my cheek. I started a bit, but the hand holding mine just squeezed it. "Hi there," Jenn greeted me and smiled as she inhaled deeply. "I must have fallen asleep. Did you carry me upstairs, or did I just stay too asleep to not realize it? Oh; and lunch?" "You were out before I had the bread on the counter," I teased. "I ate quickly and put yours in a bag for after our naps." I took my turn to inhale deeply. I'd had the best sleep during all these naps. I didn't want to imagine what else was going away when the week was over. "Well, shower time if you want," Jenn mentioned. "I'm going to go downstairs to eat and set out the stuff for dinner." She looked over as she slid her hand out of mine. "You good?" "Yep," I answered instinctively. "See you down there." "You betcha," she answered and pointed at me and winked as she smiled and headed toward the door. I was about to get up when she came back in suddenly. "Oh, Chris?" "Hmm?" "Thanks for doing that," she answered. "I have had some great naps. I feel like this week has been a vacation, and it's the best I've ever had. I just; I appreciate that, um; I just appreciate it." "Well, I won't be getting in any more accidents," I teased. "You had better not!" she agreed. "We got lucky with this one only messing with your head a little. I don't want to know how bad it could have been," she added. "I'm kinda getting used to having you around. Might need to step up our dinner dates to once a week instead of once every other month, right? Well, unless you're sick of me." "Nope, definitely not that," I answered quietly. "What?" she yelled as she descended the stairs. "I guess we'll see," I teased. Her laughter made me smile. Dinner was phenomenal as usual. Jenn had a real knack for cooking. I didn't do so badly at it, particularly with the foods I tended to gravitate to since I was almost always only cooking for me, but having her bring in these different dishes made me wish the week was going to last longer. And not just because it was someone else making the dishes. It was Jenn, and I wanted it all: the time, the food, the girl. Yes, especially the girl. Rather than heading to the living room after dinner, I offered to do the dishes. "Go take a bath in the tub. It has jets. Go relax. I promise, if I feel even the least bit lightheaded, I'll sit down at the table. But I'll be fine. Go relax before we watch tonight's movie. We only picked one, remember?" "Thanks, I think I'll do that," she answered. I was relieved. Jenn needed to enjoy the amenities of this "vacation" as she'd called it. I was thrilled that she was enjoying the time with me as much as I was loving this time with her. I hoped it would actually lead to more meals spent together. Who knew what the future held, right? That night, once she'd made sure I was set for the night, she headed upstairs. I was flipping through channels not even acknowledging what was on the television. I was about to turn off the TV when I heard her coming down the stairs. I went ahead and set the remote on the table and pretended to be asleep. I figured she'd come over to check on me, and (forgive me, but; ) maybe I'd be able to sneak a peek. She wore shorts and a tank top to bed, at least while she'd been sleeping over, and I wondered if I might get to see a little something when she bent over to check on me. Rather than coming over to the couch, though, Jenn walked into the kitchen. As I turned to see what she was doing, I found myself staring at her cute, little panty-covered ass. She was reaching up into the cabinet for something. I wasn't sure what it was that she needed so badly, but it was enough for her to keep trying. Now was my chance. I had no idea what I was going to do, but the time was there, and I was taking the chance. I walked up behind Jenn and pressed into her as I reached up into the cabinet to get the box on the top shelf. My mouth had gone dry from staring at her, and my heart was pounding. As I brought the box down, I recognized the label. What the hell did she need condoms for? "Jenn?" "Chris," she replied in a whisper. "What's up?" "I, um; I thought you'd be asleep," she justified. "I;" "; needed condoms in the middle of the night?" "Yes," she answered and exhaled a ragged breath. She was shaking. "Why?" I asked as I set the box on the counter. I leaned forward as I shut the cabinet door and smiled a little to myself as I could feel her ass pressed up against my crotch. "Jenn, what's going on?" "I was going to check on you," she answered and, only to surprise me more, rested her head against my chest. "I; I was going to see if you, um;" I leaned down to brush my lips along her neck. "To see if I; what, Jenn?" Her response was just as I'd hoped. She pressed her bottom into my groin and moaned as I licked her earlobe. "What do you want, Jenn?" I whispered into her ear. With a moan, Jenn looked up at me with pleading eyes. "What is it?" "Kiss me," she breathed and reached up to slide her hand behind my head and into my hair. I leaned down and put my lips to hers. Fireworks. Good God! It was nothing like I had imagined, and so much more amazing than I thought possible. Jenn's moans indicated that she felt the same. To be continued. Based on a post by cilma rae, for Literotica.

Friendzone Skeptics: Part 1. Old classmates spend a week together, and find more. Based on a post by cilma rae. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. Chris Benbury and Jennifer Sanders tell the tale of how their friendship took decades to transform into a life connection. We're going to let them tell just how it happened. I'm Jennifer Sanders. In high school, I was Jenny, or Jenn. One fall day in the early nineties, Chris and I met at our high school. When? What, like the exact moment? Heck, I dunno. It was a small school, and everyone knew everyone; for the most part. It wasn't until after college that we'd connected again. Just friends, we'd meet up for lunch here and there. A text about family would show up, and one of us would respond with a smile or a few updates on their own life. He was always supportive of my goals, and I was very proud to know him and to witness all he had accomplished as well. Chris would date here and there, but there was never anything serious. I was so busy trying to move up in my career field that sometimes, I'd not even realize that two months had gone by since my last; um, well, even the thought of sex was rare. I was pretty happy excelling in the successes of my own business. It was when I turned 35 that I realized I might have let a little too much time go by. "Jenn," my mom lamented in her usual way on our weekly call, "when am I gonna have grand babies?" "Um, Mom? You have six grandchildren," I reminded her as I thought about my three nephews and three nieces produced by the mix of my three brothers and their amazing wives. "Oh, Jennifer," Mom chided, "you know what I mean. You're my only daughter. No boyfriend, at least that I've heard of. No talk of relationships at all. What about Chris? Do you still talk to him? He was always such a sweet boy in high school. You mentioned that you two keep in touch, right?" "Oh, Mother!" I argued. "Chris is a friend, a very good one at that. It's not like that though." "Well, just think on it, OK?" she requested as if my answer wasn't acceptable. "You never know. I mean, remember how I told you that I didn't realize I was meant to be with your father until;" "Until he kissed you, I know," I mocked and shook my head as I had said each word exactly as she had, only my words were dripping with sarcasm. "Mom, I have never been in a position to kiss Chris. He's a good friend. He dates. We share stories and encourage each other in our work ventures. It's just not like that." "OK, I'm just saying;" she announced as she always did when she finally gave up. "Are you coming for Easter?" "Of course, Mom," I answered as I pinched the bridge of my nose. "I'll bring the pistachio salad as usual, and it's my turn to bring their basket contents this year." "Oh, honey," Mom noted and signed. "I know you're the only one without kids, but the boys sure do appreciate that you participate in the 'taking turns' idea for the kids." I couldn't help but smile as she called my 31 , 32, and 34 year-old brothers "the boys." I think I'd actually have to put more brain power into grasping who they were if she were to refer to them as "my brothers." She had always grouped them together when speaking with me. "Oh, believe me," I corrected of her apology, "it's not only no bother, but I'm stoked to get to fill their baskets once every four years. I look forward to earning my properly worded title of 'Best Aunt Ever' twice in those years. Naturally, I have that honor every Christmas!" "Yes, well, just don't show up your brothers with too expensive gifts," she reminded me as she did all the time. She was unaware that I made sure to reach out to my sisters-in-law each year to not only get great (and appropriate) gifts for the family celebration, but also added a few for under their trees in their own homes which would be marked from "Santa." It made my heart full to give them a little extra since I had the means to do it. As I laid in bed that night, I thought about what my mom had suggested. Chris? Really? Had I ever thought about that option? I scoffed and shook my head in the dark. Nah. He was just a friend! I was about to fall asleep when my phone chirped. It was charging on the table next to my bed, so I reached over blindly and picked it up. "I'm really sorry if this is waking you, but I need to talk to you." I didn't think twice and called Chris' sister, Cindy, to see what was going on. We hadn't talked in a long while, but I had her number saved from a surprise party we had thrown for Chris when he had turned 30. "Jenn?" Cindy questioned when answering on the second ring. "Yeah, Cindy, it's me," I confirmed. "What's up?" "Chris was in a car accident!" she exclaimed and let out a sigh as she took the moment to catch her bearings. "Well, oh, gosh," I reacted as I wasn't sure what the severity was. "Is he OK?" I asked as most humans would think to ask next. "Yes, thank God!" Cindy answered and hiccupped. "Oh, I guess I should have led with that. His car is totaled thanks to the jerk who cut him off, but we are at the hospital because he has some injuries." "That makes sense," I replied and shook my head. "Cindy, what's up? I mean, I appreciate the call, and I am happy to check in on him tomorrow, but;" "Well, that's just it," Cindy quickly interrupted. "Um, yeah; so, Dex and I were supposed to be leaving tonight for a week away. Chris is going to need some assistance, so I was wondering, you know, if maybe you could help out?" "Help out?" I asked, dumbfounded. "Cindy, what exactly does 'need some assistance' mean?" "Um, well; he has a concussion, so the doctor mentioned that he shouldn't be left alone for a while," she explained. "No more than a week or so, I think. I mean, as his only sibling, it was logical that I was asked to do it, you know? But we have these tickets, and the trip;" "So, how would it work?" I asked before she rubbed in her little romantic vacation anymore. "He will obviously not be able to work. Would he be able to come to stay at my place, or?" "Oh, I asked that too," Cindy answered. "The doctor said it is best at his place since he knows it the best. You know, corners, walls, and stuff in case he gets dizzy." "So, I'd have to move into his place?" "Yeah," she answered and got quiet. I ran over the short list in my head of other people who could possibly take the position of which I was being offered and realized there was no one else who could do it. His mom was too old and didn't get around very well. His dad was out of the picture. His guy friends were either busy with their married lives or irresponsible enough to not trust in such a position. No, Cindy was right to call me. Now I had to get going. Did I pack? What about my place? Could I leave to check on it throughout the week? Could he come with me? So many questions. "Jenn, are you still there?" I nearly dropped the phone when I heard Cindy calling out to me. "Shoot! Oh, Cindy, I'm sorry. Yes, tell the doctor I'll be there within the hour. I'll grab my things and figure out the other stuff tomorrow. Will you be there?" "Oh, um, we were going to go since he's asleep. Did you need me to stay;" "No, go," I answered and shook my head as I said it. "Go have a blast on your trip. Check in as you can, but don't worry. I'll take care of him." "Oh, thank you, Jenn! I knew you'd be there for him." We continued our niceties as I got dressed again and packed while she told me his room number and promised to text me the information too. We hung up as I zipped my bad shut and headed for the bedroom door. I pointed at the several places my most immediately needed items were usually located and found that I'd packed them all, including my phone charger.     When I entered the hospital, I made my way to the elevator to go straight to Chris' room. I knew it was after hours for the most part, but if I was going to be his person, I had to get in there to speak with the doctor to find out what was required of me. "Excuse me? Can I help you?" a nurse asked as I was looking at the wall to find which direction I needed to go to find the room. "I'm here to see Chris Benbury," I explained. "My name is Jennifer;" "Sanders?" She questioned and nodded when I showed surprise. "Sorry. Chris' sister, Cindy, told us to be expecting you. I'm Marita, and I was here when Chris was brought in, so you can come to me if you have any questions or concerns until 6am when the shift changes. Come with me, hun, and we'll get you comfortable in his room. When I see the doctor, I'll send him in to answer your questions." "Thank you," I answered quietly. The severity of Chris' injuries was still in question, but the fact that I was walking in a hospital being led by a nurse hit me a little. I felt the emotions welling up, so I put up my finger as if to request that we stop so I could collect myself. "Oh, honey! It's alright!" Marita sympathized and rubbed my back. "He's going to be just fine!" I laughed a little at her need to comfort me and shook my head as I wiped my eyes. "Oh, my gosh. This is so stupid. I can't believe I'm standing here crying. I don't know what's come over me!" I inhaled deeply and accepted the tissue Marita offered. As I wiped my eyes, I let out another laugh. "I'm alright. It's just that I am standing here in a hospital, and the sudden realization that Chris could have been really hurt badly, or even;" "Oops! No, no, girl," Marita chided. "No, we aren't going down that road. Chris is going to be just fine. He just got banged up a little. We are monitoring him well, but once you take him home, he'll improve each day. It's just the concussion that has us worried a little bit." "I appreciate it," I responded and nodded. "Thank you. Thanks for letting me get this out before we go in there." "Honey, I gotchu," Marita offered and patted my back again. "Ready? He's right in here." I nodded, so the nurse gave a gentle knock on the door and then pushed it open. It would appear that she did the knocking thing as a habit, but she also seemed to know he was going to be asleep when we walked in. "He has a concussion from the collision. From what I heard, he was turning right onto the street when an impatient son of a b, ," she began to say but stopped herself and cleared her throat. "Excuse me, I mean; when the other driver came along on the shoulder to pass him. I don't know for sure, but the police indicated that the man was being impatient and tried to go around illegally. Because the other driver wasn't paying attention, Chris' continued proper turn into his lane caused a sudden need for the other guy to have to swerve and slammed directly into Chris' car." "Yeah," I replied as I bent over to look at the face of the man who held the honor of one of my longest running friendships, "Cindy mentioned that his car was totaled. It's a shame," I noted as I pushed some hair from Chris' forehead, "because he loved that car. He had it ordered exactly the way he had wanted it only about nine months ago." "That is a shame," Marita echoed. "Well, he's going to have some bruises and aches and pains for a good few days, but other than that, it's the dizziness which might be an issue." Marita continued to check stats and document them since she was in the room. "Well, I'll leave you to visit with him. You can pull out the bed, and the remote is next to his bed if you want to watch something. When I see the doctor, I'll let him know you're here and waiting for instructions." "Thank you, Marita," I responded and nodded.   My name is Christopher Benbury. This is how I got around to getting together with Jennnifer. "Jenn?" My best friend, Jenn Sanders, awoke and looked around as if to try figuring out where she was and who was calling her name. "Jenn? What are you doing here?" I repeated. "Hmm, Chris," she answered and raised her arms to stretch. The chair must have been comfortable, but I don't think she had expected to fall asleep quite so deeply. "Cindy called me after your accident," she explained. "Since she's got her trip with Dax, I came to be your aide for the next week as you heal." "She called you?" I asked and reached up to touch my head. "Ow, stupid headache. Oh, crap! Cindy's trip. Wasn't there anyone else she could have called?" "Wow," she answered sarcastically. "Thanks." "Oh, shit, Jenn," I responded suddenly. I wanted to smack my forehead for acting the way I was. It wasn't her fault I was in an accident, my car had been totaled, and I was waking up in a hospital. "Oh, crap, that's not what I meant. I just; why did she have to bother you?" "Well, I did the math as I pondered my ability to help out, and it comes down to the fact that I'm the only logical person since she's not available. Your mom isn't capable. Andy, Doug, and Erik are either married or, let's face it; not entirely responsible enough to hardly care for themselves; Doug," she muttered, though audibly. I couldn't blame her. Last she'd heard, Doug had locked himself out of his house in a drunken stupor and just slept on the concrete porch one late night. It turned out that he'd also opened his garage door and could have just gone into the house through there. Idiot. Had the weather been ten degrees colder, he could have died. When telling the story, though, he laughed all the way through it and proudly showed off his frozen burnt skin on his arm. I had to reach for Jenn's hand while he told his story to remind her that beating the crap out of the moron wasn't going to change anything. "OK, I suppose you have a point," I realized and laid my head back on the pillow. "Has the doctor been in?" "If he came in while I was sleeping, he didn't wake me up," she answered and stood up to stretch. "Would you want me to call Marita?" "Who?" I asked. Was I supposed to know who that was? Was she already trying to get out of helping me? Was Marita an aide who helped my mom? Why would Jenn know Mom's aides' names? "The nurse," she answered. "I can push the call button and have her come here to check on you, and maybe we could;" "Knock, knock!" Marita announced as she opened the door. "I thought I heard voices! Well, hello there, handsome! And good morning, Jennifer. Last time I was in here, you were hovering over him like a concerned lovebird." I looked over at Jenn, but she was watching Marita, and I couldn't see her face. Was she looking at me with concern? Lovebird? In all the time we'd be hanging out and talking, it had only ever been friendly. Lunches, a rare trip to the movies and shared popcorn, and texts almost every day. But more than friends? Why had Marita said it like that? "The doctor got called away to do surgery in the big city," Marita explained as she messed with the computer and attachments hooked up to my body, "so he left your case, Chris, with Dr. Chesney Ryan. She's due to come in at around 7am this morning. It's 5:30am now. Do either of you need anything? Chris, what is your pain level? Anything other than your head hurting, hun?" "Ask me again once I get out of bed," I requested and sighed. I pulled over the covers and realized I was in a gown. Well, crap. Nice way for my friend to see me for the first time in something other than normal clothes. Maybe I could hold the back together; "How about you, Jenn?" Marita asked. Fortunately, she was keeping Jenn's attention. Or maybe Jenn was just being kind and sparing me the humiliation. I held both sides of my gown together as I hurried to the bathroom to do my business. My friend. Jennifer Sanders and I met during our freshman year of high school. She was always kind to me. We hung out in large groups on occasion, and we laughed a lot when we sat next to one another in homeroom two years in a row. That was a lucky thing for me when many of the other parts of my life sucked so badly. I won't get into it, but let's just say, going to school was a blessing, especially when I got to see Jenn. I chickened out when dances came around, so she was never the wiser that I had a huge crush on her. All throughout high school, I had the pleasure of her company, so why ruin that? I decided during our junior year when I had heard that she'd accepted yet another request for her companionship as the quarterback's date for the next dance of the year to just let go of the dream that one day, she'd want me. And so it went. We graduated from high school in May. We went our separate ways, crossed paths at a restaurant and exchanged cell phone numbers, and reconnected. I have heard from her at least once a week, though recently, if I go two days without hearing from her, I check in. She has always given me the indication that she enjoys my company when we go out to lunch together, and laughter and endless chatting is a given. After countless times of having my mother and sister asking me why Jenn wasn't more to me, I threw up my hands and told them it just wasn't meant to be. Friendship is important to me, and the idea of scaring her away with my declaration of love just wasn't one to deal with. Waking up this morning and finding her there in the room with me was a shock, and I wasn't in the right mindset to acknowledge that my sister had asked Jenn to stay with me. It still wasn't sinking in. I think once the doctor came into the room to discuss the upcoming week of healing, we'd both begin to understand just what was expected of her. I just hoped she wouldn't abandon ship. OK, yes, she'd never do that, but would it cross her mind? When I walked into the room again, Jenn was going through her bag. "Oh, hey," she greeted me again. "I'm supposed to remind you to let Marita know before she leaves if you have any other concerns or pains. She's off at 6am." With her arm full of clothes, she pointed with her other hand. "Are you done in the bathroom? I was hoping to freshen up." "What for?" I asked as I covered myself with the sheet. "You're beautiful as always." "Oh, Chris," she chided and shook her head. "You're both biased and obligated to say so. We old people need to stick together," she claimed, to which I shook my head while rolling my eyes. Because she was always teasing that we were getting old. "And you have to say that because you know if you're mean to me, you'll be left all alone in that big house of yours when I storm out leaving you without anyone to pick you up when you faint." "Doesn't mean it's not true," I argued as she closed the bathroom door. If I was going too far, because I'd never said much of anything before indicating that I saw her as more than a friend, I could claim the concussion as an excuse.   Jenn Dr. Ryan came in just as Marita had indicated at around 7am. She was pleased with the tests she ran on Chris, but she was extremely glad to know that I had planned to spend the week with him at his place. "In the first few days, you should not spend much time on your feet. A shower is fine; but leave the door open so she can hear you. Try not to stand at the stove, for instance." "Oh, I've got meals covered all week," I interjected. "But what about walking?" "OK, good to know about the meals," Dr. Ryan responded. "No strenuous exercise, obviously, but walking is good. Jenn, perhaps plan to hold his arm so that you can feel his speed and stability. Fresh air is definitely helpful." "His bedroom is on the second floor," I informed the doctor. "Oh, I'll be taking the couch," Chris noted. "What?" I asked and shook my head. "Why would you?" "Actually, that's probably a great idea," Dr. Ryan responded. "Even if you help him up the stairs, he will need to come down. If everything is on the main floor, less to be concerned about." "Ha!" Chris teased. I stuck my tongue out at him. He was chivalrous, sure, but he was also stubborn. I could just as easily have stayed on the couch. "Well, I think I'm going to get the paperwork going for discharge," Dr. James told us both as she smirked at our playful nature. Jenn, if you have any concerns, don't hesitate to call my number." I reached out to take her card and gave her raised eyebrows. Her personal number? "I've found that having the patient or caregiver calling me instead of a hospital has dramatically helped in reducing unnecessary trips to the hospital, not to mention going through the painful process of hunting me or another doctor down. I'd say eight out of ten times? Yeah, one-minute Q & A, and the situation is handled. I can give up a minute here or there." I shook my head while smiling. Dr. Ryan just shrugged and winked at Chris. "Welp, are you ready to ditch this joint?" I asked Chris and laughed at my own expression. "Meals? Walks? And you're totally taking my bedroom," Chris added and pointed at me. "How long have you been planning these things?" "Before I fell asleep, I made a list of things I wanted to do or have handled. My brother will stop at my house to get the stuff I'll be texting him once I've assessed things at your house." "Which brother?" Chris asked. "Luke. Duh," I teased. He knew that too. Not only was Luke the brother I was closest to, but he lived closest also. "Well, I never know for sure which gospel writer it'll be," Chris teased. "Well, you know the answer is never John," I lamented. As you can probably surmise, my brothers' names are Matthew, Mark, and Luke, but my parents started with Luke (after me). Since my dad is John, he decided to go in reverse order. I never got that question wrong in Sunday school. "Anyways, he, Luke, will stop in each day at my house. I've contacted my troop and informed them of this situation. I'll be off work other than checking emails, so you can have my full attention." "Oh, well, lucky me," Chris teased. "I'd say so," I shot back. "So, my mail and house are covered. Luke will bring me my food and ingredients for all meals I have planned, and I will order the rest to be delivered." "My treat, of course," Chris interrupted. "I already have an account. I'll add whatever you want to get, but I'm paying." I huffed dramatically. "Ugh, fine," I whined. "We can watch movies, take naps, go for walks, and see how you're feeling each day." "I think Cindy called my boss last night, so I'll just check in with him when we get to my place," Chris noted. He inhaled for a second and then let out the air in a huff. "Jenn, are you sure you want to do this?" "Alright, that's twice," I accused. "What's with you? We went over this already. Why don't you want me to be with you? What did I do? Do you want me to call Doug?" "Jenn! No!" Chris exclaimed. He motioned for me to come sit by him. Seeing as he was still wearing that stupid gown, he couldn't exactly get up. I bowed my head and walked over to stand by the bed. He reached over to take my hand. "Sit, please." Once I did, he continued. "Jenn, I can't begin to explain to you how much it means to me that you're willing to help me out. This stupid accident, my totaled car, Cindy's vacation, my concussion, missing work, rearranging your life so that you can move in with me to babysit me;" "Wait, wait," I argued. "I'm not just some caregiver off the street. It's not like we just met at work a few years ago. I'm not just doing this because you need someone to help you. You're like; my best friend, Chris." I sighed and relaxed a little. "This is stupid, this little fit we're having. Look, you're in a situation that requires help. I'm in a situation that allows me to help you. You'd totally do the same for me, right?" "I mean, I guess, but your parents could easily;" "Chris, cut it out," I argued and playfully slapped his arm. "You'd totally do it and hardly take 'no' for an answer, right?" Chris nodded. "Let me do this. Let's make the most of it. We're always saying at lunches that we should do that more often. Well, we've got about a week's worth of meals to enjoy together. Besides," I teased, "you can see what kind of a cook I am. Maybe after this week, you'll see why it's good that we meet up at restaurants all the time." I shrugged, but Chris didn't laugh. "I just really appreciate it, Jenn," Chris stated quietly. "I'm not used to this, you know? I live alone. I don't depend on anyone. I haven't in years." "Yeah, well, me too," I agreed. "So, let's just see what happens, alright?" I requested and got up because the daytime nurse had knocked and entered the room. "Time to get dressed, young man," Georgie instructed and winked at me as she stood behind him to make sure his bottom remained covered. I turned and checked my bag to give him the decency of a little privacy. As we made our way to Chris' place, we made small talk. I had a list in my head of things needing to be done, but for now, I was thinking that picking up coffee and breakfast sandwiches seemed like the right move. The way Chris' face lit up at the mention of those things made me smile. Once in the house, I began going over my list of necessary items to make all the meals I'd planned for the week. I had a good idea of what I had at my own place since I had made my plans for the weeks' worth of meals a day earlier, so I just had to see what Chris had. I texted my brother the list, thanked him, and told Chris what needed to be purchased for delivery. Once that was all done, I took my things upstairs to his room and set myself up. I still felt bad for taking his room, but he assured me that he was going to sleep just fine on the couch. I only agreed if he was cool with me checking on him randomly throughout the night. He shrugged and agreed. He and I both handled work things for about an hour until the delivery came. I unpacked the groceries and made lunch. Chris joined me at the table, and we talked about movies we'd enjoy throughout the week. It was decided to go with any movies from our high school days for nostalgia's sake. While on a short walk around the block, I offered my arm, but he suggested holding my hand instead. I shrugged and gave it to him. I can't explain what happened, but something inside me awakened. My stomach tightened, my head swam a little, my heart rate sped up, and my skin tingled. He didn't seem to notice, so I tried to play it off and listen to what he was telling me.   Chris "What a beautiful day, huh?" I asked and looked around at our surroundings. "I'm surprised we don't even need a jacket. Easter is a couple weeks away, and I feel like it might even be shorts weather for some egg hunters this year." Jenn laughed. "Remember a couple years ago when you said that at lunch? It snowed on Easter morning that year. I made a comment to my mom about it when I woke up and found it white outside. I literally said aloud to my bedroom, 'Ha! Chris was totally wrong this time!'" "Alright, alright," I admitted and laughed with her. "I suppose I can be wrong some of the time." I squeezed her hand which made her look over at me. She had a different look in her eye than usual, but then again, we didn't ever hold hands like we were either. I admit, I suggested holding her hand for a few other reasons than just her ability to sense that I was losing stability. I had always wondered what it would be like to hold her hand. I wondered if I could get her to dance with me one day too. Maybe it wasn't too late to know what it felt like to hold her in my arms like I had wished for all those years ago. "Shall we go once more around, or was that enough for the day?" Jenn asked, which snapped me out of my little daydream. "Let's play it safe," I suggested and nodded toward the house. "Come on. I feel a little nap coming soon." "Ooo, a nap sounds amazing," Jenn reflected and smiled. "I might even sneak one in too. So, how's your head?" "Oh, I didn't even realize that the headache is practically gone," I informed her and smiled. I almost made mention about her ability to leave earlier than expected, but she didn't seem to like those comments. I guess it did make me seem hard on myself. I just didn't want her to feel like she had to be there if she didn't want to be. I made a pact with myself to stop the shitty comments degrading my self-esteem. She wasn't wrong. It was rather depressing to hear those words, even coming out of my own mouth. "That's great!" Jenn responded and gave me a thumbs up. "Well, let's get you inside and set you up for a nap." Jenn stopped and turned to face me. I had just realized that we were still holding hands. "In fact, let's head upstairs. We can both lie down, and that way, if you need something or don't feel right, I'll be right there." "Um, I mean, yeah. That seems like a good idea." "Right?" Jenn answered. "And also, you can take a shower, grab some fresh clothes, and then we can head down to have dinner and watch a movie or two." So, that's what we did. Jenn laid on the other part of my king size bed once I was set up on my usual side. We fell asleep facing away from each other. She'd set her alarm for two hours for "just in case." We didn't think a longer nap would be good for us. Sleeping the day away wasn't going to help me any, and she didn't want to be too awake at bedtime. I took my shower and tried not to think about the gorgeous woman sitting in my room waiting for me to finish. I thought about a quick release while in there, but even I was nervous that doing so would possibly cause me to become dizzy, and I certainly didn't need her to figure out what had caused me to pass out. Apparently, Luke had come while I was in the shower, so the kitchen was a little more stocked with meal stuff Jenn had planned for. When I came out of the shower, a few more items were sitting on her bag too, so I guessed she'd put those things in the bathroom for herself to use once I was situated downstairs on the couch. Dinner was awesome. The movies were fun and provided several opportunities to laugh, talk about memories that came from the time we had seen the movie or who we saw it with. My mom called to check in on me, and Cindy apparently texted Jenn to let her know that they had made it safely to their destination. Jenn tucked me in, and then she retired upstairs to go to bed. I think she checked in on me a few times, but she didn't disturb me. I woke up to smells of coffee and breakfast. This chick sure knew the way to my heart, intentional or not. I sat up and jumped when Jenn came walking in with a plate and fresh cup of coffee. "Good morning! Rise and shine," Jenn greeted me and set the items down on my coffee table. She left me alone for a minute and then brought her own plate and coffee mug in with her to join me. I generally preferred to eat at the kitchen table for all meals, but this just felt; natural. I really liked it. We checked in on work stuff, watched a little daytime television, walked around the block holding hands, ate lunch, took a little trip to the pharmacy to pick up my prescriptions and a few other things Jenn needed. I wasn't sure. I stayed in the car because she said she'd just run in to grab them along with my meds. When we got home, she took me by the hand and led me upstairs so we could take a nap. There weren't many words. We did that a lot lately. It was like we could just communicate without using all the words. We were falling into a nice routine which seemed to be working for us. I fell asleep facing her back this time.   Jenn When I woke up, I realized first that my back was pressed up to something, and something else was holding me there. I opened my eyes to find myself being spooned by Chris. I froze. Wait, why was this so incredibly comfortable? Was it simply because I hadn't been intimate with anyone in; ? Well, it had been a long time. He stirred behind me and squeezed me to his body. Good; ness, did it feel amazing, or what? I closed my eyes and let myself imagine what could happen if I allowed myself the idea of being with Chris. The way it felt to hold his hand was really nice. The way we were always laughing, talking, being open with one another; oh crap! Was my mom possibly right about him? Had I never even given the idea a thought because we'd been friends for so long? I slid my hand down the arm he had over my stomach and rested it on top of his. I sighed and tried to imagine what a life with him could look like. Oh, gosh. What was I doing? Was I just caught up in this special circumstance where we happened to both be off work, hanging out with no obligations? Well, it was only Day Two, right? Couldn't I just see where it went? Chris stirred behind me, so I waited to see what he'd do. Slowly, he pulled back from me and gently slid his hand out from under mine. He must have assumed I was still sleeping. I inhaled deeply and stirred as if his movement woke me. "Hmm, hey," I greeted him and turned to face him. He'd slid far enough away that it didn't feel too awkward. "How'd you sleep?" Nothing came across as awkward, so we went on with our day and continued to go on with the day as usual. Days Three and Four went very much the same, each event bringing us closer together. A routine had been setting in, and the two of us seemed to enjoy the familiarity of each other and the circumstances in which we'd found ourselves. On Day Five, I found myself feeling rather sleepy during the late morning walk, so Chris pleaded for me to allow him to make us some lunch this time. I nodded and rested back into my cozy living room chair as the TV lulled me to sleep.   Chris So, I was making lunch when I realized that Jenn was fast asleep on the chair. I knew I could just leave her there, but I was going to be good for a nap too, so I ate my sandwich after packing hers up in a baggie and walked into the living room to assess the best approach. I covered her with a blanket since she had her hands tucked into her armpits and slid my arms beneath her to carry her up to the bedroom. Once she was settled, I faced her and smiled at the beautiful woman lying beside me in my bed. I leaned forward and kissed her forehead before closing my eyes to fall asleep. What woke me actually surprised me. It wasn't the movement on the bed, but the little kiss I felt against my cheek. I started a bit, but the hand holding mine just squeezed it. "Hi there," Jenn greeted me and smiled as she inhaled deeply. "I must have fallen asleep. Did you carry me upstairs, or did I just stay too asleep to not realize it? Oh; and lunch?" "You were out before I had the bread on the counter," I teased. "I ate quickly and put yours in a bag for after our naps." I took my turn to inhale deeply. I'd had the best sleep during all these naps. I didn't want to imagine what else was going away when the week was over. "Well, shower time if you want," Jenn mentioned. "I'm going to go downstairs to eat and set out the stuff for dinner." She looked over as she slid her hand out of mine. "You good?" "Yep," I answered instinctively. "See you down there." "You betcha," she answered and pointed at me and winked as she smiled and headed toward the door. I was about to get up when she came back in suddenly. "Oh, Chris?" "Hmm?" "Thanks for doing that," she answered. "I have had some great naps. I feel like this week has been a vacation, and it's the best I've ever had. I just; I appreciate that, um; I just appreciate it." "Well, I won't be getting in any more accidents," I teased. "You had better not!" she agreed. "We got lucky with this one only messing with your head a little. I don't want to know how bad it could have been," she added. "I'm kinda getting used to having you around. Might need to step up our dinner dates to once a week instead of once every other month, right? Well, unless you're sick of me." "Nope, definitely not that," I answered quietly. "What?" she yelled as she descended the stairs. "I guess we'll see," I teased. Her laughter made me smile. Dinner was phenomenal as usual. Jenn had a real knack for cooking. I didn't do so badly at it, particularly with the foods I tended to gravitate to since I was almost always only cooking for me, but having her bring in these different dishes made me wish the week was going to last longer. And not just because it was someone else making the dishes. It was Jenn, and I wanted it all: the time, the food, the girl. Yes, especially the girl. Rather than heading to the living room after dinner, I offered to do the dishes. "Go take a bath in the tub. It has jets. Go relax. I promise, if I feel even the least bit lightheaded, I'll sit down at the table. But I'll be fine. Go relax before we watch tonight's movie. We only picked one, remember?" "Thanks, I think I'll do that," she answered. I was relieved. Jenn needed to enjoy the amenities of this "vacation" as she'd called it. I was thrilled that she was enjoying the time with me as much as I was loving this time with her. I hoped it would actually lead to more meals spent together. Who knew what the future held, right? That night, once she'd made sure I was set for the night, she headed upstairs. I was flipping through channels not even acknowledging what was on the television. I was about to turn off the TV when I heard her coming down the stairs. I went ahead and set the remote on the table and pretended to be asleep. I figured she'd come over to check on me, and (forgive me, but; ) maybe I'd be able to sneak a peek. She wore shorts and a tank top to bed, at least while she'd been sleeping over, and I wondered if I might get to see a little something when she bent over to check on me. Rather than coming over to the couch, though, Jenn walked into the kitchen. As I turned to see what she was doing, I found myself staring at her cute, little panty-covered ass. She was reaching up into the cabinet for something. I wasn't sure what it was that she needed so badly, but it was enough for her to keep trying. Now was my chance. I had no idea what I was going to do, but the time was there, and I was taking the chance. I walked up behind Jenn and pressed into her as I reached up into the cabinet to get the box on the top shelf. My mouth had gone dry from staring at her, and my heart was pounding. As I brought the box down, I recognized the label. What the hell did she need condoms for? "Jenn?" "Chris," she replied in a whisper. "What's up?" "I, um; I thought you'd be asleep," she justified. "I;" "; needed condoms in the middle of the night?" "Yes," she answered and exhaled a ragged breath. She was shaking. "Why?" I asked as I set the box on the counter. I leaned forward as I shut the cabinet door and smiled a little to myself as I could feel her ass pressed up against my crotch. "Jenn, what's going on?" "I was going to check on you," she answered and, only to surprise me more, rested her head against my chest. "I; I was going to see if you, um;" I leaned down to brush my lips along her neck. "To see if I; what, Jenn?" Her response was just as I'd hoped. She pressed her bottom into my groin and moaned as I licked her earlobe. "What do you want, Jenn?" I whispered into her ear. With a moan, Jenn looked up at me with pleading eyes. "What is it?" "Kiss me," she breathed and reached up to slide her hand behind my head and into my hair. I leaned down and put my lips to hers. Fireworks. Good God! It was nothing like I had imagined, and so much more amazing than I thought possible. Jenn's moans indicated that she felt the same. To be continued. Based on a post by cilma rae, for Literotica.

Don't you see, sensei I'm just as disappointed in myself And ready to die Just as I relay the message, Spray me with your morbid essence Don't, croak, you fool, You've only a spoon ful of sugar left to go The dose is coming up your throat, — you didn't know to throw up Grab the rope and go up Before gravity has crushed your —thought: Stupid boy, you don't want to die— Nor to do, but oh, do we have it coming Silly mortal, overlords and governed, Short of morals, steady coming at your doorstep So goes our concert! And so goes our concept for divorce, And sure of course, Your four corse meal, and/or dessert This is just devastating, genetics made me The sort at sorting words, but surfing, Sure. Ever temporarily the cadence changes, Still they say “you've been betrayed” But never had a friend I made made As good as death and God have been to me For everything you're meant to be, Plus everything you're meant to me, I go, unwanted, troubled and disgusted at my own immortal outcome. Sure. My back hurts and I'm wounded, Heartbroke, Thrust in every cardinal direction Also, honored at the mark of magic wand Upon her shoulder; And so, Just as soon as the sun and moon, Does the fire escape set a perfect path For outward destruction of the bricks and mortar Or your alter (This we talk about, to some effect Is your repression and affective form of supernatural perfection) But forget the makeup; I can make you up to be a star And not of wars and other worlds, But those that come before us, Carson, and the others Paar before that. But, I think not dear sir How wrong you are, A wretched bird, Set not to fly, but O father Wit and relay messages, The passage said, and set to clocks, The past was won and so the future altered, But dear feathered father, Mortal you are not But just another triumph Of my god; And set the mirror to the magnets Camera, lights and action, Magic— All the signs of the dawn, and the mad don Red Dawn came upon us, called the Red Man Tom, from other, over, under Still was my mistake to mumble such Or put upon the tongue As such assumption Still— wonder? Bird, shut up; Love I dusk And lust I soak In all the frittered dust and feathers, Colors, coming up as mister Chuck and wood, and wait and ponder Slithered this to wonder, not a rock, But potted fern, Asunder Thunderstorm And wicked rain And fair the back A tide had come And sitting there upon the shore, Was us, and 12 apostles She's a Brick— Seemingly out of nowhere, A RED BRICK HOUSE falls very perfectly from the SKY and into OZ. oh good, my house is here. House. [the festival project ™] But I don't want to make house! Then play it! I don't want to play house it is BORING. You play it— they want it. But I don't want it. Then forget it! What! Listen kid, a job's a job! {Enter The Multiverse} Wrong, this is wrong— everything is wrong. What's wrong, Rob? I'll be back. ROB LOWE has just played TRUTH OR DARE L E G E N D S if I could get inside your head For just a second Bread and butter Heaven, hell, And other places I have wandered But oh, wonder This is never what I wanted, Was it? No sir. Sure, I set you off, No sooner had you got a gun and shot me. Handsome fucker. I'll bet. Wrong act. Wrong award show. Wrong hat and a baseball bat, Peanut butter and a nice cold cheesecake, Don't forget to order cheesesteak For your cat. A carnivore at odds with the other worlds, And also fused to us; This drifting back and forth Between the Rock And Hollywood Has got to stop. ((The world is toxic.)) the legend of… L. JONES It's you! BLŪ AH, crap. L. JONES Listen, I got something for you. BLŪ Where did your bird go? L.JONES What bird? CUT TO: Now open that. No wait! It's a trap! THE VAULT inside THE CRYPT at 30 ROCK has been opened. I keep looking down at my phone As if I'm expecting a phone call Or incoming message from God But the worlds to a song Are all jumbled up in my Concious I don't want to talk about it I feel Nauseous Everyone is being obnoxious Even my own blood I don't want to function I just want some French toast crunch For lunch Nostalgia I got a whole inch taller on the peloton Holla Now I got a body, Broader, So close to Broadway But I never go there That's a tall order Of “gotta have money” I mean live theatre It's fine I'll eat here And repeat these things till they just rhyme Line them all up like a context, Story Someday I'm gonna cut my own check Watch me lol none of this rhymes without a hard Brooklyn accent ; Guess you can't hack it! Send you ass packin! I said “That's whack son!” Then I went back blonde Now they want Backend, Contract, Off the top, Royalties Residuals I'm an individual with insidious syntax And yet I'm ridiculed Truly I'm a tit-for-tat Or particle of all you are Circular centrifuge, I trickle down your tentacles (Eugh) Choke the chicken just to give the cat a chicken bowl, Chick fil et and pret a tair just to get a ritual Espresso and a quick snack So I can get my dick wrapped In chocolate and licorice because the shit is edible Damn that I guess they set a damn trap By putting out the welcome mat, Then strapping Like a mothafuckin' straight jacket Matter fact, I look a nap in it, Then magic tricked the slip effective Compliments of Michael Jackson Or was it tech nine? Maybe I should get my Mind right I lost it once I guess I've better find it If I am, in fact, A diamond in the rough It's probably blooded it up enough That you should dig it up and shine it; Better yet, Somebody outta pick it up And sign it, Cause I write enough To put a vision To a blind man It's Fran Fine, man I'm behind, man The shadowgov had put me on a diet My bad I noticed that they tried to shut me up But couldn't stop the words or other stuff That just keeps coming out of my head I put coconuts as butter onto my bread And thinking thoughts of Carl cox As I drift off in my bed, I said, “It shouldn't be a problem, officer” As I reached for the gun And he aimed it at my death. That's an impossible apocalyptic suicide— Did you invite the devil in? I said “Nah, but that guy did.” The problem is, I pointed over yonder to a ghost Who also knows that I'm a well respected psychic; Nevermind a sidekick, side bitch in a sidecar, Psych ward, Sike! We spike war on your kind! So far, If I make history tonight, The other side decides their psalm is just as likely The third reike. Okay, strike one: I'm gonna turn your lights off. Strike two : you do and say what I do: Strike three: we're gonna make you suicidal I specialize in denying rights for high profits But big brother, or boss— What if my glove fits? The instance it does, We lock you up with no service, Your world becomes dark And your words become worthless Oh shit. This is not a good rap song. Like, at all. I must say, I do agree, You lose your trust, but silently Denied is all your trouble, Till it just begins to bubble up Until the cookie crumbles— See that feeling in your stomach? This is bigger than the money, girl — They want your soul, and then the world! I told you never call him. I didn't! Then explain this: [Skrillex] *sharp inward sigh* CUT IMMIDIATLEH TO STAN You know what! That's it! I don't care how handsome or rich and famous he is! This has to stop! KYLE Hey, wait just a minute— STAN SHUT UP KYLE. KYLE You shut up! STAN You're starting to sound just like him! KYLE Take that back! STAN I won't take it back! You all might have forgotten who you are, but I haven't!after of fact, I bet to Cartman, you're still that stupid little Jew kid! KYLE That's IT. KYLE takes out his phone. what are you doing? …I'm tweeting about this. I thought it was X now… It is, but you can't ‘x' anything, it's still calledl tweeting. I guess youre right. —and I'm tagging Cartman ! STAN Are you serious? Oh shit, this is social suicide. …did I ever explain this storyline? …I don't know, did i? I'd gotten so focused on this impending doom looming over me with this whole lawsuit that I'd forgotten entire worlds and whole documents. Even more terrifying, was the sudden quiet and the onset guilt that came over me for getting distracted. But I couldn't remove myself from it entirely—- it seemed to have ruined everything. It wasn't just motorcycle noises, it was like a nervousness and angst twisting in my stomach for months and months, until finally, as the court dates started approaching, it was peaceful, or rather, normal, all of a sudden. It couldn't be peaceful because now that the extreme noise was gone, I knew it had been planted all long— but what was the purpose? I'd lost two years not knowing, and though there were albums, they were never what I wanted. Now I was sorting through the documents of the show like it was the rubble of a decimated building— completely demolished, and I hadn't the slightest clue the contexts or the storylines anymore. It was pain and suffering, but not in the legal context. It was a creative disaster— I hadn't any idea in the slightest where I'd left my audience before I was forced to abandon them. But I was forced to choose, at times, between soap and toilet paper, or eventually, food, and water— or a phone. Eventually, this too became a pattern of the impossible— trying my hardest to do what I thought had been my purpose, but for far, being so endlessly sabotaged, even ridiculed and humiliated, and still, I couldn't understand why. I was tired— and somehow, even though I'd wanted to be left alone, I was the target. Worse was that I assumed it to be bigger than I thought and completely out of control— I thought immediately back to how my best friend from middle school had been attacked, and how she was made to think that it was me…to the point that she'd become obsessive about it to call my mom over it. And as far as the court was concerned, to the wrong ears or wrong eyes, anything I'd published in the festival project could look troublesome, like the ramblings of a mad mad, or schizo, or uncontrolled obsessive thoughts— because the biggest secrets of all, the things that tied together these fictional worlds and plots, were my own real life experience. The inability in a court of law to detail the podcast, which had started as meltdown some would call grandiose over an almost long forgotten rockstar and a porn model — and the entries into the festival project that followed, which included high concepts, off-kilter comedy, politics, and even fringed on social justice. Nothing I ever would have wanted and especially over money, but the lawsuit wasn't about money at all. In fact, at any moment I would have chosen to die and have it all stop if it weren't for my very young son being left alone. Though recently the dread had overcome with a sense of unbearable loss and agony, encrypted with suicidal thoughts and wants, reeling for human touch, the overbearing factor seemed to be that if I killed myself, I was giving someone what they wanted. I was really much too tired to go on, but leaving behind the world in entirety, in my very own way of beliefs wasn't just “shitutting it off”, it was starting it over. Understandably and undeniably immortal in its nature, the instances of God I had left spoke with a reminiscence of being born again, and having to remember which is it I'd wanted to start off. It was an unachievable overload of chaos and disruption, a level of corruption that spoke to something so dark and sinister it seemed biblical — then, again, I tried to wrap my mind around a way to rebuild a positive world from hope and thought, or manifest reality, but this is the very experience I'd felt was intended all along. The motorcycles weren't merely meant to destroy my career, or my will power, or force— they were, but also they were made to play upon my most valuable asset, the power of thought, to make it impossible to become something other than what was wanted; to use my own mind against itself and destroy my way of thought by using vibrations that could not be shut out, or stopped— they followed me to the sound collective, to Shakespeare in the park, the bank, the doctors office— it was as if they knew and understood my very thoughts, my process. It was of nothing at all to corrupt every single body and brain who would surround me or come close— by using the power that seemed supernatural enough, but indeed were powered by money, and technology. Perhaps, in this essence, I thought, was the purest display of defective intention itself; the mere thought that this indeed was rather Good Vs. Evil or God and The Devil would easily be written off as a diseased way of thought. The social world and constructs had been built around being open minded to a system of psychology that was intrinsically rather corrupt. I knew this could only be fought with what I knew, and what I could draw from as logic. I didn't want to go to court because I knew the people I would be fighting were liars, and well trained psychological masters of manipulation, well hidden terrorists dressed as public servants and systematic corrupters all for simple profit margins, to whom I was not so much a person or a mother, or a daughter, but a number. Because I was poor, and had once or four times chosen to love the wrong person in an unorthodox and uncontrollable form of torture, dismissing each and every social construct or physiology that was by the book, by embracing that there was a reason for change I quickly became quite the antagonist of sorts and hopefully not some sort of martyr —for the kind of people that had money and property, and perhaps even socially constructed circles to camoflage their own self doubt and hatred, but absolutely also had no morals. –Death of a Superstar DJ If I lose my mind At least I know I'm right on time This time— I meant that, I had it bad this time MCBADBAT I had it bad this time, And the last. Perchance for you, Hour or folded, Hair my weight And glassed upon thy, This upon now, Feathered waking, And there barely weathered Shaking. Dear, dear, Tis is fair truth, To fare that I have gasp And fated at thy doorstep; And yet, care to force, Her breaking waves and saving tinder, Fit there slithered in as yet astonished, Then another; And I hated. So, then, slower now. All there, gathered none. And show to show thy force What then became and withered after, None to bark or beg But birds and feathered creatures, pander The tides did Quake, And the heart did grow ten fold and steady saying None upon us but one left to shiver in the depths That yet remain as undiscovered For now never there was another world, Undone, And also another becomes, My death— And therefore all the worlds I kept, To travel on and travel As becomes one, does another onward As the first is glass to dust, And last is born there. So, Then, I, Crept, In my dress, Kept for clothes that church did water I, met, My mark and there the doors of shadows open Wilted and wake? Hear you; A star was born In other cosmos tied with our own nurture So, Kept, The weight of clasp and bone That holds the crept and precious alter Goddamn cat! Where are you. AAtticus Caaticus Oop. Gotta go. Toonces! Tooooonces! Where are you? Omg remember that one where that couple has a magic toddler and they just let him like,float away. Yeah, barely. Yeah. So I do. CUT TO: TOONCES focuses intently on the task at hand; he's sure he can manage to drive the human vehicle to his own home— to where he's assured he will find the actual body in which he belongs. Now… let's see, if I can just Wait, I who? ATTICUS CATTICUS, An ancient alien sorcerer must relay a series of important messages. Unfortunately. YO WHAT THE FUCK. None of them seem to be getting through. CUT BACK TO: TOONCEEESSSS. here kitty kitty kitty!! {Enter the Multiverse} I would dedicate, but honestly I've not time to waste And I'm craving wedding cake I hate to destroy you But for now, you know I can't employ you; This implies my eyes are also murder And I'm sure of her departure From another world, Perhaps across the border. Also, quite the dark sorcerer himself LORNE MICHAELS has well hidden himself under the guise of having become one of the most successful television producer of all times— And even in his own very small world, Nobody quite seems to know why. JIMMY FALLON Lorne, I have to tell you something. LORNE MICHAELS This had better be good, Jimmy, I've just made popcorn. [the festival project ™] Don't worry, for now, The risk remains hidden, As sure as an asset is an advantage, I can't have the classes counting Heads of cabbage as accomplishes, The masses are honestly astonished And impossible, but what was wrong with Boredom in the first place? Nonsense More words And still no dollars Hunger strike, And burning harder, California deficit, lack of bread, Heaven sent interventions and scissors, Mistresses, disasters and divorces But who says the whole story has to suffer? You're a surfer under water, Remember that when you finally catch your breath above the surface Can you clear her? He who? Back to work! Or back to the future! My super brain is dead but I think I'm next I think heaven swallows whole the blooded laugher From the constructs I've come from. Remember that. Remember not to fall from too far up, God would give you wings With time to spare Before you ever wondered where Your mark was On the plaza Don't let me up to the very top. I will at the very least Best scenario jump off And rid the world myself, Just for a dozen donuts over Crossing hearts and Hollywood And Griffith park To also soft my foot Upon red carpets. You ever shave your armpits!? …no. Hm. Catholic. Of course. Get in. Destination. —Rotterdam. You idiot. I made it. Whatever, get in the boat. DI NERO Give her your shirt. What. Your shirt. Why my shirt. Just— Fine. Here. [he hands over his shirt— in an instant, the woman becomes an exact REPLICA.] …my shirt. Relax. Nothing's gonna happen to it. Okay? —in fact, you're still wearing it. Alright! She's right, Jimmy, relax. I can't, that's— It's simple. There is nothing simple about this whatsoever. You're right. It's not, so get over it. [The Festival Project ™] BILL MURRAY There's a compartment at the end of the left corridor— Alright. In that hatch, there's a chamber. Okay, what'll I do? You'll open it? How? I'll tell you how, just get there. Suddenly, a barrier falls; it appears as though there are booby traps set here. Uh— that might be a problem. There might be a few of them. What just happened? Booby traps. —ah, I know what you're talking. Those aren't booby traps— they're Bobby Traps. What in the Hell are you talking about? For whatever reason Jimmy Kimmel Is important Now I'm scared of him, I know he knows the devil Come to think of it, Might even be an advocate Have an avocado But don't know the half of it These are, as it stands Comes what may Special circumstances I could circumvent an intervention, Never second chances I've been setting rat traps, Trapeze artists, Bampheramph camp, And also trampolines over the plaza That seems dangerous. Yeah. AHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Damn. Know it's plausible, That I also am an alcoholic, Though dysfunctional, Professional, And underrepresented So I stand myself, Let's just say pro-se if you will I could add Prozac to my snacks But I'll be delayed, if you still Don't get my messages I'm sick of having heart attacks; A hard advantage I was looking back on “fully packaged” A six pack of abs And nothing left to eat but cabbage, Haven't had a mouth, But I've been counting on my ass To get me back up north, I'm coming from the South Out West, there's a word for that At best, you're a four and a half My body double stunts and stumbles Struts at nothing Struck before the one, And so between high noon and Somewhere around 30 in I'm never turning 30, 30 Rock is in the wind— So count that up, That's what my income is. That's what they said? “Too late, you've been betrayed” If that's how it is, Then I request “beheaded” You know your mother says That ugly face just becomes permanent If you keep making it, And so I did, The second that it ended I'm Trying so hard Just to be What they want That it hurts Just to stop And relax For a moment INT. THE LAIR. NIGHT What is this? Where am I? You're— Alive. Why? …I changed my mind. You're not ugly You're just not mine I changed my mind I changed my life around. I skip line after line, But the message ain't right, I have time a chance No challenge accepted No exceptions or Expectations Expand this racism vocabulary Set the rat traps back To February Stamp the weather's getting Better with the postage clearing Abstr– My cat is so cute I can't stand him; But he's pretty bad, That my only friend; Animal. I blacklisted deadmau5, And my whole set sucked. Presently, however I'm a peasant Plucking pheasant feathers Guess I– pppftt. Like it never even happened But I'm sure we're all to war, Like a fear I never grasp it, What's l before, uncertain of your l words— My dear, were tattered and the masters heavy handed, Oh, my dear, we're marching on a battered Wit, to all your fan mail I tel you, I was I tortured, Let me show you And also, No one forced my hand at magic, Questioned prestidigitation, Or went back to every second, Land you think you owned as time In fact, my crucial very hard earned gossip column Asks the reader to reform his or her thought Before a judgement can be made How fascinating. The bag says ‘poems' so I wrote one, But I'm sure since my marker's toggled on I'm being stalked, It's like a magnet, Punch the clock And here they pour into the coffin So I won't be pouring coffee for the puffin; Maybe someday I'll look back at this as all I ever wanted, But for now it's just a horror show, Where I belong the murder— Yet a thriller, Best, The audience is captivated, Yes This is evasive, Cause I can't been captured yet By either masses or Mass murderers. At last, a cadence comes clean of its Breaking waves and rhythms, Tides and ties, Becomes another— Then, I'm whisked away Not back to slumber, but of subtle thoughts Of Californian water Lapping up across our surfboards; I often wear them tides, The undertow As pull of greater waves I sit aside as all that passes [The Festival Project ™] When I see Calvin Klein, I think of you; Not what you used to be But turned in to So it's mutual— Pay attention, fool As does moss grow on a rock And this to you— It is unfortunate, my dear You miss with every twist, Adjustment of attention span, The glances I foreshadowed (Here you are, inside your past) It's just affective of the effect, You've been levitating, Yes, I find it devastating Every second kept is just a fortune But you pause before you post— You reap before you even think Of what you sow, You don't belong, Agast, (True) Set the tone, Classless, But I'm Art, you are a Daunting folk song, Mistletoe and marker. CAMERA ASSISTANT Marker. …what is this for again? CAMERA ASSISTANT (Annoyed, mumbling) Shut up. Ten minutes passes and still, I'm awake But the tragedy of the mistake has just set in, I'm sure I've been tortured, I'm paid in mistakes, but I'd rather be shattered with Mortimer's curse. To the tune of Ten by ten by ten I will never be lover, nor friend in the end. {Enter The Multiverse] DRAKE concentrates heavily on a very long , seemingly very angry message— a frowning face plastered as he writes that is so noteworthy, it catches the attention of many a passerby— still this focus unwatered, as he bashes heavily away at the text message with the thumbs of fury for over 30 minutes while sitting at a booth in a well-loved pancake restaurant. As a tall stack of pancakes is served before him, and he, still unbreaking this angry texting streak or eye contact with his phone sits before them, history is made in what internet culture has now deemed as “the most meme worthy face in history” The world wonders what he could possibly be writing— and more importantly—-who he could be texting. Tears come to his eyes but do not fall as he raises his thumb with reserve, to finally press [RETURN.] CUT TO: SUNNI BLU receives a text amidst a wild party. Almost without so much as a reaction, SUNNI BLU pings the message to a projector and cuts off the lights, and music. A VERY LONG, ANGRY TEXT is projected on the wall. I slept from 10-2 There was nothing else to do My name is Devin DeLouise And I am not supposed to know these things Seven are dead and three are left I know what's next I'm also often known as And referred to as coyote ugly; Suffering a tantra wall, Yo, you son of a bitch! You dirty, dirty son of a bitch. I must admit, I had a lot to do with this… I had no part in it! Relax… soon enough, the both of your realize— this is how the unimaginable gets written. [he loads the polished sterling silver pistol and glamours over it] You have our memory. —all memory. And as soon as it ends, before it can begin again. The slate is wiped clean. Good riddance. “A Different Kind of Monologue” Is this what you wanted? Ooh— you should try me! I wish you would try me! Try me! I wish you would. Be calm, Grand Master. This will all be over momentarily. What's going on. Deprivation chamber. Crypt? —Encrypted? A lockup. Ah. Thought so. That ought to show us what he's really made up. We can all hope. [he pounds on the glass, the one way mirror acts as a camera which the maj aresses, rabid and wi the anger of a dangerous animal, both we, n audience, and the small group of men gathered a the other side of the room. This could be the basis of a lot of lawsuits. So now I have your tears and agony A wilted throne and wand Which which would grant a wish of comedy, And therefore ever after, Not pain and guilt, but laughter So heavy is the hat that acts as crown, And so foolish is the King to think ‘imself as not one, Creaks the crow and also of the feathered guilt that follows, I Kept and bashful, wishing not the show as throne but sorrow, Kept to wick and wake and bones to shatter from tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Do you fear us? …do you wish to be feared? What of us? I seek to cause the wish that stands as though you may as granted. So shallow, fair child. And brother and my son also. Gross! Stop. You are weird! Dude, you are fucked. In the withdraw, my shadows and darkness Are there always, never resting Stories and gathered images, Visions of betrayal and archaic wants. In time, I've abandoned them all and betraying that which I've lost, For I know, and not ponder on That I shall never know love, As all standing tal over me Have eyes; And all I want Knows not what hides under my ugly. Alright. I followed your spiral, downward, and down wind and down wood, Into a place where I also aspired to show your mark Upon my rotted corpse or coarse crossifix; Sure worded and down trodden. Now, worse, I'm also sworn To mourn all my own losses, Kind folk. Kind hearted and now my eyes also sudden to wander— And there goes my miles and triumphs And morals and war songs, And sure, swallowed the barrel of a gun But also departed with honor, I tell I. Glimpses of wither and winter and whittling pain, And I slither my back to the center of All I am, in this, and shadows, Fairtails, And grains of rice and sand to twist away Into the rain as I lay dying. What a fortunate! Don't make my mark up and out, few for short times, Aye, conspire to warthog, Remember so force your spirit onto ours, And shake, sandbox! There aiming at you were the snakes of six liars, And the stakes of empires lost and won over, Also one solemn subtle Star of David Worn upon the neck of six monks, Ragtime Six popes, pass I; Six fathers and streaks solemn and Care tan teared salamander, Having weight and wake to cheer For our slaughter. Then, you, Having gained and also lost should reap to sow, What you'd have wanted; Though the tongue so convexed having way to guild your complex, Shaking as I hunger fruit that not but hangs Before l wanted I know, I could knot be consoled I know, I could not be consoled I know I could not be consolidated either Bought, or purchased I know I'm not consoled at all, I know I'm not confirmed at all I know, I know I'm not confronted, nor immortal — but your glorified affliction. Poor infinity. Of poverty, perhaps, but never poor at all. For your were warned of all the doors as opened at your calling. Not to walk though, But to ponder at them, wondering. he's gone Maybe I should go Too Heavy weight hanging on my Shoulders I'm just star struck I don't know You I don't really like saying What I go through Talk an hour, Fake it All day show Monologue Improvisation Now i'm on a roll, But my thoughts got darker I like adderall and a real smooth talker I like a husband-father , Doctor, Actor, Tall and handsome, Doesn't matter I'm alone, so i feel hopeless Aggie's gone, So i might as well go though Oh– She's gone ((I think i'm past my time)) I think i should go to She's gone (so long) Right on, man I might as well go to It's been a long time, Gotta turn my light off, Overtime, That's a long ball game Season's over; On my back in the middle of the ball court She's gone, So i might as well go too. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Genre: "Afro-Surrealism" / "Social Horror" "Psycho-Acoustic Weaponry" or "Havana Syndrome symptoms." The Frame: The protagonist is subjected to "noise harassment"—a tactic dramatized here but rooted in the known reality of tenant displacement and "psychological attrition." The narrative depicts a process of "Soul Murder" ( also known as spiritual warfare) orchestrated by a hostile apparatus. The antagonist is "The Institution," representing deep-state mechanisms that view multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story allegorically dramatizes the invisible mechanisms that enforce racial hierarchy, depicting how broken social systems weaponize psychological practices against the individual. Artist's Note: This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as an artistic testament to the psychological siege endured from to 2023-2025. It is a creative record of survival against a hostile state architecture. The following is a creative non-fiction horror manifesto regarding the psychological assassination of a multicultural American artist. It documents—through the lens of Afro-Surrealism—how modern surveillance technology and sonic harassment are experienced by the targeted individual. As it stands It has become a modern sequel which mirrors the civil rights struggles of the 1960s, set in the present day. "The protagonist is being subjected to 'noise harassment'—a known tactic used by landlords and corrupt entities to displace tenants. The sound is weaponized to induce sleep deprivation and psychological attrition, dismantling of their ego and will to live, orchestrated by a hostile state apparatus. The antagonist in this piece is 'The Institution'—a deep state that views multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story dramatizes over time the invisible mechanisms (the 'Deep State') that enforce racial hierarchy and and psychological genocide, weaponizing broken social systems and unfounded psychological practices as biological weapons. This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as evidence of the psychological siege endured from 2023-2025. It is a transcript of survival against a hostile state architecture. This project spans an unlimited multiprojectoral arc of over two years of chronic violence, reaching into historical and theatrical projections and parallels over the all documented records of human existence through time and space.

Don't you see, sensei I'm just as disappointed in myself And ready to die Just as I relay the message, Spray me with your morbid essence Don't, croak, you fool, You've only a spoon ful of sugar left to go The dose is coming up your throat, — you didn't know to throw up Grab the rope and go up Before gravity has crushed your —thought: Stupid boy, you don't want to die— Nor to do, but oh, do we have it coming Silly mortal, overlords and governed, Short of morals, steady coming at your doorstep So goes our concert! And so goes our concept for divorce, And sure of course, Your four corse meal, and/or dessert This is just devastating, genetics made me The sort at sorting words, but surfing, Sure. Ever temporarily the cadence changes, Still they say “you've been betrayed” But never had a friend I made made As good as death and God have been to me For everything you're meant to be, Plus everything you're meant to me, I go, unwanted, troubled and disgusted at my own immortal outcome. Sure. My back hurts and I'm wounded, Heartbroke, Thrust in every cardinal direction Also, honored at the mark of magic wand Upon her shoulder; And so, Just as soon as the sun and moon, Does the fire escape set a perfect path For outward destruction of the bricks and mortar Or your alter (This we talk about, to some effect Is your repression and affective form of supernatural perfection) But forget the makeup; I can make you up to be a star And not of wars and other worlds, But those that come before us, Carson, and the others Paar before that. But, I think not dear sir How wrong you are, A wretched bird, Set not to fly, but O father Wit and relay messages, The passage said, and set to clocks, The past was won and so the future altered, But dear feathered father, Mortal you are not But just another triumph Of my god; And set the mirror to the magnets Camera, lights and action, Magic— All the signs of the dawn, and the mad don Red Dawn came upon us, called the Red Man Tom, from other, over, under Still was my mistake to mumble such Or put upon the tongue As such assumption Still— wonder? Bird, shut up; Love I dusk And lust I soak In all the frittered dust and feathers, Colors, coming up as mister Chuck and wood, and wait and ponder Slithered this to wonder, not a rock, But potted fern, Asunder Thunderstorm And wicked rain And fair the back A tide had come And sitting there upon the shore, Was us, and 12 apostles She's a Brick— Seemingly out of nowhere, A RED BRICK HOUSE falls very perfectly from the SKY and into OZ. oh good, my house is here. House. [the festival project ™] But I don't want to make house! Then play it! I don't want to play house it is BORING. You play it— they want it. But I don't want it. Then forget it! What! Listen kid, a job's a job! {Enter The Multiverse} Wrong, this is wrong— everything is wrong. What's wrong, Rob? I'll be back. ROB LOWE has just played TRUTH OR DARE L E G E N D S if I could get inside your head For just a second Bread and butter Heaven, hell, And other places I have wandered But oh, wonder This is never what I wanted, Was it? No sir. Sure, I set you off, No sooner had you got a gun and shot me. Handsome fucker. I'll bet. Wrong act. Wrong award show. Wrong hat and a baseball bat, Peanut butter and a nice cold cheesecake, Don't forget to order cheesesteak For your cat. A carnivore at odds with the other worlds, And also fused to us; This drifting back and forth Between the Rock And Hollywood Has got to stop. ((The world is toxic.)) the legend of… L. JONES It's you! BLŪ AH, crap. L. JONES Listen, I got something for you. BLŪ Where did your bird go? L.JONES What bird? CUT TO: Now open that. No wait! It's a trap! THE VAULT inside THE CRYPT at 30 ROCK has been opened. I keep looking down at my phone As if I'm expecting a phone call Or incoming message from God But the worlds to a song Are all jumbled up in my Concious I don't want to talk about it I feel Nauseous Everyone is being obnoxious Even my own blood I don't want to function I just want some French toast crunch For lunch Nostalgia I got a whole inch taller on the peloton Holla Now I got a body, Broader, So close to Broadway But I never go there That's a tall order Of “gotta have money” I mean live theatre It's fine I'll eat here And repeat these things till they just rhyme Line them all up like a context, Story Someday I'm gonna cut my own check Watch me lol none of this rhymes without a hard Brooklyn accent ; Guess you can't hack it! Send you ass packin! I said “That's whack son!” Then I went back blonde Now they want Backend, Contract, Off the top, Royalties Residuals I'm an individual with insidious syntax And yet I'm ridiculed Truly I'm a tit-for-tat Or particle of all you are Circular centrifuge, I trickle down your tentacles (Eugh) Choke the chicken just to give the cat a chicken bowl, Chick fil et and pret a tair just to get a ritual Espresso and a quick snack So I can get my dick wrapped In chocolate and licorice because the shit is edible Damn that I guess they set a damn trap By putting out the welcome mat, Then strapping Like a mothafuckin' straight jacket Matter fact, I look a nap in it, Then magic tricked the slip effective Compliments of Michael Jackson Or was it tech nine? Maybe I should get my Mind right I lost it once I guess I've better find it If I am, in fact, A diamond in the rough It's probably blooded it up enough That you should dig it up and shine it; Better yet, Somebody outta pick it up And sign it, Cause I write enough To put a vision To a blind man It's Fran Fine, man I'm behind, man The shadowgov had put me on a diet My bad I noticed that they tried to shut me up But couldn't stop the words or other stuff That just keeps coming out of my head I put coconuts as butter onto my bread And thinking thoughts of Carl cox As I drift off in my bed, I said, “It shouldn't be a problem, officer” As I reached for the gun And he aimed it at my death. That's an impossible apocalyptic suicide— Did you invite the devil in? I said “Nah, but that guy did.” The problem is, I pointed over yonder to a ghost Who also knows that I'm a well respected psychic; Nevermind a sidekick, side bitch in a sidecar, Psych ward, Sike! We spike war on your kind! So far, If I make history tonight, The other side decides their psalm is just as likely The third reike. Okay, strike one: I'm gonna turn your lights off. Strike two : you do and say what I do: Strike three: we're gonna make you suicidal I specialize in denying rights for high profits But big brother, or boss— What if my glove fits? The instance it does, We lock you up with no service, Your world becomes dark And your words become worthless Oh shit. This is not a good rap song. Like, at all. I must say, I do agree, You lose your trust, but silently Denied is all your trouble, Till it just begins to bubble up Until the cookie crumbles— See that feeling in your stomach? This is bigger than the money, girl — They want your soul, and then the world! I told you never call him. I didn't! Then explain this: [Skrillex] *sharp inward sigh* CUT IMMIDIATLEH TO STAN You know what! That's it! I don't care how handsome or rich and famous he is! This has to stop! KYLE Hey, wait just a minute— STAN SHUT UP KYLE. KYLE You shut up! STAN You're starting to sound just like him! KYLE Take that back! STAN I won't take it back! You all might have forgotten who you are, but I haven't!after of fact, I bet to Cartman, you're still that stupid little Jew kid! KYLE That's IT. KYLE takes out his phone. what are you doing? …I'm tweeting about this. I thought it was X now… It is, but you can't ‘x' anything, it's still calledl tweeting. I guess youre right. —and I'm tagging Cartman ! STAN Are you serious? Oh shit, this is social suicide. …did I ever explain this storyline? …I don't know, did i? I'd gotten so focused on this impending doom looming over me with this whole lawsuit that I'd forgotten entire worlds and whole documents. Even more terrifying, was the sudden quiet and the onset guilt that came over me for getting distracted. But I couldn't remove myself from it entirely—- it seemed to have ruined everything. It wasn't just motorcycle noises, it was like a nervousness and angst twisting in my stomach for months and months, until finally, as the court dates started approaching, it was peaceful, or rather, normal, all of a sudden. It couldn't be peaceful because now that the extreme noise was gone, I knew it had been planted all long— but what was the purpose? I'd lost two years not knowing, and though there were albums, they were never what I wanted. Now I was sorting through the documents of the show like it was the rubble of a decimated building— completely demolished, and I hadn't the slightest clue the contexts or the storylines anymore. It was pain and suffering, but not in the legal context. It was a creative disaster— I hadn't any idea in the slightest where I'd left my audience before I was forced to abandon them. But I was forced to choose, at times, between soap and toilet paper, or eventually, food, and water— or a phone. Eventually, this too became a pattern of the impossible— trying my hardest to do what I thought had been my purpose, but for far, being so endlessly sabotaged, even ridiculed and humiliated, and still, I couldn't understand why. I was tired— and somehow, even though I'd wanted to be left alone, I was the target. Worse was that I assumed it to be bigger than I thought and completely out of control— I thought immediately back to how my best friend from middle school had been attacked, and how she was made to think that it was me…to the point that she'd become obsessive about it to call my mom over it. And as far as the court was concerned, to the wrong ears or wrong eyes, anything I'd published in the festival project could look troublesome, like the ramblings of a mad mad, or schizo, or uncontrolled obsessive thoughts— because the biggest secrets of all, the things that tied together these fictional worlds and plots, were my own real life experience. The inability in a court of law to detail the podcast, which had started as meltdown some would call grandiose over an almost long forgotten rockstar and a porn model — and the entries into the festival project that followed, which included high concepts, off-kilter comedy, politics, and even fringed on social justice. Nothing I ever would have wanted and especially over money, but the lawsuit wasn't about money at all. In fact, at any moment I would have chosen to die and have it all stop if it weren't for my very young son being left alone. Though recently the dread had overcome with a sense of unbearable loss and agony, encrypted with suicidal thoughts and wants, reeling for human touch, the overbearing factor seemed to be that if I killed myself, I was giving someone what they wanted. I was really much too tired to go on, but leaving behind the world in entirety, in my very own way of beliefs wasn't just “shitutting it off”, it was starting it over. Understandably and undeniably immortal in its nature, the instances of God I had left spoke with a reminiscence of being born again, and having to remember which is it I'd wanted to start off. It was an unachievable overload of chaos and disruption, a level of corruption that spoke to something so dark and sinister it seemed biblical — then, again, I tried to wrap my mind around a way to rebuild a positive world from hope and thought, or manifest reality, but this is the very experience I'd felt was intended all along. The motorcycles weren't merely meant to destroy my career, or my will power, or force— they were, but also they were made to play upon my most valuable asset, the power of thought, to make it impossible to become something other than what was wanted; to use my own mind against itself and destroy my way of thought by using vibrations that could not be shut out, or stopped— they followed me to the sound collective, to Shakespeare in the park, the bank, the doctors office— it was as if they knew and understood my very thoughts, my process. It was of nothing at all to corrupt every single body and brain who would surround me or come close— by using the power that seemed supernatural enough, but indeed were powered by money, and technology. Perhaps, in this essence, I thought, was the purest display of defective intention itself; the mere thought that this indeed was rather Good Vs. Evil or God and The Devil would easily be written off as a diseased way of thought. The social world and constructs had been built around being open minded to a system of psychology that was intrinsically rather corrupt. I knew this could only be fought with what I knew, and what I could draw from as logic. I didn't want to go to court because I knew the people I would be fighting were liars, and well trained psychological masters of manipulation, well hidden terrorists dressed as public servants and systematic corrupters all for simple profit margins, to whom I was not so much a person or a mother, or a daughter, but a number. Because I was poor, and had once or four times chosen to love the wrong person in an unorthodox and uncontrollable form of torture, dismissing each and every social construct or physiology that was by the book, by embracing that there was a reason for change I quickly became quite the antagonist of sorts and hopefully not some sort of martyr —for the kind of people that had money and property, and perhaps even socially constructed circles to camoflage their own self doubt and hatred, but absolutely also had no morals. –Death of a Superstar DJ If I lose my mind At least I know I'm right on time This time— I meant that, I had it bad this time MCBADBAT I had it bad this time, And the last. Perchance for you, Hour or folded, Hair my weight And glassed upon thy, This upon now, Feathered waking, And there barely weathered Shaking. Dear, dear, Tis is fair truth, To fare that I have gasp And fated at thy doorstep; And yet, care to force, Her breaking waves and saving tinder, Fit there slithered in as yet astonished, Then another; And I hated. So, then, slower now. All there, gathered none. And show to show thy force What then became and withered after, None to bark or beg But birds and feathered creatures, pander The tides did Quake, And the heart did grow ten fold and steady saying None upon us but one left to shiver in the depths That yet remain as undiscovered For now never there was another world, Undone, And also another becomes, My death— And therefore all the worlds I kept, To travel on and travel As becomes one, does another onward As the first is glass to dust, And last is born there. So, Then, I, Crept, In my dress, Kept for clothes that church did water I, met, My mark and there the doors of shadows open Wilted and wake? Hear you; A star was born In other cosmos tied with our own nurture So, Kept, The weight of clasp and bone That holds the crept and precious alter Goddamn cat! Where are you. AAtticus Caaticus Oop. Gotta go. Toonces! Tooooonces! Where are you? Omg remember that one where that couple has a magic toddler and they just let him like,float away. Yeah, barely. Yeah. So I do. CUT TO: TOONCES focuses intently on the task at hand; he's sure he can manage to drive the human vehicle to his own home— to where he's assured he will find the actual body in which he belongs. Now… let's see, if I can just Wait, I who? ATTICUS CATTICUS, An ancient alien sorcerer must relay a series of important messages. Unfortunately. YO WHAT THE FUCK. None of them seem to be getting through. CUT BACK TO: TOONCEEESSSS. here kitty kitty kitty!! {Enter the Multiverse} I would dedicate, but honestly I've not time to waste And I'm craving wedding cake I hate to destroy you But for now, you know I can't employ you; This implies my eyes are also murder And I'm sure of her departure From another world, Perhaps across the border. Also, quite the dark sorcerer himself LORNE MICHAELS has well hidden himself under the guise of having become one of the most successful television producer of all times— And even in his own very small world, Nobody quite seems to know why. JIMMY FALLON Lorne, I have to tell you something. LORNE MICHAELS This had better be good, Jimmy, I've just made popcorn. [the festival project ™] Don't worry, for now, The risk remains hidden, As sure as an asset is an advantage, I can't have the classes counting Heads of cabbage as accomplishes, The masses are honestly astonished And impossible, but what was wrong with Boredom in the first place? Nonsense More words And still no dollars Hunger strike, And burning harder, California deficit, lack of bread, Heaven sent interventions and scissors, Mistresses, disasters and divorces But who says the whole story has to suffer? You're a surfer under water, Remember that when you finally catch your breath above the surface Can you clear her? He who? Back to work! Or back to the future! My super brain is dead but I think I'm next I think heaven swallows whole the blooded laugher From the constructs I've come from. Remember that. Remember not to fall from too far up, God would give you wings With time to spare Before you ever wondered where Your mark was On the plaza Don't let me up to the very top. I will at the very least Best scenario jump off And rid the world myself, Just for a dozen donuts over Crossing hearts and Hollywood And Griffith park To also soft my foot Upon red carpets. You ever shave your armpits!? …no. Hm. Catholic. Of course. Get in. Destination. —Rotterdam. You idiot. I made it. Whatever, get in the boat. DI NERO Give her your shirt. What. Your shirt. Why my shirt. Just— Fine. Here. [he hands over his shirt— in an instant, the woman becomes an exact REPLICA.] …my shirt. Relax. Nothing's gonna happen to it. Okay? —in fact, you're still wearing it. Alright! She's right, Jimmy, relax. I can't, that's— It's simple. There is nothing simple about this whatsoever. You're right. It's not, so get over it. [The Festival Project ™] BILL MURRAY There's a compartment at the end of the left corridor— Alright. In that hatch, there's a chamber. Okay, what'll I do? You'll open it? How? I'll tell you how, just get there. Suddenly, a barrier falls; it appears as though there are booby traps set here. Uh— that might be a problem. There might be a few of them. What just happened? Booby traps. —ah, I know what you're talking. Those aren't booby traps— they're Bobby Traps. What in the Hell are you talking about? For whatever reason Jimmy Kimmel Is important Now I'm scared of him, I know he knows the devil Come to think of it, Might even be an advocate Have an avocado But don't know the half of it These are, as it stands Comes what may Special circumstances I could circumvent an intervention, Never second chances I've been setting rat traps, Trapeze artists, Bampheramph camp, And also trampolines over the plaza That seems dangerous. Yeah. AHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Damn. Know it's plausible, That I also am an alcoholic, Though dysfunctional, Professional, And underrepresented So I stand myself, Let's just say pro-se if you will I could add Prozac to my snacks But I'll be delayed, if you still Don't get my messages I'm sick of having heart attacks; A hard advantage I was looking back on “fully packaged” A six pack of abs And nothing left to eat but cabbage, Haven't had a mouth, But I've been counting on my ass To get me back up north, I'm coming from the South Out West, there's a word for that At best, you're a four and a half My body double stunts and stumbles Struts at nothing Struck before the one, And so between high noon and Somewhere around 30 in I'm never turning 30, 30 Rock is in the wind— So count that up, That's what my income is. That's what they said? “Too late, you've been betrayed” If that's how it is, Then I request “beheaded” You know your mother says That ugly face just becomes permanent If you keep making it, And so I did, The second that it ended I'm Trying so hard Just to be What they want That it hurts Just to stop And relax For a moment INT. THE LAIR. NIGHT What is this? Where am I? You're— Alive. Why? …I changed my mind. You're not ugly You're just not mine I changed my mind I changed my life around. I skip line after line, But the message ain't right, I have time a chance No challenge accepted No exceptions or Expectations Expand this racism vocabulary Set the rat traps back To February Stamp the weather's getting Better with the postage clearing Abstr– My cat is so cute I can't stand him; But he's pretty bad, That my only friend; Animal. I blacklisted deadmau5, And my whole set sucked. Presently, however I'm a peasant Plucking pheasant feathers Guess I– pppftt. Like it never even happened But I'm sure we're all to war, Like a fear I never grasp it, What's l before, uncertain of your l words— My dear, were tattered and the masters heavy handed, Oh, my dear, we're marching on a battered Wit, to all your fan mail I tel you, I was I tortured, Let me show you And also, No one forced my hand at magic, Questioned prestidigitation, Or went back to every second, Land you think you owned as time In fact, my crucial very hard earned gossip column Asks the reader to reform his or her thought Before a judgement can be made How fascinating. The bag says ‘poems' so I wrote one, But I'm sure since my marker's toggled on I'm being stalked, It's like a magnet, Punch the clock And here they pour into the coffin So I won't be pouring coffee for the puffin; Maybe someday I'll look back at this as all I ever wanted, But for now it's just a horror show, Where I belong the murder— Yet a thriller, Best, The audience is captivated, Yes This is evasive, Cause I can't been captured yet By either masses or Mass murderers. At last, a cadence comes clean of its Breaking waves and rhythms, Tides and ties, Becomes another— Then, I'm whisked away Not back to slumber, but of subtle thoughts Of Californian water Lapping up across our surfboards; I often wear them tides, The undertow As pull of greater waves I sit aside as all that passes [The Festival Project ™] When I see Calvin Klein, I think of you; Not what you used to be But turned in to So it's mutual— Pay attention, fool As does moss grow on a rock And this to you— It is unfortunate, my dear You miss with every twist, Adjustment of attention span, The glances I foreshadowed (Here you are, inside your past) It's just affective of the effect, You've been levitating, Yes, I find it devastating Every second kept is just a fortune But you pause before you post— You reap before you even think Of what you sow, You don't belong, Agast, (True) Set the tone, Classless, But I'm Art, you are a Daunting folk song, Mistletoe and marker. CAMERA ASSISTANT Marker. …what is this for again? CAMERA ASSISTANT (Annoyed, mumbling) Shut up. Ten minutes passes and still, I'm awake But the tragedy of the mistake has just set in, I'm sure I've been tortured, I'm paid in mistakes, but I'd rather be shattered with Mortimer's curse. To the tune of Ten by ten by ten I will never be lover, nor friend in the end. {Enter The Multiverse] DRAKE concentrates heavily on a very long , seemingly very angry message— a frowning face plastered as he writes that is so noteworthy, it catches the attention of many a passerby— still this focus unwatered, as he bashes heavily away at the text message with the thumbs of fury for over 30 minutes while sitting at a booth in a well-loved pancake restaurant. As a tall stack of pancakes is served before him, and he, still unbreaking this angry texting streak or eye contact with his phone sits before them, history is made in what internet culture has now deemed as “the most meme worthy face in history” The world wonders what he could possibly be writing— and more importantly—-who he could be texting. Tears come to his eyes but do not fall as he raises his thumb with reserve, to finally press [RETURN.] CUT TO: SUNNI BLU receives a text amidst a wild party. Almost without so much as a reaction, SUNNI BLU pings the message to a projector and cuts off the lights, and music. A VERY LONG, ANGRY TEXT is projected on the wall. I slept from 10-2 There was nothing else to do My name is Devin DeLouise And I am not supposed to know these things Seven are dead and three are left I know what's next I'm also often known as And referred to as coyote ugly; Suffering a tantra wall, Yo, you son of a bitch! You dirty, dirty son of a bitch. I must admit, I had a lot to do with this… I had no part in it! Relax… soon enough, the both of your realize— this is how the unimaginable gets written. [he loads the polished sterling silver pistol and glamours over it] You have our memory. —all memory. And as soon as it ends, before it can begin again. The slate is wiped clean. Good riddance. “A Different Kind of Monologue” Is this what you wanted? Ooh— you should try me! I wish you would try me! Try me! I wish you would. Be calm, Grand Master. This will all be over momentarily. What's going on. Deprivation chamber. Crypt? —Encrypted? A lockup. Ah. Thought so. That ought to show us what he's really made up. We can all hope. [he pounds on the glass, the one way mirror acts as a camera which the maj aresses, rabid and wi the anger of a dangerous animal, both we, n audience, and the small group of men gathered a the other side of the room. This could be the basis of a lot of lawsuits. So now I have your tears and agony A wilted throne and wand Which which would grant a wish of comedy, And therefore ever after, Not pain and guilt, but laughter So heavy is the hat that acts as crown, And so foolish is the King to think ‘imself as not one, Creaks the crow and also of the feathered guilt that follows, I Kept and bashful, wishing not the show as throne but sorrow, Kept to wick and wake and bones to shatter from tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Do you fear us? …do you wish to be feared? What of us? I seek to cause the wish that stands as though you may as granted. So shallow, fair child. And brother and my son also. Gross! Stop. You are weird! Dude, you are fucked. In the withdraw, my shadows and darkness Are there always, never resting Stories and gathered images, Visions of betrayal and archaic wants. In time, I've abandoned them all and betraying that which I've lost, For I know, and not ponder on That I shall never know love, As all standing tal over me Have eyes; And all I want Knows not what hides under my ugly. Alright. I followed your spiral, downward, and down wind and down wood, Into a place where I also aspired to show your mark Upon my rotted corpse or coarse crossifix; Sure worded and down trodden. Now, worse, I'm also sworn To mourn all my own losses, Kind folk. Kind hearted and now my eyes also sudden to wander— And there goes my miles and triumphs And morals and war songs, And sure, swallowed the barrel of a gun But also departed with honor, I tell I. Glimpses of wither and winter and whittling pain, And I slither my back to the center of All I am, in this, and shadows, Fairtails, And grains of rice and sand to twist away Into the rain as I lay dying. What a fortunate! Don't make my mark up and out, few for short times, Aye, conspire to warthog, Remember so force your spirit onto ours, And shake, sandbox! There aiming at you were the snakes of six liars, And the stakes of empires lost and won over, Also one solemn subtle Star of David Worn upon the neck of six monks, Ragtime Six popes, pass I; Six fathers and streaks solemn and Care tan teared salamander, Having weight and wake to cheer For our slaughter. Then, you, Having gained and also lost should reap to sow, What you'd have wanted; Though the tongue so convexed having way to guild your complex, Shaking as I hunger fruit that not but hangs Before l wanted I know, I could knot be consoled I know, I could not be consoled I know I could not be consolidated either Bought, or purchased I know I'm not consoled at all, I know I'm not confirmed at all I know, I know I'm not confronted, nor immortal — but your glorified affliction. Poor infinity. Of poverty, perhaps, but never poor at all. For your were warned of all the doors as opened at your calling. Not to walk though, But to ponder at them, wondering. he's gone Maybe I should go Too Heavy weight hanging on my Shoulders I'm just star struck I don't know You I don't really like saying What I go through Talk an hour, Fake it All day show Monologue Improvisation Now i'm on a roll, But my thoughts got darker I like adderall and a real smooth talker I like a husband-father , Doctor, Actor, Tall and handsome, Doesn't matter I'm alone, so i feel hopeless Aggie's gone, So i might as well go though Oh– She's gone ((I think i'm past my time)) I think i should go to She's gone (so long) Right on, man I might as well go to It's been a long time, Gotta turn my light off, Overtime, That's a long ball game Season's over; On my back in the middle of the ball court She's gone, So i might as well go too. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Genre: "Afro-Surrealism" / "Social Horror" "Psycho-Acoustic Weaponry" or "Havana Syndrome symptoms." The Frame: The protagonist is subjected to "noise harassment"—a tactic dramatized here but rooted in the known reality of tenant displacement and "psychological attrition." The narrative depicts a process of "Soul Murder" ( also known as spiritual warfare) orchestrated by a hostile apparatus. The antagonist is "The Institution," representing deep-state mechanisms that view multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story allegorically dramatizes the invisible mechanisms that enforce racial hierarchy, depicting how broken social systems weaponize psychological practices against the individual. Artist's Note: This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as an artistic testament to the psychological siege endured from to 2023-2025. It is a creative record of survival against a hostile state architecture. The following is a creative non-fiction horror manifesto regarding the psychological assassination of a multicultural American artist. It documents—through the lens of Afro-Surrealism—how modern surveillance technology and sonic harassment are experienced by the targeted individual. As it stands It has become a modern sequel which mirrors the civil rights struggles of the 1960s, set in the present day. "The protagonist is being subjected to 'noise harassment'—a known tactic used by landlords and corrupt entities to displace tenants. The sound is weaponized to induce sleep deprivation and psychological attrition, dismantling of their ego and will to live, orchestrated by a hostile state apparatus. The antagonist in this piece is 'The Institution'—a deep state that views multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story dramatizes over time the invisible mechanisms (the 'Deep State') that enforce racial hierarchy and and psychological genocide, weaponizing broken social systems and unfounded psychological practices as biological weapons. This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as evidence of the psychological siege endured from 2023-2025. It is a transcript of survival against a hostile state architecture. This project spans an unlimited multiprojectoral arc of over two years of chronic violence, reaching into historical and theatrical projections and parallels over the all documented records of human existence through time and space.

Don't you see, sensei I'm just as disappointed in myself And ready to die Just as I relay the message, Spray me with your morbid essence Don't, croak, you fool, You've only a spoon ful of sugar left to go The dose is coming up your throat, — you didn't know to throw up Grab the rope and go up Before gravity has crushed your —thought: Stupid boy, you don't want to die— Nor to do, but oh, do we have it coming Silly mortal, overlords and governed, Short of morals, steady coming at your doorstep So goes our concert! And so goes our concept for divorce, And sure of course, Your four corse meal, and/or dessert This is just devastating, genetics made me The sort at sorting words, but surfing, Sure. Ever temporarily the cadence changes, Still they say “you've been betrayed” But never had a friend I made made As good as death and God have been to me For everything you're meant to be, Plus everything you're meant to me, I go, unwanted, troubled and disgusted at my own immortal outcome. Sure. My back hurts and I'm wounded, Heartbroke, Thrust in every cardinal direction Also, honored at the mark of magic wand Upon her shoulder; And so, Just as soon as the sun and moon, Does the fire escape set a perfect path For outward destruction of the bricks and mortar Or your alter (This we talk about, to some effect Is your repression and affective form of supernatural perfection) But forget the makeup; I can make you up to be a star And not of wars and other worlds, But those that come before us, Carson, and the others Paar before that. But, I think not dear sir How wrong you are, A wretched bird, Set not to fly, but O father Wit and relay messages, The passage said, and set to clocks, The past was won and so the future altered, But dear feathered father, Mortal you are not But just another triumph Of my god; And set the mirror to the magnets Camera, lights and action, Magic— All the signs of the dawn, and the mad don Red Dawn came upon us, called the Red Man Tom, from other, over, under Still was my mistake to mumble such Or put upon the tongue As such assumption Still— wonder? Bird, shut up; Love I dusk And lust I soak In all the frittered dust and feathers, Colors, coming up as mister Chuck and wood, and wait and ponder Slithered this to wonder, not a rock, But potted fern, Asunder Thunderstorm And wicked rain And fair the back A tide had come And sitting there upon the shore, Was us, and 12 apostles She's a Brick— Seemingly out of nowhere, A RED BRICK HOUSE falls very perfectly from the SKY and into OZ. oh good, my house is here. House. [the festival project ™] But I don't want to make house! Then play it! I don't want to play house it is BORING. You play it— they want it. But I don't want it. Then forget it! What! Listen kid, a job's a job! {Enter The Multiverse} Wrong, this is wrong— everything is wrong. What's wrong, Rob? I'll be back. ROB LOWE has just played TRUTH OR DARE L E G E N D S if I could get inside your head For just a second Bread and butter Heaven, hell, And other places I have wandered But oh, wonder This is never what I wanted, Was it? No sir. Sure, I set you off, No sooner had you got a gun and shot me. Handsome fucker. I'll bet. Wrong act. Wrong award show. Wrong hat and a baseball bat, Peanut butter and a nice cold cheesecake, Don't forget to order cheesesteak For your cat. A carnivore at odds with the other worlds, And also fused to us; This drifting back and forth Between the Rock And Hollywood Has got to stop. ((The world is toxic.)) the legend of… L. JONES It's you! BLŪ AH, crap. L. JONES Listen, I got something for you. BLŪ Where did your bird go? L.JONES What bird? CUT TO: Now open that. No wait! It's a trap! THE VAULT inside THE CRYPT at 30 ROCK has been opened. I keep looking down at my phone As if I'm expecting a phone call Or incoming message from God But the worlds to a song Are all jumbled up in my Concious I don't want to talk about it I feel Nauseous Everyone is being obnoxious Even my own blood I don't want to function I just want some French toast crunch For lunch Nostalgia I got a whole inch taller on the peloton Holla Now I got a body, Broader, So close to Broadway But I never go there That's a tall order Of “gotta have money” I mean live theatre It's fine I'll eat here And repeat these things till they just rhyme Line them all up like a context, Story Someday I'm gonna cut my own check Watch me lol none of this rhymes without a hard Brooklyn accent ; Guess you can't hack it! Send you ass packin! I said “That's whack son!” Then I went back blonde Now they want Backend, Contract, Off the top, Royalties Residuals I'm an individual with insidious syntax And yet I'm ridiculed Truly I'm a tit-for-tat Or particle of all you are Circular centrifuge, I trickle down your tentacles (Eugh) Choke the chicken just to give the cat a chicken bowl, Chick fil et and pret a tair just to get a ritual Espresso and a quick snack So I can get my dick wrapped In chocolate and licorice because the shit is edible Damn that I guess they set a damn trap By putting out the welcome mat, Then strapping Like a mothafuckin' straight jacket Matter fact, I look a nap in it, Then magic tricked the slip effective Compliments of Michael Jackson Or was it tech nine? Maybe I should get my Mind right I lost it once I guess I've better find it If I am, in fact, A diamond in the rough It's probably blooded it up enough That you should dig it up and shine it; Better yet, Somebody outta pick it up And sign it, Cause I write enough To put a vision To a blind man It's Fran Fine, man I'm behind, man The shadowgov had put me on a diet My bad I noticed that they tried to shut me up But couldn't stop the words or other stuff That just keeps coming out of my head I put coconuts as butter onto my bread And thinking thoughts of Carl cox As I drift off in my bed, I said, “It shouldn't be a problem, officer” As I reached for the gun And he aimed it at my death. That's an impossible apocalyptic suicide— Did you invite the devil in? I said “Nah, but that guy did.” The problem is, I pointed over yonder to a ghost Who also knows that I'm a well respected psychic; Nevermind a sidekick, side bitch in a sidecar, Psych ward, Sike! We spike war on your kind! So far, If I make history tonight, The other side decides their psalm is just as likely The third reike. Okay, strike one: I'm gonna turn your lights off. Strike two : you do and say what I do: Strike three: we're gonna make you suicidal I specialize in denying rights for high profits But big brother, or boss— What if my glove fits? The instance it does, We lock you up with no service, Your world becomes dark And your words become worthless Oh shit. This is not a good rap song. Like, at all. I must say, I do agree, You lose your trust, but silently Denied is all your trouble, Till it just begins to bubble up Until the cookie crumbles— See that feeling in your stomach? This is bigger than the money, girl — They want your soul, and then the world! I told you never call him. I didn't! Then explain this: [Skrillex] *sharp inward sigh* CUT IMMIDIATLEH TO STAN You know what! That's it! I don't care how handsome or rich and famous he is! This has to stop! KYLE Hey, wait just a minute— STAN SHUT UP KYLE. KYLE You shut up! STAN You're starting to sound just like him! KYLE Take that back! STAN I won't take it back! You all might have forgotten who you are, but I haven't!after of fact, I bet to Cartman, you're still that stupid little Jew kid! KYLE That's IT. KYLE takes out his phone. what are you doing? …I'm tweeting about this. I thought it was X now… It is, but you can't ‘x' anything, it's still calledl tweeting. I guess youre right. —and I'm tagging Cartman ! STAN Are you serious? Oh shit, this is social suicide. …did I ever explain this storyline? …I don't know, did i? I'd gotten so focused on this impending doom looming over me with this whole lawsuit that I'd forgotten entire worlds and whole documents. Even more terrifying, was the sudden quiet and the onset guilt that came over me for getting distracted. But I couldn't remove myself from it entirely—- it seemed to have ruined everything. It wasn't just motorcycle noises, it was like a nervousness and angst twisting in my stomach for months and months, until finally, as the court dates started approaching, it was peaceful, or rather, normal, all of a sudden. It couldn't be peaceful because now that the extreme noise was gone, I knew it had been planted all long— but what was the purpose? I'd lost two years not knowing, and though there were albums, they were never what I wanted. Now I was sorting through the documents of the show like it was the rubble of a decimated building— completely demolished, and I hadn't the slightest clue the contexts or the storylines anymore. It was pain and suffering, but not in the legal context. It was a creative disaster— I hadn't any idea in the slightest where I'd left my audience before I was forced to abandon them. But I was forced to choose, at times, between soap and toilet paper, or eventually, food, and water— or a phone. Eventually, this too became a pattern of the impossible— trying my hardest to do what I thought had been my purpose, but for far, being so endlessly sabotaged, even ridiculed and humiliated, and still, I couldn't understand why. I was tired— and somehow, even though I'd wanted to be left alone, I was the target. Worse was that I assumed it to be bigger than I thought and completely out of control— I thought immediately back to how my best friend from middle school had been attacked, and how she was made to think that it was me…to the point that she'd become obsessive about it to call my mom over it. And as far as the court was concerned, to the wrong ears or wrong eyes, anything I'd published in the festival project could look troublesome, like the ramblings of a mad mad, or schizo, or uncontrolled obsessive thoughts— because the biggest secrets of all, the things that tied together these fictional worlds and plots, were my own real life experience. The inability in a court of law to detail the podcast, which had started as meltdown some would call grandiose over an almost long forgotten rockstar and a porn model — and the entries into the festival project that followed, which included high concepts, off-kilter comedy, politics, and even fringed on social justice. Nothing I ever would have wanted and especially over money, but the lawsuit wasn't about money at all. In fact, at any moment I would have chosen to die and have it all stop if it weren't for my very young son being left alone. Though recently the dread had overcome with a sense of unbearable loss and agony, encrypted with suicidal thoughts and wants, reeling for human touch, the overbearing factor seemed to be that if I killed myself, I was giving someone what they wanted. I was really much too tired to go on, but leaving behind the world in entirety, in my very own way of beliefs wasn't just “shitutting it off”, it was starting it over. Understandably and undeniably immortal in its nature, the instances of God I had left spoke with a reminiscence of being born again, and having to remember which is it I'd wanted to start off. It was an unachievable overload of chaos and disruption, a level of corruption that spoke to something so dark and sinister it seemed biblical — then, again, I tried to wrap my mind around a way to rebuild a positive world from hope and thought, or manifest reality, but this is the very experience I'd felt was intended all along. The motorcycles weren't merely meant to destroy my career, or my will power, or force— they were, but also they were made to play upon my most valuable asset, the power of thought, to make it impossible to become something other than what was wanted; to use my own mind against itself and destroy my way of thought by using vibrations that could not be shut out, or stopped— they followed me to the sound collective, to Shakespeare in the park, the bank, the doctors office— it was as if they knew and understood my very thoughts, my process. It was of nothing at all to corrupt every single body and brain who would surround me or come close— by using the power that seemed supernatural enough, but indeed were powered by money, and technology. Perhaps, in this essence, I thought, was the purest display of defective intention itself; the mere thought that this indeed was rather Good Vs. Evil or God and The Devil would easily be written off as a diseased way of thought. The social world and constructs had been built around being open minded to a system of psychology that was intrinsically rather corrupt. I knew this could only be fought with what I knew, and what I could draw from as logic. I didn't want to go to court because I knew the people I would be fighting were liars, and well trained psychological masters of manipulation, well hidden terrorists dressed as public servants and systematic corrupters all for simple profit margins, to whom I was not so much a person or a mother, or a daughter, but a number. Because I was poor, and had once or four times chosen to love the wrong person in an unorthodox and uncontrollable form of torture, dismissing each and every social construct or physiology that was by the book, by embracing that there was a reason for change I quickly became quite the antagonist of sorts and hopefully not some sort of martyr —for the kind of people that had money and property, and perhaps even socially constructed circles to camoflage their own self doubt and hatred, but absolutely also had no morals. –Death of a Superstar DJ If I lose my mind At least I know I'm right on time This time— I meant that, I had it bad this time MCBADBAT I had it bad this time, And the last. Perchance for you, Hour or folded, Hair my weight And glassed upon thy, This upon now, Feathered waking, And there barely weathered Shaking. Dear, dear, Tis is fair truth, To fare that I have gasp And fated at thy doorstep; And yet, care to force, Her breaking waves and saving tinder, Fit there slithered in as yet astonished, Then another; And I hated. So, then, slower now. All there, gathered none. And show to show thy force What then became and withered after, None to bark or beg But birds and feathered creatures, pander The tides did Quake, And the heart did grow ten fold and steady saying None upon us but one left to shiver in the depths That yet remain as undiscovered For now never there was another world, Undone, And also another becomes, My death— And therefore all the worlds I kept, To travel on and travel As becomes one, does another onward As the first is glass to dust, And last is born there. So, Then, I, Crept, In my dress, Kept for clothes that church did water I, met, My mark and there the doors of shadows open Wilted and wake? Hear you; A star was born In other cosmos tied with our own nurture So, Kept, The weight of clasp and bone That holds the crept and precious alter Goddamn cat! Where are you. AAtticus Caaticus Oop. Gotta go. Toonces! Tooooonces! Where are you? Omg remember that one where that couple has a magic toddler and they just let him like,float away. Yeah, barely. Yeah. So I do. CUT TO: TOONCES focuses intently on the task at hand; he's sure he can manage to drive the human vehicle to his own home— to where he's assured he will find the actual body in which he belongs. Now… let's see, if I can just Wait, I who? ATTICUS CATTICUS, An ancient alien sorcerer must relay a series of important messages. Unfortunately. YO WHAT THE FUCK. None of them seem to be getting through. CUT BACK TO: TOONCEEESSSS. here kitty kitty kitty!! {Enter the Multiverse} I would dedicate, but honestly I've not time to waste And I'm craving wedding cake I hate to destroy you But for now, you know I can't employ you; This implies my eyes are also murder And I'm sure of her departure From another world, Perhaps across the border. Also, quite the dark sorcerer himself LORNE MICHAELS has well hidden himself under the guise of having become one of the most successful television producer of all times— And even in his own very small world, Nobody quite seems to know why. JIMMY FALLON Lorne, I have to tell you something. LORNE MICHAELS This had better be good, Jimmy, I've just made popcorn. [the festival project ™] Don't worry, for now, The risk remains hidden, As sure as an asset is an advantage, I can't have the classes counting Heads of cabbage as accomplishes, The masses are honestly astonished And impossible, but what was wrong with Boredom in the first place? Nonsense More words And still no dollars Hunger strike, And burning harder, California deficit, lack of bread, Heaven sent interventions and scissors, Mistresses, disasters and divorces But who says the whole story has to suffer? You're a surfer under water, Remember that when you finally catch your breath above the surface Can you clear her? He who? Back to work! Or back to the future! My super brain is dead but I think I'm next I think heaven swallows whole the blooded laugher From the constructs I've come from. Remember that. Remember not to fall from too far up, God would give you wings With time to spare Before you ever wondered where Your mark was On the plaza Don't let me up to the very top. I will at the very least Best scenario jump off And rid the world myself, Just for a dozen donuts over Crossing hearts and Hollywood And Griffith park To also soft my foot Upon red carpets. You ever shave your armpits!? …no. Hm. Catholic. Of course. Get in. Destination. —Rotterdam. You idiot. I made it. Whatever, get in the boat. DI NERO Give her your shirt. What. Your shirt. Why my shirt. Just— Fine. Here. [he hands over his shirt— in an instant, the woman becomes an exact REPLICA.] …my shirt. Relax. Nothing's gonna happen to it. Okay? —in fact, you're still wearing it. Alright! She's right, Jimmy, relax. I can't, that's— It's simple. There is nothing simple about this whatsoever. You're right. It's not, so get over it. [The Festival Project ™] BILL MURRAY There's a compartment at the end of the left corridor— Alright. In that hatch, there's a chamber. Okay, what'll I do? You'll open it? How? I'll tell you how, just get there. Suddenly, a barrier falls; it appears as though there are booby traps set here. Uh— that might be a problem. There might be a few of them. What just happened? Booby traps. —ah, I know what you're talking. Those aren't booby traps— they're Bobby Traps. What in the Hell are you talking about? For whatever reason Jimmy Kimmel Is important Now I'm scared of him, I know he knows the devil Come to think of it, Might even be an advocate Have an avocado But don't know the half of it These are, as it stands Comes what may Special circumstances I could circumvent an intervention, Never second chances I've been setting rat traps, Trapeze artists, Bampheramph camp, And also trampolines over the plaza That seems dangerous. Yeah. AHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Damn. Know it's plausible, That I also am an alcoholic, Though dysfunctional, Professional, And underrepresented So I stand myself, Let's just say pro-se if you will I could add Prozac to my snacks But I'll be delayed, if you still Don't get my messages I'm sick of having heart attacks; A hard advantage I was looking back on “fully packaged” A six pack of abs And nothing left to eat but cabbage, Haven't had a mouth, But I've been counting on my ass To get me back up north, I'm coming from the South Out West, there's a word for that At best, you're a four and a half My body double stunts and stumbles Struts at nothing Struck before the one, And so between high noon and Somewhere around 30 in I'm never turning 30, 30 Rock is in the wind— So count that up, That's what my income is. That's what they said? “Too late, you've been betrayed” If that's how it is, Then I request “beheaded” You know your mother says That ugly face just becomes permanent If you keep making it, And so I did, The second that it ended I'm Trying so hard Just to be What they want That it hurts Just to stop And relax For a moment INT. THE LAIR. NIGHT What is this? Where am I? You're— Alive. Why? …I changed my mind. You're not ugly You're just not mine I changed my mind I changed my life around. I skip line after line, But the message ain't right, I have time a chance No challenge accepted No exceptions or Expectations Expand this racism vocabulary Set the rat traps back To February Stamp the weather's getting Better with the postage clearing Abstr– My cat is so cute I can't stand him; But he's pretty bad, That my only friend; Animal. I blacklisted deadmau5, And my whole set sucked. Presently, however I'm a peasant Plucking pheasant feathers Guess I– pppftt. Like it never even happened But I'm sure we're all to war, Like a fear I never grasp it, What's l before, uncertain of your l words— My dear, were tattered and the masters heavy handed, Oh, my dear, we're marching on a battered Wit, to all your fan mail I tel you, I was I tortured, Let me show you And also, No one forced my hand at magic, Questioned prestidigitation, Or went back to every second, Land you think you owned as time In fact, my crucial very hard earned gossip column Asks the reader to reform his or her thought Before a judgement can be made How fascinating. The bag says ‘poems' so I wrote one, But I'm sure since my marker's toggled on I'm being stalked, It's like a magnet, Punch the clock And here they pour into the coffin So I won't be pouring coffee for the puffin; Maybe someday I'll look back at this as all I ever wanted, But for now it's just a horror show, Where I belong the murder— Yet a thriller, Best, The audience is captivated, Yes This is evasive, Cause I can't been captured yet By either masses or Mass murderers. At last, a cadence comes clean of its Breaking waves and rhythms, Tides and ties, Becomes another— Then, I'm whisked away Not back to slumber, but of subtle thoughts Of Californian water Lapping up across our surfboards; I often wear them tides, The undertow As pull of greater waves I sit aside as all that passes [The Festival Project ™] When I see Calvin Klein, I think of you; Not what you used to be But turned in to So it's mutual— Pay attention, fool As does moss grow on a rock And this to you— It is unfortunate, my dear You miss with every twist, Adjustment of attention span, The glances I foreshadowed (Here you are, inside your past) It's just affective of the effect, You've been levitating, Yes, I find it devastating Every second kept is just a fortune But you pause before you post— You reap before you even think Of what you sow, You don't belong, Agast, (True) Set the tone, Classless, But I'm Art, you are a Daunting folk song, Mistletoe and marker. CAMERA ASSISTANT Marker. …what is this for again? CAMERA ASSISTANT (Annoyed, mumbling) Shut up. Ten minutes passes and still, I'm awake But the tragedy of the mistake has just set in, I'm sure I've been tortured, I'm paid in mistakes, but I'd rather be shattered with Mortimer's curse. To the tune of Ten by ten by ten I will never be lover, nor friend in the end. {Enter The Multiverse] DRAKE concentrates heavily on a very long , seemingly very angry message— a frowning face plastered as he writes that is so noteworthy, it catches the attention of many a passerby— still this focus unwatered, as he bashes heavily away at the text message with the thumbs of fury for over 30 minutes while sitting at a booth in a well-loved pancake restaurant. As a tall stack of pancakes is served before him, and he, still unbreaking this angry texting streak or eye contact with his phone sits before them, history is made in what internet culture has now deemed as “the most meme worthy face in history” The world wonders what he could possibly be writing— and more importantly—-who he could be texting. Tears come to his eyes but do not fall as he raises his thumb with reserve, to finally press [RETURN.] CUT TO: SUNNI BLU receives a text amidst a wild party. Almost without so much as a reaction, SUNNI BLU pings the message to a projector and cuts off the lights, and music. A VERY LONG, ANGRY TEXT is projected on the wall. I slept from 10-2 There was nothing else to do My name is Devin DeLouise And I am not supposed to know these things Seven are dead and three are left I know what's next I'm also often known as And referred to as coyote ugly; Suffering a tantra wall, Yo, you son of a bitch! You dirty, dirty son of a bitch. I must admit, I had a lot to do with this… I had no part in it! Relax… soon enough, the both of your realize— this is how the unimaginable gets written. [he loads the polished sterling silver pistol and glamours over it] You have our memory. —all memory. And as soon as it ends, before it can begin again. The slate is wiped clean. Good riddance. “A Different Kind of Monologue” Is this what you wanted? Ooh— you should try me! I wish you would try me! Try me! I wish you would. Be calm, Grand Master. This will all be over momentarily. What's going on. Deprivation chamber. Crypt? —Encrypted? A lockup. Ah. Thought so. That ought to show us what he's really made up. We can all hope. [he pounds on the glass, the one way mirror acts as a camera which the maj aresses, rabid and wi the anger of a dangerous animal, both we, n audience, and the small group of men gathered a the other side of the room. This could be the basis of a lot of lawsuits. So now I have your tears and agony A wilted throne and wand Which which would grant a wish of comedy, And therefore ever after, Not pain and guilt, but laughter So heavy is the hat that acts as crown, And so foolish is the King to think ‘imself as not one, Creaks the crow and also of the feathered guilt that follows, I Kept and bashful, wishing not the show as throne but sorrow, Kept to wick and wake and bones to shatter from tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Do you fear us? …do you wish to be feared? What of us? I seek to cause the wish that stands as though you may as granted. So shallow, fair child. And brother and my son also. Gross! Stop. You are weird! Dude, you are fucked. In the withdraw, my shadows and darkness Are there always, never resting Stories and gathered images, Visions of betrayal and archaic wants. In time, I've abandoned them all and betraying that which I've lost, For I know, and not ponder on That I shall never know love, As all standing tal over me Have eyes; And all I want Knows not what hides under my ugly. Alright. I followed your spiral, downward, and down wind and down wood, Into a place where I also aspired to show your mark Upon my rotted corpse or coarse crossifix; Sure worded and down trodden. Now, worse, I'm also sworn To mourn all my own losses, Kind folk. Kind hearted and now my eyes also sudden to wander— And there goes my miles and triumphs And morals and war songs, And sure, swallowed the barrel of a gun But also departed with honor, I tell I. Glimpses of wither and winter and whittling pain, And I slither my back to the center of All I am, in this, and shadows, Fairtails, And grains of rice and sand to twist away Into the rain as I lay dying. What a fortunate! Don't make my mark up and out, few for short times, Aye, conspire to warthog, Remember so force your spirit onto ours, And shake, sandbox! There aiming at you were the snakes of six liars, And the stakes of empires lost and won over, Also one solemn subtle Star of David Worn upon the neck of six monks, Ragtime Six popes, pass I; Six fathers and streaks solemn and Care tan teared salamander, Having weight and wake to cheer For our slaughter. Then, you, Having gained and also lost should reap to sow, What you'd have wanted; Though the tongue so convexed having way to guild your complex, Shaking as I hunger fruit that not but hangs Before l wanted I know, I could knot be consoled I know, I could not be consoled I know I could not be consolidated either Bought, or purchased I know I'm not consoled at all, I know I'm not confirmed at all I know, I know I'm not confronted, nor immortal — but your glorified affliction. Poor infinity. Of poverty, perhaps, but never poor at all. For your were warned of all the doors as opened at your calling. Not to walk though, But to ponder at them, wondering. he's gone Maybe I should go Too Heavy weight hanging on my Shoulders I'm just star struck I don't know You I don't really like saying What I go through Talk an hour, Fake it All day show Monologue Improvisation Now i'm on a roll, But my thoughts got darker I like adderall and a real smooth talker I like a husband-father , Doctor, Actor, Tall and handsome, Doesn't matter I'm alone, so i feel hopeless Aggie's gone, So i might as well go though Oh– She's gone ((I think i'm past my time)) I think i should go to She's gone (so long) Right on, man I might as well go to It's been a long time, Gotta turn my light off, Overtime, That's a long ball game Season's over; On my back in the middle of the ball court She's gone, So i might as well go too. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Genre: "Afro-Surrealism" / "Social Horror" "Psycho-Acoustic Weaponry" or "Havana Syndrome symptoms." The Frame: The protagonist is subjected to "noise harassment"—a tactic dramatized here but rooted in the known reality of tenant displacement and "psychological attrition." The narrative depicts a process of "Soul Murder" ( also known as spiritual warfare) orchestrated by a hostile apparatus. The antagonist is "The Institution," representing deep-state mechanisms that view multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story allegorically dramatizes the invisible mechanisms that enforce racial hierarchy, depicting how broken social systems weaponize psychological practices against the individual. Artist's Note: This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as an artistic testament to the psychological siege endured from to 2023-2025. It is a creative record of survival against a hostile state architecture. The following is a creative non-fiction horror manifesto regarding the psychological assassination of a multicultural American artist. It documents—through the lens of Afro-Surrealism—how modern surveillance technology and sonic harassment are experienced by the targeted individual. As it stands It has become a modern sequel which mirrors the civil rights struggles of the 1960s, set in the present day. "The protagonist is being subjected to 'noise harassment'—a known tactic used by landlords and corrupt entities to displace tenants. The sound is weaponized to induce sleep deprivation and psychological attrition, dismantling of their ego and will to live, orchestrated by a hostile state apparatus. The antagonist in this piece is 'The Institution'—a deep state that views multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story dramatizes over time the invisible mechanisms (the 'Deep State') that enforce racial hierarchy and and psychological genocide, weaponizing broken social systems and unfounded psychological practices as biological weapons. This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as evidence of the psychological siege endured from 2023-2025. It is a transcript of survival against a hostile state architecture. This project spans an unlimited multiprojectoral arc of over two years of chronic violence, reaching into historical and theatrical projections and parallels over the all documented records of human existence through time and space.

Die aktuelle Folge von  "Nah am Wasser - ein Rügen - Reisepodcast " beschäftigt sich mit der Kaffee- und Kuchenkultur der Insel Rügen. Diese weist eine erstaunliche Vielfalt auf. Axel Metz spricht darüber unter anderem mit der aus Fernsehen und Radio bekannten Meteorologin Michaela Koschak und besucht mehrere Betreiber lokaler Cafés auf Rügen, um deren Spezialitäten und die Besonderheiten ihrer Standorte vorzustellen. In den Gesprächen im Moccavino in Altreddevitz, im Rosencafé in Putbus und im Blumencafé in Wiek geht es um Leidenschaft für das Backen, Betriebskonzepte und die beliebtesten Torten und Kuchen bei den Gästen, wie etwa Sanddorn-Spezialitäten.

Hi, i'm Russell Brand. No, get out. I'm sorry,I— ? Get out, get out! Are we trading kings for whistle! Sacred things and torturers? Lill bitz I started talking to this guy from tinder Then I quickly realized he only texted me at like 3 in the morning, like “come over” So I started texting him really weird shit— Like really weird. Like, I would make sure before I sent it, I would re-read it and be like “Ya, that's weird.” “That's really weird.” Every time, just read it to myself and be like “Ya that's giving “you're psycho” Right off the bat. Kate Winslet is so good at late night. She talks mad slow and answers every open ended question with a paragraph of thoughtless nonsense— finally, at the end of the paragraph, she answers the question in yes or no fashion; in this sense, you've completely forgotten the question through redirection. This has taken nearly five minutes. Genius. Amidst a story, she begins to slowly decrechendo until she's murmuring in a near whisper so you really have to try to pay attention to what she's saying, which is almost nothing. So considerably nothing, that you lose thought in trying to grasp and accept the words— this is excellent banter, because of course, she isn't really saying anything. This has taken another five minutes. Captivating. INT. DENTISTS OFFICE. DAY. Who is Claude Von Wastvermaan? KIMMEL Doctor Claude Von Wastverman. Okay. Who is that? KIMMEL It's me. I'm Claude Von Wastverman. Dr.— KIMMEL Yeah. It's me. KIMMEL Why are you— what? KIMMEL This is my office. …why? Because— I use specific research and target demographics to seek out people who have no interest in whatsoever watching my show and do not recognize me in any way actively seeking a dental practitioner— Why? KIMMEL Because! My audience loves me. They want to see me— they have to like me! So? KIMMEL These people don't know who I am. They don't want to see me—and there's a good chance, they won't like me at all. …this is how you spend your free time? KIMMEL —and some of my vacation days! Jesus. KIMMEL Yeah. I'm not alright! How much does this office space cost? KIMMEL You wouldn't like it. And—I take very limited insurance. Did you…study dentistry, at all, at any point? KIMMEL Not at all— Oh, Jesus. KIMMEL But Claude might have for a short time— online. These degrees look legitimate. KIMMEL He was a really good guy. Wait. What. [a rubber glove snaps] KIMMEL If you'll excuse me, I have an appointment coming in at 2:30. …you're kidding me. KIMMEL I'm not—and she's always early. Get out. Gladly. He opens the door and leads him out of the office, looking startled startled and shaking his head. KIMMEL Good afternoon, Mrs. Evanston. Perhaps I was just looking for something and my brain saw what it wanted to— but it kept coming around in ways that were stranger and stranger, and I couldn't explain the thought of it, like I was connected to something. Jimmy Slithered. But it's okay, Cause I hate to see him prosper. Wait a minute? Did it enter for a second in your head to what had happened? Very obviously is it just exactly as you'd imagined. Wait a moment; Give a little gift for winter's entrance— Suddenly you're hating Christmas, Just infected with this sort of hatred That's been creeping up on them for centuries. Very well, then Skrillex. Very well, played ventriloquist act at the Rock And how hardened are you, the heart of all non immortal and broken? Are you succumbed to never wonder either? Cratered. Disrespect and spills of want, Spools and spills and towers of yarn, You're getting broker every warrant. You're the dark and hadn't opened, Oh to be so charmed and wanted. Jimmy Slitheted, But I caught him creeping in the forest, Well, done, Harper— Now you've got yourself a story Jimmy Slithered, but that's good— I had him at the fortress, And all our audience would want Is fourth wall being broken. So here fals the house of cards! The house of cards The house of cards. And here folds the broken hand— The broken hand. The broken hand. And here calls the shattered wand, The crypted want, The shadowed trumpet horn, there! And there upon the hill, There did I grasp and fall to follow, Though the crown had not the king, The ground was sure to've caught him! And so I clasped with all my might and grip, The humble role of which that is This, Unrolled and uttered: Feast of kings, Be you what may of Prince and time and also my own brotherhood and making, There is, shadowed in my own dear marker, Yet another coming death upon us! How now, my ritual, of that and thy and they and I, To this my mark, And so I sang as this does not a number— My posture does find comfort here and tie my breath to grass from under, Striped and torn my cloth, as does in this my fortune gathers; There my fate and here to all, as wind becomes her mother, And though I call to all, but one I am, And then another. LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Genre: "Afro-Surrealism" / "Social Horror" "Psycho-Acoustic Weaponry" or "Havana Syndrome symptoms." The Frame: The protagonist is subjected to "noise harassment"—a tactic dramatized here but rooted in the known reality of tenant displacement and "psychological attrition." The narrative depicts a process of "Soul Murder" ( also known as spiritual warfare) orchestrated by a hostile apparatus. The antagonist is "The Institution," representing deep-state mechanisms that view multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story allegorically dramatizes the invisible mechanisms that enforce racial hierarchy, depicting how broken social systems weaponize psychological practices against the individual. Artist's Note: This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as an artistic testament to the psychological siege endured from to 2023-2025. It is a creative record of survival against a hostile state architecture. The following is a creative non-fiction horror manifesto regarding the psychological assassination of a multicultural American artist. It documents—through the lens of Afro-Surrealism—how modern surveillance technology and sonic harassment are experienced by the targeted individual. As it stands It has become a modern sequel which mirrors the civil rights struggles of the 1960s, set in the present day. "The protagonist is being subjected to 'noise harassment'—a known tactic used by landlords and corrupt entities to displace tenants. The sound is weaponized to induce sleep deprivation and psychological attrition, dismantling of their ego and will to live, orchestrated by a hostile state apparatus. The antagonist in this piece is 'The Institution'—a deep state that views multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story dramatizes over time the invisible mechanisms (the 'Deep State') that enforce racial hierarchy and and psychological genocide, weaponizing broken social systems and unfounded psychological practices as biological weapons. This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as evidence of the psychological siege endured from 2023-2025. It is a transcript of survival against a hostile state architecture. This project spans an unlimited multiprojectoral arc of over two years of chronic violence, reaching into historical and theatrical projections and parallels over the all documented records of human existence through time and space. REBEL1. I am hypnotized; I am pain I am cryptonite I am in pain I am penalized; I am pinned l I am pinstripes on wide ties; I am Him. Pinterest, pintrest, pinholes And disinterest Centered sentiments And immigrants And ministrations, Images and insolence (And indulgences, patronages) Eclipses and rip titles, Paris Tiptons, And temptation Missing wages Push to shove and What are you doing, motherfucker?! To say the least, I'm a bit unconventional. Unexplainable joy And invisible ties and invincible triads Unimatatable charm, And prehensile times And forefathers before us Unpolished Well dressed hampers on leather and fortunes And doing and donuts and do this and don't-touches Mumbles of soft till and lunches and subtle distraction And coming construction Wages Ions I afford you To die now Like I want He's better at the body code Than old Colbert, He's one for one now Could this corrupt you— I didn't destroy her, I offered a suffix No longer for your number No longer for your hard times No longer for your warrants No longer No longer No four times Don't pan to the audience I'm a hole slow meltdown Don't man your own So wait, am I also telepathic? Yeah, that. Oh my! Is it like a two-way broadcast type— thing? Yeah, that part… Oh no, I'm so sorry. No you're not. You're right. I told you not to go looking into my thoughts. Check it all out, I bought prototypes Check it all out, I undug libraries Check it out, You're all alone at Walmart No longer working part time, The doors are closed and locked now, They're bound to stage a lock out You're better off on hard times You're better off on Lala Land No— Don't deport I want my art back No, don't deport; It's just a cake walk to apartheid, Remember mine now? Cheers to the world's longest monologues. Kudos to your picking up cabbage Remember the back for the wartimes The bagpipes have sounded; You're back to astonish us. No! I must have you a lesson; I'm back with my old will and testament No more Old Testament wanted I bought your sticks in Leviticus And so, Again– CUT TO: WILD PARTY. INT.EXT./WHENEVER HOW SICK IS THIS? NO! NOT THAT! I raised the dead from a half pipe I shoot the crowd out in foreign I can't remember my own Sam But I found one– For a dollar, For a wrong word And a hard song And a larger Go look, Now remember a rock star. Now that you're so stolen, Go back! You're unorthodox! Clear cut: you're a tragic Magic act– Now I'm back with a bag of tricks with my back out Learn your lessons. CUT BACK TO. INT./EXT. YO I'M SAYING A WIIIILD PARTY. WHENEVER YO, WHO DOES THIS?! What a party! I WANT TO GO HOME NOW! —I'M CALLING THE COPS! THIS IS YOUR HOUSE!!! {Enter The Multiverse} …And it's all house music all night. No, to that. Beg your pardon? I won't come. [The Festival Project ™ ] Now articulate your face muscles. My wat. Now you're bar banned. I had this at a festival once. What is it? A “whore salad” … All with a side of oxygen. Now you're in a tunnel. (A tunnel, a scone and a croissant) Now you're worse, warthog, immortal (Call your dad back, You're a bad son.) Now I'm out in the canyon With Chester McBadBat I got chest hair, And a straight out of the badlands Yes, I did mention this to my cousin Evan, But why ask that? So you heard everything I thought? Mmhmm. Hard times. —and everyone else? What is it like to have love man? I been locked out I'm a rock addict, But I'm damned now How's that fountain coming along? SUNNI BLU …it's just water. ARCHITECHT …yeah it's water. It's a fountain. SUNNI BLU —I WANT CHOCOLATE. Whose here? Not that guy! Four more beers? I just realized I never ever bought mine; I always had a tough guy. Box. What? Fight! I'm Eurovision And a hard remix— Ten minutes in and I realize I've already heard this. Oh yea, This Golden band of art, love and protection Perfection. Ohshea, shit! Who invited you? I got a 311 from Questlove!! Is that a beeper?! CUBE Since when are we on a first name basis? It would be weird to call you “ICE CUBE” Why's that? You. know? [the beeper goes off three more times] CUBE oh shit! What?! CUBE Nothin! Where the yard at?! sometimes it doesn't really matter Who the dialogue comes out of The whole point Is to put the art back into art projects Cause we all know it's been constructed And commercialized To the point of destruction And almost no promise For independent artists at all. So who is it with CUBE? Could be me. Could be you. Could be U— If it's not, It was all just a long lost passion project A collective God Complex. Give myself a hug Cause nobody else will God gave my case a Grace Cause somebody lost Will. Oh, Karen. Come, heart attack. Come karma, Come hot dogs Come Christmas time at the Plaza Come on, hard death. Come on. Hard Rock Hotel? Nah, Equinox. Alright. Hudson. Yards. Now you're in a tunnel Does your heart hurt? (You should clutch it.) Put your patchwork in a hard drive This is hard times, You can't come back. O! But they do take dear DRATCH and run with it! I go run along to Corrections, And ginger snaps for crosswords On hard workers So fax the whole document! Do you know what? Horcruxes! Hot lunches, yuck. Hockey! I want off this planet so bad I cross cross my fingers at crosswalks And oncoming trains but– Don't look either way before I walk. So pull a shotgun at all that I was one strong donkey before I got one address. Now I just redress the cause All I want is my bundle back. Yuck! Care for it at all? Yeah, yours, but she's a danger to humanity. Yeah, mine but I'm an honest hybrid horrid hunter. On time? I just got it at Sephora. On time, Like I never even got that. I want to be loved just to be looked at But since in this life I can't turn the clock back I've discovered it's hell that my body was born as. — I discovered it's hell that my body was born as. Such a problem when you know That even the great Rosie O'Donnell once wanted blue eyes. Now I forget where I trailed off… What a drawback. I'm all out of patience. Crypto, I tip toe now over eggshells No home for her Hard times And hard times. No code offered, No I don't fall for that'd But where's the snowfall over all the rot out back? Hard times. Hard times. Hard times. As the bell tolls And the well swells whole And the umpire does rack them Up; Nobody works harder than Hard times Hard times Hard times. Yeah, that's four Aces Up, Diamond. Run for your forks and your knives And your daughters and mothers and father And home family comfort And cufflinks and loafers, And sport coats and Your life. Your life. Your life. [The Festival Project ™] —-Chroma111. THE IMPENATRABLE TEN is INEVITABLY DISBANDED. Inevitably??? Inevitably! but not indefinitely. Oh, I guess. Alright. SILENCE. {Enter The Multiverse.} I don't want to be here. No one does. You are sending mixed messages. Imm not sending any messages… — with your brain. L E G E N D S Of course. Electromagnetic signaling Of course. I told you this had gone strange. Severely. Now how do I explain from this time how to get back to our time If there's no direct translation between our language and that one? Maybe you can't explain it. These are hard facts. So I suggest the use of highly trained telepaths. That far back? These things are possibly connected even in this time, theoretically using our past; I might suggest Telesynthesis— considering these planetary electromagnetics to which this entire planet is hardwired. …hardwired. That's right. Ascension. Hard times. Madame President? Get lost. [Secret President] I get it. You're a whistleblower. I'm not that. A shadow government official. Also wrong. Why else would you run for office? I'm trying to get shot at. They told me you were funny. But they didn't say anything about my gauntlet? Your—what? You know. My conquests—professional accomplishments? Your God complex? I know all about that. Perhaps it's not a complex. But a ‘gauntlet'? You're a journalist aren't you? I'm giving you some high art concepts. (Because for the sake of the rhyme, And please, for God's sakes, Gemini, In prose form Without the use of tables. ) I R O N I C —Deathwish. [The Festival Project ™] Season 12, Episode 01. REBEL1. Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū I would think it psychosomatic, but in less than 24 hours of restarting my vitamin regimen, my mood was so improved that I could not for a second overlook that without taking vitamins, I was missing something. Even if my newly concocted super-juice recipes were putting a curb in my abdominal muscles that even I was sure didn't entirely belong there, pairing this development with the Peloton, it was a long and diagonal, out-of-sorts thing that stuck out as if it was on somebody else's body and not mine. Still, I had to deal with the heavy weight of the drooping skin and belly that hung as if it very much did belong to me but wasn't budging, despite my attempts at a flat stomach and having been so well overstretched at one point by medical obesity and double occupancy that it was, at the very least to say, insurgically impossible. However, my brain went on having ways of wrapping my mind around this—that the rest of my body was quite slim, and even on some days seeming petite, were it not for my massive thighs, which also seemed to have sported a curve to them which was almost attractive, especially well-dressed. But the fun of it was, I wasn't exceptionally well-dressed, because I hadn't wanted to be. In fact, I was under obligation always to be about in the men's clothes I'd found because they were designer, and it was even something like a fashion statement that I dressed this grotesquely and in overlarge articles because of the astounding amount of weight I'd lost and the strange way my body seemed to be taking an athletic shape. Still, there was this factor that I was actually always somehow in an excruciating amount of pain, especially waking up, and though some of that I would have applied to being psychosomatic—in just that it was the pure stress of the disembodied torture I was undergoing in one way or another—whether anybody would have admitted it or not, or whether or not the unknown parties in question were going to be justified for it, I still hadn't an idea or thought as to what my unstructured purpose was. And though I sat beautifully controlled into doing music as a default, I was looking at the numbers, and the massive amount of people doing remarkably well because they could afford to do so, or were lucky, or were unbearably beautiful and so could do anything they wanted, and I too much so was not that. In fact, it was almost by design my failure and my constant struggle that even the universe seemed to look down upon me in such a way that it pitied me in a harrowing attempt at karmic justice done for the seeming evil and harsh things being done. It was true that someone had set out to torture me, and this might have once been the way of the illuminated artist and tortured soul; however, having taken so metaphorically into my own boat such heavy water of grief and loss, and drowning, I was sinking into the natural ocean of monstrous storms my body was saying in so many ways it could do no more. My mind was strong—and I could take the torture for innumerable amounts of time without becoming so much more frustrated than to just stop, or start heavy breathing, or even compulsively masturbate until one world faded deeply into another and I just didn't care. But realistically, the things that were being done pointed at a strategic and tactical, military-trained psychological governing of my own autonomy. And because I knew this, I also knew whoever was responsible was more than capable of covering their tracks to the point of disappearance—an inescapable hell of unseen trauma. The basis of it was that if I raised my concerns with any law enforcement or police, I was just as often ignored, ridiculed, or worse—thought of as symptomatic of some psychological condition I well knew and understood I did not have, all because what I did seem to possess—this undying force of color and creative ingenuity that could not quite be captured or marketed to improve the bankbook of others with a sudden onset—was unacceptable in such a way that I could become some sort of object that was in no way useful besides to experiment and then observe what I might become next, all the while knowing I would not and could not stay in one form or another too long without becoming such an obvious target. —Death of a Superstar DJ. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW

EXT. CONCERT. DAY SUNNI BLU converses with CHARLES over a musical break STAGE LEFT of the MAINSTAGE. SUNNI BLU Thems the two prettiest girls right there. CHARLES yeah . ok. SUNNI BLU Grab em up. CHARLES What? SUNNI BLU Snatch em up. CHARLES Do you mean. SUNNI BLU Micheal Jackson style munich on that bitch. CHARLES What—? SUNNI BLU Them bitchez. CHARLES Are you saying—? SUNNI BLU They wont mind. CHARLES Uhhhh… SUNNI BLU I promise. watch . BOUNCER SUNNI's bodyguard BOUNCER crosses to center stage. SUNNI whispers into BOUNCER'S ear and he nods once and smirks; he then walks out into the crowd and picks up the two girls SUNNI aforementioned, tossing each of them over his shoulders, planting them on stage next to SUNNI; they scream and cry hysterically. SUNNI nods and smiles in self admiration and throws BOUNCER and CHARLES a thumbs up; CHARLES shakes his head slowly in disapproval, the GIRLS scream and cry hysterically; SUNNI grins and carries on about the show. CUT IMMEDIATELY TO: SUNNI BLU YO! I got mad lawsuits. MORGAN Plural? SUNNI BLU Like multiple! MORGAN well what were you expecting, sunni? Its 202#--? SUNNI BLU But michael is timeless! MORGAN And youre not michael jackson! SUNNI BLU You're right! I sold more records already than him! MORGAN ugh! PUBLICIST *does* {Enter The Multiverse} Hi, i'm Russell Brand. No, get out. I'm sorry,I— ? Get out, get out! Are we trading kings for whistle! Sacred things and torturers? Lill bitz I started talking to this guy from tinder Then I quickly realized he only texted me at like 3 in the morning, like “come over” So I started texting him really weird shit— Like really weird. Like, I would make sure before I sent it, I would re-read it and be like “Ya, that's weird.” “That's really weird.” Every time, just read it to myself and be like “Ya that's giving “you're psycho” Right off the bat. Kate Winslet is so good at late night. She talks mad slow and answers every open ended question with a paragraph of thoughtless nonsense— finally, at the end of the paragraph, she answers the question in yes or no fashion; in this sense, you've completely forgotten the question through redirection. This has taken nearly five minutes. Genius. Amidst a story, she begins to slowly decrechendo until she's murmuring in a near whisper so you really have to try to pay attention to what she's saying, which is almost nothing. So considerably nothing, that you lose thought in trying to grasp and accept the words— this is excellent banter, because of course, she isn't really saying anything. This has taken another five minutes. Captivating. INT. DENTISTS OFFICE. DAY. Who is Claude Von Wastvermaan? KIMMEL Doctor Claude Von Wastverman. Okay. Who is that? KIMMEL It's me. I'm Claude Von Wastverman. Dr.— KIMMEL Yeah. It's me. KIMMEL Why are you— what? KIMMEL This is my office. …why? Because— I use specific research and target demographics to seek out people who have no interest in whatsoever watching my show and do not recognize me in any way actively seeking a dental practitioner— Why? KIMMEL Because! My audience loves me. They want to see me— they have to like me! So? KIMMEL These people don't know who I am. They don't want to see me—and there's a good chance, they won't like me at all. …this is how you spend your free time? KIMMEL —and some of my vacation days! Jesus. KIMMEL Yeah. I'm not alright! How much does this office space cost? KIMMEL You wouldn't like it. And—I take very limited insurance. Did you…study dentistry, at all, at any point? KIMMEL Not at all— Oh, Jesus. KIMMEL But Claude might have for a short time— online. These degrees look legitimate. KIMMEL He was a really good guy. Wait. What. [a rubber glove snaps] KIMMEL If you'll excuse me, I have an appointment coming in at 2:30. …you're kidding me. KIMMEL I'm not—and she's always early. Get out. Gladly. He opens the door and leads him out of the office, looking startled startled and shaking his head. KIMMEL Good afternoon, Mrs. Evanston. Perhaps I was just looking for something and my brain saw what it wanted to— but it kept coming around in ways that were stranger and stranger, and I couldn't explain the thought of it, like I was connected to something. Jimmy Slithered. But it's okay, Cause I hate to see him prosper. Wait a minute? Did it enter for a second in your head to what had happened? Very obviously is it just exactly as you'd imagined. Wait a moment; Give a little gift for winter's entrance— Suddenly you're hating Christmas, Just infected with this sort of hatred That's been creeping up on them for centuries. Very well, then Skrillex. Very well, played ventriloquist act at the Rock And how hardened are you, the heart of all non immortal and broken? Are you succumbed to never wonder either? Cratered. Disrespect and spills of want, Spools and spills and towers of yarn, You're getting broker every warrant. You're the dark and hadn't opened, Oh to be so charmed and wanted. Jimmy Slitheted, But I caught him creeping in the forest, Well, done, Harper— Now you've got yourself a story Jimmy Slithered, but that's good— I had him at the fortress, And all our audience would want Is fourth wall being broken. So here fals the house of cards! The house of cards The house of cards. And here folds the broken hand— The broken hand. The broken hand. And here calls the shattered wand, The crypted want, The shadowed trumpet horn, there! And there upon the hill, There did I grasp and fall to follow, Though the crown had not the king, The ground was sure to've caught him! And so I clasped with all my might and grip, The humble role of which that is This, Unrolled and uttered: Feast of kings, Be you what may of Prince and time and also my own brotherhood and making, There is, shadowed in my own dear marker, Yet another coming death upon us! How now, my ritual, of that and thy and they and I, To this my mark, And so I sang as this does not a number— My posture does find comfort here and tie my breath to grass from under, Striped and torn my cloth, as does in this my fortune gathers; There my fate and here to all, as wind becomes her mother, And though I call to all, but one I am, And then another. LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Genre: "Afro-Surrealism" / "Social Horror" "Psycho-Acoustic Weaponry" or "Havana Syndrome symptoms." The Frame: The protagonist is subjected to "noise harassment"—a tactic dramatized here but rooted in the known reality of tenant displacement and "psychological attrition." The narrative depicts a process of "Soul Murder" ( also known as spiritual warfare) orchestrated by a hostile apparatus. The antagonist is "The Institution," representing deep-state mechanisms that view multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story allegorically dramatizes the invisible mechanisms that enforce racial hierarchy, depicting how broken social systems weaponize psychological practices against the individual. Artist's Note: This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as an artistic testament to the psychological siege endured from to 2023-2025. It is a creative record of survival against a hostile state architecture. The following is a creative non-fiction horror manifesto regarding the psychological assassination of a multicultural American artist. It documents—through the lens of Afro-Surrealism—how modern surveillance technology and sonic harassment are experienced by the targeted individual. As it stands It has become a modern sequel which mirrors the civil rights struggles of the 1960s, set in the present day. "The protagonist is being subjected to 'noise harassment'—a known tactic used by landlords and corrupt entities to displace tenants. The sound is weaponized to induce sleep deprivation and psychological attrition, dismantling of their ego and will to live, orchestrated by a hostile state apparatus. The antagonist in this piece is 'The Institution'—a deep state that views multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story dramatizes over time the invisible mechanisms (the 'Deep State') that enforce racial hierarchy and and psychological genocide, weaponizing broken social systems and unfounded psychological practices as biological weapons. This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as evidence of the psychological siege endured from 2023-2025. It is a transcript of survival against a hostile state architecture. This project spans an unlimited multiprojectoral arc of over two years of chronic violence, reaching into historical and theatrical projections and parallels over the all documented records of human existence through time and space. REBEL1. I am hypnotized; I am pain I am cryptonite I am in pain I am penalized; I am pinned l I am pinstripes on wide ties; I am Him. Pinterest, pintrest, pinholes And disinterest Centered sentiments And immigrants And ministrations, Images and insolence (And indulgences, patronages) Eclipses and rip titles, Paris Tiptons, And temptation Missing wages Push to shove and What are you doing, motherfucker?! To say the least, I'm a bit unconventional. Unexplainable joy And invisible ties and invincible triads Unimatatable charm, And prehensile times And forefathers before us Unpolished Well dressed hampers on leather and fortunes And doing and donuts and do this and don't-touches Mumbles of soft till and lunches and subtle distraction And coming construction Wages Ions I afford you To die now Like I want He's better at the body code Than old Colbert, He's one for one now Could this corrupt you— I didn't destroy her, I offered a suffix No longer for your number No longer for your hard times No longer for your warrants No longer No longer No four times Don't pan to the audience I'm a hole slow meltdown Don't man your own So wait, am I also telepathic? Yeah, that. Oh my! Is it like a two-way broadcast type— thing? Yeah, that part… Oh no, I'm so sorry. No you're not. You're right. I told you not to go looking into my thoughts. Check it all out, I bought prototypes Check it all out, I undug libraries Check it out, You're all alone at Walmart No longer working part time, The doors are closed and locked now, They're bound to stage a lock out You're better off on hard times You're better off on Lala Land No— Don't deport I want my art back No, don't deport; It's just a cake walk to apartheid, Remember mine now? Cheers to the world's longest monologues. Kudos to your picking up cabbage Remember the back for the wartimes The bagpipes have sounded; You're back to astonish us. No! I must have you a lesson; I'm back with my old will and testament No more Old Testament wanted I bought your sticks in Leviticus And so, Again– CUT TO: WILD PARTY. INT.EXT./WHENEVER HOW SICK IS THIS? NO! NOT THAT! I raised the dead from a half pipe I shoot the crowd out in foreign I can't remember my own Sam But I found one– For a dollar, For a wrong word And a hard song And a larger Go look, Now remember a rock star. Now that you're so stolen, Go back! You're unorthodox! Clear cut: you're a tragic Magic act– Now I'm back with a bag of tricks with my back out Learn your lessons. CUT BACK TO. INT./EXT. YO I'M SAYING A WIIIILD PARTY. WHENEVER YO, WHO DOES THIS?! What a party! I WANT TO GO HOME NOW! —I'M CALLING THE COPS! THIS IS YOUR HOUSE!!! {Enter The Multiverse} …And it's all house music all night. No, to that. Beg your pardon? I won't come. [The Festival Project ™ ] Now articulate your face muscles. My wat. Now you're bar banned. I had this at a festival once. What is it? A “whore salad” … All with a side of oxygen. Now you're in a tunnel. (A tunnel, a scone and a croissant) Now you're worse, warthog, immortal (Call your dad back, You're a bad son.) Now I'm out in the canyon With Chester McBadBat I got chest hair, And a straight out of the badlands Yes, I did mention this to my cousin Evan, But why ask that? So you heard everything I thought? Mmhmm. Hard times. —and everyone else? What is it like to have love man? I been locked out I'm a rock addict, But I'm damned now How's that fountain coming along? SUNNI BLU …it's just water. ARCHITECHT …yeah it's water. It's a fountain. SUNNI BLU —I WANT CHOCOLATE. Whose here? Not that guy! Four more beers? I just realized I never ever bought mine; I always had a tough guy. Box. What? Fight! I'm Eurovision And a hard remix— Ten minutes in and I realize I've already heard this. Oh yea, This Golden band of art, love and protection Perfection. Ohshea, shit! Who invited you? I got a 311 from Questlove!! Is that a beeper?! CUBE Since when are we on a first name basis? It would be weird to call you “ICE CUBE” Why's that? You. know? [the beeper goes off three more times] CUBE oh shit! What?! CUBE Nothin! Where the yard at?! sometimes it doesn't really matter Who the dialogue comes out of The whole point Is to put the art back into art projects Cause we all know it's been constructed And commercialized To the point of destruction And almost no promise For independent artists at all. So who is it with CUBE? Could be me. Could be you. Could be U— If it's not, It was all just a long lost passion project A collective God Complex. Give myself a hug Cause nobody else will God gave my case a Grace Cause somebody lost Will. Oh, Karen. Come, heart attack. Come karma, Come hot dogs Come Christmas time at the Plaza Come on, hard death. Come on. Hard Rock Hotel? Nah, Equinox. Alright. Hudson. Yards. Now you're in a tunnel Does your heart hurt? (You should clutch it.) Put your patchwork in a hard drive This is hard times, You can't come back. O! But they do take dear DRATCH and run with it! I go run along to Corrections, And ginger snaps for crosswords On hard workers So fax the whole document! Do you know what? Horcruxes! Hot lunches, yuck. Hockey! I want off this planet so bad I cross cross my fingers at crosswalks And oncoming trains but– Don't look either way before I walk. So pull a shotgun at all that I was one strong donkey before I got one address. Now I just redress the cause All I want is my bundle back. Yuck! Care for it at all? Yeah, yours, but she's a danger to humanity. Yeah, mine but I'm an honest hybrid horrid hunter. On time? I just got it at Sephora. On time, Like I never even got that. I want to be loved just to be looked at But since in this life I can't turn the clock back I've discovered it's hell that my body was born as. — I discovered it's hell that my body was born as. Such a problem when you know That even the great Rosie O'Donnell once wanted blue eyes. Now I forget where I trailed off… What a drawback. I'm all out of patience. Crypto, I tip toe now over eggshells No home for her Hard times And hard times. No code offered, No I don't fall for that'd But where's the snowfall over all the rot out back? Hard times. Hard times. Hard times. As the bell tolls And the well swells whole And the umpire does rack them Up; Nobody works harder than Hard times Hard times Hard times. Yeah, that's four Aces Up, Diamond. Run for your forks and your knives And your daughters and mothers and father And home family comfort And cufflinks and loafers, And sport coats and Your life. Your life. Your life. [The Festival Project ™] —-Chroma111. THE IMPENATRABLE TEN is INEVITABLY DISBANDED. Inevitably??? Inevitably! but not indefinitely. Oh, I guess. Alright. SILENCE. {Enter The Multiverse.} I don't want to be here. No one does. You are sending mixed messages. Imm not sending any messages… — with your brain. L E G E N D S Of course. Electromagnetic signaling Of course. I told you this had gone strange. Severely. Now how do I explain from this time how to get back to our time If there's no direct translation between our language and that one? Maybe you can't explain it. These are hard facts. So I suggest the use of highly trained telepaths. That far back? These things are possibly connected even in this time, theoretically using our past; I might suggest Telesynthesis— considering these planetary electromagnetics to which this entire planet is hardwired. …hardwired. That's right. Ascension. Hard times. Madame President? Get lost. [Secret President] I get it. You're a whistleblower. I'm not that. A shadow government official. Also wrong. Why else would you run for office? I'm trying to get shot at. They told me you were funny. But they didn't say anything about my gauntlet? Your—what? You know. My conquests—professional accomplishments? Your God complex? I know all about that. Perhaps it's not a complex. But a ‘gauntlet'? You're a journalist aren't you? I'm giving you some high art concepts. (Because for the sake of the rhyme, And please, for God's sakes, Gemini, In prose form Without the use of tables. ) I R O N I C —Deathwish. [The Festival Project ™] Season 12, Episode 01. REBEL1. Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū I would think it psychosomatic, but in less than 24 hours of restarting my vitamin regimen, my mood was so improved that I could not for a second overlook that without taking vitamins, I was missing something. Even if my newly concocted super-juice recipes were putting a curb in my abdominal muscles that even I was sure didn't entirely belong there, pairing this development with the Peloton, it was a long and diagonal, out-of-sorts thing that stuck out as if it was on somebody else's body and not mine. Still, I had to deal with the heavy weight of the drooping skin and belly that hung as if it very much did belong to me but wasn't budging, despite my attempts at a flat stomach and having been so well overstretched at one point by medical obesity and double occupancy that it was, at the very least to say, insurgically impossible. However, my brain went on having ways of wrapping my mind around this—that the rest of my body was quite slim, and even on some days seeming petite, were it not for my massive thighs, which also seemed to have sported a curve to them which was almost attractive, especially well-dressed. But the fun of it was, I wasn't exceptionally well-dressed, because I hadn't wanted to be. In fact, I was under obligation always to be about in the men's clothes I'd found because they were designer, and it was even something like a fashion statement that I dressed this grotesquely and in overlarge articles because of the astounding amount of weight I'd lost and the strange way my body seemed to be taking an athletic shape. Still, there was this factor that I was actually always somehow in an excruciating amount of pain, especially waking up, and though some of that I would have applied to being psychosomatic—in just that it was the pure stress of the disembodied torture I was undergoing in one way or another—whether anybody would have admitted it or not, or whether or not the unknown parties in question were going to be justified for it, I still hadn't an idea or thought as to what my unstructured purpose was. And though I sat beautifully controlled into doing music as a default, I was looking at the numbers, and the massive amount of people doing remarkably well because they could afford to do so, or were lucky, or were unbearably beautiful and so could do anything they wanted, and I too much so was not that. In fact, it was almost by design my failure and my constant struggle that even the universe seemed to look down upon me in such a way that it pitied me in a harrowing attempt at karmic justice done for the seeming evil and harsh things being done. It was true that someone had set out to torture me, and this might have once been the way of the illuminated artist and tortured soul; however, having taken so metaphorically into my own boat such heavy water of grief and loss, and drowning, I was sinking into the natural ocean of monstrous storms my body was saying in so many ways it could do no more. My mind was strong—and I could take the torture for innumerable amounts of time without becoming so much more frustrated than to just stop, or start heavy breathing, or even compulsively masturbate until one world faded deeply into another and I just didn't care. But realistically, the things that were being done pointed at a strategic and tactical, military-trained psychological governing of my own autonomy. And because I knew this, I also knew whoever was responsible was more than capable of covering their tracks to the point of disappearance—an inescapable hell of unseen trauma. The basis of it was that if I raised my concerns with any law enforcement or police, I was just as often ignored, ridiculed, or worse—thought of as symptomatic of some psychological condition I well knew and understood I did not have, all because what I did seem to possess—this undying force of color and creative ingenuity that could not quite be captured or marketed to improve the bankbook of others with a sudden onset—was unacceptable in such a way that I could become some sort of object that was in no way useful besides to experiment and then observe what I might become next, all the while knowing I would not and could not stay in one form or another too long without becoming such an obvious target. —Death of a Superstar DJ. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW

Hi, i'm Russell Brand. No, get out. I'm sorry,I— ? Get out, get out! Are we trading kings for whistle! Sacred things and torturers? Lill bitz I started talking to this guy from tinder Then I quickly realized he only texted me at like 3 in the morning, like “come over” So I started texting him really weird shit— Like really weird. Like, I would make sure before I sent it, I would re-read it and be like “Ya, that's weird.” “That's really weird.” Every time, just read it to myself and be like “Ya that's giving “you're psycho” Right off the bat. Kate Winslet is so good at late night. She talks mad slow and answers every open ended question with a paragraph of thoughtless nonsense— finally, at the end of the paragraph, she answers the question in yes or no fashion; in this sense, you've completely forgotten the question through redirection. This has taken nearly five minutes. Genius. Amidst a story, she begins to slowly decrechendo until she's murmuring in a near whisper so you really have to try to pay attention to what she's saying, which is almost nothing. So considerably nothing, that you lose thought in trying to grasp and accept the words— this is excellent banter, because of course, she isn't really saying anything. This has taken another five minutes. Captivating. INT. DENTISTS OFFICE. DAY. Who is Claude Von Wastvermaan? KIMMEL Doctor Claude Von Wastverman. Okay. Who is that? KIMMEL It's me. I'm Claude Von Wastverman. Dr.— KIMMEL Yeah. It's me. KIMMEL Why are you— what? KIMMEL This is my office. …why? Because— I use specific research and target demographics to seek out people who have no interest in whatsoever watching my show and do not recognize me in any way actively seeking a dental practitioner— Why? KIMMEL Because! My audience loves me. They want to see me— they have to like me! So? KIMMEL These people don't know who I am. They don't want to see me—and there's a good chance, they won't like me at all. …this is how you spend your free time? KIMMEL —and some of my vacation days! Jesus. KIMMEL Yeah. I'm not alright! How much does this office space cost? KIMMEL You wouldn't like it. And—I take very limited insurance. Did you…study dentistry, at all, at any point? KIMMEL Not at all— Oh, Jesus. KIMMEL But Claude might have for a short time— online. These degrees look legitimate. KIMMEL He was a really good guy. Wait. What. [a rubber glove snaps] KIMMEL If you'll excuse me, I have an appointment coming in at 2:30. …you're kidding me. KIMMEL I'm not—and she's always early. Get out. Gladly. He opens the door and leads him out of the office, looking startled startled and shaking his head. KIMMEL Good afternoon, Mrs. Evanston. Perhaps I was just looking for something and my brain saw what it wanted to— but it kept coming around in ways that were stranger and stranger, and I couldn't explain the thought of it, like I was connected to something. Jimmy Slithered. But it's okay, Cause I hate to see him prosper. Wait a minute? Did it enter for a second in your head to what had happened? Very obviously is it just exactly as you'd imagined. Wait a moment; Give a little gift for winter's entrance— Suddenly you're hating Christmas, Just infected with this sort of hatred That's been creeping up on them for centuries. Very well, then Skrillex. Very well, played ventriloquist act at the Rock And how hardened are you, the heart of all non immortal and broken? Are you succumbed to never wonder either? Cratered. Disrespect and spills of want, Spools and spills and towers of yarn, You're getting broker every warrant. You're the dark and hadn't opened, Oh to be so charmed and wanted. Jimmy Slitheted, But I caught him creeping in the forest, Well, done, Harper— Now you've got yourself a story Jimmy Slithered, but that's good— I had him at the fortress, And all our audience would want Is fourth wall being broken. So here fals the house of cards! The house of cards The house of cards. And here folds the broken hand— The broken hand. The broken hand. And here calls the shattered wand, The crypted want, The shadowed trumpet horn, there! And there upon the hill, There did I grasp and fall to follow, Though the crown had not the king, The ground was sure to've caught him! And so I clasped with all my might and grip, The humble role of which that is This, Unrolled and uttered: Feast of kings, Be you what may of Prince and time and also my own brotherhood and making, There is, shadowed in my own dear marker, Yet another coming death upon us! How now, my ritual, of that and thy and they and I, To this my mark, And so I sang as this does not a number— My posture does find comfort here and tie my breath to grass from under, Striped and torn my cloth, as does in this my fortune gathers; There my fate and here to all, as wind becomes her mother, And though I call to all, but one I am, And then another. LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Genre: "Afro-Surrealism" / "Social Horror" "Psycho-Acoustic Weaponry" or "Havana Syndrome symptoms." The Frame: The protagonist is subjected to "noise harassment"—a tactic dramatized here but rooted in the known reality of tenant displacement and "psychological attrition." The narrative depicts a process of "Soul Murder" ( also known as spiritual warfare) orchestrated by a hostile apparatus. The antagonist is "The Institution," representing deep-state mechanisms that view multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story allegorically dramatizes the invisible mechanisms that enforce racial hierarchy, depicting how broken social systems weaponize psychological practices against the individual. Artist's Note: This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as an artistic testament to the psychological siege endured from to 2023-2025. It is a creative record of survival against a hostile state architecture. The following is a creative non-fiction horror manifesto regarding the psychological assassination of a multicultural American artist. It documents—through the lens of Afro-Surrealism—how modern surveillance technology and sonic harassment are experienced by the targeted individual. As it stands It has become a modern sequel which mirrors the civil rights struggles of the 1960s, set in the present day. "The protagonist is being subjected to 'noise harassment'—a known tactic used by landlords and corrupt entities to displace tenants. The sound is weaponized to induce sleep deprivation and psychological attrition, dismantling of their ego and will to live, orchestrated by a hostile state apparatus. The antagonist in this piece is 'The Institution'—a deep state that views multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story dramatizes over time the invisible mechanisms (the 'Deep State') that enforce racial hierarchy and and psychological genocide, weaponizing broken social systems and unfounded psychological practices as biological weapons. This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as evidence of the psychological siege endured from 2023-2025. It is a transcript of survival against a hostile state architecture. This project spans an unlimited multiprojectoral arc of over two years of chronic violence, reaching into historical and theatrical projections and parallels over the all documented records of human existence through time and space. REBEL1. I am hypnotized; I am pain I am cryptonite I am in pain I am penalized; I am pinned l I am pinstripes on wide ties; I am Him. Pinterest, pintrest, pinholes And disinterest Centered sentiments And immigrants And ministrations, Images and insolence (And indulgences, patronages) Eclipses and rip titles, Paris Tiptons, And temptation Missing wages Push to shove and What are you doing, motherfucker?! To say the least, I'm a bit unconventional. Unexplainable joy And invisible ties and invincible triads Unimatatable charm, And prehensile times And forefathers before us Unpolished Well dressed hampers on leather and fortunes And doing and donuts and do this and don't-touches Mumbles of soft till and lunches and subtle distraction And coming construction Wages Ions I afford you To die now Like I want He's better at the body code Than old Colbert, He's one for one now Could this corrupt you— I didn't destroy her, I offered a suffix No longer for your number No longer for your hard times No longer for your warrants No longer No longer No four times Don't pan to the audience I'm a hole slow meltdown Don't man your own So wait, am I also telepathic? Yeah, that. Oh my! Is it like a two-way broadcast type— thing? Yeah, that part… Oh no, I'm so sorry. No you're not. You're right. I told you not to go looking into my thoughts. Check it all out, I bought prototypes Check it all out, I undug libraries Check it out, You're all alone at Walmart No longer working part time, The doors are closed and locked now, They're bound to stage a lock out You're better off on hard times You're better off on Lala Land No— Don't deport I want my art back No, don't deport; It's just a cake walk to apartheid, Remember mine now? Cheers to the world's longest monologues. Kudos to your picking up cabbage Remember the back for the wartimes The bagpipes have sounded; You're back to astonish us. No! I must have you a lesson; I'm back with my old will and testament No more Old Testament wanted I bought your sticks in Leviticus And so, Again– CUT TO: WILD PARTY. INT.EXT./WHENEVER HOW SICK IS THIS? NO! NOT THAT! I raised the dead from a half pipe I shoot the crowd out in foreign I can't remember my own Sam But I found one– For a dollar, For a wrong word And a hard song And a larger Go look, Now remember a rock star. Now that you're so stolen, Go back! You're unorthodox! Clear cut: you're a tragic Magic act– Now I'm back with a bag of tricks with my back out Learn your lessons. CUT BACK TO. INT./EXT. YO I'M SAYING A WIIIILD PARTY. WHENEVER YO, WHO DOES THIS?! What a party! I WANT TO GO HOME NOW! —I'M CALLING THE COPS! THIS IS YOUR HOUSE!!! {Enter The Multiverse} …And it's all house music all night. No, to that. Beg your pardon? I won't come. [The Festival Project ™ ] Now articulate your face muscles. My wat. Now you're bar banned. I had this at a festival once. What is it? A “whore salad” … All with a side of oxygen. Now you're in a tunnel. (A tunnel, a scone and a croissant) Now you're worse, warthog, immortal (Call your dad back, You're a bad son.) Now I'm out in the canyon With Chester McBadBat I got chest hair, And a straight out of the badlands Yes, I did mention this to my cousin Evan, But why ask that? So you heard everything I thought? Mmhmm. Hard times. —and everyone else? What is it like to have love man? I been locked out I'm a rock addict, But I'm damned now How's that fountain coming along? SUNNI BLU …it's just water. ARCHITECHT …yeah it's water. It's a fountain. SUNNI BLU —I WANT CHOCOLATE. Whose here? Not that guy! Four more beers? I just realized I never ever bought mine; I always had a tough guy. Box. What? Fight! I'm Eurovision And a hard remix— Ten minutes in and I realize I've already heard this. Oh yea, This Golden band of art, love and protection Perfection. Ohshea, shit! Who invited you? I got a 311 from Questlove!! Is that a beeper?! CUBE Since when are we on a first name basis? It would be weird to call you “ICE CUBE” Why's that? You. know? [the beeper goes off three more times] CUBE oh shit! What?! CUBE Nothin! Where the yard at?! sometimes it doesn't really matter Who the dialogue comes out of The whole point Is to put the art back into art projects Cause we all know it's been constructed And commercialized To the point of destruction And almost no promise For independent artists at all. So who is it with CUBE? Could be me. Could be you. Could be U— If it's not, It was all just a long lost passion project A collective God Complex. Give myself a hug Cause nobody else will God gave my case a Grace Cause somebody lost Will. Oh, Karen. Come, heart attack. Come karma, Come hot dogs Come Christmas time at the Plaza Come on, hard death. Come on. Hard Rock Hotel? Nah, Equinox. Alright. Hudson. Yards. Now you're in a tunnel Does your heart hurt? (You should clutch it.) Put your patchwork in a hard drive This is hard times, You can't come back. O! But they do take dear DRATCH and run with it! I go run along to Corrections, And ginger snaps for crosswords On hard workers So fax the whole document! Do you know what? Horcruxes! Hot lunches, yuck. Hockey! I want off this planet so bad I cross cross my fingers at crosswalks And oncoming trains but– Don't look either way before I walk. So pull a shotgun at all that I was one strong donkey before I got one address. Now I just redress the cause All I want is my bundle back. Yuck! Care for it at all? Yeah, yours, but she's a danger to humanity. Yeah, mine but I'm an honest hybrid horrid hunter. On time? I just got it at Sephora. On time, Like I never even got that. I want to be loved just to be looked at But since in this life I can't turn the clock back I've discovered it's hell that my body was born as. — I discovered it's hell that my body was born as. Such a problem when you know That even the great Rosie O'Donnell once wanted blue eyes. Now I forget where I trailed off… What a drawback. I'm all out of patience. Crypto, I tip toe now over eggshells No home for her Hard times And hard times. No code offered, No I don't fall for that'd But where's the snowfall over all the rot out back? Hard times. Hard times. Hard times. As the bell tolls And the well swells whole And the umpire does rack them Up; Nobody works harder than Hard times Hard times Hard times. Yeah, that's four Aces Up, Diamond. Run for your forks and your knives And your daughters and mothers and father And home family comfort And cufflinks and loafers, And sport coats and Your life. Your life. Your life. [The Festival Project ™] —-Chroma111. THE IMPENATRABLE TEN is INEVITABLY DISBANDED. Inevitably??? Inevitably! but not indefinitely. Oh, I guess. Alright. SILENCE. {Enter The Multiverse.} I don't want to be here. No one does. You are sending mixed messages. Imm not sending any messages… — with your brain. L E G E N D S Of course. Electromagnetic signaling Of course. I told you this had gone strange. Severely. Now how do I explain from this time how to get back to our time If there's no direct translation between our language and that one? Maybe you can't explain it. These are hard facts. So I suggest the use of highly trained telepaths. That far back? These things are possibly connected even in this time, theoretically using our past; I might suggest Telesynthesis— considering these planetary electromagnetics to which this entire planet is hardwired. …hardwired. That's right. Ascension. Hard times. Madame President? Get lost. [Secret President] I get it. You're a whistleblower. I'm not that. A shadow government official. Also wrong. Why else would you run for office? I'm trying to get shot at. They told me you were funny. But they didn't say anything about my gauntlet? Your—what? You know. My conquests—professional accomplishments? Your God complex? I know all about that. Perhaps it's not a complex. But a ‘gauntlet'? You're a journalist aren't you? I'm giving you some high art concepts. (Because for the sake of the rhyme, And please, for God's sakes, Gemini, In prose form Without the use of tables. ) I R O N I C —Deathwish. [The Festival Project ™] Season 12, Episode 01. REBEL1. Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū I would think it psychosomatic, but in less than 24 hours of restarting my vitamin regimen, my mood was so improved that I could not for a second overlook that without taking vitamins, I was missing something. Even if my newly concocted super-juice recipes were putting a curb in my abdominal muscles that even I was sure didn't entirely belong there, pairing this development with the Peloton, it was a long and diagonal, out-of-sorts thing that stuck out as if it was on somebody else's body and not mine. Still, I had to deal with the heavy weight of the drooping skin and belly that hung as if it very much did belong to me but wasn't budging, despite my attempts at a flat stomach and having been so well overstretched at one point by medical obesity and double occupancy that it was, at the very least to say, insurgically impossible. However, my brain went on having ways of wrapping my mind around this—that the rest of my body was quite slim, and even on some days seeming petite, were it not for my massive thighs, which also seemed to have sported a curve to them which was almost attractive, especially well-dressed. But the fun of it was, I wasn't exceptionally well-dressed, because I hadn't wanted to be. In fact, I was under obligation always to be about in the men's clothes I'd found because they were designer, and it was even something like a fashion statement that I dressed this grotesquely and in overlarge articles because of the astounding amount of weight I'd lost and the strange way my body seemed to be taking an athletic shape. Still, there was this factor that I was actually always somehow in an excruciating amount of pain, especially waking up, and though some of that I would have applied to being psychosomatic—in just that it was the pure stress of the disembodied torture I was undergoing in one way or another—whether anybody would have admitted it or not, or whether or not the unknown parties in question were going to be justified for it, I still hadn't an idea or thought as to what my unstructured purpose was. And though I sat beautifully controlled into doing music as a default, I was looking at the numbers, and the massive amount of people doing remarkably well because they could afford to do so, or were lucky, or were unbearably beautiful and so could do anything they wanted, and I too much so was not that. In fact, it was almost by design my failure and my constant struggle that even the universe seemed to look down upon me in such a way that it pitied me in a harrowing attempt at karmic justice done for the seeming evil and harsh things being done. It was true that someone had set out to torture me, and this might have once been the way of the illuminated artist and tortured soul; however, having taken so metaphorically into my own boat such heavy water of grief and loss, and drowning, I was sinking into the natural ocean of monstrous storms my body was saying in so many ways it could do no more. My mind was strong—and I could take the torture for innumerable amounts of time without becoming so much more frustrated than to just stop, or start heavy breathing, or even compulsively masturbate until one world faded deeply into another and I just didn't care. But realistically, the things that were being done pointed at a strategic and tactical, military-trained psychological governing of my own autonomy. And because I knew this, I also knew whoever was responsible was more than capable of covering their tracks to the point of disappearance—an inescapable hell of unseen trauma. The basis of it was that if I raised my concerns with any law enforcement or police, I was just as often ignored, ridiculed, or worse—thought of as symptomatic of some psychological condition I well knew and understood I did not have, all because what I did seem to possess—this undying force of color and creative ingenuity that could not quite be captured or marketed to improve the bankbook of others with a sudden onset—was unacceptable in such a way that I could become some sort of object that was in no way useful besides to experiment and then observe what I might become next, all the while knowing I would not and could not stay in one form or another too long without becoming such an obvious target. —Death of a Superstar DJ. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW

In today's show Chas and David offer suitable insults for children, advise on how to keep a second marriage thriving while avoiding a third, wonder if the WSL lost it's internet connection in Hawaii, learn when it's appropriate to ask another surfer on a date, and determine the precise moment you should quit surfing. Plus Barrel or Nah?! Enjoy! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

LEGAL NOTICE / ARTIST STATEMENT Project: The Festival Project ™ (Season 12) Genre: Speculative Auto-Ethnography / Social Surrealism Disclaimer: This document is a work of creative non-fiction and political satire. While inspired by the author's lived experiences with systemic oppression, housing displacement, and surveillance, the narrative employs stylized fragmentation, stream-of-consciousness, and metaphor to dramatize the psychological impact of these events. The "characters" and "dialogue" herein are artistic devices used to critique historical and modern power structures. This text should be viewed as a performative artistic expression protected under the First Amendment, and not as a literal transcript of clinical psychosis or a formal sworn affidavit. This is a character study of 'Chroma111,' the collective artworks of a musician living in a dystopian surveillance state. The erratic language is a stylistic choice to represent the character's psychological deterioration under systemic oppression. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Frame: The protagonist is subjected to "noise harassment"—a tactic dramatized here but rooted in the known reality of tenant displacement and "psychological attrition." The narrative depicts a process of "Soul Murder" ( also known as spiritual warfare or sociopolitical targeting) orchestrated by a hostile apparatus. The antagonist is "The Institution," representing deep-state mechanisms that view multicultural intellectualism as a threat. The story allegorically dramatizes the invisible mechanisms that enforce racial hierarchy, depicting how broken social systems weaponize psychological practices against the individual. Artist's Note: This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as an artistic testament to the psychological siege endured from to 2023-2025. It is a creative record of survival against a hostile state architecture. The following is a creative non-fiction horror manifesto regarding the psychological assassination of a multicultural American artist. It documents—through the lens of Afro-Surrealism—how modern surveillance technology and sonic harassment are experienced by a targeted individual. As it stands, It has become a modern sequel which adequately and astonishingly mirrors the civil rights struggles of the 1960s, set in the present day. "The protagonist is being subjected to 'noise harassment'—a known tactic used by landlords and corrupt entities to displace tenants for financial and political gain. The sound is weaponized to induce sleep deprivation and psychological attrition, dismantling of their ego and will to live, orchestrated by a hostile state apparatus. The story dramatizes over time the invisible mechanisms (the 'Deep State') that enforce racial hierarchy and and psychological genocide, weaponizing broken social systems and unfounded psychological practices as biological weapons. This is a living document. In the event of the artist's silence or unnatural death, this text serves as evidence of the psychological siege endured from 2023-2025. It is a transcript of survival against a hostile state architecture. This project spans an unlimited multiprojectoral arc of over two years of chronic tactical violence, reaching into historical and theatrical projections and parallels over the all documented records of human existence through time and space. REBEL1. I am hypnotized; I am pain I am cryptonite I am in pain I am penalized; I am pinned l I am pinstripes on wide ties; I am Him. Pinterest, pintrest, pinholes And disinterest Centered sentiments And immigrants And ministrations, Images and insolence (And indulgences, patronages) Eclipses and rip titles, Paris Tiptons, And temptation Missing wages Push to shove and What are you doing, motherfucker?! To say the least, I'm a bit unconventional. Unexplainable joy And invisible ties and invincible triads Unimatatable charm, And prehensile times And forefathers before us Unpolished Well dressed hampers on leather and fortunes And doing and donuts and do this and don't-touches Mumbles of soft till and lunches and subtle distraction And coming construction Wages Ions I afford you To die now Like I want He's better at the body code Than old Colbert, He's one for one now Could this corrupt you— I didn't destroy her, I offered a suffix No longer for your number No longer for your hard times No longer for your warrants No longer No longer No four times Don't pan to the audience I'm a hole slow meltdown Don't man your own So wait, am I also telepathic? Yeah, that. Oh my! Is it like a two-way broadcast type— thing? Yeah, that part… Oh no, I'm so sorry. No you're not. You're right. I told you not to go looking into my thoughts. Check it all out, I bought prototypes Check it all out, I undug libraries Check it out, You're all alone at Walmart No longer working part time, The doors are closed and locked now, They're bound to stage a lock out You're better off on hard times You're better off on Lala Land No— Don't deport I want my art back No, don't deport; It's just a cake walk to apartheid, Remember mine now? Cheers to the world's longest monologues. Kudos to your picking up cabbage Remember the back for the wartimes The bagpipes have sounded; You're back to astonish us. No! I must have you a lesson; I'm back with my old will and testament No more Old Testament wanted I bought your sticks in Leviticus And so, Again– CUT TO: WILD PARTY. INT.EXT./WHENEVER HOW SICK IS THIS? NO! NOT THAT! I raised the dead from a half pipe I shoot the crowd out in foreign I can't remember my own Sam But I found one– For a dollar, For a wrong word And a hard song And a larger Go look, Now remember a rock star. Now that you're so stolen, Go back! You're unorthodox! Clear cut: you're a tragic Magic act– Now I'm back with a bag of tricks with my back out Learn your lessons. CUT BACK TO. INT./EXT. YO I'M SAYING A WIIIILD PARTY. WHENEVER YO, WHO DOES THIS?! What a party! I WANT TO GO HOME NOW! —I'M CALLING THE COPS! THIS IS YOUR HOUSE!!! {Enter The Multiverse} …And it's all house music all night. No, to that. Beg your pardon? I won't come. [The Festival Project ™ ] Now articulate your face muscles. My wat. Now you're bar banned. I had this at a festival once. What is it? A “whore salad” … All with a side of oxygen. Now you're in a tunnel. (A tunnel, a scone and a croissant) Now you're worse, warthog, immortal (Call your dad back, You're a bad son.) Now I'm out in the canyon With Chester McBadBat I got chest hair, And a straight out of the badlands Yes, I did mention this to my cousin Evan, But why ask that? So you heard everything I thought? Mmhmm. Hard times. —and everyone else? What is it like to have love man? I been locked out I'm a rock addict, But I'm damned now How's that fountain coming along? SUNNI BLU …it's just water. ARCHITECHT …yeah it's water. It's a fountain. SUNNI BLU —I WANT CHOCOLATE. Whose here? Not that guy! Four more beers? I just realized I never ever bought mine; I always had a tough guy. Box. What? Fight! I'm Eurovision And a hard remix— Ten minutes in and I realize I've already heard this. Oh yea, This Golden band of art, love and protection Perfection. Ohshea, shit! Who invited you? I got a 311 from Questlove!! Is that a beeper?! CUBE Since when are we on a first name basis? It would be weird to call you “ICE CUBE” Why's that? You. know? [the beeper goes off three more times] CUBE oh shit! What?! CUBE Nothin! Where the yard at?! sometimes it doesn't really matter Who the dialogue comes out of The whole point Is to put the art back into art projects Cause we all know it's been constructed And commercialized To the point of destruction And almost no promise For independent artists at all. So who is it with CUBE? Could be me. Could be you. Could be U— If it's not, It was all just a long lost passion project A collective God Complex. Give myself a hug Cause nobody else will God gave my case a Grace Cause somebody lost Will. Oh, Karen. Come, heart attack. Come karma, Come hot dogs Come Christmas time at the Plaza Come on, hard death. Come on. Hard Rock Hotel? Nah, Equinox. Alright. Hudson. Yards. Now you're in a tunnel Does your heart hurt? (You should clutch it.) Put your patchwork in a hard drive This is hard times, You can't come back. O! But they do take dear DRATCH and run with it! I go run along to Corrections, And ginger snaps for crosswords On hard workers So fax the whole document! Do you know what? Horcruxes! Hot lunches, yuck. Hockey! I want off this planet so bad I cross cross my fingers at crosswalks And oncoming trains but– Don't look either way before I walk. So pull a shotgun at all that I was one strong donkey before I got one address. Now I just redress the cause All I want is my bundle back. Yuck! Care for it at all? Yeah, yours, but she's a danger to humanity. Yeah, mine but I'm an honest hybrid horrid hunter. On time? I just got it at Sephora. On time, Like I never even got that. I want to be loved just to be looked at But since in this life I can't turn the clock back I've discovered it's hell that my body was born as. — I discovered it's hell that my body was born as. Such a problem when you know That even the great Rosie O'Donnell once wanted blue eyes. Now I forget where I trailed off… What a drawback. I'm all out of patience. Crypto, I tip toe now over eggshells No home for her Hard times And hard times. No code offered, No I don't fall for that'd But where's the snowfall over all the rot out back? Hard times. Hard times. Hard times. As the bell tolls And the well swells whole And the umpire does rack them Up; Nobody works harder than Hard times Hard times Hard times. Yeah, that's four Aces Up, Diamond. Run for your forks and your knives And your daughters and mothers and father And home family comfort And cufflinks and loafers, And sport coats and Your life. Your life. Your life. [The Festival Project ™] —-Chroma111. THE IMPENATRABLE TEN is INEVITABLY DISBANDED. Inevitably??? Inevitably! but not indefinitely. Oh, I guess. Alright. SILENCE. {Enter The Multiverse.} I don't want to be here. No one does. You are sending mixed messages. Imm not sending any messages… — with your brain. L E G E N D S Of course. Electromagnetic signaling Of course. I told you this had gone strange. Severely. Now how do I explain from this time how to get back to our time If there's no direct translation between our language and that one? Maybe you can't explain it. These are hard facts. So I suggest the use of highly trained telepaths. That far back? These things are possibly connected even in this time, theoretically using our past; I might suggest Telesynthesis— considering these planetary electromagnetics to which this entire planet is hardwired. …hardwired. That's right. Ascension. Hard times. Madame President? Get lost. [Secret President] I get it. You're a whistleblower. I'm not that. A shadow government official. Also wrong. Why else would you run for office? I'm trying to get shot at. They told me you were funny. But they didn't say anything about my gauntlet? Your—what? You know. My conquests—professional accomplishments? Your God complex? I know all about that. Perhaps it's not a complex. But a ‘gauntlet'? You're a journalist aren't you? I'm giving you some high art concepts. (Because for the sake of the rhyme, And please, for God's sakes, Gemini, In prose form Without the use of tables. ) I R O N I C —Deathwish. [The Festival Project ™] Season 12, Episode 01. REBEL1. Prod. By Blū Tha Gürū I would think it psychosomatic, but in less than 24 hours of restarting my vitamin regimen, my mood was so improved that I could not for a second overlook that without taking vitamins, I was missing something. Even if my newly concocted super-juice recipes were putting a curb in my abdominal muscles that even I was sure didn't entirely belong there, pairing this development with the Peloton, it was a long and diagonal, out-of-sorts thing that stuck out as if it was on somebody else's body and not mine. Still, I had to deal with the heavy weight of the drooping skin and belly that hung as if it very much did belong to me but wasn't budging, despite my attempts at a flat stomach and having been so well overstretched at one point by medical obesity and double occupancy that it was, at the very least to say, insurgically impossible. However, my brain went on having ways of wrapping my mind around this—that the rest of my body was quite slim, and even on some days seeming petite, were it not for my massive thighs, which also seemed to have sported a curve to them which was almost attractive, especially well-dressed. But the fun of it was, I wasn't exceptionally well-dressed, because I hadn't wanted to be. In fact, I was under obligation always to be about in the men's clothes I'd found because they were designer, and it was even something like a fashion statement that I dressed this grotesquely and in overlarge articles because of the astounding amount of weight I'd lost and the strange way my body seemed to be taking an athletic shape. Still, there was this factor that I was actually always somehow in an excruciating amount of pain, especially waking up, and though some of that I would have applied to being psychosomatic—in just that it was the pure stress of the disembodied torture I was undergoing in one way or another—whether anybody would have admitted it or not, or whether or not the unknown parties in question were going to be justified for it, I still hadn't an idea or thought as to what my unstructured purpose was. And though I sat beautifully controlled into doing music as a default, I was looking at the numbers, and the massive amount of people doing remarkably well because they could afford to do so, or were lucky, or were unbearably beautiful and so could do anything they wanted, and I too much so was not that. In fact, it was almost by design my failure and my constant struggle that even the universe seemed to look down upon me in such a way that it pitied me in a harrowing attempt at karmic justice done for the seeming evil and harsh things being done. It was true that someone had set out to torture me, and this might have once been the way of the illuminated artist and tortured soul; however, having taken so metaphorically into my own boat such heavy water of grief and loss, and drowning, I was sinking into the natural ocean of monstrous storms my body was saying in so many ways it could do no more. My mind was strong—and I could take the torture for innumerable amounts of time without becoming so much more frustrated than to just stop, or start heavy breathing, or even compulsively masturbate until one world faded deeply into another and I just didn't care. But realistically, the things that were being done pointed at a strategic and tactical, military-trained psychological governing of my own autonomy. And because I knew this, I also knew whoever was responsible was more than capable of covering their tracks to the point of disappearance—an inescapable hell of unseen trauma. The basis of it was that if I raised my concerns with any law enforcement or police, I was just as often ignored, ridiculed, or worse—thought of as symptomatic of some psychological condition I well knew and understood I did not have, all because what I did seem to possess—this undying force of color and creative ingenuity that could not quite be captured or marketed to improve the bankbook of others with a sudden onset—was unacceptable in such a way that I could become some sort of object that was in no way useful besides to experiment and then observe what I might become next, all the while knowing I would not and could not stay in one form or another too long without becoming such an obvious target. —Death of a Superstar DJ. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025 The Festival Project, Inc. ™ All rights reserved. Chroma111. Copyright © The Complex Collective 2025. [The Festival Project, Inc. ™] All rights reserved. UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION OR DISTRIBUTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED BY LAW. INFRIGMENT IS PUNSHABLE BY FEDERAL LAW

In this week's episode, Lo is joined by actress, singer, producer and Dallas Texas native Hayley Orrantia. They take the Lo Lifers deep into their Texas takeover — from Dallas culture shocks to full-blown southern awakenings. Lo enjoyed his first-ever cattle walk, discovered the chaotic glory of Buc-ee's, and had a spiritual experience with Whataburger (jury's still out).The duo breaks down the unhinged magic of garters and mums, the Texan traditions that left Lo questioning every California school dance he ever attended. They spill on the restaurants that were overhyped, the spots that earned the official Lo Life Stamp of Approval, and Lo's favorite neighborhood in Dallas that low-key feels like its own world.Hayley also dishes on performing at a massive LGBTQ+ gala — yes, 2,000 gays turning up in the middle of conservative Texas — complete with a charity auction, drag-level energy, and enough sequins to blind a longhorn.Then it's time for their new game “Texas or NAH?”, where Lo tests Hayley's Lone Star patriotism and exposes just how seriously Texans take… being Texan.It's an easy, hilarious, comfort-listen with tons of culture, chaos, and cowboy energy. A perfect escape episode.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

“The Lord has His way in the whirlwind and in the storm, and the clouds are the dust of His feet” (Nah 1:3). 

Matt Gottesman is a 3x founder, podcaster and writer... and has successfully intertwined his life's work with his passions, purpose and interests. He is the creator of The Niche is You podcast, and is currently ranked #25 in Philosophy for his Substack of the same name. His publishing and production company Nah, Bigger Media, has emerged as a platform (1B+ impressions, 500M+ video views & 300K+ social media followers) for emerging voices who share his vision of purpose-driven entrepreneurship.  With an extensive background, an MBA in International Business and over 20+ years in tech & media, he's worked and partnered with some of the most iconic brands such as Louis Vuitton Moet Hennessy. His prolific writing style has become instantly recognisable through his ability to make profound concepts feel accessible and actionable have become a compass for millions seeking clarity in an increasingly complex world. ​ Links: Writing: mattgottesman.substack.com Podcast: The Niche Is You Website: mattgottesman.com Instagram: @mattgottesman Apparel: The Niche Is You Twitter: @matt_gottesman Linkedin: /in/mattgottesman Connect with Ruby: Connect with Ruby: https://www.instagram.com/rubykmarsh/ Creator Club Business Coaching

The Time Riders: Part 10 Egyptian Acheology, In Real Time. Based on a post by BiscuitHammer, in 16 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels. Mark felt a cold chill, but also was strangely assured that she didn't begin screaming. If anything, she sounded vaguely amused. He didn't come out, but he pushed one of his hands through the linens and waved at her. "Silly," she giggled, still smirking. "You might as well come out, because all I have to do is scream if I want help. I'm not afraid of anyone stupid enough to break into the personal chambers of a devotee of the goddess." Mark took a deep breath and walked out from beneath the linens, stopping and looking down at her, blushing at getting caught. She looked up him curiously, although she was still clearly amused, and made no attempt to cover her nudity. "You're a slave," she remarked, noting his attire. "What compelled you to hide in my room?" What was the point in lying? "I was hoping to fuck a Vestal," he confessed, shrugging and turning his palms to her in a gesture of honesty. "That's the simple truth." She raised an eyebrow. "That's brazen of you. You know we're all virgins on purpose, right? We took a sacred vow." Mark shrugged again. "Everyone has needs and urges, even sacred virgins." Aemelia giggled. "I suppose that's true. But why would; excuse me, I don't know your name, slave." "Bonosus." "Well, then, Bonosus," she intoned, setting her arm on the edge of the basin and then resting her head against two fingers while she observed him, more than a little intrigued. "What makes you think a sacred virgin of mighty Rome would want to fuck a slave, if she were indeed subject to such base desires as you describe?" "Well, you wouldn't need to take a vow if you weren't subject to them, would you?" he reasoned. "And as to why;” He slowly slipped off his ragged tunic, leaving him naked. Aemelia's eyes widened slightly as his cock came into view. "Woof," she muttered to herself as she fixated on his limp cock. "Your father, is he Bacchus, or a satyr? Because only a god or a creature of sin should be lavished with a prong like that." "Interested?" he asked, smirking back at her. "Because if you're not, maybe Marcia or Licinia would be willing to make use of me if you're not' "Hold on, now," the blonde interrupted in a quiet but calm voice, holding up her hand. "I didn't say that. All I asked was what you had to offer that a sacred virgin would be willing to compromise her vows for. And that thing makes up for a lot of sacred vows;” She rose slowly, the water cascading down her body. Not surprisingly, as a sacred virgin, her cunt was unshaved, but her wet hairs were rather light and sparse, the same color as her honey hair. "Um, you're eighteen, right?" Mark asked, wondering for a moment. Aemelia gave him a wry look, her hands moving up to her tits. "I am. A little more, in fact. Is that a problem? Am I too old for you to want to fuck me?" "No, I'm perfectly okay with you being eighteen," he assured her. "Kinda counting on it, in fact." "Well, that is good to hear," she said, allowing her hands to fall away from her tits and exposing herself again. She seemed strangely shameless, which was no doubt quite a trick to hide in these environs. "It'd be one thing for me to reject you, but it would be unthinkable for me to be rejected by a mere slave. And if you were indeed intent on someone younger, I would have to summon Lucia or Domi' "Nope, I'm intent on you, if you're willing," Mark said firmly, smiling as she watched his cock swelling slowly. He wasn't getting hard, but he was getting aroused, and it had the desired effect on his potential partner. Aemelia bit her lip as she watched his cock grow. "Normally, I just pleasure myself in the bathing basin, since it is easy to hide," she said as she stepped out of the water and walked over toward the linens he was standing in front of, drawing close to him and smiling rather saucily. "But to be fucked in the bathing basin would create too much noise, I fear. No, base slave, if you intend to have your way with me, it must be quick and dirty, and allow me to conceal any evidence after. You do not want to know what happens to a sacred virgin who has broken her vows of chastity." "I can only imagine," Mark said as he took one of the linens hanging on a peg and knelt down on one knee, beginning to dry her off. She seemed amused by his attentiveness, and put one foot on his thigh, allowing him to continue. "So, what, I should probably fuck you somewhere in here, since it's farthest from the door and least chance to be heard, right?" Aemelia nodded and pointed at the bed. "But you cannot have me on my bed either, slave, as there will be evidence of my activities. No, I fear you will simply have to push me up against a wall and fuck me, like a common whore." "Probably all we have time for," he pointed out, leering as he stood, towering over her and pulling her body to his and beginning to fondle her. She closed her eyes and sighed as he groped her tit and ran his other hand down her back to caress her ass. "Uh, my first man," she whispered, not at all flinching from his touch. If anything, she parted her legs slightly, which she reached down to stroke his hardening cock with one hand. "Not only breaking my vows to my goddess, but the sheer indignity of losing my chastity to a lowly slave;” He could tell she was getting really turned on. His hand found her cunt and he slipped two fingers inside, making Aemelia moan. She was already very wet, and he couldn't find a hymen, so he would have no problem fucking her. "You are feeling around; for my chastity," she breathed, opening her hazel eyes and looking up at him while he fingered her. "It was broken many years ago, while I was riding atop of a horse to a ceremony. It was determined to be an accident, and not a symbol of the goddess' disfavor, so I was permitted to continue serving her. Now, my chaste cunt will serve you, slave. You may fuck me. But first;” She pulled away from him and went over to the far wall, then took hold of a small wooden peg and tapped on the wall three times in a certain rhythm, then three more. She put the peg down and then walked back to him, her eyes glinting with excitement. "You may fuck me against the wall right there, slave;” she whispered breathily, clearly getting eager. She stopped in front of him and waited for something. Then he heard three faint taps in a certain rhythm, which seemed to come from the wall she'd just tapped on. Without any further hesitation, she led him over to the wall she'd indicated and bent forward, exposing her ass to him while steadying herself against the wall. Mark didn't wait, but simply placed his hands on her ass cheeks while standing behind her. He teased his hard cock against her wet twat before sliding the head inside. He felt her stiffen, her back arching, and then she was murmuring to herself. "I am disgraced; I am disgraced;” Mark smiled evilly and pushed deep inside her with one long, slow stroke. Aemelia shuddered and choked, fighting the urge to cry out as he violated her. She hissed as he bottomed out in her, pushing back on her hands to take him in further. She was silent now, just trembling as she felt his cock pinning her to him. Mark then began to stroke back and forth slowly, letting her adjust to the sensation. She was indeed tight, and he was inclined to believe her claim that she was still a virgin, even if she had no hymen. "Bonosus;” she said in a quiet voice somewhere between a gasp and a whisper. She pushed back against him again, starting to grind her ass in circles, reveling in the sensation of a man deep inside her, committing such an extreme blasphemy against Mother Rome. The two were thinking the same thing: Fuck Mother Rome. Mark started moving faster, knowing they didn't have a lot of time. His hips began smacking against her ass, and he watched as his cock glistened, sliding back and forth in her slippery cunt. "Uh, less noise, less noise!" she rasped, waving almost frantically with one hand, her eyes squeezed shut. "Do you want us to both be executed?" Mark kept pumping back and forth strongly, but refrained from slamming against her. He was still more than deep enough to send her into convulsions, though, and the priestess hissed lustily, looking back at him with glazed hazel eyes. "Make me cum," she panted, working herself against him rather inexpertly, but with amazing enthusiasm. "Disgrace my body, my temple, with your cum, slave!" Mark moved faster, and felt her cunt rippling and contracting around him greedily, indicating she was not far off from orgasm. His hands pulled her ass cheeks apart, stretching her and she bit her knuckle and keened. Covered in sweat, her arm flashed out to the side, pointing at the linens hanging next to them. "A linen!" she gasped, her breath catching in her throat. "Give me a linen before I scream!" Mark reached out and grabbed one of the long linen swaths off a peg and handed it to Aemelia, who hastily shoved as much as she could into her mouth, right before her body contorted and was wracked by orgasm. She screamed in ecstasy, the linen muffling the otherwise piercing sound magnificently. Her cunt clutched his cock fiendishly, and Mark stifled a loud groan as he began to cum deep inside her. They ground and squirmed against one another heatedly as he filled her with his pearly essence, and he could feel her cum slathering his thighs. Finally, she sagged, leaning against the wall to keep herself up while removing the linen from her mouth so she could breathe heavily. Some moments later, she eased herself forward, off his throbbing cock, gasping as it popped out of her. She turned around, leaning back against the wall and pulled Mark to her, pressing her mouth against his and kissing him deeply. She may have been a virgin, but she certainly knew how to kiss. Then again, if it was just her and a few other young women living here, that was probably to be expected. "This, slave," she whispered breathily, looking up into his eyes while she reached down and massaged his sticky, still oozing cock. "This has now been in the most sacred of cunts, a sacred temple, defiled by your base desires. Do you know what an honor you've had?" "I can guess," Mark replied, using his body to pin her to the wall and pushing back inside her again. Aemelia shuddered and groaned, going up on her toes and clasping him. "You glad I defiled your temple?" "Yes, but we need to get you out of here," she managed to say, gently pushing him back so that he fell out of her. She knelt and kissed his cock while picking up the linen she'd stuffed into her mouth, and cleaned him off with it. She then hurried over to the pegs on another wall and slipped on a simple white robe, tying it shut. She was flushed, but obviously jubilant. She helped him get back into his slave tunic. "Well, I can strike that off my bucket list," Mark mused to himself in English, smirking. "What did you say?" Aemelia asked, looking up at him as she tied the cord around his waist. "Oh, I was just thinking that at least I can count on you to not brag about this," he said somewhat hastily. "Probably not many people you wanna tell." "True, there's really only Licinia and Marcia I would tell, because they are like-minded to myself. I would tell Domitia, since I suspect she has at least as licentious a heart as any of us, but dare not, because she is impulsive, and not prone to subtlety." "No shit;” Mark muttered as she finished helping him dress. "So now what? How do we get me out of here?" "There's a secret passage you can use at the end of this hallway. It'll take you down to the basement level again, and out though a garden. Be vigilant, but you should be safe. Take a sack of supplies out into the streets, so that it looks like you're on an errand. It'll help you avoid scrutiny." She led him through her apartment and opened the door to poke her head out into the hall, looking both ways. She then took his hand and pulled him out, hurrying down to the end of the hall and then pointing at a large plaster lavabo that dominated the wall. He used his fingers to pry it open like a door, which led into a dark stairwell. He was about to step into the stairwell when she took him by the hem of his tunic and pulled him back to her, kissing him deeply and passionately for several seconds before pushing him back through the aperture and then closing the door behind him. Aemelia leaned back against the ornate plaster lavabo and sighed, looking at the ceiling. She laid and hand on her tit, stood up, straightened her robe out, and then walked down the hall, attempting to look dignified. Thankfully, servants and the priestess' minders rarely came to this floor except at designated hours. She stopped in front of the door of the apartment next to hers, which had a plaque that red 'Licinia' and rapped on the door softly. The door opened and she was pulled inside by her wrist. The door had barely closed before she and another, younger priestess were kissing one another feverishly, hands wandering over each other's bodies. "Thank you for letting me watch," Licinia murmured as her tongue tangled with Aemelia's. "I am so jealous that you got to fuck first, even if it was just a slave. But what a cock he had on him." "I know, and it was everything we had hoped it would be, sister," Aemelia breathed, breaking the kiss and pulling her sister-priestess' bedchamber robe off. "If only it could have lasted longer. But for now;” She shed her own robe and leaned back against the wall, tilting her hips forward and using two fingers to spread her thick cuntlips wide. "You need to suck his cum out of my cunt while you can;” Mark's back was getting slightly sore from carting around sacks in order to get places without being stopped and questioned. He humped several cords of wood into the rear entrance of the Trajan Baths, sighing heavily as he dumped them down near other piles meant to heat the pools, and then went in search of Becky and Nanu. He heard them before he saw them, not surprisingly; he followed the telltale noises toward a smaller, more private bath chamber away from the main rooms. He paused in the door of the room, grinning and leaning against the entranceway while he just watched. In the shallow water, Becky and Nanu were sitting facing into one another, legs scissored and pussies pressed together. They panted and moaned as they slithered and ground against each other, resting back on one hand in the cool water, and gripping each other's arms with the second. They strained against one another, backs arching and their behinds out of the water, eyes squeezed shut and teeth clenched. They both keened loudly before the dam broke. Sighing and moaning shamelessly, they squirmed and writhed, bathing each other's cunt in frothy cum. They girl-fucked one another hard, cumming for a long period before finally relaxing and settling into a squishy embrace, tits and pussies pressed together as they kissed lovingly. Mark finally came into the room, noticing that two young attendants were waiting in corners, linens ready. He shed his tunic and stepped down into the shallow pool, joining them. Becky broke the kiss to smile at him lewdly. "Well, hey, handsome," she purred, reaching over to stroke his cock, noticing it was recently used. "What did you get up to while Nanu and I were enjoying ourselves?" He was kneeling next to them, rotating his neck. "Might've used our loop to get revenge on the city for trying to kill me next week," he mentioned. "Found a certain temple, might've fucked a priestess;” Becky shook her head. "I swear, you're terrible at time theory, unless it involves doing something heinous, Mark. You are a menace." "Yeah, but you love it," he pointed out, grinning and reaching into caress one of her tits, his other hand fondling Nanu's. "Admit it." "I admit to nothing, young man," she purred, loving how his hand felt on her while she continued to stroke his cock. "Nanu asked if we could visit her family, see if they're okay. She hasn't seen them for a decade now." "I'm all right with that," Mark answered, shrugging. "We should give 'em money, too, improve their lot in life. Sounds like Egyptian peasants in the Roman era don't have a lot goin' for 'em." Becky smiled slyly. "Now that you mention it;” Akhmim, in a corner of the former Lower Kingdom. It was the time of year where the mighty Iteru was to have overflowed its banks and then receded, leaving the land gloriously fertile, and ready for the people to grow their crops and sell their goods to the merchants in the cities. But this year, the great god Hap'i had withheld his bounty, and the river had barely breached its banks. The land was dry, and crops scarce. People had been bringing muddy water from the edges of the river in buckets in a desperate attempt to fertilize their fields. Kiya sighed glumly as she tilled a shallow trench in the woefully dry soil on their farm. A wind blew across the field, and she was depressed to see that it carried reddish dust with it. She was the youngest remaining child, and she did the least skilled work as a result. She despaired of ever being married, since her parents could not afford to lose her. Years ago, they had sold their youngest daughter, in the hopes of getting enough money to improve the farm, with new tools and maybe some irrigation equipment, but they'd been had, and the materials and tools they'd bought were junk. It had cost them all the money they'd made in selling their child, and now they had less than ever. They barely subsisted even in the bountiful years, and during droughts like this, it could be deadly. Other farms were empty, due to death or abandonment. She stopped for a moment and leaned on the rickety hoe she was using, squeezing her eyes shut and stifling a sob. She missed her little sister. Yes, Nanu had only been a year younger than her, but she'd been a joy in Kiya's young life, and they were very close to one another. Kiya loved little Nanu, and then one day, she was gone. As she opened her eyes and looked out over the dusty field at the long, thin rows of trenches, she wondered if Hap'i was punishing them for selling her little sister. Kiya wouldn't have blamed the god; she remembered being angry too, and she hadn't talked to her parents for days. Her older siblings, especially Aneksi and Joba, her eldest sister and brother, had loudly declared that it was a good thing to do, since it was one less mouth to feed, and Nanu had been useless for chores anyway. She was six years old when we sold her! Kiya thought angrily to herself as she glared at the barren field. What did you think she was going to be able to do? She heard a horn call and looked down at the distant river dully; she could see an ornate boat sailing downstream, being punted by dark-skinned Nubian slaves, the huffer standing at the bow waving for less important ships to move aside. Nobles, she grumbled to herself sourly. Probably on their way to Memphis to eat splendid food, and meet with their Roman friends. Splendid food. She'd almost forgotten what anything other than bread or little bits of fish tasted like. And the drought made even bread scarce, while fish were dangerous to try to catch, because of the hippos and crocodiles that crowded the river. In years like this, the crocodile demons were especially aggressive. Movement caught her eye, and she saw a palanquin coming up the banks on the small, dusty road. It wasn't even a road, really, so much as a failed ditch that had been meant for irrigation of the nearby farms. Slaves carried the palanquin on their shoulders, and diaphanous curtains concealed who sat within. A tall, light-skinned slave walking with a tall stick led the way. Just behind him came a woman riding a mule, a cloak wrapped around her upper body to protect her from the dusty wind. They seemed to be coming this way. Why are they headed this way? Kiya wondered with a frown. What could they possibly want here in dusty little Akhmim? She stood up and began walking toward the palanquin as it drew closer, her hoe held casually in her right hand: unthreatening, but ready in case their intentions were malign. She could see now that the male slave leading the way was rugged and handsome, with brown hair and deep eyes. Behind him, she woman on the horse, whom she assumed was still a slave, seemed rather pretty beneath her swathes of dark grey linen and fabrics. Were her eyes; blue? She glanced over at her ramshackle house that she, her siblings, her parents and grandparents lived in. No one else seemed to have noticed yet, or were too far away to see. Clearly this would be up to Kiya for now. So how should she react? She played it safe and got down on both knees, bowing her head and looking at the reddish-brown ground beneath her. It was hot on her knees. She hoped this wouldn't take long, for she had to get back to the trenches, so that the other could pour their meagre water and begin to plant seeds. Kiya waited quietly. "I always did like seeing you on your knees, Ki;” she heard a sweet, girly voice say. Her head flicked up and she looked at the source of the voice; she could see a beautiful face leaning out between the curtains of the palanquin and smirking at her. Kiya's eyes widened and her jaw opened as the young woman slid down out of the palanquin and began walking toward her. She was wearing shimmering white clothes that hugged her lovely figure, and her hazel eyes danced in excitement. She was wearing gleaming gold jewelry, adorned with lapis and other gems. She was radiant, like a goddess. "N; Nanu?" Kiya asked in a tiny, incredulous voice. The vision of her long-lost sister nodded, still smiling. "NANU!!!" shrieked the older girl, dropping the hoe and launching herself forward into a crushing hug with her sister. She'd burst into tears by the time she reached Nanu, and the younger sister was crying as well while they embraced. Mark and Becky looked on, smiling as the sisters were reunited, crying together. True, Nanu's sister (the one named Kiya, they assumed) was getting dust all over Nanu's immaculate clothing, but it didn't matter. There were plenty of new outfits for her anyway. Kiya began planting tear-wet kisses all over Nanu's face, almost as if they were a method of making sure she was real. The weeping Nanu returned the kisses. Mark's head began tilting slowly on an angle as he watched, because the kisses were becoming slower, and seemingly more meaningful and; affectionate. "Well, now;” Becky said as she watched intently. "Hello, ancient Egypt." Nanu and Kiya were now absorbed in a very deep kiss, holding one another tight. Mark could see their tongues rolling around the insides of their cheeks. The whimpers of crying had given way to muffled moans while their hands wandered up each other's backs and came to rest on their ass cheeks. Still they kissed one another almost hungrily. Mark leaned in closer to Becky and whispered to her. "I get the feeling they really missed each other." The sisters finally broke the kiss, more for needing oxygen than any other consideration. They pressed their foreheads together, panting heavily as they stared into one another's eyes. Their lips were still glistening from the kiss they'd shared. Nearly a minute had passed before Kiya pulled her head back and looked at her little sister in renewed wonderment. "Nanu;” she managed to say. "How; what are you;” "Do you like it?" chimed Nanu, stepping back just far enough to do a twirl and display her raiment. The gold she wore on her neck, arms and ankles tinkled almost musically. "I have lots more." "We; mom and dad sold you;” Kiya said, still gaping. "They; they sold you as a slave. What miracle of the gods is this?" "Oh, the best kind," the younger girl quipped, giggling. "But I don't wanna explain this ten times, so why don't you get everyone over here? I'll have my slaves set up a shelter for us all to sit under." Kiya will still bordering on confused, but she nodded and turned to race back toward the hut, calling out loudly for people. Nanu watched her for a few moments before turning to look at Mark and Becky and smiling. "You two sure missed each other," Mark observed, grinning, while Becky fanned herself. Nanu gave Mark a snarky look and stuck out her tongue. "We were best friends, Kiya and I, we only had each other, really. And then I was gone for ten years. Is it really so surprising that we can pick up where we left off?" "Nah, just some culture shock is all," Mark chuckled as he laid down the packs he was carrying and then began unslinging others from the side of the mule Becky sat on, and the palanquin. "Shall I set up the shelter, your majesty?" Nanu giggled. "I could get used to that. Please!" The porters placed the palanquin on the ground, and began helping Mark set up the shelter. Along with their pay, they'd been promised good food and wine, so they were more than willing to put in great effort. Mere minutes had passed before a shelter was set up on sturdy poles, with curtains that could be fastened to the sides to keep out the dust and wind. Nanu crawled back inside the palanquin while Becky waited just outside. Before long, a group of people was approaching, being led by an eager Kiya. She kept badgering everyone to hurry up, and several seemed more than a little annoyed at her harrying them. They were of various ages, and all dressed similarly to Kiya, in the common wear of Egypt's teeming peasantry. Becky glanced subtly to the side, to look at Nanu. The young Egyptian woman was staring at the approaching throng, her eyes glassy, and she bit her lip to keep from crying. She didn't want to be crying when her family saw her again. Becky drew the curtains closed to give her some time to compose herself. She then stood and waited patiently while everyone approached. They were a rough lot, clearly hardened by a life of toil on one of the endless farms that lined the Nile. There were young men and women, some children who belonged to what she assumed were couples, and some elders laboring to bring up the rear. The crowd stopped near the shelter, and looked at the visitors silently. Becky nodded to them all said then spoke in a clear voice. "Do any of you speak the tongue of Rome?" Silence and blank stares greeted her. Unimpressed, she turned and called back. "Mark, none of them speak Latin, I need you." "Not the last time I'll ever hear you say that," he chuckled as he joined her. She gave him a sour look and swatted his arm. He ignored the assault and called out to everyone. "Has Kiya told you what we're doing here?" Many of the people shook their heads, but still didn't say anything. Mark gave Becky a sidelong glance, and the blonde woman went back to the palanquin, knelt, and pulled aside the curtain. She helped an elegant woman in white out of the vehicle, and she walked forward, holding a gauzy white veil over her head to conceal her features. She approached the group, and an older man finally pushed to the front and addressed her humbly. "How can this humble family serve you, mistress?" he asked. Nanu now pulled the veil over her head, letting them take a good look at her. Kiya looked like she was almost ready to burst. Several faces remained blank for quite some time, but others began to express shock as recognition set in. "Nanu?" asked the man in a quavering voice. "Yeah, it's me, dad," she said, her eyes shining again. "I'm home for a visit." "NANU!" an older woman blurted as she forced her way through the crowd and dashed forward. Nanu quit trying not to cry as she embraced her mother for the first time in more than a decade. Becky pressed her fingers to her lips as she watched and tried not to tear up. Mark just grinned. "Mommy," Nanu choked as she held the other woman tight. "I've missed you so much!" "How is this possible?" her father asked, sinking to his knees. "We; I had to sell you, to those Romans, in order to make enough money to' "The Flavians in Clysma, yes," Nanu affirmed, looking over her mother's shoulder and nodding while the elder woman wept. "And they sent me to Rome, once they discovered I could dance." "You always were a good little dancer!" Kiya gushed, almost bouncing up and down on the spot. Many of the other members of the family were drawing closer now, still gazing in wonder. Her father seemed to be going pale and trembling, though. "Are; are you sent back as a glorious spirit, to punish me for selling my beautiful daughter? Have mercy on me, I' "Dad, stop being so dramatic," Nanu almost complained as she let go of her mother and walked toward him. She hauled him to his feet and placed her tiny hands in his, letting him feel them. "See? I'm still flesh and blood, not a stupid spirit. I'm not a Flavian slave anymore, either. I'm wealthy and I have my own slaves." They all looked at Mark and Becky now. Becky pulled down the fabric around her head, and many of them gasped as her golden blonde hair and sea-blue eyes came into full view. They'd never seen anyone like her before. These were Nanu's slaves? Her father shook his head slowly. "I still do not understand. How did this happen?" "Who cares?" someone groused from the back of the crowd in a gruff, male voice. Nanu knew it right away, and looked up sourly. The crowd parted to let the speaker come forward. It was her eldest brother, Bata, and he was the second eldest of the siblings after Meritites, Nanu's big sister. He'd always been something of a bully toward her. More than something, actually. Nanu and Kiya both had unpleasant memories of the older boy. "We sold you for money, and what good did it do us?" the young man sneered, moving forward now. Nanu took half a step back, clearly intimidated. "The tools we bought were shit, and we're struggling harder than ever. You can't even be sold without fucking things up for your fa' Mark had lunged in and slammed his fist across Bata's jaw, sending him spinning to the ground. Everyone except Becky gasped, and one sister cried out in fright. Mark stood over the downed boy, glowering at him. Bata was holding his jaw, his eyes wide in shock. He could taste blood. "Got anything else to say about my mistress, shitbag?" Mark challenged. Bata glared at Mark before his gaze flicked over to the axe he'd dropped when he got punched. "Oh, please try that, I dare you,", Mark growled, unmoved by the perceived threat. "I'll shove that axe handle so far up your ass that you'll have splinters in your tongue for a month." Bata looked away, unable to endure Mark's glare. The younger man stepped back and let Nanu's brother get to his feet. Bata grabbed a woman by the wrist and stomped off, dragging her behind. Several of Nanu's siblings sighed and were visibly relieved. Mark then stepped back and let Nanu take over again. The Egyptian girl, still a little rattled, took a deep breath, composing herself. She then spoke to her family again. "I'm sorry. I thought I'd never see you again. I thought I'd die, far from home, never to return. I; I want to make sure that mom and dad never have to do anything like that again for our family's survival." Nanu brought her mother back to the family and helped her father stand. They were murmuring to one another and hugged, while people began crying. Several men and women watched on, some passively, some with curiosity. Mark assumed these were spouses who had married into the family since Nanu's departure some ten years ago. Nanu was hugging her oldest sister, Meritites, and sharing kisses with her, although not quite as affectionate as those she'd shared with Kiya. She then hugged and kissed her other siblings; Djoser, Ameny, Khafra, Nefer, Tiaa, Horemheb, Jobra, Anpu, and Senet. Jeebus, Becky thought, trying not to frown as she looked at the mother, whose name was apparently Pypuy. Twelve kids? How did her uterus not just fall right out? Nanu's father, Akhom, still seemed overwhelmed, but maybe that was understandable. He had, after all, clearly made an agonizing decision and it seemed to be revisiting him, even if the circumstances were joyous for everyone else. Nanu had explained to Mark and Becky that selling children into slavery in order for a poor family to survive was not uncommon in Egypt, but clearly it was still painful for all involved. Finally, the greetings ended, and Nanu, with her eyes still glistening, smiled at her family. "Let's eat, I brought lots of food." The shelter Mark and the slaves had erected was large enough to conceal everyone from the sun. They ate bread, figs, fish, and wine. Kiya excused herself and ran back to the house. Even Nanu's father seemed to have adjusted and was now enjoying himself. More than anything, though, there were endless questions. "I got lucky," Nanu said simply. "I know it seems impossible, but look at me. What more proof do you need? I am wealthy now, and not a slave. I came home to let you know, and also to give you money, so that you no longer need to struggle. You will live very comfortably. You could probably even retire from the farm and move into a town or city if you wanted to." "You're not coming with us?" her sister Tiaa asked, looking rather upset. "We just got you back, and you've been gone so long." Nanu looked down at the ground, going silent, wondering what to say. She felt very torn. Here she was, back with the family she'd missed her entire life, and giving them money, but beyond that, she had nothing to back it up; Mistress Aurora and Bonosus, or whatever their real names happened to be, were not her slaves. She had no talents that made her a patrician. She could barely read. She'd come here, so secure in her plan to see her family, alleviate any suffering they were enduring, and then go off on this grand adventure with her new beloved associates. They'd even told her she might be able to see her family again. But now, in this dingy but so comforting environment. She looked up and saw Kiya approaching again, carrying something in her arms. Everyone let her through, and she knelt next to Nanu, smiling. Nanu's eyes went wide. Kiya gently passed her the baby. It couldn't have been more than a year old. "Her name is Nanu," Kiya said softly, her brown eyes shining. "Named after the little sister I thought I'd lost forever." Nanu looked up and her eyes were glassy with wonder. "Who is her father?" Kiya smiled sadly. "The river took him earlier this year, during Akhet. I'm sorry you never met him." "She's beautiful," Nanu murmured, caressing the tiny cheek with her thumb, and feeling her heart thrum in her chest. "So beautiful." "There's all the time in the world now, for you to raise her and love her," her sister said, putting a hand on Nanu's arm. "I know you'll love her as much as I do. We can raise her together, just like we always talked about when we were younger. And I; what's wrong, Nanu?" Tears were now streaming down the younger girl's face as she tried to keep from bursting out crying. Becky found herself trying not to cry as well, even if she didn't understand the language. "I'm; I'm sorry, Kiya," she managed to say, while her sister's eyes teared up, knowing what was coming. "I can't stay, I now have a different life I must get back to. And it's not here in Akhmim, or even Keme itself." "I understand," Kiya rasped, her eyes red as she tried to hold it together. She loved Nanu so much. "Can't take us with you?" "No, I can't," Nanu said sadly, shaking her head slowly as she squeezed her eyes shut, crystalline tears falling onto the linen the baby in her arms was wrapped in. "I don't know how that would work." "Will we ever see you again?" her sister Ameny almost pleaded. "I want to say yes," Nanu replied, her eyes still closed. "But even visiting now was very difficult to arrange. But I promise you, I will try. And if I ever find a way to take you all away from here, then I will. And we'll all live in splendor together forever." Most of the girls were crying at this point, and even a few of her brothers were sniffling. Her mother and father just knelt quietly, looking very forlorn and lost. Nanu handed the baby back to Kiya and hugged her parents tight. "But even if I can't be here, I'm still looking after you, like I promised," she said in an earnest tone. She glanced over at Mark, who nodded and rose, using two of the porters to unfasten sacks from the mule and also the palanquin. When he brought them over, he laid them in front of Nanu, who opened them to display the contents. Her family members gaped in awe. More gold coins than they could have imagined glittered within. "You'll need to be quiet for some time about where it all came from, and not just spread it around, but this'll give even my niece's great-grandchildren a very comfy life if you're not stupid with it," she announced, running her hands through the coinage so they could hear the sound of it. "Like I said, you could become the wealthiest farmers in the region, or become traders in a nearby city. As long as you look after one another, always. Even Bata." "Don't worry about Bata, sis," grunted the second eldest brother, Anpu, looking at Meritites and smiling. She reached over and squeezed his hand. "We'll make Bata behave." "I know," sniffled Nanu, smiling and wiping at her eye. She'd always liked her big brother Anpu. He wasn't a jerk like Bata. "Just protect my sisters, Anpu, and my niece." He nodded, looking proud, since she'd assigned him this task. "Do you really need to leave already, Tahemet?" Djoser asked, calling Nanu by her childhood nickname of 'Queenie'. When they'd all been younger, Nanu, as the youngest, usually got the short end of the stick about everything. So she made up for it by having an active pretend life, where she was a queen, regal and worshipped by all. Meri, the eldest, had given her the nickname, but not in a mocking way, even if Bata used it as such. Nanu considered. Mark turned around and whispered to the porters. "Stay with us another night, and we'll triple your pay and give you all the remaining food." The men nodded readily. Nanu wanted to ask Mark and Becky, but they were supposed to be her slaves for this visit, so she couldn't be asking them. The decision was hers. She opened her eyes and smiled. "I'll stay until tomorrow." Everyone seemed relieved at her proclamation, and they continued eating and drinking merrily. Becky had to admit, they were taking this all in good stride. Then again, when all your deities had bird or reptile heads, there probably wasn't a lot you couldn't take on faith anyway. Mark now conversed with the family (with Nanu's permission), about how Nanu had come into wealth and escaped slavery, not to mention acquiring two exceptional specimens such as himself and Becky for slaves. Mark did something he was becoming distressingly good at and lied. It saved Nanu the hassle, which was just as well, since she spent much of her time holding Kiya's baby and talking quietly with her sister. Clearly they'd been attached at the hip when they were younger, and there was much about one another they were keen to rediscover. Watching them subtly touch each other and hold hands, thumbs gently caressing, brought a smile to Becky's face. She resolved to make sure Nanu got to see her family again. The day had worn on, and Nanu had to remind everyone repeatedly that there was no immediate need to get back to toiling over the barren landscape, since she had come with plenty of money. Evening was upon them, and the family began returning to the dwelling that served as their home. Mark added treated skins around the shelter, converting it into a tent, while Nanu begged Kiya to stay with her for the night, to which the older sister agreed readily. Last of all, she hugged her father and mother, promising to see them in the morning. They took little Nanu with them, leaving Mark, Becky, Nanu, and Kiya alone in the tent. The porters had returned to the boat and would sleep there. Once the flaps were all fastened shut, Nanu and Kiya had almost attacked one another, kissing feverishly, and tearing one another's clothes off. Alex smiled and watched while they took their own clothes off. They lay on a blanket together on their sides, with Mark spooning her. He caressed and fondled her gently while she squirmed her ass back against him and they watched the sisters, small sturdy covered lamps in the corners providing dim illumination. Naked and wrapped up in a tangle of writhing limbs, Nanu and Kiya were continuing to kiss hungrily, moaning the entire time. Hands wandered over forms they hadn't touched in over ten years, and those had probably changed considerably in the interim. They murmured and whispered to one another through the kissing, words Mark didn't try all that hard to make out. Let them have their fun. "Umm, there you are," Becky purred as she felt Mark get nice and hard while watching the show. She reached behind herself and took hold of his hard cock, guiding it to her cunt. She teased it up and down the slippery nether lips before letting Mark press home, and sinking deep inside her. They both moaned with relief at the coupling. Mark kissed Becky's neck and fondled her opulent tits as he began pushing his cock in and out of her slowly. They slowly made love while watching the sisters just to their side rediscover one another, after over a decade apart. Becky smiled as Nanu kissed Kiya deeply, expressing her innermost longings and desires. The younger sister lay on top of the older one, holding one another tight and kissing, their nubile bodies squirming together. "I love watching family reunions," Becky sighed quietly as she flexed her fingers on Mark's hip while he slid in and out of her, still massaging her opulent tits. "Look at them, Mark, they're so in love, and so happy to see one another." "It's certainly a feel good moment," he agreed, loving how she flexed her cunt muscles around him as he pushed him himself back and forth. "Mind you, just about everything involving you is, I find." Becky smiled and reached up to caress his cheek before turning her face to kiss him. While they were engaged in a tongue-lock, Nanu began kissing and nibbling her way slowly down Kiya's soft, responsive body, thrilling to hear the murmurs and whimpers of her sister again. She kissed her tan tits, swirling her tongue around the hard brown nipple, before biting and tugging on it, then giggling. "You can't imagine how long I've yearned to see you with tits, Ki," she said quietly, smirking up at the older girl. "They're everything I've ever hoped for and dreamed of." "Just wait until you see my cunt, then," Kiya replied, shivering beneath her sister's kisses. How she'd missed them! "And let me see if yours has become everything I've ever dreamed of." Nanu nodded and then wiggled around until her hips were over Kiya's face. In the dim light, the older sister could see the tempting twat, glistening with arousal and shaved curiously smooth. It must have been how they did things in distant Rome, of which her little sister was now apparently queen or some such thing. Without a moment's hesitation, she craned her head up and began kissing, sending shudders through Nanu and making her moan. The sisters kissed and lapped at one another, lovers reunited after agonizing years apart. They fell into it naturally, remembering what the other loved and craved, even if their bodies had changed in the interim. Nanu sighed in bliss at the taste of her sister, cloying and sweet on her tongue. She felt Kiya go rigid as one of her fingers slipped inside her twat. They rolled slowly onto their sides, legs locked around each other's head as they sucked on one another's cunt hungrily, lost in mutual pleasure. Mark and Becky kept watching, undulating and squirming as quietly as they could, letting the sisters rediscover their lost love. Nanu and Kiya were moaning into one another's pussies now, little gasps escaping them. They could see Nanu's ass cheeks clenching and pushing forward against her sister's face, even while Kiya slithered her tongue around inside her. They were both trembling and sweating now, bodies shining in the dim, flickering orange light inside the tent. "Ooh, here we go," Becky whispered, her hand reaching back to rest on Mark's neck and help keep her braced against him. "Let's see how long this has been pent up;” Both sisters were shaking now, but still lapping and sucking on each other relentlessly, squeaking and whimpering as they tried to hold out. But their lust would not be denied, and they both keened and strained, finally cumming. Mark and Becky watched in fascinated delight as Nanu bathed her sister's face in her glistening cum, and heard her moaning as Kiya reciprocated. Becky shivered and pressed her ass back against Mark, hard, sighing as she began to cum as well. Mark pressed forward with his hips, pushing his cock as far inside her as he could, pumping his cum deep into her greedy cunt. They squirmed and ground against each other, with Mark biting Becky's neck and her fingers running through his hair. "Umm, Mark;” she cooed, nuzzling against him, loving the feel of his molten cum inside her. "You have no idea how good this feels." "If it's one tenth as good as that, then pretty damn incredible," Mark said, nodding at Nanu and Kiya, who were still kissing one another's pussies, murmuring quietly and caressing. Nanu disengaged her mouth from Kiya's snatch and turned around again, lying on top of her sister as they began kissing again, tasting themselves on each other's lips. Kiya moved her right leg and Nanu her left, shifting around until their gooey pussies were squashed together, which they both obviously found immensely comforting. They ended their kiss, and Nanu looked over at Mark and Becky dreamily, her face shining with cum. "I would like to let Kiya taste you both;” Mark and Becky nodded, remembering that they were still pretending Nanu was noble and they were mere slaves. Mark slowly pulled his cock out of Becky and rolled onto his back. He pulled his teacher on top of him, facing up, with his cock poking up between her legs. The sisters crawled over, with Kiya looking rather hesitant, but trusting her little sister. She gazed at Mark's erect cock and Becky's twat in wonder. "He's huge," she breathed, unconsciously licking her lips. "You're lucky to have such a big cock at your disposal whenever you like, Nanu." "Don't I know it," giggled the younger sister, taking hold of Mark's tool and holding it up for Kiya, while she began kissing Becky's cunt, shivering as she tasted Mark's cum dribbling out of her mistress. "You'll love the taste of this cunt, too." Kiya began experimenting with kissing Mark's cock, which was glistening with his and Becky's mingled cum. The Egyptian girl seemed intimidated by its size initially, but remembered that Nanu clearly loved it, so there must be nothing to fear. Her hand joined Nanu's around the base of the shaft and soon she was sliding her tongue up and down his length, much like Nanu was doing to Becky's sweet twat. The sisters paused to kiss, tongues tangling as they shared the cum they'd both lapped up, humming contentedly into one another's mouth. To watch them, Mark would have sworn they'd done this before. They both stroked his shaft, while Nanu caressed Becky's cunt. The two girls pressed their foreheads together, giggling at some secret between them. Nanu looked at Becky and Mark warmly. "We should sleep, my family will not leave us alone for long. And I want my sister to try fucking you both before we must leave." "I do not want you to go," Kiya sighed. "I just got you back, Tahamet, it breaks my heart that you intend to leave again. Couldn't; couldn't you and your servants stay with us? You could even lead our family, since you are the one with the wealth. We could live wherever we wanted. I wanted to raise my daughter with you, my other half, missing for so long." Nanu's eyes glistened as she looked over at Mark and Becky. The blonde woman smiled lovingly. "Nanu," she said gently in Latin, which Kiya didn't speak. "This is your decision. If you want to stay with your sister and your family, Mark and I will understand. We'll leave the money with you, and even come and visit you when we can." The tear on her cheek was proof of how torn the young woman was by this decision. And it was one she had to make alone, possibly for the first time in her entire life. It had to be terrible for her. Finally, she hung her head for several moments, and when she looked back up, she was smiling. "Ki, I must go back to my life,", she sighed, her mind made up. "Trust me, I really want to stay, or to take you with me, especially you and little Nanu, but it must be this way. I can promise to visit, and that will have to do." "I understand," the older sister choked, nodding as her eyes welled over with tears. "I do. It's just hard. I'm so glad that you're alive and happy. It means so much to me. If the price is sending you away again, I can endure it. For you. For us. You know how in love with you I am." "Same as I am with you," Nanu said, her voice cracking and tears flowing. "Just remember that I'll keep my promise and visit whenever I can." The sisters grappled onto one another and began kissing feverishly, lying on their sides while their hands wandered freely. Mark chuckled and allowed Becky to clamber off him. She went to lie on the far side, spooning into Nanu and making sure she stayed pressed to her sister. Mark, meanwhile, spooned into Kiya, holding her in place against Nanu, while the two girls continued kissing and whimpering into one another's mouths. The two time travelers reached across and rested a hand on each other, smiling and relaxing, waiting for the Egyptian girls to nod off, their lips still pressed together in a forever-kiss. It was a long-overdue night of safety and contentment for the two. It was just dawn now, and Kiya looked like she was going into convulsions as she rocked up and down on top of Mark's cock. It was far the largest she'd ever had inside her, and it felt like it was splitting her open, like a wedge split wood. She could feel crackling and popping in her hips. How did Nanu, who was even smaller than her, endure it? Becky was kneeling right behind Kiya over Mark's thighs, pressed into the smaller girl and smiling wickedly while she molested her tits. Meanwhile, Nanu was kneeling over Mark's mouth, letting him lash her cunt with his tongue, while she faced into her older sister, loving the look on Kiya's face as she was almost fucked in half. Kiya squirmed and writhed, gasping like she was being choked, her eyes rolling up into her head. It wasn't long before her cunt clenched Mark ferociously, and Nanu had to lean forward and kiss her sister before Kiya shrieked in unreal ecstasy and woke up the entire family over and over, three hundred meh-ta away. Mark ground into Nanu's cunt as he arched his hips, pushing up somehow deeper inside Kiya and then cumming, filling her so profusely that she was once again shaking like she was having a seizure. The squishy noises of his cum bubbling out of her filled the tiny tent. Nanu shivered and came on his mouth seconds later. Becky hauled the nearly unconscious Kiya off of Mark's pole, while Nanu leaned down and sucked it clean quickly. She then moved forward quickly to lie between her sister's legs, sucking Mark's cum out of her cunt with a fiendish eagerness. Becky crawled over to join Mark and they watched the sisters quietly. Nanu finished draining Kiya of cum, finally, and crawled over her, nestling down onto her body. Not surprisingly, they were kissing again. "Jeez, you ever seen too people more in love?" he mused, smirking as he lazily caressed her tits while she sat in front of him. "I ain't complaining about the show," Becky replied, nodding and grazing her fingernails along his forearm. "She must really believe in our promise to her if she's willing to leave her sister and niece behind to come with us. I feel slightly bad about it." Mark shrugged. "She wouldn't have even had this choice without us, Becks," he pointed out. "Clearly our offer means a lot to her. 'sides, she knows she can always visit them now, just like we promised. And if the Holmes Field Device won't bring her forward, we can leave her here with them, right?" "I guess that's true," Becky agreed, nodding and just watching. "What is that language they speak to one another when they don't want anyone to understand them?" Kiya asked in a whisper, looking just past her sister's shoulder at Mark and Becky suspiciously. "I don't even know," Nanu confessed. "I've never heard it before. Anywhere." Kiya gazed up into her younger sister's eyes, giving her a skeptical look. "They're not your slaves, are they? There's no damn way two people as magnificent as that are slaves to anybody, forget a dopey little slut of a girl from Akhmim." Nanu sighed. "Fine, you got me," she whispered, pretending to kiss her sister's ear, while Kiya squirmed and held her close. They made a show of grinding their pussies together, giving Mark and Becky something to look at. "They're not my slaves. I was hers, for a little bit. But what they really are is adventurers, from very far away. And they're taking me with them, to share their adventures. Not as a slave, but as one of them." Kiya assessed what her sister was saying for some time, trying to parse it out. It sounded absurd, but then, so was Nanu

What do you get when you cross a couple of crazy guys, one crazy website, and the crazy news in the world today? Well, let's just say this…it makes for one crazy show. And YOU get to listen to it. Right here, right now. The only problem? At some point it will be over. But then? There's always more YKS…not to mention YKS Premium! It's an embarrassment of riches, and NOT just a regular embarrassment. And best of all, you can check it out right here, right now. The Donut Rebellion starts here…so tap to unlock calm. The Play Now button that, is! Right here, right now. Music for YKS is courtesy of Howell Dawdy, Craig Dickman, Mr. Baloney, and Mark Brendle. Additional research by Zeke Golvin. YKS is edited by Producer Dan. Social Media by Maddalena Alvarez.Executive Producer Tim Faust (@crulge)Miketober has ended…and Mikevember now begins! Nah. It's normal stuff. But it's pretty good I think. Laugh with us as we catch up on the StandUpShots Top 10! Only on YKS Premium.Follow us on Instagram: @YKSPod, TikTok: YourKickstarterSucks and subscribe to our YouTube channel for more video stuff! Wow, 2025 is lit!! Gift subscriptions to YKS Premium are now available at Patreon.com/yourkickstartersucks/giftSee Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

"Nah, We Good"

In today's show, while Luke Cederman snores in the background, Chas and David predict that the next Matt Hoy will come from a wave pool, make predictions about Carissa Moore's return to Tour, a long time listener gets regulated from a La Jolla reef, and another gets emasculated by both Coco Ho and then Billy Kemper, and we all get reminded why opting not to regulate females in the line-up is sexist. Plus Barrel or Nah?! Enjoy! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

If the only time you email your list is when you're running a sale, what do you think happens? Your customers start waiting for the sales. They see your regular-priced products and think, "Nah, I'll wait. They'll have a sale in a couple of weeks." And then you're stuck in this cycle where you have to keep discounting to generate revenue, which destroys your profit margins and devalues your brand. But here's the part that most brands don't actually sit down and calculate: the math of discounting is absolutely brutal, especially when you factor in the high ad costs we're dealing with right now. Let's say you discount your products by just 10% – which seems pretty modest, right? – you need to sell 25% more volume just to make the same net profit. Now, let's add in the reality of paid advertising to drive traffic and win new customers. So now you're discounting by 10%, which means you need 25% more volume. But to get that volume, you're paying on average $50 ad spend per purchase (even more during peak promotional periods). Do the math. The amount of extra sales you need to generate just to maintain your profit margin increases drastically. You could need to sell 40%, 50%, even 60% more just to end up in the same place profit-wise. And for what? So you can say you had a good Black Friday? So you can compete with every other brand throwing discounts around? It's exhausting. And frankly, it's not a sustainable way to run a business. But here's where the strategy we've been talking about – using your email database smartly, building customer loyalty, focusing on repeat purchases – completely changes this equation. In this episode, we discuss the practical steps you can take to lift your return on ad spend by 300-400%.   Links mentioned in this episode: If you'd like help to achieve your goals, I invite you to have a chat to find out how we can make that happen together HERE By booking a Free Growth Strategy https://productpreneurmarketing.com/lets-talk   Other Ways To Enjoy This Episode: Listen on Apple Podcasts Listen on Spotify Youtube  

El pasado 25 de octubre grabamos un episodio en directo durante las jornadas del podcasting de 2025 en Terrasa, Barcelona Fue un episodio especial con público, y crossover con el podcast Supersónicos Anónimos, así que tanto Matias como Alex estuvieron acompañados por Sergio Hidalgo y Josep Calatayud. estuvimos hablando de los planes para nuevas misiones tripuladas a la luna, y de lo que Elon estaba haciendo o dejando de hacer. Sin mas dilación, os dejo con este episodio fascinante, no sin antes agradecer a Sergio y Josep participar con sus grandes conocimientos, también a toda la organización de las JPOD por habernos invitado. - Supersónicos Anónimos - Supersónicos Anónimos en YouTube - Supersónicos Anónimos en Spotify - Sergio Hidaldo es @SergioHidalAERO - Josep Calatayud es @ControlDeMision ELON está presentado por Matías S. Zavia y Álex Barredo. Su tema original está compuesto por Nahúm García. — Alojado en Cuonda

Banyak yang bilang, kalo Ibu itu harus olahraga, biar kurus dan langsing. Padahal, sekarang tuh trennya justru Ibu-Ibu yang berolahraga biar kuat. Istilahnya, lagi “rise of the strong mom era.”Tapi, banyak juga di antara Ibu yang sering kejebak toxic positivity ketika olahraga. Karena, olahraga tuh gak harus tiap hari banget lho Bu. Konsisten itu, tetep ngelakuin olahraga, tapi intensitasnya ngikutin kondisi tubuh saat itu lagi gimana. Juga, istirahat itu bagian dari journey berolahraga. Jadi jangan lupa rest!Nah, episode ini ngulik banyak hal terkait olahraga buat Ibu.. Mulai dari mental Ibu yang juga akan kuat dengan olahraga, pentingnya ambil jeda di tengah hiruk pikuk pekerjaan, tips olahraga untuk kaum mager, gimana memulai olahraga.Timestamp:00:00 Opening2:12 Tujuan olahraga tiap orang gak bisa disamaratakan6:54 Konsisten kadang bisa toxic12:09 Yoga bisa jadi sarana berhenti sejenak15:13 Kalau mau mulai olahraga, caranya banyak17:40 Gym khusus perempuan20:28 Persepsi orang tentang yoga24:55 Olahraga buat Ibu itu kayak gimana sih?31:07 Tips buat ibu-ibu untuk mulai olahraga tanpa FOMO36:24 Cerita Salsa dan Amanda nemuin motivasi olahraga41:57 Experience Amanda ikut silent meditation

The Father Hoods tap back in with another throwback, and this one's got that creator-energy meets dad-energy vibe all the way through. DJ EFN, Manny Digital, and KGB kick it with Derek Lane, the mind behind “AJ From Oudder Space Town” - a kid's book turned podcast, Audible series, AND animation. Derek breaks down how the project came to life, the grind behind getting it published, and how turning imagination into content became a dope family mission. His son AJ shining with pride? That's that real fatherhood flex. Summer project turned legacy moment. The crew also digs into love languages with kids, breaking the old “dads don't show emotion” stereotype, and how culture shapes the way we raise our kids. And when Manny tries to see if Derek's going for kid number four? Nah! Family team is SET and the roster is locked! Real fatherhood. Real creativity. Real love for the kids. This one hits. What You'll Hear in This Episode: [00:02:50] AJ From Oudder Space Town [00:07:13] The Hustle Behind the Vision [00:17:11] Father-Son Creative Time [00:20:27] Raising Boys With Heart [00:28:33] Tradition vs. Modern Dad Life What It Hits Everytime: Three dads, one mission: raise strong kids and stay solid while doing it, sharing wisdom and real talk that plays back forever like a classic Hip Hop record. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Kurt Sloane must learn the ancient kick boxing art of Muay Thai in order to avenge his brother.This week we watch a classic movie, did we pick this because of the classic martial arts showdown? Nah, we absolutely picked it because of the Jean Claude Van Damme dance scene. We're easily entertained.https://linktr.ee/iseebadmoviesMusic by ZakharValaha from Pixabay Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

The Zen of Owning Your BullshitThere's a question I think everyone should ask themselves from time to time:Am I the asshole?If you've never asked that question — not once, not even a whisper of it — then odds are, yeah… you probably are.We've all met assholes. You've probably encountered one today. Hell, in the last 48 hours, you've likely seen someone cut in line, ghost a friend, act superior at work, or just let a door slam in your face. And if you can't think of anyone? Congratulations, it's you.But here's the thing: being an asshole isn't always evil. It's often a side effect of honesty, frustration, or just being human.My father had a saying — “Con la verdad no se juega.”You don't play around with the truth.It sounds simple, but it's one of those phrases that sticks with you your whole life — like a pebble in your shoe, reminding you to walk carefully.Because the truth is tricky.The truth doesn't always make you popular.Sometimes it makes you the asshole in the room.You tell someone, “It's not the pants that make your ass look big — it's your ass,” and suddenly you're the bad guy.But if we're supposed to be chasing truth, shouldn't we welcome it?Nah. Most people want comfort, not clarity. They want a version of truth that flatters them.My dad's point wasn't about being cruel — it was about being responsible with honesty. The truth isn't a weapon. It's a tool.You don't swing it to hurt people. You use it to build something better.A few days ago, I went to pick up some pizzas from a local joint — JV's. Great food, not fancy, but solid. I've got my hands full, trying to get out the door, and there's a guy right in front of me. Makes full eye contact — like predator-level eye contact — then lets the door close right in my face.Okay. Fine. I back up, nudge it open with my shoulder, whatever.Then his wife (or girlfriend) comes out behind me.So, me being me, I hold the door open for her.She smiles and says, “Thank you.”And this dude — the same one who let it slam on me — turns around and glares at me like I just insulted his ancestors.Now, I didn't say anything. I didn't have to. I knew in that tiny, perfect moment that he'd spend the rest of the car ride home wondering what the hell I meant by that “thank you.”That's the good kind of assholeness — the surgical strike.Because yeah, sometimes you have to be an asshole to make a point. But do it with purpose, not pettiness.There are levels to this.At one end, you've got the cruel assholes — the bullies, the trolls, the people who sprinkle shit on everyone's ice cream just to feel tall.At the other end, you've got the honest assholes — the ones who tell you the truth, even when it hurts, because it needs to be said.The goal is to live somewhere in between — the Zen of Assholeness.Right on that razor's edge between brutal honesty and empathy.Because someone's gotta say it, but someone's also gotta care how it lands.The truth is messy.Sometimes you're right but still come off like a jerk.Sometimes you're wrong and look like a saint.But if you can pause — just for a second — and ask yourself, “Am I the asshole right now?”That's when you start leveling up.That's when you stop reacting and start reflecting.We live in a world where everyone's ready to pile on, to shout, to dunk, to “gotcha.”Being thoughtful, self-aware, and honest without being cruel — that's rebellion now.So, be brave enough to tell the truth.Be kind enough to own it when it hurts someone.And if you have to be an asshole, at least be one with purpose.Because the truth matters — and as my father said, con la verdad no se juega.You don't play around with it.And if you hold onto that, even just a little — you might actually make the world one asshole lighter.You can't escape being an asshole sometimes. But you can choose why and how you do it.Be the honest one, not the cruel one.And as always — be good.

The post-story Q&A & A episodes are here! This is the first of two Q&A episodes, and co-author Rob Otto joins Scott to answer your queries about all things SLAY. Created by Scott Sigler and Rob Otto Written and performed by Scott Sigler Production Assistance by Allie Press Copyright 2025 by Empty Set Entertainment  Theme music is the song “They're Watching Me” by SUPERWEAPON. Questions? We talking about questions? Nah, questions aren't going to give you a 99% discount on a new dot-com domain like our GoDaddy Promo Code CJCFOSSIG3 does. Talking about questions. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Jon Hanson from Hanson's Vanilla stops by The Wake Up Call with Scotch, Tank & Mandy to play a sweet twist on one of Tank’s signature games: North Dakota or Nah? But this time, it’s all about the flavor—Vanilla or Nah? Can Jon tell the real vanilla facts from the fakes? The crew has a blast mixing trivia, laughs, and a little local flavor in this can't-miss segment. https://hansonvanilla.com

Alonso IS BACK to review Mistletoe Murders: Death of a Humbug, which we originally covered back in January after its debut on Hallmark+. Now that it's finally aired on the Hallmark Channel, we're re-releasing our full review for everyone to enjoy! Season 2 kicks off next week! ABOUT MISTLETOE MURDERS: DEATH OF A HUMBUGA murder leads Emily and Sam to a scavenger hunt orchestrated by the victim.AIR DATE & NETWORK FOR MISTLETOE MURDERS: DEATH OF A HUMBUGNovember 28 & December 5 2024 on Hallmark+, October 31 2025 on Hallmark ChannelCAST & CREW OF MISTLETOE MURDERS: DEATH OF A HUMBUGSarah Drew as Emily LanePeter Mooney as Sam WilnerBRAN'S MISTLETOE MURDERS: DEATH OF A HUMBUG SYNOPSISThe Fletchers Grove real estate party is FINALLY HERE!!! A guy dressed as Santa comes in and kills the vibe. It's Glen. He owns the bookstore, and he's very passive-aggressive about how no one in this town comes to his bookstore. Glen has a past. He's banned from the diner, and everyone seems to hate him. He gives presents to everyone and tells Emily that he picked this one specially for her—it's rare he finds a fellow mystery lover.The night continues, and Emily sees Glen in his Santa suit scurrying quickly outside. She goes to follow him, finds his hat on the floor, and then sees a car speed off. Just as that happens, she hears a scream. She runs inside and sees Sue, who was throwing the party. She's crying as she looks at Glen, who has been stabbed in the heart.When Emily gets home, she opens the gift. It's a special green edition of A Christmas Carol. We get a flashback of Emily visiting the bookstore and meeting Glen. She tells him about this edition of A Christmas Carol that her parents used to read to her. He remembered and tracked the book down. As she opens it, a letter falls out, inviting her to a very special event at the law offices tomorrow at 8 p.m. What is Glen up to?!So, she goes to tell Sam, and he says, “How would you feel about me being a plus-one so I can take a gander?”They show up, and the video plays—it's Glen, predicting his own death and setting up a treasure hunt. Sam tries to get everyone to give him their books so he can search for clues. They're like, “Nah. There's treasure to find!”It doesn't take Emily long to find the first clue using a UV light on her book. She thinks the other books have clues too and that they all need to work together on it. She gets two others on board—a hot dog stand owner named Harry and Brooke Carmichael. But Glen's nephew, Fred, says he and his wife don't want to participate (mainly Fred's wife—she didn't like Glen).To make matters worse, there's one book still missing. She thinks maybe he gave it to the diner owner, Sue, but Sue says she threw the book out.Sam finds out that Glen had Huntington's disease. After Fred finds this out, he decides that they want to participate. Even though they're missing one book, they decide to put all the clues together and try to figure out what they're pointing to. It has something to do with a precious memory. Fred says, “The only memory I can think of with Glen is him reading Twas the Night Before Christmas.” Emily says, “Go see if he has that book in the bookstore. Maybe there's a clue.”As they're walking towards the store, Emily sees the car that sped off and notices a letter that clearly came from Glen in the front seat. Just then, Fred realizes the bookstore is unlocked. Sam goes in first and finds a guy there.It's Fred's brother Noah. They haven't seen each other in a long time. Apparently, when their mom got sick, Noah left. Sam takes Noah in for questioning and presents him with some pretty tough evidence—they found Glen's Santa suit in the trunk and the USB drive with Glen's video on it from the lawyer's office, which was stolen. He gives reasons for all of it, but it's not looking great.Fred tells Emily that he did finally go find the book and found a USB drive! They agree to all get together tomorrow to watch what's on it.As Emily's going home, an SUV speeds at her, and she has to tuck-and-roll out of the way.The next day, they all get together, and it's another video with a very cryptic clue. We find out that someone is sitting in a car, listening in on their conversation.Later, the group gets back together, but Fred is nowhere to be found. Turns out he was attacked from behind. He says he doesn't know who did it. Sam gets a call—they found Fred's wife's DNA on the Santa suit. She says she found out that the first editions were missing and went to talk to Glen. She found him dead and knew it wouldn't look good that she found him, so she put the suit on and ran out.Emily finds Noah in the diner—he's been released. She convinces him to join the group in solving the mystery. He comes to her store and sees there's a hole in the wall—she has a leak. He says he thought maybe it was one of the secret compartments these old buildings have. That gives them the idea to look for one in the bookstore, and they find it! Inside is a suitcase—a go-bag, if you will. They discover a folder with a plane ticket to Switzerland for the day of the party and a brochure for a place in Switzerland for end-of-life care. He was planning to leave and die in Switzerland. Emily recalls that the tape says, “If you're seeing this, that means I'm gone.” He didn't know he was going to be murdered. He was just planning on disappearing.They find the final clue and watch the video. Suddenly, Harry, the hot dog guy, is gone, and so are all the books. Emily puts it together—he killed Glen and was just trying to solve the mystery. She goes to confront him in the cemetery where the final clue leads to. We find out that he showed up to steal the first edition A Christmas Carol and threatened to kill Glen to get it. Glen laughed in his face, knowing he was dying. That offended Harry, so he stabbed him.Emily then fights him, takes him down, and puts him in plastic cuffs to get the treasure! She figures out it was the lawyer who hired this guy, and he gets arrested.She gets the group back together and hands out what Glen left for everyone. It's very sweet.The movie ends with Emily coming down to her store and seeing Sam fixing her wall. They end up making out HARD!!! She says, “Let's go for a walk in the snow.” She has to go change, and that's when he gets a phone call—he's been investigating Emily and noticed some discrepancies in her story. He got a call from his higher-up to drop any and all research into her. So, clearly, she isn't who she says she is. The episode ends with him asking her, “Who are you really?” Fade to black. Watch the show on Youtube - www.deckthehallmark.com/youtubeInterested in advertising on the show? Email bran@deckthehallmark.com Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

Wanna rock the ReddX merch? https://teespring.com/stores/r... Got a story? I got a subreddit: https://www.reddit.com/r/ReddX... In this episode of r/NiceGuys we encounter some of the most jovial and fun nice guys around! Nah, just kidding. They're a bunch of sad sacks that think women are attracted to men who are utterly helpless. It's either that or go all Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. Nice guys really only have like 2 or 3 different strategies that they follow, and you'll learn all about em here! It doesn't matter what your background is, you always need to treat people like people and not use them simply to get off. Neckbeards seem to learn this lesson particularly slow and it really does make my blood boil... So we must bring it to light so others don't suffer alone. For your fill of neckbeard stories we've got you covered with the freshest weeaboo, niceguy, and neckbeard happenings on reddit. Stick with ReddX for your daily dose of cringe with a side-dish of relatability. You might even feel good for dessert... But who can say? #sadboi #niceguys #emo Join me on Discord dude: https://discord.gg/fmfCdmP One-time PayPal donation: https://www.paypal.me/daytondo... Support this channel on Patreon: http://patreon.com/daytondoes Stalk me on the Twitter! http://www.twitter.com/daytond... Visit me over on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ReddX... Check out my other channel: https://www.youtube.com/dayton... Wifey's channel is right over here: https://www.youtube.com/channe... Have you ever met a nice guy? They are frustrating to deal with, but luckily you aren't alone! These r/nice guy stories from Reddit are among the top posts of all time and include some of the funniest Reddit stories ever posted on the entitled parents subreddit! rSlash Nice Guys stories have all kinds of funny nice guys in them, but especially the beta male. Listening to ReddX's nice guys playlist is a great experience! These NiceGuys Top Posts of All Time from Reddit are made for you to enjoy any time you feel like it, so be sure to save my rSlash niceguys playlist to your favorites! While there are many rslash channels that read r/nice guys stories and r/prorevenge from reddit, each channel has their own way of performing them. Some of the top rSlash niceguys channels I recommend checking out are the original rSlash, Redditor, fresh, r/Bumfries, VoiceyHere, Mr Reddit, Storytime and Darkfluff. These Reddit story channels inspired me to start my own Reddit story channel, with a focus on nice guys stories and at times going into the r/pettyrevenge and r/choosingbeggars subreddit as well. Because most of my audience prefers nice guys stories of Reddit, I tend to just stick with reading the r/niceguys Top Posts of All Time. Subscribe to ReddX for the freshest daily Reddit content. I post relatable readings of Reddit posts and Reddit stories every single day! Journey with me as I relate these amazing Reddit stories to my personal life journey. I'm greatly inspired by the top reddit posts of all time videos and reddit stories on YouTube which is why I started doing them myself. YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channe... Discord: https://discord.gg/Sju7YckUWu Twitch: https://www.twitch.tv/daytondo... PayPal: https://www.paypal.me/daytondo... Patreon: http://patreon.com/daytondoes Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/daytond... Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ReddX... Merch: https://reddx-shop.fourthwall....

On this episode the Vin brings some deep conspiracies for to light and tries to get the Council of Nah on board. Enjoy.

In today's absurdist themed show longboarders take center stage as youngest WSL champ ever wins her third title while Stab buries the lede, Joel Tudor wins over corporate airlines and then takes them to court, Moana Jones Wong joins OnlyFans, and the boys discover the perfect projectile to reintroduce regulation in your local line up. Plus Barrel or Nah?! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

“You either retire an Angel or you live long enough to become the villain.” - Shohei Ohtani's biographer, probably. Nah, he rocks. But fr, the Dodgers suck and no amount of World Series rings can change that. This week: Fixer Upper Marin, max contracts, and two middle aged dudes kinda sorta embrace AI.

Now that we're settled into our new lives as thief kings, maybe we should look into what that means. One big heist is left, and it might be useful to understand if we already won the campaign, you know? Nah. Into the mudhole we go! For 3 bonus episodes a month and more, subscribe to our Patreon at patreon.com/nerdpoker. For merch, social media, and more be sure to head to nerdpokerpod.com.

Garth Heckman The David Alliance TDAgiantSlayer@Gmail.com      THERE IS AN AURORA AROUND PEOPLE WHO HAVE LEARNED TO LIVE IN BIG OBEDIENCE!  BUT HOW DID THEY LEARN IT?  How did they learn BIG obedience?  Ok, seems simple enough but it is through little obedience… small steps of obedience, wether we are talking about witnessing on campus in front a few hundred students or giving up our boyfriend or even stepping away from our beloved career… how did the small steps lead up to that?      Question? Can you give .10 out of a dollar? Lets say you walk into Church and the pastor challenges you… hey you got a dollar? You do! Great… can you give put .10 into the offering today from that dollar… is that a challenge?    Nah!!!  Can you give $100,000.00 out of a million?    IM NOT TALKING ABOUT MONEY OR PROSPERITY!   Does God want you prosperous? -… I have a problem with that prosperity gospel.    Ok, does God want you generous?  How you gonna be generous with what you don't have?   Generosity does not come from you having excess.. it comes from what you currently have. Remember the widows mite? The 2 pennies. That is all she had…not wealthy at all - But God called her incredibly generous.    GOD WANTS YOU OBEDIENT GOD WANTS YOU GENEROUS GOD WANTS YOU!    AOC Alexandria Ocasia Cortez the US representative for NY said recently - that the millennial generation is the first generation to not experience the American dream, the prosperity or wealth that their parents experienced… WHUH?  That is what entitlement will do to you. Actually the most recent statistics that have come out is that these last two generations have more wealth than their parents or their grandparents or their great grandparents had? They just don't see it because they are spoiled… entitled. Its not their fault - it is the parents who raised them. And yes some of it is the society in which we live in. So when God asks you to give 10% it seems like an astronomical undertaking to big to even believe.  Now this podcast is not about giving, prosperity or even generosity… it is about taking small steps of obedience. You know what makes 10% seem impossible to give? Selfishness. You might say oh yea, wow Garth news flash… we know that. But you miss the point. Its not selfishness from the stand point of not having enough… it is selfishness while standing in excess, the ruins of spoil… overflow upon overflow…and you are still selfish… that is why it seems to hard to understand - at least for me and maybe a few more who have some history under their belt.  God is not asking us to obey in war, oppression, poverty, under persecution (at least not in the US - I know I have listeners all over the world…so I will be careful) God is asking most of us to be obedient in the best time of the world and in the smallest of ways… and yet we our so blind or Blond - we don't get how easy it should be. But again - entitlement is poison. Much like exposure to chlorine or formaldehyde are so strong and pungent but over time you get used to them and then at some point you can't smell anything. They have destroyed your olfactory system. Entitlement is that smell… be wary of it. Act in obedience and let not the world poison your ability to see your blessings!  

In today's Halloween episode David and Chas confront a new spate of misplaced anger and advise Rory Russell on how to use Instagram, explain how to win a fight against four frat boys, get revved about the greatest invention since the wave pool, and learn that there's no such thing as a one wave set. Plus Barrel or Nah?! Enjoy! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

You know those moments when something weirdly specific happens, a song lyric, a repeating number, a dream that feels too obvious, and your first thought is, "Wait… was that a sign?" Then your mind jumps in: "Nah, you're imagining it." This episode dives straight into that in-between space where your logical brain wants proof, but your higher self is already whispering, "Trust it." I share a personal story from a sound bath that turned into an unexpected, vivid download — and what it taught me about trusting my own connection. But more than that, this episode is an invitation to look at your own experiences differently. What if you're not making it up? What if the things that feel like "coincidences" are actually confirmations? And what if the universe has been trying to talk to you all along, you just stopped believing it could be that simple? In this episode, we'll explore: You've been getting signs or visions and wondering if they're "real" You feel a shift happening in your life and want to understand what it means You're ready to start believing your own guidance again Because maybe the magic isn't hiding. Maybe you've just been trained to dismiss it. Get your astrology chart here Other episodes you might like:  246: The Secret to Seeing More Signs & Synchronicities 219: How to Surrender Control and Manifest More!   Let's be friends on Instagram! Join The Weekly Nudge Email List!  

This is a preview of a premium episode from our Patreon feed, Paid Costly For Me! Head over to Patreon.com/PodCastyForMe to hear more for just $5 a month. While making CHE, Steven Soderbergh fell so in love with Bolivia's national liquor, singani, that he decided to export it to the US as Singani 63 - just like Che Guevara would have done. Nah just kidding but we tried it and it's actually quite good! Even better, Pod Casty For Me's own Hotel Detective Maxwell Pierson joins us to get a little loose drinking Singani 63 (and Casamigos tequila) and talk about all kinds of stuff: the colonial history of liquor, Soderbergh's recently revealed unmade Kylo Ren movie, our long podcast journey thus far, and more. A special ep with a special man. Per Maxwell's plug, please check out Donors Choose to support a teacher near you: https://www.donorschoose.org/ Follow Maxwell Pierson: https://x.com/MaxwellPierson1 Lots to check out here: https://singani63.com/ Thanks as always to Jetski for our theme music and Jeremy Allison for our artwork.

“Why did you launch yet another voice dictation app?” I asked Dan Shipper, founder of Every. I thought he’d tell me that there was some kind of research that showed people needed another one. Nah. It came down to his team’s taste and personal preference. They just wanted something different. So a single creator on the team built it. AI makes it easier for more people to create apps. So what’s the differentiator? From what I got in this interview — over and over — it’s the creator’s taste. Dan Shipper is the founder and CEO of Every, a hybrid media and software company creating AI-powered tools for productivity and creativity. The company publishes one of the most widely read newsletters on technology and builds products like Monologue (AI dictation), Spiral (AI ghostwriting), and Cora (AI email assistant). More interviews -> https://mixergy.com/moreint Rate this interview -> https://mixergy.com/rateint

BooOOoOOoOoo it's the EITFO Halloween special! In this week's episode, Erin and Jack discuss the scariest films they've seen, THEN they host (and take) their most confounding quiz yet - Is This a Real Plot from a Supernatural Episode or Nah? Finally, a themed, rhyming (?) horoscope is sure to get listeners in the Halloween spirit.  Follow Erin and Jack on Instagram:⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠https://www.instagram.com/2toesup/?hl=en⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠https://www.instagram.com/jacksfilms/?hl=en⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ To watch Erin Is The Funny One on YouTube: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠https://www.youtube.com/@jackisanerd⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Don't forget to subscribe to the podcast for free wherever you're listening or by using this link: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠https://bit.ly/erinisthefunnyone Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

In today's show David awakes from an anxiety dream to realize he's manifested the perfect plot for North Shore 2, John Peck sends a wink from the great beyond to remind us he was never really here, Surfing World maps for the next 60 years with an injection of fresh blood, and the boys welcome Raglan Surf Report and Turtle for the next live show! Plus Barrel or Nah?! Enjoy! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Kill your vices, sculpt your physique, and become unstoppable with my FREE 6-Step Daily Domination Blueprint. Is boosting testosterone the key to optimizing your libido?  Nah, not necessarily.  There are a few simple things you can do (and NOT do) that are guaranteed to increase your libido.  And I'm sharing them with you today... How you need to start your day, EVERY day. [6:01] This is killing your erections (... and it's not your testosterone levels). [7:24] Can you get lean AND have a strong libido? [11:14] The one marker you need to make sure you have dialed in. [19:18] This enhances every function of your body and it only takes about an hour. [20:48] Why a hostage situation may not be all that bad. [22:37] Sponsors LMNT: Restore health through hydration, and get a free sample pack at drinklmnt.com/renegade. Cured Nutrition: Use code RENEGADE at curednutrition.com to save 20% on the highest quality CBD. Want to work with me to transform your body and mind? Go here now.

Joe and Elliott get completely out of their depth talking about things they have absolutely no business talking about. They should really keep their traps shut, I'm talkin' gorilla glued shit, but nah, they just keep yapping. But that's podcasts, right? We don't do FANCY SETS or COME PREPARED. Nah, we just read books that are randomly left open next to us while pondering the fickle nature of an AI that's only right 80% of the time (we're right 100% of the time, which is a different number) Music/SFX: If you like our sounds, sign up for ONE FREE MONTH on us at Epidemic Sound! Over 30,000 songs: http://share.epidemicsound.com/n96pc Follow The Valleyfolk across the digital globe: http://twitter.com/TheValleyfolk http://instagram.com/TheValleyfolk http://facebook.com/TheValleyfolk Follow the group on their personal socials: Joe Bereta: http://twitter.com/JoeBereta http://instagram.com/joebereta Elliott Morgan: http://twitter.com/elliottcmorgan http://instagram.com/elliottmorgan Steve Zaragoza: http://twitter.com/stevezaragoza http://instagram.com/stevezaragoza AI wrote a description and spelled my name wrong. Nice.

On today episode, Andy & DJ discuss ICE rolling Portland protester away on flatbed cart as Trump says city is burning to the ground, a bloody Mark Sanchez seen stumbling down Indianapolis sidewalk after being stabbed in fight with grease truck driver, and a brand new segment of AI or Nah.