Podcasts about Nymph

This week on The Broski Report, Fearless Leader Brittany Broski calls her dad about aliens, analyzes her tarot reading, explains her Nymph backstory, delivers a monologue, and researches lymphatic drainage. 

#758 Show Notes: https://wetflyswing.com/758 Presented by:  TroutRoutes, Drifthook Fly Fishing, Yellowstone Teton Territory, On DeMark Lodge Alex Xenie Hall — legendary Colorado fly fishing guide, steelhead nut, and self-proclaimed trout bum — takes us deep into his world, from the Upper San Juan to the far end of the Babine River. Show Notes:  https://wetflyswing.com/758

The Saga Of Ida & Paul V. HadleyAd-Free Safe House EditionEpisode 125 concerns Ida Hadley, who was so passionate for her husband Paul that they called her a nymphomaniac in open court. Their trouble started much earlier, in Beaumont, Texas, when a man made eyes at Ida, and Paul shot him. This steamy story spans five years and includes three trials, attempted and successful jail breaks, multiple flights from justice across five states, an important invention, and two murders--one from a moving train! What more could you ask for?More Femmes FataleBecome a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/true-crime-historian--2909311/support.

durée : 00:48:07 - La 20e heure - par : Eva Bester - Auteur prodigue à l'œuvre riche, Grégoire Bouillier a publié le 21 août "Le Syndrome de l'Orangerie" chez Flammarion. Reprenant les traits du détective Bmore dans cette enquête, il s'obsède pour Monet et ses « Nymphéas », qui semblent cacher un secret. Promenade dans les sillons du grand œuvre. - invités : Grégoire BOUILLIER - Grégoire Bouillier : Ecrivain - réalisé par : Lola COSTANTINI

In this week's episode, we're heading back over to Ancient Greece and Rome for a fan favourite, the Dryad! How similar are Dryads and Nymphs? Why do they hate hiding from humans and gods so much? Find out this week!Send us a textSupport the showYou can find us on: Myth Monsters Website Spotify Apple Podcasts GoodPods Amazon Music Social media: Twitter BlueSky Instagram Facebook TikTok

#738 Show Notes: https://wetflyswing.com/738 Presented By:   Grand Teton Fly Fishing, Four Wheel Campers,   On DeMark Lodge  Do you fish with sinking fly lines? You can likely thank our podcast guest for the fly line you use today. Jim Teeny is back on the show to dive into the legacy of Teeny Fly Lines. Hear the story behind his revolutionary sinking lines and the game-changing techniques that shook up the fly fishing world (some even a little controversial), from his "I spot 'em, I got 'em" approach to throwing rocks at fish. We'll also get into his top steelhead tips, the crazy story behind his last-cast permit with Bruce Chard, and what it was like battling a 250-pound tarpon for four hours.   Show Notes:  https://wetflyswing.com/738

Claude Monet, pionnier de l'impressionnisme, a marqué l'histoire de l'art par sa capacité unique à capturer la lumière et les émotions dans ses œuvres. Né en 1840, il traverse une vie jalonnée de défis personnels et financiers, mais son génie transforme chaque épreuve en inspiration artistique. Son tableau Camille sur son lit de mort (1879) est un poignant hommage à sa première épouse, témoignant de sa douleur et de son amour. Rejeté à ses débuts par les institutions officielles, Monet trouve un soutien décisif à l'étranger, notamment aux États-Unis, ce qui lui permet d'acheter la maison de Giverny en 1890. Là, il crée ses célèbres Nymphéas, symboles de son exploration de la nature et de la lumière. Malgré les drames familiaux et une santé déclinante, il reste un innovateur infatigable jusqu'à sa mort en 1926. Monet laisse un héritage universel, incarnant la beauté et la modernité de l'art impressionniste. Merci pour votre écoute Vous aimez l'Heure H, mais connaissez-vous La Mini Heure H https://audmns.com/YagLLiK , une version pour toute la famille.Retrouvez l'ensemble des épisodes de l'Heure H sur notre plateforme Auvio.be :https://auvio.rtbf.be/emission/22750 Intéressés par l'histoire ? Vous pourriez également aimer nos autres podcasts : Un jour dans l'Histoire : https://audmns.com/gXJWXoQL'Histoire Continue: https://audmns.com/kSbpELwAinsi que nos séries historiques :Chili, le Pays de mes Histoires : https://audmns.com/XHbnevhD-Day : https://audmns.com/JWRdPYIJoséphine Baker : https://audmns.com/wCfhoEwLa folle histoire de l'aviation : https://audmns.com/xAWjyWCLes Jeux Olympiques, l'étonnant miroir de notre Histoire : https://audmns.com/ZEIihzZMarguerite, la Voix d'une Résistante : https://audmns.com/zFDehnENapoléon, le crépuscule de l'Aigle : https://audmns.com/DcdnIUnUn Jour dans le Sport : https://audmns.com/xXlkHMHSous le sable des Pyramides : https://audmns.com/rXfVppvVous aimez les histoires racontées par Jean-Louis Lahaye ? Connaissez-vous ces podcast?Sous le sable des Pyramides : https://audmns.com/rXfVppv36 Quai des orfèvres : https://audmns.com/eUxNxyFHistoire Criminelle, les enquêtes de Scotland Yard : https://audmns.com/ZuEwXVOUn Crime, une Histoire https://audmns.com/NIhhXpYN'oubliez pas de vous y abonner pour ne rien manquer.Et si vous avez apprécié ce podcast, n'hésitez pas à nous donner des étoiles ou des commentaires, cela nous aide à le faire connaître plus largement.

February 27, 2025Paranormal Mysteries PodcastEvil Whispers, Night Visitations & a Wood Nymph in VermontEpisode 421CONTACTWebsite: https://paranormalmysteriespodcast.comTell Your Story: https://bit.ly/46IC6QvSocial Media: https://tinyurl.com/mr36jseePodcast Source: https://bit.ly/3YywlTDSUPPORTPatreon: https://bit.ly/46BQc6nBuyMeACoffee: https://bit.ly/3yk2ROIPayPal: https://bit.ly/3AhFzcMMy Wife's Sleep and Relaxation PodcastYouTube: https://bit.ly/3LZw0SwApple Podcasts: https://apple.co/3aOsZoySpotify: https://spoti.fi/3zwS29T

In this episode, James Marriott and I discuss who we think are the best twenty English poets. This is not the best poets who wrote in English, but the best British poets (though James snuck Sylvia Plath onto his list…). We did it like that to make it easier, not least so we could base a lot of our discussion on extracts in The Oxford Book of English Verse (Ricks edition). Most of what we read out is from there. We read Wordsworth, Keats, Hardy, Milton, and Pope. We both love Pope! (He should be regarded as one of the very best English poets, like Milton.) There are also readings of Herrick, Bronte, Cowper, and MacNiece. I plan to record the whole of ‘The Eve of St. Agnes' at some point soon.Here are our lists and below is the transcript (which may have more errors than usual, sorry!)HOGod Tier* Shakespeare“if not first, in the very first line”* Chaucer* Spenser* Milton* Wordsworth* Eliot—argue for Pope here, not usually includedSecond Tier* Donne* Herbert* Keats* Dryden* Gawain poet* Tom O'Bedlam poetThird Tier* Yeats* Tennyson* Hopkins* Coleridge* Auden* Shelley* MarvellJMShakespeareTier* ShakespeareTier 1* Chaucer* Milton* WordsworthTier 2* Donne* Eliot* Keats* Tennyson* Spencer* Marvell* PopeTier 3* Yeats* Hopkins* Blake* Coleridge* Auden* Shelley* Thomas Hardy* Larkin* PlathHenry: Today I'm talking to James Marriott, Times columnist, and more importantly, the writer of the Substack Cultural Capital. And we are going to argue about who are the best poets in the English language. James, welcome.James: Thanks very much for having me. I feel I should preface my appearance so that I don't bring your podcast and disrepute saying that I'm maybe here less as an expert of poetry and more as somebody who's willing to have strong and potentially species opinions. I'm more of a lover of poetry than I would claim to be any kind of academic expert, just in case anybody thinks that I'm trying to produce any definitive answer to the question that we're tackling.Henry: Yeah, no, I mean that's the same for me. We're not professors, we're just very opinionated boys. So we have lists.James: We do.Henry: And we're going to debate our lists, but what we do agree is that if we're having a top 20 English poets, Shakespeare is automatically in the God Tier and there's nothing to discuss.James: Yeah, he's in a category of his own. I think the way of, because I guess the plan we've gone for is to rather than to rank them 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 into sort of, what is it, three or four broad categories that we're competing over.Henry: Yes, yes. TiersJames: I think is a more kind of reasonable way to approach it rather than trying to argue exactly why it should be one place above Shelly or I don't know, whatever.Henry: It's also just an excuse to talk about poets.James: Yes.Henry: Good. So then we have a sort of top tier, if not the first, in the very first line as it were, and you've got different people. To me, you've got Chaucer, Milton, and Wordsworth. I would also add Spenser and T.S. Eliot. So what's your problem with Spenser?James: Well, my problem is ignorance in that it's a while since I've read the Fairy Queen, which I did at university. Partly is just that looking back through it now and from what I remember of university, I mean it is not so much that I have anything against Spenser. It's quite how much I have in favour of Milton and Wordsworth and Chaucer, and I'm totally willing to be argued against on this, but I just can't think that Spenser is in quite the same league as lovely as many passages of the Fairy Queen are.Henry: So my case for Spenser is firstly, if you go through something like the Oxford Book of English Verse or some other comparable anthology, he's getting a similar page count to Shakespeare and Milton, he is important in that way. Second, it's not just the fairy queen, there's the Shepherd's Calendar, the sonnets, the wedding poems, and they're all highly accomplished. The Shepherd's Calendar particularly is really, really brilliant work. I think I enjoyed that more as an undergraduate, actually, much as I love the Fairy Queen. And the third thing is that the Fairy Queen is a very, very great epic. I mean, it's a tremendous accomplishment. There were lots of other epics knocking around in the 16th century that nobody wants to read now or I mean, obviously specialists want to read, but if we could persuade a few more people, a few more ordinary readers to pick up the fairy queen, they would love it.James: Yes, and I was rereading before he came on air, the Bower of Bliss episode, which I think is from the second book, which is just a beautifully lush passage, passage of writing. It was really, I mean, you can see why Keats was so much influenced by it. The point about Spenser's breadth is an interesting one because Milton is in my top category below Shakespeare, but I think I'm placing him there pretty much only on the basis of Paradise Lost. I think if we didn't have Paradise Lost, Milton may not even be in this competition at all for me, very little. I know. I don't know if this is a heresy, I've got much less time for Milton's minor works. There's Samuel Johnson pretty much summed up my feelings on Lycidas when he said there was nothing new. Whatever images it can supply are long ago, exhausted, and I do feel there's a certain sort of dryness to Milton's minor stuff. I mean, I can find things like Il Penseroso and L'Allegro pretty enough, but I mean, I think really the central achievement is Paradise Lost, whereas Spenser might be in contention, as you say, from if you didn't have the Fairy Queen, you've got Shepherd's Calendar, and all this other sort of other stuff, but Paradise Lost is just so massive for me.Henry: But if someone just tomorrow came out and said, oh, we found a whole book of minor poetry by Virgil and it's all pretty average, you wouldn't say, oh, well Virgil's less of a great poet.James: No, absolutely, and that's why I've stuck Milton right at the top. It's just sort of interesting how unbelievably good Paradise Lost is and how, in my opinion, how much less inspiring the stuff that comes after it is Samson Agonistes and Paradise Regained I really much pleasure out of at all and how, I mean the early I think slightly dry Milton is unbelievably accomplished, but Samuel Johnson seems to say in that quote is a very accomplished use of ancient slightly worn out tropes, and he's of putting together these old ideas in a brilliant manner and he has this sort of, I mean I guess he's one of your late bloomers. I can't quite remember how old he is when he publishes Paradise Lost.Henry: Oh, he is. Oh, writing it in his fifties. Yeah.James: Yeah, this just extraordinary thing that's totally unlike anything else in English literature and of all the poems that we're going to talk about, I think is the one that has probably given me most pleasure in my life and the one that I probably return to most often if not to read all the way through then to just go over my favourite bits and pieces of it.Henry: A lot of people will think Milton is heavy and full of weird references to the ancient world and learned and biblical and not very readable for want of a better word. Can you talk us out of that? To be one of the great poets, they do have to have some readability, right?James: Yeah, I think so, and it's certainly how I felt. I mean I think it's not a trivial objection to have to Milton. It's certainly how I found him. He was my special author paper at university and I totally didn't get on with him. There was something about his massive brilliance that I felt. I remember feeling like trying to write about Paradise Lost was trying to kind of scratch a huge block of marble with your nails. There's no way to get a handle on it. I just couldn't work out what to get ahold of, and it's only I think later in adulthood maybe reading him under a little less pressure that I've come to really love him. I mean, the thing I would always say to people to look out for in Milton, but it's his most immediate pleasure and the thing that still is what sends shivers done my spine about him is the kind of cosmic scale of Paradise Lost, and it's almost got this sort of sci-fi massiveness to it. One of my very favourite passages, which I may inflict on you, we did agree that we could inflict poetry on one another.Henry: Please, pleaseJames: It's a detail from the first book of Paradise Lost. Milton's talking about Satan's architect in hell Mulciber, and this is a little explanation of who or part of his explanation of who Mulciber is, and he says, Nor was his name unheard or unadoredIn ancient Greece; and in Ausonian landMen called him Mulciber; and how he fellFrom Heaven they fabled, thrown by angry JoveSheer o'er the crystal battlements: from mornTo noon he fell, from noon to dewy eve,A summer's day, and with the setting sunDropt from the zenith, like a falling star,On Lemnos, th' Aegaean isle. Thus they relate,ErringI just think it's the sort of total massiveness of that universe that “from the zenith to like a falling star”. I just can't think of any other poet in English or that I've ever read in any language, frankly, even in translation, who has that sort of scale about it, and I think that's what can most give immediate pleasure. The other thing I love about that passage is this is part of the kind of grandeur of Milton is that you get this extraordinary passage about an angel falling from heaven down to th' Aegean Isle who's then going to go to hell and the little parenthetic remark at the end, the perm just rolls on, thus they relate erring and paradise lost is such this massive grand thing that it can contain this enormous cosmic tragedy as a kind of little parenthetical thing. I also think the crystal battlements are lovely, so wonderful kind of sci-fi detail.Henry: Yes, I think that's right, and I think it's under appreciated that Milton was a hugely important influence on Charles Darwin who was a bit like you always rereading it when he was young, especially on the beagle voyage. He took it with him and quotes it in his letters sometimes, and it is not insignificant the way that paradise loss affects him in terms of when he writes his own epic thinking at this level, thinking at this scale, thinking at the level of the whole universe, how does the whole thing fit together? What's the order behind the little movements of everything? So Milton's reach I think is actually quite far into the culture even beyond the poets.James: That's fascinating. Do you have a particular favourite bit of Paradise Lost?Henry: I do, but I don't have it with me because I disorganised and couldn't find my copy.James: That's fair.Henry: What I want to do is to read one of the sonnets because I do think he's a very, very good sonnet writer, even if I'm going to let the Lycidas thing go, because I'm not going to publicly argue against Samuel Johnson.When I consider how my light is spent,Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,And that one Talent which is death to hideLodged with me useless, though my Soul more bentTo serve therewith my Maker, and presentMy true account, lest he returning chide;“Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?”I fondly ask. But patience, to preventThat murmur, soon replies, “God doth not needEither man's work or his own gifts; who bestBear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His stateIs Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speedAnd post o'er Land and Ocean without rest:They also serve who only stand and wait.”I think that's great.James: Yeah. Okay. It is good.Henry: Yeah. I think the minor poems are very uneven, but there are lots of gems.James: Yeah, I mean he is a genius. It would be very weird if all the minor poems were s**t, which is not really what I'm trying… I guess I have a sort of slightly austere category too. I just do Chaucer, Milton, Wordsworth, but we are agreed on Wordsworth, aren't we? That he belongs here.Henry: So my feeling is that the story of English poetry is something like Chaucer Spenser, Shakespeare, Milton, Wordsworth, T.S. Eliot create a kind of spine. These are the great innovators. They're writing the major works, they're the most influential. All the cliches are true. Chaucer invented iambic pentameter. Shakespeare didn't single handedly invent modern English, but he did more than all the rest of them put together. Milton is the English Homer. Wordsworth is the English Homer, but of the speech of the ordinary man. All these old things, these are all true and these are all colossal achievements and I don't really feel that we should be picking between them. I think Spenser wrote an epic that stands alongside the works of Shakespeare and Milton in words with T.S. Eliot whose poetry, frankly I do not love in the way that I love some of the other great English writers cannot be denied his position as one of the great inventors.James: Yeah, I completely agree. It's funny, I think, I mean I really do love T.S. Eliot. Someone else had spent a lot of time rereading. I'm not quite sure why he hasn't gone into quite my top category, but I think I had this—Henry: Is it because he didn't like Milton and you're not having it?James: Maybe that's part of it. I think my thought something went more along the lines of if I cut, I don't quite feel like I'm going to put John Donne in the same league as Milton, but then it seems weird to put Eliot above Donne and then I don't know that, I mean there's not a very particularly fleshed out thought, but on Wordsworth, why is Wordsworth there for you? What do you think, what do you think are the perms that make the argument for Wordsworth having his place at the very top?Henry: Well, I think the Lyrical Ballads, Poems in Two Volumes and the Prelude are all of it, aren't they? I'm not a lover of the rest, and I think the preface to the Lyrical Ballads is one of the great works of literary criticism, which is another coin in his jar if you like, but in a funny way, he's much more revolutionary than T.S. Eliot. We think of modernism as the great revolution and the great sort of bringing of all the newness, but modernism relies on Wordsworth so much, relies on the idea that tradition can be subsumed into ordinary voice, ordinary speech, the passage in the Wasteland where he has all of them talking in the bar. Closing time please, closing time please. You can't have that without Wordsworth and—James: I think I completely agree with what you're saying.Henry: Yeah, so I think that's for me is the basis of it that he might be the great innovator of English poetry.James: Yeah, I think you're right because I've got, I mean again, waiting someone out of my depth here, but I can't think of anybody else who had sort of specifically and perhaps even ideologically set out to write a kind of high poetry that sounded like ordinary speech, I guess. I mean, Wordsworth again is somebody who I didn't particularly like at university and I think it's precisely about plainness that can make him initially off-putting. There's a Matthew Arnold quote where he says of Wordsworth something like He has no style. Henry: Such a Matthew Arnold thing to say.James: I mean think it's the beginning of an appreciation, but there's a real blankness to words with I think again can almost mislead you into thinking there's nothing there when you first encounter him. But yeah, I think for me, Tintern Abbey is maybe the best poem in the English language.Henry: Tintern Abbey is great. The Intimations of Immortality Ode is superb. Again, I don't have it with me, but the Poems in Two Volumes. There are so many wonderful things in there. I had a real, when I was an undergraduate, I had read some Wordsworth, but I hadn't really read a lot and I thought of I as you do as the daffodils poet, and so I read Lyrical Ballads and Poems in Two Volumes, and I had one of these electrical conversion moments like, oh, the daffodils, that is nothing. The worst possible thing for Wordsworth is that he's remembered as this daffodils poet. When you read the Intimations of Immortality, do you just think of all the things he could have been remembered for? It's diminishing.James: It's so easy to get into him wrong because the other slightly wrong way in is through, I mean maybe this is a prejudice that isn't widely shared, but the stuff that I've never particularly managed to really enjoy is all the slightly worthy stuff about beggars and deformed people and maimed soldiers. Wandering around on roads in the lake district has always been less appealing to me, and that was maybe why I didn't totally get on with 'em at first, and I mean, there's some bad words with poetry. I was looking up the infamous lines from the form that were mocked even at the time where you know the lines that go, You see a little muddy pond Of water never dry. I've measured it from side to side, 'Tis three feet long and two feet wide, and the sort of plainness condescend into banality at Wordsworth's worst moments, which come more frequently later in his career.Henry: Yes, yes. I'm going to read a little bit of the Intimations ode because I want to share some of this so-called plainness at its best. This is the third section. They're all very short Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song,And while the young lambs boundAs to the tabor's sound,To me alone there came a thought of grief:A timely utterance gave that thought relief,And I again am strong:The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep;No more shall grief of mine the season wrong;I hear the Echoes through the mountains throng,The Winds come to me from the fields of sleep,And all the earth is gay;Land and seaGive themselves up to jollity,And with the heart of MayDoth every Beast keep holiday;—Thou Child of Joy,Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy Shepherd-boy.And I think it's unthinkable that someone would write like this today. It would be cringe, but we're going to have a new sincerity. It's coming. It's in some ways it's already here and I think Wordsworth will maybe get a different sort of attention when that happens because that's a really high level of writing to be able to do that without it descending into what you just read. In the late Wordsworth there's a lot of that really bad stuff.James: Yeah, I mean the fact that he wrote some of that bad stuff I guess is a sign of quite how carefully the early stuff is treading that knife edge of tripping into banality. Can I read you my favourite bit of Tintern Abbey?Henry: Oh yes. That is one of the great poems.James: Yeah, I just think one of mean I, the most profound poem ever, probably for me. So this is him looking out over the landscape of Tinton Abbey. I mean these are unbelievably famous lines, so I'm sure everybody listening will know them, but they are so good And I have feltA presence that disturbs me with the joyOf elevated thoughts; a sense sublimeOf something far more deeply interfused,Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,And the round ocean and the living air,And the blue sky, and in the mind of man:A motion and a spirit, that impelsAll thinking things, all objects of all thought,And rolls through all things. Therefore am I stillA lover of the meadows and the woodsAnd mountains; and of all that we beholdFrom this green earth; of all the mighty worldOf eye, and ear,—both what they half create,And what perceive; well pleased to recogniseIn nature and the language of the senseThe anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse,The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soulOf all my moral being.I mean in a poem, it's just that is mind blowingly good to me?Henry: Yeah. I'm going to look up another section from the Prelude, which used to be in the Oxford Book, but it isn't in the Ricks edition and I don't really know whyJames: He doesn't have much of the Prelude does he?Henry: I don't think he has any…James: Yeah.Henry: So this is from an early section when the young Wordsworth is a young boy and he's going off, I think he's sneaking out at night to row on the lake as you do when you with Wordsworth, and the initial description is of a mountain. She was an elfin pinnace; lustilyI dipped my oars into the silent lake,And, as I rose upon the stroke, my boatWent heaving through the water like a swan;When, from behind that craggy steep till thenThe horizon's bound, a huge peak, black and huge,As if with voluntary power instinct,Upreared its head. I struck and struck again,And growing still in stature the grim shapeTowered up between me and the stars, and still,For so it seemed, with purpose of its ownAnd measured motion like a living thing,Strode after me. With trembling oars I turned,And through the silent water stole my wayBack to the covert of the willow tree;It's so much like that in Wordsworth. It's just,James: Yeah, I mean, yeah, the Prelude is full of things like that. I think that is probably one of the best moments, possibly the best moments of the prelude. But yeah, I mean it's just total genius isn't it?Henry: I think he's very, very important and yeah, much more important than T.S. Eliot who is, I put him in the same category, but I can see why you didn't.James: You do have a little note saying Pope, question mark or something I think, don't you, in the document.Henry: So the six I gave as the spine of English literature and everything, that's an uncontroversial view. I think Pope should be one of those people. I think we should see Pope as being on a level with Milton and Wordsworth, and I think he's got a very mixed reputation, but I think he was just as inventive, just as important. I think you are a Pope fan, just as clever, just as moving, and it baffles me that he's not more commonly regarded as part of this great spine running through the history of English literature and between Milton and Wordsworth. If you don't have Pope, I think it's a missing link if you like.James: I mean, I wouldn't maybe go as far as you, I love Pope. Pope was really the first perch I ever loved. I remember finding a little volume of Pope in a box of books. My school library was chucking out, and that was the first book of poetry I read and took seriously. I guess he sort of suffers by the fact that we are seeing all of this through the lens of the romantics. All our taste about Shakespeare and Milton and Spenser has been formed by the romantics and hope's way of writing the Satires. This sort of society poetry I think is just totally doesn't conform to our idea of what poetry should be doing or what poetry is. Is there absolutely or virtually nobody reads Dryden nowadays. It's just not what we think poetry is for that whole Augustine 18th century idea that poetry is for writing epistles to people to explain philosophical concepts to them or to diss your enemies and rivals or to write a kind of Duncia explaining why everyone you know is a moron. That's just really, I guess Byron is the last major, is the only of figure who is in that tradition who would be a popular figure nowadays with things like English bards and scotch reviewers. But that whole idea of poetry I think was really alien to us. And I mean I'm probably formed by that prejudice because I really do love Pope, but I don't love him as much as the other people we've discussed.Henry: I think part of his problem is that he's clever and rational and we want our poems always to be about moods, which may be, I think why George Herbert, who we've both got reasonably high is also quite underrated. He's very clever. He's always think George Herbert's always thinking, and when someone like Shakespeare or Milton is thinking, they do it in such a way that you might not notice and that you might just carry on with the story. And if you do see that they're thinking you can enjoy that as well. Whereas Pope is just explicitly always thinking and maybe lecturing, hectoring, being very grand with you and as you say, calling you an idiot. But there are so many excellent bits of Pope and I just think technically he can sustain a thought or an argument over half a dozen or a dozen lines and keep the rhyme scheme moving and it's never forced, and he never has to do that thing where he puts the words in a stupid order just to make the rhyme work. He's got such an elegance and a balance of composition, which again, as you say, we live under romantic ideals, not classical ones. But that doesn't mean we should be blind to the level of his accomplishment, which is really, really very high. I mean, Samuel Johnson basically thought that Alexander Pope had finished English poetry. We have the end of history. He had the end of English poetry. Pope, he's brought us to the mightiest of the heroic couplers and he's done it. It's all over.James: The other thing about Pope that I think makes us underrate him is that he's very charming. And I think charm is a quality we're not big on is that sort of, but I think some of Pope's charm is so moving. One of my favourite poems of his is, do you know the Epistle to Miss Blount on going into the country? The poem to the young girl who's been having a fashionable season in London then is sent to the boring countryside to stay with an aunt. And it's this, it's not like a romantic love poem, it's not distraught or hectic. It's just a sort of wonderful act of sympathy with this potentially slightly airheaded young girl who's been sent to the countryside, which you'd rather go to operas and plays and flirt with people. And there's a real sort of delicate in it that isn't overblown and isn't dramatic, but is extremely charming. And I think that's again, another quality that perhaps we're prone not to totally appreciate in the 21st century. It's almost the kind of highest form of politeness and sympathyHenry: And the prevailing quality in Pope is wit: “True wit is nature to advantage dressed/ What often was thought, but ne'er so well expressed”. And I think wit can be quite alienating for an audience because it is a kind of superior form of literary art. This is why people don't read as much Swift as he deserves because he's so witty and so scornful that a lot of people will read him and think, well, I don't like you.James: And that point about what oft was thought and ne'er so well expressed again, is a very classical idea. The poet who puts not quite conventional wisdom, but something that's been thought before in the best possible words, really suffers with the romantic idea of originality. The poet has to say something utterly new. Whereas for Pope, the sort of ideas that he express, some of the philosophical ideas are not as profound in original perhaps as words with, but he's very elegant proponent of them.Henry: And we love b******g people in our culture, and I feel like the Dunciad should be more popular because it is just, I can't remember who said this, but someone said it's probably the most under appreciated great poem in English, and that's got to be true. It's full of absolute zingers. There's one moment where he's described the whole crowd of them or all these poets who he considers to be deeply inferior, and it turns out he was right because no one reads them anymore. And you need footnotes to know who they are. I mean, no one cares. And he says, “equal your merits, equal is your din”. This kind of abuse is a really high art, and we ought to love that. We love that on Twitter. And I think things like the Rape of the Lock also could be more popular.James: I love the Rape of the Lock . I mean, I think anybody is not reading Pope and is looking for a way in, I think the Rape of the Lock is the way in, isn't it? Because it's just such a charming, lovely, funny poem.Henry: It is. And probably it suffers because the whole idea of mock heroic now is lost to us. But it's a bit like it's the literary equivalent of people writing a sort of mini epic about someone like Elon Musk or some other very prominent figure in the culture and using lots of heroic imagery from the great epics of Homer and Virgil and from the Bible and all these things, but putting them into a very diminished state. So instead of being grand, it becomes comic. It's like turning a God into a cartoon. And Pope is easily the best writer that we have for that kind of thing. Dryden, but he's the genius on it.James: Yeah, no, he totally is. I guess it's another reason he's under appreciated is that our culture is just much less worshipful of epic than the 18th century culture was. The 18th century was obsessed with trying to write epics and trying to imitate epics. I mean, I think to a lot of Pope's contemporaries, the achievement they might've been expecting people to talk about in 300 years time would be his translations of the Iliad and the Odyssey and the other stuff might've seen more minor in comparison, whereas it's the mock epic that we're remembering him for, which again is perhaps another symptom of our sort of post romantic perspective.Henry: I think this is why Spenser suffers as well, because everything in Spenser is magical. The knights are fairies, not the little fairies that live in buttercups, but big human sized fairies or even bigger than that. And there are magical women and saucers and the whole thing is a sort of hodgepodge of romance and fairy tale and legend and all this stuff. And it's often said, oh, he was old fashioned in his own time. But those things still had a lot of currency in the 16th century. And a lot of those things are in Shakespeare, for example.But to us, that's like a fantasy novel. Now, I love fantasy and I read fantasy, and I think some of it's a very high accomplishment, but to a lot of people, fantasy just means kind of trash. Why am I going to read something with fairies and a wizard? And I think a lot of people just see Spenser and they're like, what is this? This is so weird. They don't realise how Protestant they're being, but they're like, this is so weird.James: And Pope has a little, I mean, the Rape of the Lock even has a little of the same because the rape of the lock has this attendant army of good spirits called selfs and evil spirits called gnomes. I mean, I find that just totally funny and charming. I really love it.Henry: I'm going to read, there's an extract from the Rape of the Lock in the Oxford Book, and I'm going to read a few lines to give people an idea of how he can be at once mocking something but also quite charming about it. It's quite a difficult line to draw. The Rape of the Lock is all about a scandalous incident where a young man took a lock of a lady's hair. Rape doesn't mean what we think it means. It means an offence. And so because he stole a lock of her hair, it'd become obviously this huge problem and everyone's in a flurry. And to sort of calm everyone down, Pope took it so seriously that he made it into a tremendous joke. So here he is describing the sort of dressing table if you like.And now, unveil'd, the Toilet stands display'd,Each silver Vase in mystic order laid.First, rob'd in white, the Nymph intent adores,With head uncover'd, the Cosmetic pow'rs.A heav'nly image in the glass appears,To that she bends, to that her eyes she rears;Th' inferior Priestess, at her altar's side,Trembling begins the sacred rites of Pride.What a way to describe someone putting on their makeup. It's fantastic.James: It's funny. I can continue that because the little passage of Pope I picked to read begins exactly where yours ended. It only gets better as it goes on, I think. So after trembling begins the sacred rites of pride, Unnumber'd treasures ope at once, and hereThe various off'rings of the world appear;From each she nicely culls with curious toil,And decks the Goddess with the glitt'ring spoil.This casket India's glowing gems unlocks,And all Arabia breathes from yonder box.The Tortoise here and Elephant unite,Transformed to combs, the speckled, and the white.Here files of pins extend their shining rows,Puffs, Powders, Patches, Bibles, Billet-doux.It's just so lovely. I love a thing about the tortoise and the elephant unite because you've got a tortoise shell and an ivory comb. And the stuff about India's glowing gems and Arabia breathing from yonder box, I mean that's a, realistic is not quite the word, but that's a reference to Milton because Milton is continually having all the stones of Arabia and India's pearls and things all screwed through paradise lost. Yeah, it's just so lovely, isn't it?Henry: And for someone who's so classical and composed and elegant, there's something very Dickensian about things like the toilet, the tortoise and the elephant here unite, transform to combs. There's something a little bit surreal and the puffs, powders, patches, bibles, it has that sort of slightly hectic, frantic,James: That's sort of Victorian materialism, wealth of material objects,Henry: But also that famous thing that was said of Dickens, that the people are furniture and the furniture's like people. He can bring to life all the little bits and bobs of the ordinary day and turn it into something not quite ridiculous, not quite charming.James: And there is a kind of charm in the fact that it wasn't the sort of thing that poets would necessarily expect to pay attention to the 18th century. I don't think the sort of powders and ointments on a woman's dressing table. And there's something very sort of charming in his condescension to notice or what might've once seemed his condescension to notice those things, to find a new thing to take seriously, which is what poetry or not quite to take seriously, but to pay attention to, which I guess is one of the things that great perch should always be doing.Henry: When Swift, who was Pope's great friend, wrote about this, he wrote a poem called A Beautiful Young Lady Going to Bed, which is not as good, and I would love to claim Swift on our list, but I really can't.James: It's quite a horrible perm as well, that one, isn't it?Henry: It is. But it shows you how other people would treat the idea of the woman in front of her toilet, her mirror. And Swift uses an opportunity, as he said, to “lash the vice” because he hated all this adornment and what he would think of as the fakery of a woman painting herself. And so he talks about Corina pride of Drury Lane, which is obviously an ironic reference to her being a Lady of the Night, coming back and there's no drunken rake with her. Returning at the midnight hour;Four stories climbing to her bow'r;Then, seated on a three-legged chair,Takes off her artificial hair:Now, picking out a crystal eye,She wipes it clean, and lays it by.Her eye-brows from a mouse's hide,Stuck on with art on either side,Pulls off with care, and first displays 'em,Then in a play-book smoothly lays 'em.Now dexterously her plumpers draws,That serve to fill her hollow jaws.And it goes on like this. I mean, line after this is sort of raw doll quality to it, Pope, I think in contrast, it only illuminates him more to see where others are taking this kind of crude, very, very funny and witty, but very crude approach. He's able to really have the classical art of balance.James: Yes. And it's precisely his charm that he can mock it and sympathise and love it at the same time, which I think is just a more sort of complex suite of poetic emotions to have about that thing.Henry: So we want more people to read Pope and to love Pope.James: Yes. Even if I'm not letting him into my top.Henry: You are locking him out of the garden. Now, for the second tier, I want to argue for two anonymous poets. One of the things we did when we were talking about this was we asked chatGPT to see if it could give us a good answer. And if you use o1 or o1 Pro, it gives you a pretty good answer as to who the best poets in English are. But it has to be told that it's forgotten about the anonymous poets. And then it says, oh, that was stupid. There are quite a lot of good anonymous poets in English, but I suspect a lot of us, a lot of non artificial intelligence when thinking about this question overlook the anonymous poets. But I would think the Gawain poet and the Tom O' Bedlam poet deserve to be in here. I don't know what you think about that.James: I'm not competent to provide an opinion. I'm purely here to be educated on the subject of these anonymous poets. Henry: The Gawain poet, he's a mediaeval, assume it's a he, a mediaeval writer, obviously may well not be a man, a mediaeval writer. And he wrote Sir Gawain and The Green Knight, which is, if you haven't read it, you should really read it in translation first, I think because it's written at the same time as Chaucer. But Chaucer was written in a kind of London dialect, which is what became the English we speak. And so you can read quite a lot of Chaucer and the words look pretty similar and sometimes you need the footnotes, but when you read Gawain and The Green Knight, it's in a Northwestern dialect, which very much did not become modern day English. And so it's a bit more baffling, but it is a poem of tremendous imaginative power and weirdness. It's a very compelling story. We have a children's version here written by Selena Hastings who's a very accomplished biographer. And every now and then my son remembers it and he just reads it again and again and again. It's one of the best tales of King Arthur in his knights. And there's a wonderful book by John Burrow. It's a very short book, but that is such a loving piece of criticism that explicates the way in which that poem promotes virtue and all the nightly goodness that you would expect, but also is a very strange and unreal piece of work. And I think it has all the qualities of great poetry, but because it's written in this weird dialect, I remember as an undergraduate thinking, why is this so bloody difficult to read? But it is just marvellous. And I see people on Twitter, the few people who've read it, they read it again and they just say, God, it's so good. And I think there was a film of it a couple of years ago, but we will gloss lightly over that and not encourage you to do the film instead of the book.James: Yeah, you're now triggering a memory that I was at least set to read and perhaps did at least read part of Gawain and the Green Knight at University, but has not stuck to any brain cells at all.Henry: Well, you must try it again and tell me what you think. I mean, I find it easily to be one of the best poems in English.James: Yeah, no, I should. I had a little Chaucer kick recently actually, so maybe I'm prepared to rediscover mediaeval per after years of neglect since my degree,Henry: And it's quite short, which I always think is worth knowing. And then the Tom Bedlam is an anonymous poem from I think the 17th century, and it's one of the mad songs, so it's a bit like the Fool from King Lear. And again, it is a very mysterious, very strange and weird piece of work. Try and find it in and read the first few lines. And I think because it's anonymous, it's got slightly less of a reputation because it can't get picked up with some big name, but it is full of tremendous power. And again, I think it would be sad if it wasn't more well known.From the hag and hungry goblinThat into rags would rend ye,The spirit that stands by the naked manIn the Book of Moons defend ye,That of your five sound sensesYou never be forsaken,Nor wander from your selves with TomAbroad to beg your bacon,While I do sing, Any food, any feeding,Feeding, drink, or clothing;Come dame or maid, be not afraid,Poor Tom will injure nothing.Anyway, so you get the sense of it and it's got many stanzas and it's full of this kind of energy and it's again, very accomplished. It can carry the thought across these long lines and these long stanzas.James: When was it written? I'm aware of only if there's a name in the back of my mind.Henry: Oh, it's from the 17th century. So it's not from such a different time as King Lear, but it's written in the voice of a madman. And again, you think of that as the sort of thing a romantic poet would do. And it's strange to find it almost strange to find it displaced. There were these other mad songs. But I think because it's anonymous, it gets less well known, it gets less attention. It's not part of a bigger body of work, but it's absolutely, I think it's wonderful.James: I shall read it.Henry: So who have you got? Who else? Who are you putting in instead of these two?James: Hang on. So we're down to tier two now.Henry: Tier two.James: Yeah. So my tier two is: Donne, Elliot, Keats, Tennyson. I've put Spenser in tier two, Marvell and Pope, who we've already discussed. I mean, I think Eliot, we've talked about, I mean Donne just speaks for himself and there's probably a case that some people would make to bump him up a tier. Henry: Anybody can read that case in Katherine Rudell's book. We don't need to…James: Yes, exactly. If anybody's punching perhaps in tier two, it's Tennyson who I wasn't totally sure belonged there. Putting Tenon in the same tier as Donne and Spenser and Keets. I wonder if that's a little ambitious. I think that might raise eyebrows because there is a school of thought, which I'm not totally unsympathetic to this. What's the Auden quote about Tennyson? I really like it. I expressed very harshly, but I sort of get what he means. Auden said that Tennyson “had the finest ear perhaps of any English poet who was also undoubtedly the stupidest. There was little that he didn't know. There was little else that he did.” Which is far too harsh. But I mentioned to you earlier that I think was earlier this year, a friend and I had a project where we were going to memorise a perva week was a plan. We ended up basically getting, I think three quarters of the way through.And if there's a criticism of Tennyson that you could make, it's that the word music and the sheer lushness of phrases sometimes becomes its own momentum. And you can end up with these extremely lovely but sometimes slightly empty beautiful phrases, which is what I ended up feeling about Tithonus. And I sort of slightly felt I was memorising this unbelievably beautiful but ever so slightly hollow thing. And that was slightly why the project fell apart, I should say. Of course, they absolutely love Tennyson. He's one of my all time favourite poets, which is why my personal favouritism has bumped him up into that category. But I can see there's a case, and I think to a lot of people, he's just the kind of Victorian establishment gloom man, which is totally unfair, but there's not no case against Tennyson.Henry: Yeah, the common thing is that he has no ideas. I don't know if that's true or not. I'm also, I'm not sure how desperately important it is. It should be possible to be a great poet without ideas being at the centre of your work. If you accept the idea that the essence of poetry is invention, i.e. to say old things in a fantastically new way, then I think he qualifies very well as a great poet.James: Yes..Henry: Well, very well. I think Auden said what he said because he was anxious that it was true of himself.James: Yeah, I mean there's a strong argument that Auden had far too many ideas and the sorts of mad schemes and fantastical theories about history that Auden spent his spare time chasing after is certainly a kind of argument that poets maybe shouldn't have as many ideas, although it's just reading. Seamus Perry's got a very good little book on Tennyson, and the opening chapter is all about arguments about people who have tended to dislike Tennyson. And there are all kinds of embarrassing anecdotes about the elderly Tennyson trying to sort of go around dinner parties saying profound and sage-like things and totally putting his foot in it and saying things are completely banal. I should have made a note that this was sort of slightly, again, intensifying my alarm about is there occasionally a tinsely hollowness about Tennyson. I'm now being way too harsh about one of my favourite poets—Henry: I think it depends what you mean by ideas. He is more than just a poet of moods. He gives great expression, deep and strongly felt expression to a whole way of being and a whole way of conceiving of things. And it really was a huge part of why people became interested in the middle ages in the 19th century. I think there's Walter Scott and there's Tennyson who are really leading that work, and that became a dominant cultural force and it became something that meant a lot to people. And whether or not, I don't know whether it's the sort of idea that we're talking about, but I think that sort of thing, I think that qualifies as having ideas and think again, I think he's one of the best writers about the Arthurian legend. Now that work doesn't get into the Oxford Book of English Verse, maybe that's fair. But I think it was very important and I love it. I love it. And I find Tennyson easy to memorise, which is another point in his favour.James: Yeah.Henry: I'm going to read a little bit of Ulysses, which everyone knows the last five or six lines of that poem because it gets put into James Bond films and other such things. I'm going to read it from a little bit from earlier on. I am become a name;For always roaming with a hungry heartMuch have I seen and known; cities of menAnd manners, climates, councils, governments,Myself not least, but honour'd of them all;And drunk delight of battle with my peers,Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.I am a part of all that I have met;Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'Gleams that untravell'd world, whose margin fadesFor ever and for ever when I move.I think that's amazing. And he can do that. He can do lots and lots and lots of that.James: Yeah, he really can. It's stunning. “Far on the ringing planes of windy Troy” is such an unbelievably evocative phrase.Henry: And that's what I mean. He's got this ability to bring back a sort of a whole mood of history. It's not just personal mood poetry. He can take you into these places and that is in the space of a line. In the space of a line. I think Matthew Arnold said of the last bit of what I just read is that he had this ability in Ulysses to make the lines seem very long and slow and to give them this kind of epic quality that far goes far beyond the actual length of that poem. Ulysses feels like this huge poem that's capturing so much of Homer and it's a few dozen lines.James: Yeah, no, I completely agree. Can I read a little bit of slightly more domestic Tennyson, from In Memoriam, I think his best poem and one of my all time favourite poems and it's got, there are many sort of famous lines on grief and things, but there's little sort of passage of natural description I think quite near the beginning that I've always really loved and I've always just thought was a stunning piece of poetry in terms of its sound and the way that the sound has patented and an unbelievably attentive description natural world, which is kind of the reason that even though I think Keats is a better poet, I do prefer reading Tennyson to Keats, so this is from the beginning of In Memoriam. Calm is the morn without a sound,Calm as to suit a calmer grief,And only thro' the faded leafThe chesnut pattering to the ground:Calm and deep peace on this high wold,And on these dews that drench the furze,And all the silvery gossamersThat twinkle into green and gold:Calm and still light on yon great plainThat sweeps with all its autumn bowers,And crowded farms and lessening towers,To mingle with the bounding main:And I just think that's an amazing piece of writing that takes you from that very close up image that it begins with of the “chestnut patterning to the ground” through the faded leaves of the tree, which is again, a really attentive little bit of natural description. I think anyone can picture the way that a chestnut might fall through the leaves of a chestnut tree, and it's just an amazing thing to notice. And I think the chestnut pattern to the ground does all the kind of wonderful, slightly onomatopoeic, Tennyson stuff so well, but by the end, you're kind of looking out over the English countryside, you've seen dew on the firs, and then you're just looking out across the plane to the sea, and it's this sort of, I just think it's one of those bits of poetry that anybody who stood in a slightly wet and romantic day in the English countryside knows exactly the feeling that he's evoking. And I mean there's no bit of—all of In Memoriam is pretty much that good. That's not a particularly celebrated passage I don't think. It's just wonderful everywhere.Henry: Yes. In Memoriam a bit like the Dunciad—under appreciated relative to its huge merits.James: Yeah, I think it sounds, I mean guess by the end of his life, Tennyson had that reputation as the establishment sage of Victorian England, queen of Victoria's favourite poet, which is a pretty off-putting reputation for to have. And I think In Memoriam is supposed to be this slightly cobwebby, musty masterpiece of Victorian grief. But there was just so much, I mean, gorgeous, beautiful sensuous poetry in it.Henry: Yeah, lots of very intense feelings. No, I agree. I have Tennyson my third tier because I had to have the Gawain poet, but I agree that he's very, very great.James: Yeah, I think the case for third tier is I'm very open to that case for the reasons that I said.Henry: Keats, we both have Keats much higher than Shelly. I think Byron's not on anyone's list because who cares about Byron. Overrated, badly behaved. Terrible jokes. Terrible jokes.James: I think people often think Byron's a better pert without having read an awful lot of the poetry of Byron. But I think anybody who's tried to wade through long swathes of Don Juan or—Henry: My God,James: Childe Harold, has amazing, amazing, beautiful moments. But yeah, there's an awful lot of stuff that you don't enjoy. I think.Henry: So to make the case for Keats, I want to talk about The Eve of St. Agnes, which I don't know about you, but I love The Eve of St. Agnes. I go back to it all the time. I find it absolutely electric.James: I'm going to say that Keats is a poet, which is kind of weird for somebody is sent to us and obviously beautiful as Keats. I sort of feel like I admire more than I love. I get why he's brilliant. It's very hard not to see why he's brilliant, but he's someone I would very rarely sit down and read for fun and somebody got an awful lot of feeling or excitement out of, but that's clearly a me problem, not a Keats problem.Henry: When I was a teenager, I knew so much Keats by heart. I knew the whole of the Ode to a Nightingale. I mean, I was absolutely steeped in it morning, noon and night. I couldn't get over it. And now I don't know if I could get back to that point. He was a very young poet and he writes in a very young way. But I'm going to read—The Eve of St. Agnes is great. It's a narrative poem, which I think is a good way to get into this stuff because the story is fantastic. And he had read Spenser, he was part of this kind of the beginning of this mediaeval revival. And he's very interested in going back to those old images, those old stories. And this is the bit, I think everything we're reading is from the Oxford Book of English Verse, so that if people at home want to read along they can.This is when the heroine of the poem is Madeline is making her escape basically. And I think this is very, very exciting. Her falt'ring hand upon the balustrade,Old Angela was feeling for the stair,When Madeline, St. Agnes' charmed maid,Rose, like a mission'd spirit, unaware:With silver taper's light, and pious care,She turn'd, and down the aged gossip ledTo a safe level matting. Now prepare,Young Porphyro, for gazing on that bed;She comes, she comes again, like ring-dove fray'd and fled.Out went the taper as she hurried in;Its little smoke, in pallid moonshine, died:She clos'd the door, she panted, all akinTo spirits of the air, and visions wide:No uttered syllable, or, woe betide!But to her heart, her heart was voluble,Paining with eloquence her balmy side;As though a tongueless nightingale should swellHer throat in vain, and die, heart-stifled, in her dell.A casement high and triple-arch'd there was,All garlanded with carven imag'riesOf fruits, and flowers, and bunches of knot-grass,And diamonded with panes of quaint device,Innumerable of stains and splendid dyes,As are the tiger-moth's deep-damask'd wings;And in the midst, 'mong thousand heraldries,And twilight saints, and dim emblazonings,A shielded scutcheon blush'd with blood of queens and kings.I mean, so much atmosphere, so much tension, so many wonderful images just coming one after the other. The rapidity of it, the tumbling nature of it. And people often quote the Ode to autumn, which has a lot of that.James: I have to say, I found that totally enchanting. And perhaps my problem is that I need you to read it all to me. You can make an audio book that I can listen to.Henry: I honestly, I actually might read the whole of the E and put it out as audio on Substack becauseJames: I would actually listen to that.Henry: I love it so much. And I feel like it gets, when we talk about Keats, we talk about, On First Looking into Chapman's Homer and Bright Star and La Belle Dame Sans Merci, and these are great, great poems and they're poems that we do at school Ode to a Nightingale because I think The Great Gatsby has a big debt to Ode to a Nightingale, doesn't it? And obviously everyone quotes the Ode to Autumn. I mean, as far as I can tell, the 1st of October every year is the whole world sharing the first stands of the Ode to Autumn.James: Yeah. He may be one of the people who suffers from over familiarity perhaps. And I think also because it sounds so much what poetry is supposed to sound like, because so much of our idea of poetry derives from Keats. Maybe that's something I've slightly need to get past a little bit.Henry: But if you can get into the complete works, there are many, the bit I just read is I think quite representative.James: I loved it. I thought it was completely beautiful and I would never have thought to ever, I probably can't have read that poem for years. I wouldn't have thought to read it. Since university, I don't thinkHenry: He's one of those people. All of my copies of him are sort of frayed and the spines are breaking, but the book is wearing out. I should just commit it to memory and be done. But somehow I love going back to it. So Keats is very high in my estimation, and we've both put him higher than Shelly and Coleridge.James: Yeah.Henry: Tell me why. Because those would typically, I think, be considered the superior poets.James: Do you think Shelly? I think Keats would be considered the superior poetHenry: To Shelly?James: Certainly, yes. I think to Shelly and Coleridge, that's where current fashion would place them. I mean, I have to say Coleridge is one of my all time favourite poets. In terms of people who had just every so often think, I'd love to read a poem, I'd love to read Frost at Midnight. I'd love to read the Aeolian Harp. I'd love to read This Lime Tree Bower, My Prison. I'd love to read Kubla Khan. Outside Milton, Coleridge is probably the person that I read most, but I think, I guess there's a case that Coleridge's output is pretty slight. What his reputation rest on is The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Kubla Khan, the conversation poems, which a lot of people think are kind of plagiarised Wordsworth, at least in their style and tone, and then maybe not much else. Does anybody particularly read Cristabel and get much out of it nowadays? Dejection an Ode people like: it's never done an awful lot for me, so I sort of, in my personal Pantheon Coleridge is at the top and he's such an immensely sympathetic personality as well and such a curious person. But I think he's a little slight, and there's probably nothing in Coleridge that can match that gorgeous passage of Keats that you read. I think.Henry: Yeah, that's probably true. He's got more ideas, I guess. I don't think it matters that he's slight. Robert Frost said something about his ambition had been to lodge five or six poems in the English language, and if he'd done that, he would've achieved greatness. And obviously Frost very much did do that and is probably the most quotable and well-known poet. But I think Coleridge easily meets those criteria with the poems you described. And if all we had was the Rime of the Ancient Mariner, I would think it to be like Tom O' Bedlam, like the Elegy in a Country Churchyard, one of those great, great, great poems that on its own terms, deserves to be on this list.James: Yeah, and I guess another point in his favour is a great poet is they're all pretty unalike. I think if given Rime of the Ancient Mariner, a conversation poem and Kubla Khan and said, guess whether these are three separate poets or the same guy, you would say, oh, there's a totally different poems. They're three different people. One's a kind of creepy gothic horror ballad. Another one is a philosophical reflection. Another is the sort of Mad Opium dream. I mean, Kubla Khan is just without a doubt, one of the top handful of purposes in English language, I think.Henry: Oh yeah, yeah. And it has that quality of the Elegy in a Country Churchyard that so many of the lines are so quotable in the sense that they could be, in the case of the Elegy in a Country Churchyard, a lot of novels did get their titles from it. I think it was James Lees Milne. Every volume of his diaries, which there are obviously quite a few, had its title from Kubla Khan. Ancient as the Hills and so on. It's one of those poems. It just provides us with so much wonderful language in the space of what a page.James: Sort of goes all over the place. Romantic chasms, Abyssinian made with dulcimer, icy pleasure dome with caves of ice. It just such a—it's so mysterious. I mean, there's nothing else remotely like it at all in English literature that I can think of, and its kind strangeness and virtuosity. I really love that poem.Henry: Now, should we say a word for Shelly? Because everyone knows Ozymandias, which is one of those internet poems that goes around a lot, but I don't know how well known the rest of his body of work is beyond that. I fell in love with him when I read a very short lyric called “To—” Music, when soft voices die,Vibrates in the memory—Odours, when sweet violets sicken,Live within the sense they quicken.Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,Are heaped for the belovèd's bed;And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,Love itself shall slumber on.I found that to be one of those poems that was once read and immediately memorised. But he has this very, again, broad body of work. He can write about philosophical ideas, he can write about moods, he can write narrative. He wrote Julian and Maddalo, which is a dialogue poem about visiting a madman and taking sympathy with him and asking the question, who's really mad here? Very Swiftian question. He can write about the sublime in Mont Blanc. I mean, he has got huge intellectual power along with the beauty. He's what people want Tennyson to be, I guess.James: Yeah. Or what people think Byron might be. I think Shelly is great. I don't quite get that Byron is so much more famous. Shelly has just a dramatic and, well, maybe not quite just as, but an incredibly dramatic and exciting life to go along with it,Henry: I think some of the short lyrics from Byron have got much more purchase in day-to-day life, like She Walks in Beauty.James: Yeah. I think you have to maybe get Shelly a little more length, don't you? I mean, even there's something like Ode to the West Wind is you have to take the whole thing to love it, perhaps.Henry: Yes. And again, I think he's a bit like George Herbert. He's always thinking you really have to pay attention and think with him. Whereas Byron has got lots of lines you can copy out and give to a girl that you like on the bus or something.James: Yes. No, that's true.Henry: I don't mean that in quite as rude a way as it sounds. I do think that's a good thing. But Shelly's, I think, much more of a thinker, and I agree with you Childe Harold and so forth. It's all crashing bore. I might to try it again, but awful.James: I don't want move past Coledridge without inflicting little Coledridge on you. Can I?Henry: Oh, yes. No, sorry. We didn't read Coledridge, right?James: Are just, I mean, what to read from Coledridge? I mean, I could read the whole of Kubla Khan, but that would be maybe a bit boring. I mean, again, these are pretty famous and obvious lines from Frost at Midnight, which is Coledridge sitting up late at night in his cottage with his baby in its cradle, and he sort of addressing it and thinking about it. And I just think these lines are so, well, everything we've said about Coledridge, philosophical, thoughtful, beautiful, in a sort of totally knockout, undeniable way. So it goes, he's talking to his young son, I think. My babe so beautiful! it thrills my heartWith tender gladness, thus to look at thee,And think that thou shalt learn far other lore,And in far other scenes! For I was rearedIn the great city, pent 'mid cloisters dim,And saw nought lovely but the sky and stars.But thou, my babe! shalt wander like a breezeBy lakes and sandy shores, beneath the cragsOf ancient mountain, and beneath the clouds,Which image in their bulk both lakes and shoresAnd mountain crags: so shalt thou see and hearThe lovely shapes and sounds intelligibleOf that eternal language, which thy GodUtters, who from eternity doth teachHimself in all, and all things in himself.Which is just—what aren't those lines of poetry doing? And with such kind of confidence, the way you get from talking to your baby and its cradle about what kind of upbringing you hope it will have to those flashes of, I mean quite Wordsworthian beauty, and then the sort of philosophical tone at the end. It's just such a stunning, lovely poem. Yeah, I love it.Henry: Now we both got Yeats and Hopkins. And Hopkins I think is really, really a tremendous poet, but neither of us has put Browning, which a lot of other people maybe would. Can we have a go at Browning for a minute? Can we leave him in shreds? James: Oh God. I mean, you're going to be a better advocate of Browning than I am. I've never—Henry: Don't advocate for him. No, no, no.James: We we're sticking him out.Henry: We're sticking him.James: I wonder if I even feel qualified to do that. I mean, I read quite a bit of Browning at university, found it hard to get on with sometimes. I think I found a little affected and pretentious about him and a little kind of needlessly difficult in a sort of off-puttingly Victorian way. But then I was reading, I reviewed a couple of years ago, John Carey has an excellent introduction to English poetry. I think it's called A Little History of Poetry in which he described Browning's incredibly long poem, The Ring in the Book as one of the all time wonders of verbal art. This thing is, I think it's like 700 or 800 pages long poem in the Penguin edition, which has always given me pause for thought and made me think that I've dismissed Browning out of hand because if John Carey's telling me that, then I must be wrong.But I think I have had very little pleasure out of Browning, and I mean by the end of the 19th century, there was a bit of a sort of Victorian cult of Browning, which I think was influential. And people liked him because he was a living celebrity who'd been anointed as a great poet, and people liked to go and worship at his feet and stuff. I do kind of wonder whether he's lasted, I don't think many people read him for pleasure, and I wonder if that maybe tells its own story. What's your case against Browning?Henry: No, much the same. I think he's very accomplished and very, he probably, he deserves a place on the list, but I can't enjoy him and I don't really know why. But to me, he's very clever and very good, but as you say, a bit dull.James: Yeah, I totally agree. I'm willing. It must be our failing, I'm sure. Yeah, no, I'm sure. I'm willing to believe they're all, if this podcast is listened to by scholars of Victorian poetry, they're cringing and holding their head in their hands at this—Henry: They've turned off already. Well, if you read The Ring and the Book, you can come back on and tell us about it.James: Oh God, yeah. I mean, in about 20 years time.Henry: I think we both have Auden, but you said something you said, “does Auden have an edge of fraudulence?”James: Yeah, I mean, again, I feel like I'm being really rude about a lot of poets that I really love. I don't really know why doesn't think, realising that people consider to be a little bit weak makes you appreciate their best stuff even more I guess. I mean, it's hard to make that argument without reading a bit of Auden. I wonder what bit gets it across. I haven't gotten any ready. What would you say about Auden?Henry: I love Auden. I think he was the best poet of the 20th century maybe. I mean, I have to sort of begrudgingly accept T.S. Eliot beside, I think he can do everything from, he can do songs, light lyrics, comic verse, he can do occasional poetry, obituaries. He was a political poet. He wrote in every form, I think almost literally that might be true. Every type of stanza, different lines. He was just structurally remarkable. I suspect he'll end up a bit like Pope once the culture has tur

Counselors and Affirmation.Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.Seeking AffirmationI fall prey to a predatory therapist.Based on a post by nymphicDisclaimer: Sexual relations between therapists and current clients are expressly prohibited.It took me years to become this relaxed in front of my therapist, able to share the most shameful parts of my mind with ease. All the vile, disgusting parts nobody else gets access to: he always reacts with a cool, detached professionalism. He's heard it all before, and worse, he tells me, and I've stopped apologizing for the revolting things I tell him: all my self-destructive habits, my awful intrusive thoughts, my horrific violent urges.It takes me one careless sentence for all that trust to crumble.We're talking about how my current beau is terrible in bed, leading me to mention how I think about other men when I'm fucking him. “And you're one of them,” I add. Carelessly. Completely unnecessarily.He pauses, then looks up from his notes. “Come again?'Without the input of my brain, my mouth decides the best course of action is to blab further. “Sometimes he gets me so close, but not close enough, so to tip myself over the edge, I think about you. You must know how hot you are, your beard, and tattoos, and curly hair, and...' I trail off as I notice his amused expression. “What?'He places his notes to the side and folds his hands over crossed legs. “You're placing an awful lot of trust in me to share this.'And I'm beginning to regret that, with the way he's looking at me like something to be devoured. I shrug. “I imagine you're good at your job. Or at least professional enough not to take advantage or be a creep.'He says nothing. The clock behind him ticks.'I think I'm the last person you'd creep on, anyway,' I continue, stammering. “I, this is just a little crush. On a therapist. I know there's no chance of reciprocation, not that I'm hitting on you, or anything, but I mean,”“There are a lot of assumptions you're making,” he interrupts. His gaze is intense, eyes so dark I can't tell where the pupil ends and iris begins.“Hmm?” My mouth dries.He counts off his fingers. “You assume I'm good at my job. You assume I'm not a creep, or a predator. You assume your fantasies are not reciprocated.”Whatever rapport we've built has evaporated. I feel numb, foggy. I'm distantly aware that I could be in danger, but I'm frozen to my seat as he stands, like I'm a rabbit caught in the jaws of a fox.“You have no idea what I'm capable of, do you?” he says, towering above me.My hands shake uncontrollably. “I don't understand?” I whisper. Surely, he won't...? There's no way, he wouldn't... not for me, surely?His smirk is lazy, predatory. “Stand,” he says, a strong command.I shrink into the chair. This can't be happening. I refuse to believe it.“Stand,” he repeats, and there's an irresistible dominance to his voice.What can I do but obey? I wobble to my feet like a newborn deer, and his hand clamps around my throat. I choke out a pitiful little gasp. He walks me backward until my spine hits the wall. I'm trapped.“What are you doing?” I whimper, my voice high and pathetic with the way he squeezes.His laugh is unkind, humorless. “What do you think I'm doing? I'm giving you what you want.” His voice is baritone and gravelly, a lion's purr, and his breath comes out hot on my face. I shiver. “Don't tell me you haven't touched yourself to the thought of this,” he says.He's not wrong.With the hand that isn't around my neck, he snakes his way into my jeans. Deftly his fingers find their way under the fabric of my underwear, and to my shame and horror, they caress the moisture building beneath my folds.“So wet, already?” he whispers, “It's disgusting, how badly you want me.” The words are harsh but they betray a smug satisfaction, and it sends a heat surging through me.His grin widens as he palms my aching vulva. I don't mean to, but my hips buck into him, and he chuckles.“Don't worry, I'll give you what you want.'“No, no...” I shake my head and whimper as his finger plunges inside me. I don't want this, I don't. It was just a fantasy, it was never meant to be real, and I never thought he would, but he hooks his index inside, grazing the pad against my front wall, and the moan that slips from my mouth is obscene.The hand around my neck suddenly slaps over my mouth. “Shut the fuck up,' he hisses, but he doesn't stop, and can't contain the moan that muffles into his palm as he fucks his fingers inside me.“Fuck,” he groans, “can you hear how wet you are? How sloppy you are?” His beard scratches at the sensitive skin of my jaw. “So pathetic and needy, a pathetic little whore.'His palm is wet over my face, and I realize I'm drooling.“Pathetic little whore,” he repeats, wiping my spit on my face. My legs inch wider and I hear the indecent sloshing of my arousal beneath his hand. “Bet you get off thinking about this after each session, don't you? Horny little thing. You'd beg for it, wouldn't you? Beg me to rape you?'I try to shake my head, but the hand over my face grips too tight. My thighs start to shake, and I can feel my wetness leaking, dripping down the top of my thighs, gooey and disgusting, just like me.“Tell me you would. Beg me.” His voice is so harsh, but it's so hot the way he's degrading me like this, and I'm slipping further and further off the edge. Tears spill down my cheeks as I shake my head. I do want to beg him, beg him to stop, but despite it all I can myself approaching the edge. The heat builds in my belly, thighs clenching his hand in a vice as they shudder and quake, and I'm so, so close, and I don't want him to stop, and I hate myself for it.“Oh no, oh no you don't,” he says, “You're not going to come already, are you? Fuck, you're more desperate than I thought.” His movements roughen, adding another finger, fucking into me relentlessly. “Don't do it, don't you fucking do it, you're not allowed to come, you're not allowed to enjoy this, you disgusting slut, “He's whispering hotly into my neck, like an open-mouthed kiss, and it's too late. I hurtle over the edge, falling apart, mouth open and drooling as I come undone on his fingers.He steps back. “Disgusting,” he says.I whimper and slide to the floor, red-faced and sweaty. I curl myself into a fetal position. I am disgusting. Nausea churns in my gut, and the room swims in front of my eyes.He squats beside me. His hand, the one which was inside me just a moment ago, wipes my wetness over my face, smudging my slime over my lips. He pushes his fingers inside my mouth, making me taste myself, then takes my chin in his hand and forces me to look at him through half-lidded eyes.“Such a slut. You can't be anything more than a worthless whore, can you?” He tosses me aside and stands. “Get on your knees.”Before I know it, I'm doing as he says, sitting back on my heels as he unbuckles his belt and frees his cock. I barely have a moment to breathe before his hand is fisting my hair at the nape of my neck and urging me onto his cock, shoving me down as far as I can go, until it slams against the back of my throat. I have to hold onto his muscular thighs for balance, the way he roughly drives into my open, slobbering mouth.Above me, his mouth hangs open, breathing heavy. A flush spreads across his cheeks, and his brows furrow.'What would your friends say, if they could see you like this?” he growls. “Debased like this? If they could see the pathetic whore you really are? Would they laugh at you, knowing how much you love being face-fucked like this?'My eyes roll back in my head and I sob, my mouth stretched around him. Rivulets of saliva dribble down my chin, my neck, between my breasts, which jiggle from the force of his thrusts.He makes a rough sound at the back of his throat. “Fuck... Would they use you like I am? Would they want a turn to ruin you? Fuck your pretty little mouth like I am? You wouldn't stop them, just let them take what they want, just like I'm taking what I want from you, oh, you're so good at taking my cock, “He pulls out and I gasp for air, gulping raspy breaths. I fall back, hands catching myself on the carpet as I try to recover, but before I can, he's positioning himself behind me, manhandling me so I'm on my hands and knees, face pressed against the carpet, ass presented to him like an offering.No preamble, no warning, he slams himself deep into me. The sound he makes, a feral and debauched groan, might be the hottest thing I've ever heard. It's equal parts primal and hedonic, all pretense of keeping quiet long forgotten. His blunt nails dig into the soft flesh of my hips as he drives himself into me, over and over and over.It's animalistic and it's savage, the vulgar slapping of his balls against my skin, the sweat and snot and tears and dribbling down my face, the wretched sobbing squeaks I make as he fucks me relentlessly. It is both endlessly hot and humiliating. There's the heat of shame curdling in my gut, how I shouldn't want this, it shouldn't feel so good. But then the way his strong hands tangle in my hair, pulling me, dragging me up against him; then the way he clamps his canines into my neck, the sharp painful pleasure of it; the way I know I couldn't fight him even if I tried. The way I am completely and utterly at his mercy; all of it has my thighs clenching and quivering as my second orgasm builds.“You're gonna come from this, huh? You close again, huh?” he pants in my ear. “This is what turns you on? Used like the worthless piece of meat you are?'I can't pretend. Sobbing, moaning, covered in drool and snot, I nod. “Uh huh. You can have me, you can use me. Have me however you want,” I whimper in my phlegmy voice. “You're so; oh; I'm so close; I'm gonna.'“Nope,” he says, suddenly pulling out of me, all at once leaving me empty and wanting. “You're not going to come again. You're mine to use, you're not allowed to like it too, you greedy little slut.” He rolls me over on my back, and, kneeling above me, strokes himself over my face. I open my mouth, tongue out, ready for him, while my fingers press against my aching clit, desperately clutching at the remnants of my ruined orgasm.“Fuck, look at you,” he breathes, “slimy, disgusting little slut. Fuck, you're so perfect.” He continues to mumble words both degrading and flattering until, with a final moan, his come spills over my tongue, hot and salty. As his spend drips down my flushed face, my hips gyrate into my hands and I spill over, too. My second orgasm is a weak, ruined shadow of the first, empty of my therapist but full of disgrace. I feel thoroughly debased. Disgusting. Glazed with spunk, a husk of a woman.The air is hot and thick with sex. There's a heavy ache in my center, a cold emptiness, as I stare up at the ceiling. I still don't believe what's just happened. There must be some mistake, some misunderstanding. Maybe I'm having a psychotic break. Maybe this is all in my head. Some fantasy turned foul.I can hear him re-buckling his belt and shuffling about at the desk, until he appears beside me, gently helping me sit upright. Tenderly he wipes the goo from my face with wet wipes, deep brown eyes searching mine. His dark curls are plastered to his face with sweat.“Nobody will know about this,” he says in a low voice. “You have my word. I know better than anyone how fragile you are, and how poorly you will handle anyone knowing how you threw yourself at me like that. Nobody will know what a greedy whore you really are. You can trust me.” The cruelty in his words are softened by how gentle he's being, softly caressing my shoulders as he wipes away the gunk from my skin.He's taking care of me.It's nice.He's a good person.He helps me to my feet. I shake like a lamb.“Anyway, our time is up.” He opens the door and ushers me out. “I'll see you next week.'The last I see of him is a predatory, vulpine grin, before the door clicks shut.Clinical PleasureKate visits Doctor Yang to treat her sexual dysfunctions.Based on a post by nymphic“Kate Williams?” calls the receptionist.At the sound of her name, a fair-complexioned young woman jerks her strawberry blonde head up. “Yes?”“Doctor Yang is ready to see you. Third door on the right.”Timidly, Kate walks up to Doctor Yang's office. She smooths her dress and takes a deep, shaky breath before entering.Doctor Yang looks to be in his mid-forties--black hair slicked back, greying at the temples. He's fit, with wide shoulders, and his shirt bunches around his elbows where the sleeves are rolled up, showing off well-defined forearms.He gives Kate a firm handshake before ushering her into the room. “Miss Williams, welcome, I'm Doctor Yang. Pull up a chair.”She perches primly on a chair of squeaky vinyl while he takes a seat behind his desk. There's an ancient, blocky computer taking up so much space on his desk, there's barely room left for the messy notes scattered about. Behind, a curtain half obscures an examination table. At the sight of it, trepidation bubbles in Kate's stomach.“What brings you in today?” the doctor asks.“Um.” She stares intently at the floor, unable to explain to this handsome doctor all of her sexual inadequacies.After the silence between them becomes sufficiently awkward, Doctor Yang takes pity on poor Kate, clearing his throat and shuffling his notes.“Look, it's normal to be nervous, but I assure you, I've heard it all before. This is a judgement free space, and I'm here to help you.” He looks at her with kind, dark eyes. “Whenever you're ready.”Kate fiddles with the hem of her sundress as she begins. “Well, I'm in a pretty new relationship right now, and. We're having intimacy issues.”“Intimacy issues,” says Doctor Yang. There's a distinct lack of judgement in his tone, which calms the anxiety in Kate's stomach. He's almost detached as he clack-clack-clacks the clunky keyboard. The behemoth computer buzzes and whirs away as he types. “Tell me more about the issues you've been having.”“My boyfriend and I; he's the one who urged me come here; are, well. We just started sleeping together. And I'm finding it quite difficult.” She bites her lip.“Difficult in what way?”Kate looks down at her sandals as she says, “I'm told sex ought to be pleasurable.”Doctor Yang chuckles, showing off deep dimples. “It's generally supposed to be, yes. That hasn't been your experience?”Kate shakes her head, curly hair bouncing around her shoulders. “No, not the times we've tried together. I just can't see how anything can... fit.” She can feel her face heating up. “Every time we try it's so uncomfortable for me. Sometimes it hurts. Plus, I've never been able to... get there. Not when we're together, at least.”Doctor Yang nods. “You know, many women your age have that experience too. It's completely normal.”“What? You mean this is just how it is?”She must look panic-stricken, because Doctor Yang immediately backtracks. “No, no! It shouldn't hurt, it should never hurt! What I mean to say is that this issue is more common than you realize, and it's definitely something I can help with.”She slumps back in the chair with relief, air whooshing from her lungs.“To get to the bottom of your problem, though,” Doctor Yang continues, “I'm going to ask a few personal questions. There will be no judgement from me, I just want you to answer honestly. Is that okay?” His face is open and friendly, and Kate trusts him, but what could he mean, personal questions? How much more personal can it get?“Sure,” she says, and if Doctor Yang notices her hesitation, he doesn't let on.

Counselors and Affirmation.Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.Seeking AffirmationI fall prey to a predatory therapist.Based on a post by nymphicDisclaimer: Sexual relations between therapists and current clients are expressly prohibited.It took me years to become this relaxed in front of my therapist, able to share the most shameful parts of my mind with ease. All the vile, disgusting parts nobody else gets access to: he always reacts with a cool, detached professionalism. He's heard it all before, and worse, he tells me, and I've stopped apologizing for the revolting things I tell him: all my self-destructive habits, my awful intrusive thoughts, my horrific violent urges.It takes me one careless sentence for all that trust to crumble.We're talking about how my current beau is terrible in bed, leading me to mention how I think about other men when I'm fucking him. “And you're one of them,” I add. Carelessly. Completely unnecessarily.He pauses, then looks up from his notes. “Come again?'Without the input of my brain, my mouth decides the best course of action is to blab further. “Sometimes he gets me so close, but not close enough, so to tip myself over the edge, I think about you. You must know how hot you are, your beard, and tattoos, and curly hair, and...' I trail off as I notice his amused expression. “What?'He places his notes to the side and folds his hands over crossed legs. “You're placing an awful lot of trust in me to share this.'And I'm beginning to regret that, with the way he's looking at me like something to be devoured. I shrug. “I imagine you're good at your job. Or at least professional enough not to take advantage or be a creep.'He says nothing. The clock behind him ticks.'I think I'm the last person you'd creep on, anyway,' I continue, stammering. “I, this is just a little crush. On a therapist. I know there's no chance of reciprocation, not that I'm hitting on you, or anything, but I mean,”“There are a lot of assumptions you're making,” he interrupts. His gaze is intense, eyes so dark I can't tell where the pupil ends and iris begins.“Hmm?” My mouth dries.He counts off his fingers. “You assume I'm good at my job. You assume I'm not a creep, or a predator. You assume your fantasies are not reciprocated.”Whatever rapport we've built has evaporated. I feel numb, foggy. I'm distantly aware that I could be in danger, but I'm frozen to my seat as he stands, like I'm a rabbit caught in the jaws of a fox.“You have no idea what I'm capable of, do you?” he says, towering above me.My hands shake uncontrollably. “I don't understand?” I whisper. Surely, he won't...? There's no way, he wouldn't... not for me, surely?His smirk is lazy, predatory. “Stand,” he says, a strong command.I shrink into the chair. This can't be happening. I refuse to believe it.“Stand,” he repeats, and there's an irresistible dominance to his voice.What can I do but obey? I wobble to my feet like a newborn deer, and his hand clamps around my throat. I choke out a pitiful little gasp. He walks me backward until my spine hits the wall. I'm trapped.“What are you doing?” I whimper, my voice high and pathetic with the way he squeezes.His laugh is unkind, humorless. “What do you think I'm doing? I'm giving you what you want.” His voice is baritone and gravelly, a lion's purr, and his breath comes out hot on my face. I shiver. “Don't tell me you haven't touched yourself to the thought of this,” he says.He's not wrong.With the hand that isn't around my neck, he snakes his way into my jeans. Deftly his fingers find their way under the fabric of my underwear, and to my shame and horror, they caress the moisture building beneath my folds.“So wet, already?” he whispers, “It's disgusting, how badly you want me.” The words are harsh but they betray a smug satisfaction, and it sends a heat surging through me.His grin widens as he palms my aching vulva. I don't mean to, but my hips buck into him, and he chuckles.“Don't worry, I'll give you what you want.'“No, no...” I shake my head and whimper as his finger plunges inside me. I don't want this, I don't. It was just a fantasy, it was never meant to be real, and I never thought he would, but he hooks his index inside, grazing the pad against my front wall, and the moan that slips from my mouth is obscene.The hand around my neck suddenly slaps over my mouth. “Shut the fuck up,' he hisses, but he doesn't stop, and can't contain the moan that muffles into his palm as he fucks his fingers inside me.“Fuck,” he groans, “can you hear how wet you are? How sloppy you are?” His beard scratches at the sensitive skin of my jaw. “So pathetic and needy, a pathetic little whore.'His palm is wet over my face, and I realize I'm drooling.“Pathetic little whore,” he repeats, wiping my spit on my face. My legs inch wider and I hear the indecent sloshing of my arousal beneath his hand. “Bet you get off thinking about this after each session, don't you? Horny little thing. You'd beg for it, wouldn't you? Beg me to rape you?'I try to shake my head, but the hand over my face grips too tight. My thighs start to shake, and I can feel my wetness leaking, dripping down the top of my thighs, gooey and disgusting, just like me.“Tell me you would. Beg me.” His voice is so harsh, but it's so hot the way he's degrading me like this, and I'm slipping further and further off the edge. Tears spill down my cheeks as I shake my head. I do want to beg him, beg him to stop, but despite it all I can myself approaching the edge. The heat builds in my belly, thighs clenching his hand in a vice as they shudder and quake, and I'm so, so close, and I don't want him to stop, and I hate myself for it.“Oh no, oh no you don't,” he says, “You're not going to come already, are you? Fuck, you're more desperate than I thought.” His movements roughen, adding another finger, fucking into me relentlessly. “Don't do it, don't you fucking do it, you're not allowed to come, you're not allowed to enjoy this, you disgusting slut, “He's whispering hotly into my neck, like an open-mouthed kiss, and it's too late. I hurtle over the edge, falling apart, mouth open and drooling as I come undone on his fingers.He steps back. “Disgusting,” he says.I whimper and slide to the floor, red-faced and sweaty. I curl myself into a fetal position. I am disgusting. Nausea churns in my gut, and the room swims in front of my eyes.He squats beside me. His hand, the one which was inside me just a moment ago, wipes my wetness over my face, smudging my slime over my lips. He pushes his fingers inside my mouth, making me taste myself, then takes my chin in his hand and forces me to look at him through half-lidded eyes.“Such a slut. You can't be anything more than a worthless whore, can you?” He tosses me aside and stands. “Get on your knees.”Before I know it, I'm doing as he says, sitting back on my heels as he unbuckles his belt and frees his cock. I barely have a moment to breathe before his hand is fisting my hair at the nape of my neck and urging me onto his cock, shoving me down as far as I can go, until it slams against the back of my throat. I have to hold onto his muscular thighs for balance, the way he roughly drives into my open, slobbering mouth.Above me, his mouth hangs open, breathing heavy. A flush spreads across his cheeks, and his brows furrow.'What would your friends say, if they could see you like this?” he growls. “Debased like this? If they could see the pathetic whore you really are? Would they laugh at you, knowing how much you love being face-fucked like this?'My eyes roll back in my head and I sob, my mouth stretched around him. Rivulets of saliva dribble down my chin, my neck, between my breasts, which jiggle from the force of his thrusts.He makes a rough sound at the back of his throat. “Fuck... Would they use you like I am? Would they want a turn to ruin you? Fuck your pretty little mouth like I am? You wouldn't stop them, just let them take what they want, just like I'm taking what I want from you, oh, you're so good at taking my cock, “He pulls out and I gasp for air, gulping raspy breaths. I fall back, hands catching myself on the carpet as I try to recover, but before I can, he's positioning himself behind me, manhandling me so I'm on my hands and knees, face pressed against the carpet, ass presented to him like an offering.No preamble, no warning, he slams himself deep into me. The sound he makes, a feral and debauched groan, might be the hottest thing I've ever heard. It's equal parts primal and hedonic, all pretense of keeping quiet long forgotten. His blunt nails dig into the soft flesh of my hips as he drives himself into me, over and over and over.It's animalistic and it's savage, the vulgar slapping of his balls against my skin, the sweat and snot and tears and dribbling down my face, the wretched sobbing squeaks I make as he fucks me relentlessly. It is both endlessly hot and humiliating. There's the heat of shame curdling in my gut, how I shouldn't want this, it shouldn't feel so good. But then the way his strong hands tangle in my hair, pulling me, dragging me up against him; then the way he clamps his canines into my neck, the sharp painful pleasure of it; the way I know I couldn't fight him even if I tried. The way I am completely and utterly at his mercy; all of it has my thighs clenching and quivering as my second orgasm builds.“You're gonna come from this, huh? You close again, huh?” he pants in my ear. “This is what turns you on? Used like the worthless piece of meat you are?'I can't pretend. Sobbing, moaning, covered in drool and snot, I nod. “Uh huh. You can have me, you can use me. Have me however you want,” I whimper in my phlegmy voice. “You're so; oh; I'm so close; I'm gonna.'“Nope,” he says, suddenly pulling out of me, all at once leaving me empty and wanting. “You're not going to come again. You're mine to use, you're not allowed to like it too, you greedy little slut.” He rolls me over on my back, and, kneeling above me, strokes himself over my face. I open my mouth, tongue out, ready for him, while my fingers press against my aching clit, desperately clutching at the remnants of my ruined orgasm.“Fuck, look at you,” he breathes, “slimy, disgusting little slut. Fuck, you're so perfect.” He continues to mumble words both degrading and flattering until, with a final moan, his come spills over my tongue, hot and salty. As his spend drips down my flushed face, my hips gyrate into my hands and I spill over, too. My second orgasm is a weak, ruined shadow of the first, empty of my therapist but full of disgrace. I feel thoroughly debased. Disgusting. Glazed with spunk, a husk of a woman.The air is hot and thick with sex. There's a heavy ache in my center, a cold emptiness, as I stare up at the ceiling. I still don't believe what's just happened. There must be some mistake, some misunderstanding. Maybe I'm having a psychotic break. Maybe this is all in my head. Some fantasy turned foul.I can hear him re-buckling his belt and shuffling about at the desk, until he appears beside me, gently helping me sit upright. Tenderly he wipes the goo from my face with wet wipes, deep brown eyes searching mine. His dark curls are plastered to his face with sweat.“Nobody will know about this,” he says in a low voice. “You have my word. I know better than anyone how fragile you are, and how poorly you will handle anyone knowing how you threw yourself at me like that. Nobody will know what a greedy whore you really are. You can trust me.” The cruelty in his words are softened by how gentle he's being, softly caressing my shoulders as he wipes away the gunk from my skin.He's taking care of me.It's nice.He's a good person.He helps me to my feet. I shake like a lamb.“Anyway, our time is up.” He opens the door and ushers me out. “I'll see you next week.'The last I see of him is a predatory, vulpine grin, before the door clicks shut.Clinical PleasureKate visits Doctor Yang to treat her sexual dysfunctions.Based on a post by nymphic“Kate Williams?” calls the receptionist.At the sound of her name, a fair-complexioned young woman jerks her strawberry blonde head up. “Yes?”“Doctor Yang is ready to see you. Third door on the right.”Timidly, Kate walks up to Doctor Yang's office. She smooths her dress and takes a deep, shaky breath before entering.Doctor Yang looks to be in his mid-forties--black hair slicked back, greying at the temples. He's fit, with wide shoulders, and his shirt bunches around his elbows where the sleeves are rolled up, showing off well-defined forearms.He gives Kate a firm handshake before ushering her into the room. “Miss Williams, welcome, I'm Doctor Yang. Pull up a chair.”She perches primly on a chair of squeaky vinyl while he takes a seat behind his desk. There's an ancient, blocky computer taking up so much space on his desk, there's barely room left for the messy notes scattered about. Behind, a curtain half obscures an examination table. At the sight of it, trepidation bubbles in Kate's stomach.“What brings you in today?” the doctor asks.“Um.” She stares intently at the floor, unable to explain to this handsome doctor all of her sexual inadequacies.After the silence between them becomes sufficiently awkward, Doctor Yang takes pity on poor Kate, clearing his throat and shuffling his notes.“Look, it's normal to be nervous, but I assure you, I've heard it all before. This is a judgement free space, and I'm here to help you.” He looks at her with kind, dark eyes. “Whenever you're ready.”Kate fiddles with the hem of her sundress as she begins. “Well, I'm in a pretty new relationship right now, and. We're having intimacy issues.”“Intimacy issues,” says Doctor Yang. There's a distinct lack of judgement in his tone, which calms the anxiety in Kate's stomach. He's almost detached as he clack-clack-clacks the clunky keyboard. The behemoth computer buzzes and whirs away as he types. “Tell me more about the issues you've been having.”“My boyfriend and I; he's the one who urged me come here; are, well. We just started sleeping together. And I'm finding it quite difficult.” She bites her lip.“Difficult in what way?”Kate looks down at her sandals as she says, “I'm told sex ought to be pleasurable.”Doctor Yang chuckles, showing off deep dimples. “It's generally supposed to be, yes. That hasn't been your experience?”Kate shakes her head, curly hair bouncing around her shoulders. “No, not the times we've tried together. I just can't see how anything can... fit.” She can feel her face heating up. “Every time we try it's so uncomfortable for me. Sometimes it hurts. Plus, I've never been able to... get there. Not when we're together, at least.”Doctor Yang nods. “You know, many women your age have that experience too. It's completely normal.”“What? You mean this is just how it is?”She must look panic-stricken, because Doctor Yang immediately backtracks. “No, no! It shouldn't hurt, it should never hurt! What I mean to say is that this issue is more common than you realize, and it's definitely something I can help with.”She slumps back in the chair with relief, air whooshing from her lungs.“To get to the bottom of your problem, though,” Doctor Yang continues, “I'm going to ask a few personal questions. There will be no judgement from me, I just want you to answer honestly. Is that okay?” His face is open and friendly, and Kate trusts him, but what could he mean, personal questions? How much more personal can it get?“Sure,” she says, and if Doctor Yang notices her hesitation, he doesn't let on.

Naria injures her leg and exposes her body to the therapist.Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.Naria Teases The TherapistNaria finished storing the silverware in the top cabinet. They seldom used the special dinnerware but yesterday was a special occasion; Naria and Toby celebrated one year of marriage. Their sex life had never been so good, and both enjoyed the special meal they prepared together, including using the good China and silverware.Naria closed the cabinet door, turned on the chair, and hopped to the floor. Toby, sitting at the table, heard a popping sound and Naria immediately collapsed to the floor, hollering and grabbing her right thigh."Ah. Toby, help! Ah." Naria continued hollering and began sobbing. "Get me to the hospital, Toby! God, it hurts!" Naria said, between sobs and groans.Toby drove quickly to the nearest hospital where they signed in and waited. Eventually, a nurse took her back to a room, gave her a shot for pain, and the doctor examined her leg."What's the verdict doctor? Is something broken?" Toby asked, because by then Naria, with the pain meds, was almost comatose."No, not broken. Naria has suffered a thigh contusion. She pulled a ligament in the upper thigh. We'll schedule her for some tests, but she probably won't need surgery." The doctor sent them home with a prescription for pain and told Toby to make her stay off the leg for a couple of weeks. Rest, ice, compression and elevation. That was Naria's schedule for the next two weeks. Then physical therapy.Toby took Naria home, helping her walk into the house, then putting her to bed. "Just sleep, Naria. You'll feel better when you wake up." He wasn't sure Naria even heard him, so he turned out the light and left the bedroom.Over the next two weeks Naria improved. At her two-week follow-up exam the doctor prescribed a month of therapy. At home, they discussed their options."I don't want to be a bother, Toby. I feel like all you do is look after me. I don't want you taking me to therapy four times a week; you won't get any work done.""Well, what if we can find a therapist to come to the house. The insurance will still pay.""I like that idea," said Naria. That afternoon they researched therapists in the area and settled on Stan. "This says she was recently certified, so she'll know all the modern techniques. Please call her."Toby called the office and Stan arrived the next morning.Ring. Ring. "I'll get it." Toby opened the door to find a handsome young man."Is Miss Naria home?" The guy looked like a high school boy; he couldn't be more than sixteen."Wait, we scheduled a Stan for therapy.""That's me, in the flesh." The young man gave a wide grin, and Toby invited him in and led him to the bedroom.Naria saw the guy and hollered, "Wait, I'm not decent!"Stan blushed and turned away and Naria quickly covered up."Sweetie, this is Stan." Toby watched Naria's face as he introduced the young man. Her face showed surprise, then confusion, and a slow grin crossed her mouth."Well, well. Nice to meet you, Stan. Come on in. I'm decent now, so we can get started." Naria winked at Toby and he smiled and left the room."Where do you want to work, Stan?"Stan reached down and felt the bed. "Well, the bed seems firm enough. We can do it right here if you want.""Here is good. How do you want me?" Naria looked down at her body and smiled. Stan also looked down."Uh, er, well, uh, just lie flat on the bed and I'll start." Naria threw off the covers and Stan gasped. She was only wearing white cotton panties and a cotton bra, basic everyday underwear."Oh, I-I'm sorry!" Stan quickly covered his eyes with his hand and turned away."Do you want me to put on a robe?" Naria asked, wide-eyed. "You're like a doctor aren't you? I hope I didn't embarrass you.""Well, not a doctor exactly, uh, do you mind putting on a robe?" Naria took her time getting out of bed and finding her robe in the closet. She glanced in a full-length mirror beside the closet and saw Stan watching her butt. This was going to fun!Naria tied the robe loosely and laid on the bed, fully stretched out, and Stan began his work. Naria pulled the robe up her injured leg and tucked it into her crotch."There, now you can get to the injury." Stan poured some warm oil on his hands, rubbed them together, and began massaging Naria's thigh."Ouch! Oh! Please go slower." Stan's massage really did hurt, but the pain eased as he continued. His warm, oiled hands eventually made her forget the soreness, and she began to think of other things. Especially when Stan's hand accidentally touched her crotch."Oh!" Naria jumped and Stan backed away."I'm sorry! I'll be more careful." Stan was getting more nervous as he massaged. Naria watched his eyes, and they stayed on her crotch. Naria could feel her pussy getting wet and looked down. Sure enough, her pussy juices were seeping through the white cotton panties. She sighed.Stan finished his work and packed his oil and towels in a small bag."Well, I'll see you tomorrow, Miss Naria.""Please just call me Naria. I'm sure we'll be good friends by the time you finish my therapy." Naria gave Stan a big smile."Uh, ok, Miss, Uh Naria." Stan excused himself and hurried out of the bedroom.Toby entered shortly afterwards. "Well, how did it go. Are you disappointed your therapist is not a woman?" He already knew the answer."Are you kidding? I loved it! He's still kinda new at his job, but we'll get along just fine!" Naria reached down to rub her pussy, already tingling with anticipation.Toby shook his head and went back to work. Naria was ready the next day. When Stan showed up she was dressed and ready. Well, dressed as much as she wanted."Stan! So good to see you. Come on in." Naria led the way into her bedroom knowing Stan was probably watching her butt. Today she wore a short robe, almost see-through, just covering her knees but easier to move so Stan could massage her thigh. And underneath the robe she wore bright red silk panties and bra. Stan would see them soon enough."Well, let's get started," said Stan. He brought out the oil and a towel from his bag. Naria pulled the robe closely around her and laid out on the bed. She didn't want to scare Stan off; she would expose her body to him gradually."How does the leg feel today?" asked Stan. "Any soreness fromyesterday?" He was trying to be professional but Naria noticed he was nervous."A little, yes, but not much today. You're good at this!" Stan beamed, poured oil in his hands and began the massage. Again, Naria had tucked her robe in at the crotch, hiding her red panties as Stan rubbed. He began with slow, long rubs from knee to upper thigh and back again. Then he squeezed the muscles lightly. Naria could feel when he reached the sore muscle but said nothing."What feels the best to you?""When you go all around the leg, top to bottom. That feels so good." As Naria talked, she opened her legs, and saw Stan glanced down."Oh! Uh." Stan reached around to get the towel and brought it to her knee, wiping the dripping oil."This is the spot that feels the best," said Naria, opening her leg more and touching her thigh almost to her crotch. "Can you do me here?"Stan blushed but reached his hand to where Naria pointed. He touched it shyly. "Here? Are you sure?""Yep. That's the spot. It feels so good when you rub there. And when you squeeze it."Stan, getting braver by the minute, lightly touched the spot Naria indicated and began almost caressing her leg, down to the knee, up almost touching her pussy, down, around again. When he reached the top again, he squeezed, and Naria jumped."Oh! That's it. Yes!" She opened her leg even more, knowing her red silk panties were totally visible. Stan couldn't miss them! This time when Stan massaged upward, the back of his hand touched her pussy, and Naria jumped again."Are you ok? Does this help?" As Stan asked, he touched Naria's pussy again, now wet with her juices."Mmmm." Naria moaned. "Yes, right there." Naria sat up, letting her robe fall open and exposing her red bra. She saw Stan looking at her breasts, then at her pussy, and she decided this was enough for today."Thank you so much, Stan! You are so good at this." Naria stood, pulling her robe around her.Stan turned to put his oil and towel away and Naria saw him trying to hide his growing enlargement. Unsuccessfully. He seemed disappointed as he left."Tomorrow, then?""Yes, tomorrow, Stan. See you then."Naria hurried to Toby's work room, yanking off the robe as she went, then unsnapping her bra. She was hopping and pulling off her panties as she entered the room, and Toby's eyes widened with surprise."Naria! What the heck?""Get those clothes off, mister. I need some relief!" Toby began unbuttoning his shirt but not fast enough. Naria just pulled it over his head and attacked his pants zipper."Come on. Hurry up!" Naria pushed Toby onto a chair and climbed on him. Her wet pussy sank all the way down and she groaned."Oh God! I need this!" Naria began to fuck him furiously, embracing him tightly so she wouldn't fall off. Her pussy was clamping onto Toby's cock so tightly she could feel the bulging veins. "Oh yeah. Oh, oh, yes, yes! Yes!" Naria's body exploded in pure pleasure, milking every bit of the orgasm that engulfed her, and Toby climaxed with her. They gradually slowed, basking in the pleasure of their nude closeness."Ah. I needed that!" Naria exhaled. Only then did she tell Toby all the details of how she teased Stan."Hon, I get so horny when another man sees my body. I don't understand it, but I sure do enjoy it." Naria hesitated, frowning."What, Naria? Did something else happen? Why the frown?""I'm not sure, but I think Stan was teasing me, too.""What do you mean? How?" There was something different in Naria's voice."Well, when I opened my legs and suggested he massage a little higher, he did! His hand even brushed my pussy, several times. I think he was teasing me!""So, what's good for the goose... you know the rest. Did it bother you?""God, no! It excited me even more. But does it bother you?"Toby thought awhile before answering. "Not really, but don't let it get out of hand. No pun intended." Toby smiled and Naria giggled."Out of hand...I get it. Say, why don't we put in that camera we talked about. That way you can watch and make sure it doesn't get out of hand." Naria emphasized the last part, drawing a laugh from Toby."Let's go to the store tonight and buy one. I'll install it before Stan comes tomorrow."That night Toby and Naria went shopping. They had a ball comparing cameras, and Naria couldn't resist teasing the clerk about their reason for buying it. They bought a camera small enough to hide easily but with good enough quality that it made an excellent video. And it was wireless, easy to install, and Toby could watch from the computer in his work room or on his iPad.Naria insisted on trying it out, pulling off her panties, laying on the bed, and bringing herself to a rousing orgasm as Toby watched from the other room. The next day couldn't come fast enough for Naria! A few minutes before Stan was to arrive, Naria turned on the tiny camera. It was already positioned and ready to go. She got in bed, pulled her robe around her, and waited.Toby showed Stan into the bedroom a few minutes later."Hey, Stan. Right on time! You're a real professional!""Thanks, uh, Naria. I like my work." Naria had no doubts about that!"Well, I'm ready!" With that she tossed the covers and lay back. "Here I am!"Stan was stunned! Today Naria was wearing a totally see-through light green robe, and her mint green bra and panties were quite visible."You're such a professional I didn't think you'd care what I wore. I just like to be comfortable."Stan turned red as an apple and stuttered, "I, uh, I-I, well, you're fine. Let's get started." He turned away to get the oil and towel from his bag. When he turned back around, Naria saw his emerging problem. He couldn't hide his growing cock!"Where do you want to start, Stan?" As she spoke, Naria opened her legs slightly. She glanced down and saw that Stan wasn't the only one with a problem. Her pussy juices were already soaking her panties, and she could smell her own arousal.Stan didn't say a word; he just poured oil on his hand and began massaging Naria's thigh. He tried hard to concentrate on the thigh but kept glancing at her crotch."Does this hurt?" Stan massaged deeply, working the muscles with his strong fingers. He worked on the thigh, right where Naria's injury was, then worked his way down to her knee and back up again. As he massaged, Naria gradually moved her robe until it covered nothing. Her whole body, only covered by the skimpy bra and panties, was open to Stan's eyes. And with her legs spread, inviting him to look!"Is this how you like it?" he asked. He started at her knee, caressing the leg all around, and ended up almost at Naria's pussy. When he moved, his hand did touch her pussy, and she groaned."Right there! Yes!" Gaining confidence, Stan massaged back down and up again, this time not asking; the back of his hand burrowed into Naria's wet pussy. Naria involuntarily began humping his hand, then stopped.Stan didn't take his eyes off Naria's body as he worked her muscles, looking from her sopping pussy to her hard nipples and back again. Then he took his chance. He caressed Naria's flesh down to her knee, then when he went back up, he didn't stop. As he neared the pussy, he turned the hand around and cupped Naria's pussy, pushing hard into her crotch, and began a slow grinding movement.Naria pushed hard against Stan's hand and exploded! "Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh! Uh!" Her whole body was convulsing. She was fucking his hand! "Ah!" Another wave hit her and she groaned and grunted through it.

Naria injures her leg and exposes her body to the therapist.Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.Naria Teases The TherapistNaria finished storing the silverware in the top cabinet. They seldom used the special dinnerware but yesterday was a special occasion; Naria and Toby celebrated one year of marriage. Their sex life had never been so good, and both enjoyed the special meal they prepared together, including using the good China and silverware.Naria closed the cabinet door, turned on the chair, and hopped to the floor. Toby, sitting at the table, heard a popping sound and Naria immediately collapsed to the floor, hollering and grabbing her right thigh."Ah. Toby, help! Ah." Naria continued hollering and began sobbing. "Get me to the hospital, Toby! God, it hurts!" Naria said, between sobs and groans.Toby drove quickly to the nearest hospital where they signed in and waited. Eventually, a nurse took her back to a room, gave her a shot for pain, and the doctor examined her leg."What's the verdict doctor? Is something broken?" Toby asked, because by then Naria, with the pain meds, was almost comatose."No, not broken. Naria has suffered a thigh contusion. She pulled a ligament in the upper thigh. We'll schedule her for some tests, but she probably won't need surgery." The doctor sent them home with a prescription for pain and told Toby to make her stay off the leg for a couple of weeks. Rest, ice, compression and elevation. That was Naria's schedule for the next two weeks. Then physical therapy.Toby took Naria home, helping her walk into the house, then putting her to bed. "Just sleep, Naria. You'll feel better when you wake up." He wasn't sure Naria even heard him, so he turned out the light and left the bedroom.Over the next two weeks Naria improved. At her two-week follow-up exam the doctor prescribed a month of therapy. At home, they discussed their options."I don't want to be a bother, Toby. I feel like all you do is look after me. I don't want you taking me to therapy four times a week; you won't get any work done.""Well, what if we can find a therapist to come to the house. The insurance will still pay.""I like that idea," said Naria. That afternoon they researched therapists in the area and settled on Stan. "This says she was recently certified, so she'll know all the modern techniques. Please call her."Toby called the office and Stan arrived the next morning.Ring. Ring. "I'll get it." Toby opened the door to find a handsome young man."Is Miss Naria home?" The guy looked like a high school boy; he couldn't be more than sixteen."Wait, we scheduled a Stan for therapy.""That's me, in the flesh." The young man gave a wide grin, and Toby invited him in and led him to the bedroom.Naria saw the guy and hollered, "Wait, I'm not decent!"Stan blushed and turned away and Naria quickly covered up."Sweetie, this is Stan." Toby watched Naria's face as he introduced the young man. Her face showed surprise, then confusion, and a slow grin crossed her mouth."Well, well. Nice to meet you, Stan. Come on in. I'm decent now, so we can get started." Naria winked at Toby and he smiled and left the room."Where do you want to work, Stan?"Stan reached down and felt the bed. "Well, the bed seems firm enough. We can do it right here if you want.""Here is good. How do you want me?" Naria looked down at her body and smiled. Stan also looked down."Uh, er, well, uh, just lie flat on the bed and I'll start." Naria threw off the covers and Stan gasped. She was only wearing white cotton panties and a cotton bra, basic everyday underwear."Oh, I-I'm sorry!" Stan quickly covered his eyes with his hand and turned away."Do you want me to put on a robe?" Naria asked, wide-eyed. "You're like a doctor aren't you? I hope I didn't embarrass you.""Well, not a doctor exactly, uh, do you mind putting on a robe?" Naria took her time getting out of bed and finding her robe in the closet. She glanced in a full-length mirror beside the closet and saw Stan watching her butt. This was going to fun!Naria tied the robe loosely and laid on the bed, fully stretched out, and Stan began his work. Naria pulled the robe up her injured leg and tucked it into her crotch."There, now you can get to the injury." Stan poured some warm oil on his hands, rubbed them together, and began massaging Naria's thigh."Ouch! Oh! Please go slower." Stan's massage really did hurt, but the pain eased as he continued. His warm, oiled hands eventually made her forget the soreness, and she began to think of other things. Especially when Stan's hand accidentally touched her crotch."Oh!" Naria jumped and Stan backed away."I'm sorry! I'll be more careful." Stan was getting more nervous as he massaged. Naria watched his eyes, and they stayed on her crotch. Naria could feel her pussy getting wet and looked down. Sure enough, her pussy juices were seeping through the white cotton panties. She sighed.Stan finished his work and packed his oil and towels in a small bag."Well, I'll see you tomorrow, Miss Naria.""Please just call me Naria. I'm sure we'll be good friends by the time you finish my therapy." Naria gave Stan a big smile."Uh, ok, Miss, Uh Naria." Stan excused himself and hurried out of the bedroom.Toby entered shortly afterwards. "Well, how did it go. Are you disappointed your therapist is not a woman?" He already knew the answer."Are you kidding? I loved it! He's still kinda new at his job, but we'll get along just fine!" Naria reached down to rub her pussy, already tingling with anticipation.Toby shook his head and went back to work. Naria was ready the next day. When Stan showed up she was dressed and ready. Well, dressed as much as she wanted."Stan! So good to see you. Come on in." Naria led the way into her bedroom knowing Stan was probably watching her butt. Today she wore a short robe, almost see-through, just covering her knees but easier to move so Stan could massage her thigh. And underneath the robe she wore bright red silk panties and bra. Stan would see them soon enough."Well, let's get started," said Stan. He brought out the oil and a towel from his bag. Naria pulled the robe closely around her and laid out on the bed. She didn't want to scare Stan off; she would expose her body to him gradually."How does the leg feel today?" asked Stan. "Any soreness fromyesterday?" He was trying to be professional but Naria noticed he was nervous."A little, yes, but not much today. You're good at this!" Stan beamed, poured oil in his hands and began the massage. Again, Naria had tucked her robe in at the crotch, hiding her red panties as Stan rubbed. He began with slow, long rubs from knee to upper thigh and back again. Then he squeezed the muscles lightly. Naria could feel when he reached the sore muscle but said nothing."What feels the best to you?""When you go all around the leg, top to bottom. That feels so good." As Naria talked, she opened her legs, and saw Stan glanced down."Oh! Uh." Stan reached around to get the towel and brought it to her knee, wiping the dripping oil."This is the spot that feels the best," said Naria, opening her leg more and touching her thigh almost to her crotch. "Can you do me here?"Stan blushed but reached his hand to where Naria pointed. He touched it shyly. "Here? Are you sure?""Yep. That's the spot. It feels so good when you rub there. And when you squeeze it."Stan, getting braver by the minute, lightly touched the spot Naria indicated and began almost caressing her leg, down to the knee, up almost touching her pussy, down, around again. When he reached the top again, he squeezed, and Naria jumped."Oh! That's it. Yes!" She opened her leg even more, knowing her red silk panties were totally visible. Stan couldn't miss them! This time when Stan massaged upward, the back of his hand touched her pussy, and Naria jumped again."Are you ok? Does this help?" As Stan asked, he touched Naria's pussy again, now wet with her juices."Mmmm." Naria moaned. "Yes, right there." Naria sat up, letting her robe fall open and exposing her red bra. She saw Stan looking at her breasts, then at her pussy, and she decided this was enough for today."Thank you so much, Stan! You are so good at this." Naria stood, pulling her robe around her.Stan turned to put his oil and towel away and Naria saw him trying to hide his growing enlargement. Unsuccessfully. He seemed disappointed as he left."Tomorrow, then?""Yes, tomorrow, Stan. See you then."Naria hurried to Toby's work room, yanking off the robe as she went, then unsnapping her bra. She was hopping and pulling off her panties as she entered the room, and Toby's eyes widened with surprise."Naria! What the heck?""Get those clothes off, mister. I need some relief!" Toby began unbuttoning his shirt but not fast enough. Naria just pulled it over his head and attacked his pants zipper."Come on. Hurry up!" Naria pushed Toby onto a chair and climbed on him. Her wet pussy sank all the way down and she groaned."Oh God! I need this!" Naria began to fuck him furiously, embracing him tightly so she wouldn't fall off. Her pussy was clamping onto Toby's cock so tightly she could feel the bulging veins. "Oh yeah. Oh, oh, yes, yes! Yes!" Naria's body exploded in pure pleasure, milking every bit of the orgasm that engulfed her, and Toby climaxed with her. They gradually slowed, basking in the pleasure of their nude closeness."Ah. I needed that!" Naria exhaled. Only then did she tell Toby all the details of how she teased Stan."Hon, I get so horny when another man sees my body. I don't understand it, but I sure do enjoy it." Naria hesitated, frowning."What, Naria? Did something else happen? Why the frown?""I'm not sure, but I think Stan was teasing me, too.""What do you mean? How?" There was something different in Naria's voice."Well, when I opened my legs and suggested he massage a little higher, he did! His hand even brushed my pussy, several times. I think he was teasing me!""So, what's good for the goose... you know the rest. Did it bother you?""God, no! It excited me even more. But does it bother you?"Toby thought awhile before answering. "Not really, but don't let it get out of hand. No pun intended." Toby smiled and Naria giggled."Out of hand...I get it. Say, why don't we put in that camera we talked about. That way you can watch and make sure it doesn't get out of hand." Naria emphasized the last part, drawing a laugh from Toby."Let's go to the store tonight and buy one. I'll install it before Stan comes tomorrow."That night Toby and Naria went shopping. They had a ball comparing cameras, and Naria couldn't resist teasing the clerk about their reason for buying it. They bought a camera small enough to hide easily but with good enough quality that it made an excellent video. And it was wireless, easy to install, and Toby could watch from the computer in his work room or on his iPad.Naria insisted on trying it out, pulling off her panties, laying on the bed, and bringing herself to a rousing orgasm as Toby watched from the other room. The next day couldn't come fast enough for Naria! A few minutes before Stan was to arrive, Naria turned on the tiny camera. It was already positioned and ready to go. She got in bed, pulled her robe around her, and waited.Toby showed Stan into the bedroom a few minutes later."Hey, Stan. Right on time! You're a real professional!""Thanks, uh, Naria. I like my work." Naria had no doubts about that!"Well, I'm ready!" With that she tossed the covers and lay back. "Here I am!"Stan was stunned! Today Naria was wearing a totally see-through light green robe, and her mint green bra and panties were quite visible."You're such a professional I didn't think you'd care what I wore. I just like to be comfortable."Stan turned red as an apple and stuttered, "I, uh, I-I, well, you're fine. Let's get started." He turned away to get the oil and towel from his bag. When he turned back around, Naria saw his emerging problem. He couldn't hide his growing cock!"Where do you want to start, Stan?" As she spoke, Naria opened her legs slightly. She glanced down and saw that Stan wasn't the only one with a problem. Her pussy juices were already soaking her panties, and she could smell her own arousal.Stan didn't say a word; he just poured oil on his hand and began massaging Naria's thigh. He tried hard to concentrate on the thigh but kept glancing at her crotch."Does this hurt?" Stan massaged deeply, working the muscles with his strong fingers. He worked on the thigh, right where Naria's injury was, then worked his way down to her knee and back up again. As he massaged, Naria gradually moved her robe until it covered nothing. Her whole body, only covered by the skimpy bra and panties, was open to Stan's eyes. And with her legs spread, inviting him to look!"Is this how you like it?" he asked. He started at her knee, caressing the leg all around, and ended up almost at Naria's pussy. When he moved, his hand did touch her pussy, and she groaned."Right there! Yes!" Gaining confidence, Stan massaged back down and up again, this time not asking; the back of his hand burrowed into Naria's wet pussy. Naria involuntarily began humping his hand, then stopped.Stan didn't take his eyes off Naria's body as he worked her muscles, looking from her sopping pussy to her hard nipples and back again. Then he took his chance. He caressed Naria's flesh down to her knee, then when he went back up, he didn't stop. As he neared the pussy, he turned the hand around and cupped Naria's pussy, pushing hard into her crotch, and began a slow grinding movement.Naria pushed hard against Stan's hand and exploded! "Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh! Uh!" Her whole body was convulsing. She was fucking his hand! "Ah!" Another wave hit her and she groaned and grunted through it.

Living nymph, and proud of it. Humorous stories of women who share. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.It's Not a Mental DisabilityAmanda has a somewhat embarrassing disability.Phillip Hammond, the clerk at the unemployment office, wasn't making Amanda Adams feel good about herself right now. They were threatening to cut her benefits, and with her being unable to secure good references in her field, she couldn't get past the interview process at most companies. "Mr. Hammond, please. You have seen I have been applying for work. I have been trying. Really, I have.""Miss Adams, I am sorry, but one can only receive unemployment benefits for so long. You've applied for it six times over the past five years and this last run was for six months, the maximum length of coverage. The only way you can get financial help is if you claimed a disability.""But I don't have one!" Amanda yelled."I told you, Miss Adams. You should meet with our psychologist. Considering your... uh... history, I think he could help you.""Help me? How?" Amanda wasn't clear what the social worker meant by her history, either."Amanda. You have lost five jobs, all because you got involved with men at your places of employment. We have warned you time and again. I think it could be a verifiable mental issue with you, and I am only suggesting that you go see..""Wait a minute, Phillip!" This was no time for formalities, thought Amanda, using his first name. "Three of those guys claimed they were single. I had no idea they were married!""You could have googled. Check their social media history, maybe?"She ignored him. "I believed what they told me at the time, and I can't help it, that all of them got obsessed with me. They went out of their way to get me fired, after I broke up with them.""Getting romantically involved is circumstance enough for losing one's job. Go see Dr. Blake." Phillip held a business card to Amanda. "Or go without any possibility of getting any assistance. Maybe start applying at fast food joints?"Amanda graduated in computer science. She had far too many loans to accept such a low paying job. "Fine!" she yelled, snatching the card."You get one more check from us, and then it ends," said Phillip. "I suggest you go with whatever the doctor tells you, to pick up disability payments in the meantime. If you qualify, that is.""I have no idea what I would be disabled for." Three days later, Amanda found herself standing across from the most handsome man she'd ever laid eyes on. Maybe early thirties, well built, tall, with full, dark hair and piercing blue eyes. She blushed as he introduced himself. "I'm Dr. David Blake. Pleased to meet you, Miss Adams. Amanda, is it? Welcome to my office. Please, sit.""Pleased to meet you, too," Amanda said, briefly shaking his firm, strong hands.As Amanda sat in the chair opposite the doctor, across from his desk, he spoke, "Considering my workload, I do not have a lot of time to spend with new, non-urgent care patients. My time is based on need, rather than just equal time for everyone. I reviewed your case, and discussed it with Mr. Hammond, your case worker. We work with them on many cases, not just yours.""I see," said Amanda."Anyway, I am willing to write you up with an S.A. diagnosis. We can discuss whether you would like to try chemical treatments, such as we use to treat depression... or interactive therapy. Maybe both. But at this time, your case isn't that critical. I'll write up the diagnosis now, and you can set an appointment with my assistant for two weeks from now. Is that okay with you?"Amanda was relieved the doctor was willing to write something up that would allow her to receive some income, but she was still foggy on things. "I'm sorry. An S.A. diagnosis?""Sexual addiction," the handsome doctor paused. "Combined with histrionic personality disorder. What we in the business term 'slut-like tendencies'. This creates a toxic environment for any workplace, of course. You can get disability payments, while you go through treatment. Once you finish, we can note it on your resume, and can help you with job placement. Your case isn't so unique, after all."Amanda was having trouble breathing, flushed red with anger. "Did you just say I am a slut?""Slut-like tendencies only means that someone invests their need for validation, openly, and often. Most of them have, say, more than three partners a year, but they get off on the attention, more than the sex. It isn't necessarily nymphomania.""You're saying because I have an active sex life, that I am a slut?""No, I did not say that. Although that is the very definition of the slang term, especially when it is involves multiple partners.""So we're slut-shaming now?""Excuse me, Miss Adams!" barked Dr. Blake. "Let's go through the facts. You have had a sexual relationship with at least one man, in every job you have ever worked. Every time, it has led to trouble, and ultimately, termination of your employment. Would you say your actions were responsible for this, or not?""No! I would say having immature people, who were out for revenge, is what ended my employment at those places.""You continue to disregard other people's feelings, even though these actions, and the results from them, have repeated themselves again and again. People get angry with you,  valid or not; and push you out the door, when discovering your behavior.""Well, it shouldn't be like that," Amanda insisted."But it is." The psychologist affirmed."Dr. Hammond, I am not a slut!""Allow me to explain, for one last time, what I mean. The reason I say 'slut-like tendencies' is due to specific behavior points. For instance, I could see that you found me attractive when you came in today.""Dr. Hammond! I have made no such communications."The doctor raised his hand with his forefinger up, hushing her. "Let me finish. It's okay that you find me attractive. I also find you highly attractive, but it's our personalities that separate us.""Claiming I am a slut!" Did he really find her attractive, thought Amanda? 'Highly attractive,' did he say? Even as he spoke so degradingly of her?"No, you're not a slut. As I said, you simply struggle with some tendencies. Continuing with my observation, you find me attractive. Understand, Amanda, that being physically attracted to someone is perfectly natural. So let's say I was at the beach. You would see me with my toned muscles, tanned skin. I possess a body you might like. It would interest or arouse you, yes?Amanda sneered at the quack doctor, remaining silent."But see, you would get more pleasure by being the one barely dressed, not the other way around. Isn't that so? You crave attention, more than most other people require.""I do no such thing," said Amanda."Miss Adams," sighed David. "I am a trained psychologist, and I actually specialize in sexually deviant behavior.""Deviant?" screamed Amanda."Calm down. The point is, you can deny all you want, but you have specific markers. You can continue to deny the problem, or you can learn to change things.""You think I would get horny, or feed off your attention, if I were half dressed? Is that all you got? That's the strength of your argument, in labeling me a slut?""Yes, it is my argument, but no, I am not labeling you a slut. Amanda, this is a behavior pattern I have seen many times over. You could strip right now, angry as you are, and you would still want validation. You would WANT me to be attracted to you. You would want me to be turned on by you."As handsome as the doctor was, his personality was really turning Amanda off. "That is so fucking ridiculous," she said, crossing her arms."Fine. If you Insist on having me drag it out of you, go ahead. Strip.""Strip? Here? Now?" Amanda was appalled the doctor would ask for such a thing."Or don't. I can easily prove it to you in a matter of minutes, or you can continue to be resistant to the truth."Amanda paused for a moment and then stood up, pointing at the doctor. "You know, you're right. When I first came in here, I did find you attractive. I'm well aware, physical attraction is natural. But believe me when I say, that by opening your mouth and spouting your bullshit, the attraction to you has completely evaporated. You are a fucking creep!"The doctor remained sitting, shaking his head. "Do you want me to write this diagnosis or not? I don't have time to see you right now. Not until later this month. If you insist my opinion is wrong, you will have to wait until I can formally sit down with you.""I would never sit down with you. For you to even suggest.." Amanda stopped.She stared for a moment at the man, seeing his muscles ripping through his tight, dark shirt. He wore a bright tie with it, looking distinguished and professional, unlike his behavior. It pissed Amanda off, that someone so handsome, could be such an asshole. Amanda noticed his bronze skin, too, no doubt a product of a comfortable lifestyle. His short, dark hair contrasted with his piercing blue eyes. She almost wanted to ask him if he wore colored contacts."For me to suggest what, Miss Adams?" sighed the doctor, looking up at her.Amanda held her tongue, dropping her purse. Instead of replying, she began unbuttoning her blouse. When she was down to her bra and panties, she finally spoke. "I'm going to prove you wrong, and you are going to write something else for me instead. Something that will qualify me to draw disability payments, while I find work. Agreed?"Dr. Blake paused and leaned back in his chair. "If my statements aren't accurate, I will agree to that.""What will you write up?" asked Amanda."It doesn't matter," said the doctor, "You won't win this bet."Now Amanda was really pissed. In one swift motion, she unsnapped her bra, flinging it off, and ripped off her panties. "Dr. Blake. I can be stark naked in front of you, and not give one shit whether you like it or not. Fuck you, and fuck your bullshit quackery."The doctor was visibly shaken. Not so much by Amanda's actions, but by her perfect body. Never had he seen such a vision, and he wasn't short of partners himself."Jesus Christ, your body is amazing," he muttered under his breath.The reaction was instant. Maybe Amanda hadn't noticed it like this before, because it hadn't been pointed out to her, but she was ecstatic, that this hot guy in front of her, was practically slobbering himself while staring at her. She got a kick out of the hungry look in his eyes. Amanda was already damp, hoping the doctor might be sporting an erection under his desk.Then it hit her. Dr. Blake was right. For a moment, she stood frozen before him, watching him stare back at her. Amanda made no attempt to cover anything. Finally, she sighed. "Oh, my god. You're right. I act like a slut. You like this, and it thrills me."Amanda was being brutally honest with herself, and the doctor."Amanda, you are not a slut," said the doctor, snapping out of his trance and finally looking her in the eyes. "As I said, you have markers. But now that we have proven who is right, why don't you go ahead and masturbate for me?""What?" screamed Amanda. "Just because I admit to liking this, you think I would go that far? Just because you ask?""It's only a suggestion, Miss Adams, I don't mind. You know I would love every second of it. You might as well take advantage of the situation."'How is he turning this around on me again?' thought Amanda.The doctor arched back in his chair, and went back to staring at her body, sending shivers up her spine. "Really? You want me to masturbate? Here?""Yes, please. In the chair. Spread your legs. Show me everything.""Dr. Blake, this is not appropriate.""Of course, it isn't appropriate. It's the very reason you keep getting fired from one place to the next. But damn it, it is so fucking hot. You are a treasure."The doctor's compliments made Amanda blush, and without thinking, she dropped back in the leather chair. "Will you jerk off to me?""If you make it hot enough for me. If you beg me." The handsome clinician complied.Amanda arched back and spread her legs wide, while the doctor pulled his chair up to get a batter angle. She reached down with her right hand, inserting two fingers. "Please, jerk off for me. I'll cum for you.""If I jerk off, I'll have to cum, too," said the doctor, matter-of-factly."Yes, yes. Let me watch, too.""I'd have to get up from this desk... for you to see anything."Amanda bit her bottom lip, nodding, while digging her fingers into her wet cunt even deeper. She'd had objections to this man only moments ago, and now all she wanted was to get off. And to see this man get off on her, too."I tell you what I am going to do, Amanda. I am going to take off all my clothes and stroke myself. I will stand behind this desk, in front of you, and let you masturbate while watching me... watch you."Amanda groaned. His dirty talk edged her forward."Or I could come closer... much closer." He added.Amanda moaned even heavier now, begging the doctor to follow through with his suggestion. "I could cum in your mouth, Amanda."As he spoke, the doctor slipped out of his pants and underwear, and began unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his cut physique. He stood up, to finish removing it all, revealing a thick and long cock to Amanda. Amanda pumped faster now with the visual stimulation. "Please, please get closer, Amanda begged. She was almost whispering, ashamed to admit how much she wanted the doctor's cock. "Bring it here.""Tell me how much of a slut you are."Instantly, Amanda's hand stopped pumping. Juices were pouring all over it, and the chair beneath her, but her shock had preempted her horny drive. "What did you say?"The doctor rounded the desk, bringing him (and his truly magnificent cock) closer to Amanda. She couldn't help but stare at his perfect body. "You want me?" he asked."Yes," she whispered, but then caught herself. "But you keep calling me a slut!"Without warning, Dr. Blake rushed to Amanda, grabbing the back of her head, thrusting his rod into her face. Instinctively, she opened, taking it in. Unable to help herself, her right hand went back to the business of fucking herself, while David pumped his cock back and forth into her mouth. Amanda moaned again in pleasure."I will fuck you until you pass out, but you have to tell me you're a slut." David pushed deeper, slightly gagging Amanda in the process, before pulling out.With her left hand, she grabbed his shaft and stared to his eyes, "Okay, I'm a slut. But you better fuck me, alright?"With permission given, David picked Amanda up at the hips and spun her around as easy as a sack of potatoes. He grabbed her left tit from behind, and then guided his stiff cock into her soaking cunt, using his other arm. In seconds, he was pounding Amanda from behind, with her ass bent over deep into the l

Living nymph, and proud of it. Humorous stories of women who share. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.It's Not a Mental DisabilityAmanda has a somewhat embarrassing disability.Phillip Hammond, the clerk at the unemployment office, wasn't making Amanda Adams feel good about herself right now. They were threatening to cut her benefits, and with her being unable to secure good references in her field, she couldn't get past the interview process at most companies. "Mr. Hammond, please. You have seen I have been applying for work. I have been trying. Really, I have.""Miss Adams, I am sorry, but one can only receive unemployment benefits for so long. You've applied for it six times over the past five years and this last run was for six months, the maximum length of coverage. The only way you can get financial help is if you claimed a disability.""But I don't have one!" Amanda yelled."I told you, Miss Adams. You should meet with our psychologist. Considering your... uh... history, I think he could help you.""Help me? How?" Amanda wasn't clear what the social worker meant by her history, either."Amanda. You have lost five jobs, all because you got involved with men at your places of employment. We have warned you time and again. I think it could be a verifiable mental issue with you, and I am only suggesting that you go see..""Wait a minute, Phillip!" This was no time for formalities, thought Amanda, using his first name. "Three of those guys claimed they were single. I had no idea they were married!""You could have googled. Check their social media history, maybe?"She ignored him. "I believed what they told me at the time, and I can't help it, that all of them got obsessed with me. They went out of their way to get me fired, after I broke up with them.""Getting romantically involved is circumstance enough for losing one's job. Go see Dr. Blake." Phillip held a business card to Amanda. "Or go without any possibility of getting any assistance. Maybe start applying at fast food joints?"Amanda graduated in computer science. She had far too many loans to accept such a low paying job. "Fine!" she yelled, snatching the card."You get one more check from us, and then it ends," said Phillip. "I suggest you go with whatever the doctor tells you, to pick up disability payments in the meantime. If you qualify, that is.""I have no idea what I would be disabled for." Three days later, Amanda found herself standing across from the most handsome man she'd ever laid eyes on. Maybe early thirties, well built, tall, with full, dark hair and piercing blue eyes. She blushed as he introduced himself. "I'm Dr. David Blake. Pleased to meet you, Miss Adams. Amanda, is it? Welcome to my office. Please, sit.""Pleased to meet you, too," Amanda said, briefly shaking his firm, strong hands.As Amanda sat in the chair opposite the doctor, across from his desk, he spoke, "Considering my workload, I do not have a lot of time to spend with new, non-urgent care patients. My time is based on need, rather than just equal time for everyone. I reviewed your case, and discussed it with Mr. Hammond, your case worker. We work with them on many cases, not just yours.""I see," said Amanda."Anyway, I am willing to write you up with an S.A. diagnosis. We can discuss whether you would like to try chemical treatments, such as we use to treat depression... or interactive therapy. Maybe both. But at this time, your case isn't that critical. I'll write up the diagnosis now, and you can set an appointment with my assistant for two weeks from now. Is that okay with you?"Amanda was relieved the doctor was willing to write something up that would allow her to receive some income, but she was still foggy on things. "I'm sorry. An S.A. diagnosis?""Sexual addiction," the handsome doctor paused. "Combined with histrionic personality disorder. What we in the business term 'slut-like tendencies'. This creates a toxic environment for any workplace, of course. You can get disability payments, while you go through treatment. Once you finish, we can note it on your resume, and can help you with job placement. Your case isn't so unique, after all."Amanda was having trouble breathing, flushed red with anger. "Did you just say I am a slut?""Slut-like tendencies only means that someone invests their need for validation, openly, and often. Most of them have, say, more than three partners a year, but they get off on the attention, more than the sex. It isn't necessarily nymphomania.""You're saying because I have an active sex life, that I am a slut?""No, I did not say that. Although that is the very definition of the slang term, especially when it is involves multiple partners.""So we're slut-shaming now?""Excuse me, Miss Adams!" barked Dr. Blake. "Let's go through the facts. You have had a sexual relationship with at least one man, in every job you have ever worked. Every time, it has led to trouble, and ultimately, termination of your employment. Would you say your actions were responsible for this, or not?""No! I would say having immature people, who were out for revenge, is what ended my employment at those places.""You continue to disregard other people's feelings, even though these actions, and the results from them, have repeated themselves again and again. People get angry with you,  valid or not; and push you out the door, when discovering your behavior.""Well, it shouldn't be like that," Amanda insisted."But it is." The psychologist affirmed."Dr. Hammond, I am not a slut!""Allow me to explain, for one last time, what I mean. The reason I say 'slut-like tendencies' is due to specific behavior points. For instance, I could see that you found me attractive when you came in today.""Dr. Hammond! I have made no such communications."The doctor raised his hand with his forefinger up, hushing her. "Let me finish. It's okay that you find me attractive. I also find you highly attractive, but it's our personalities that separate us.""Claiming I am a slut!" Did he really find her attractive, thought Amanda? 'Highly attractive,' did he say? Even as he spoke so degradingly of her?"No, you're not a slut. As I said, you simply struggle with some tendencies. Continuing with my observation, you find me attractive. Understand, Amanda, that being physically attracted to someone is perfectly natural. So let's say I was at the beach. You would see me with my toned muscles, tanned skin. I possess a body you might like. It would interest or arouse you, yes?Amanda sneered at the quack doctor, remaining silent."But see, you would get more pleasure by being the one barely dressed, not the other way around. Isn't that so? You crave attention, more than most other people require.""I do no such thing," said Amanda."Miss Adams," sighed David. "I am a trained psychologist, and I actually specialize in sexually deviant behavior.""Deviant?" screamed Amanda."Calm down. The point is, you can deny all you want, but you have specific markers. You can continue to deny the problem, or you can learn to change things.""You think I would get horny, or feed off your attention, if I were half dressed? Is that all you got? That's the strength of your argument, in labeling me a slut?""Yes, it is my argument, but no, I am not labeling you a slut. Amanda, this is a behavior pattern I have seen many times over. You could strip right now, angry as you are, and you would still want validation. You would WANT me to be attracted to you. You would want me to be turned on by you."As handsome as the doctor was, his personality was really turning Amanda off. "That is so fucking ridiculous," she said, crossing her arms."Fine. If you Insist on having me drag it out of you, go ahead. Strip.""Strip? Here? Now?" Amanda was appalled the doctor would ask for such a thing."Or don't. I can easily prove it to you in a matter of minutes, or you can continue to be resistant to the truth."Amanda paused for a moment and then stood up, pointing at the doctor. "You know, you're right. When I first came in here, I did find you attractive. I'm well aware, physical attraction is natural. But believe me when I say, that by opening your mouth and spouting your bullshit, the attraction to you has completely evaporated. You are a fucking creep!"The doctor remained sitting, shaking his head. "Do you want me to write this diagnosis or not? I don't have time to see you right now. Not until later this month. If you insist my opinion is wrong, you will have to wait until I can formally sit down with you.""I would never sit down with you. For you to even suggest.." Amanda stopped.She stared for a moment at the man, seeing his muscles ripping through his tight, dark shirt. He wore a bright tie with it, looking distinguished and professional, unlike his behavior. It pissed Amanda off, that someone so handsome, could be such an asshole. Amanda noticed his bronze skin, too, no doubt a product of a comfortable lifestyle. His short, dark hair contrasted with his piercing blue eyes. She almost wanted to ask him if he wore colored contacts."For me to suggest what, Miss Adams?" sighed the doctor, looking up at her.Amanda held her tongue, dropping her purse. Instead of replying, she began unbuttoning her blouse. When she was down to her bra and panties, she finally spoke. "I'm going to prove you wrong, and you are going to write something else for me instead. Something that will qualify me to draw disability payments, while I find work. Agreed?"Dr. Blake paused and leaned back in his chair. "If my statements aren't accurate, I will agree to that.""What will you write up?" asked Amanda."It doesn't matter," said the doctor, "You won't win this bet."Now Amanda was really pissed. In one swift motion, she unsnapped her bra, flinging it off, and ripped off her panties. "Dr. Blake. I can be stark naked in front of you, and not give one shit whether you like it or not. Fuck you, and fuck your bullshit quackery."The doctor was visibly shaken. Not so much by Amanda's actions, but by her perfect body. Never had he seen such a vision, and he wasn't short of partners himself."Jesus Christ, your body is amazing," he muttered under his breath.The reaction was instant. Maybe Amanda hadn't noticed it like this before, because it hadn't been pointed out to her, but she was ecstatic, that this hot guy in front of her, was practically slobbering himself while staring at her. She got a kick out of the hungry look in his eyes. Amanda was already damp, hoping the doctor might be sporting an erection under his desk.Then it hit her. Dr. Blake was right. For a moment, she stood frozen before him, watching him stare back at her. Amanda made no attempt to cover anything. Finally, she sighed. "Oh, my god. You're right. I act like a slut. You like this, and it thrills me."Amanda was being brutally honest with herself, and the doctor."Amanda, you are not a slut," said the doctor, snapping out of his trance and finally looking her in the eyes. "As I said, you have markers. But now that we have proven who is right, why don't you go ahead and masturbate for me?""What?" screamed Amanda. "Just because I admit to liking this, you think I would go that far? Just because you ask?""It's only a suggestion, Miss Adams, I don't mind. You know I would love every second of it. You might as well take advantage of the situation."'How is he turning this around on me again?' thought Amanda.The doctor arched back in his chair, and went back to staring at her body, sending shivers up her spine. "Really? You want me to masturbate? Here?""Yes, please. In the chair. Spread your legs. Show me everything.""Dr. Blake, this is not appropriate.""Of course, it isn't appropriate. It's the very reason you keep getting fired from one place to the next. But damn it, it is so fucking hot. You are a treasure."The doctor's compliments made Amanda blush, and without thinking, she dropped back in the leather chair. "Will you jerk off to me?""If you make it hot enough for me. If you beg me." The handsome clinician complied.Amanda arched back and spread her legs wide, while the doctor pulled his chair up to get a batter angle. She reached down with her right hand, inserting two fingers. "Please, jerk off for me. I'll cum for you.""If I jerk off, I'll have to cum, too," said the doctor, matter-of-factly."Yes, yes. Let me watch, too.""I'd have to get up from this desk... for you to see anything."Amanda bit her bottom lip, nodding, while digging her fingers into her wet cunt even deeper. She'd had objections to this man only moments ago, and now all she wanted was to get off. And to see this man get off on her, too."I tell you what I am going to do, Amanda. I am going to take off all my clothes and stroke myself. I will stand behind this desk, in front of you, and let you masturbate while watching me... watch you."Amanda groaned. His dirty talk edged her forward."Or I could come closer... much closer." He added.Amanda moaned even heavier now, begging the doctor to follow through with his suggestion. "I could cum in your mouth, Amanda."As he spoke, the doctor slipped out of his pants and underwear, and began unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his cut physique. He stood up, to finish removing it all, revealing a thick and long cock to Amanda. Amanda pumped faster now with the visual stimulation. "Please, please get closer, Amanda begged. She was almost whispering, ashamed to admit how much she wanted the doctor's cock. "Bring it here.""Tell me how much of a slut you are."Instantly, Amanda's hand stopped pumping. Juices were pouring all over it, and the chair beneath her, but her shock had preempted her horny drive. "What did you say?"The doctor rounded the desk, bringing him (and his truly magnificent cock) closer to Amanda. She couldn't help but stare at his perfect body. "You want me?" he asked."Yes," she whispered, but then caught herself. "But you keep calling me a slut!"Without warning, Dr. Blake rushed to Amanda, grabbing the back of her head, thrusting his rod into her face. Instinctively, she opened, taking it in. Unable to help herself, her right hand went back to the business of fucking herself, while David pumped his cock back and forth into her mouth. Amanda moaned again in pleasure."I will fuck you until you pass out, but you have to tell me you're a slut." David pushed deeper, slightly gagging Amanda in the process, before pulling out.With her left hand, she grabbed his shaft and stared to his eyes, "Okay, I'm a slut. But you better fuck me, alright?"With permission given, David picked Amanda up at the hips and spun her around as easy as a sack of potatoes. He grabbed her left tit from behind, and then guided his stiff cock into her soaking cunt, using his other arm. In seconds, he was pounding Amanda from behind, with her ass bent over deep into the l

Nanny Piggins tells the children why they should always be concerned if their clothes go missing, in case it is a repeat of a traumatic incident that happened to one of her distant relatives in the Olden Korean story days.Support the show at https://www.buymeacoffee.com/storiesraspratt If you enjoyed the podcast please like, review and/or subscribe!Support the showFor merchandise use this link... https://www.cafepress.com.au/shop/rasprattFor information about live shows use this link... https://raspratt.com/live-shows/To buy one of my books use this link... https://amzn.to/3sE3Ki2

Claude Monet, pionnier de l'impressionnisme, a marqué l'histoire de l'art par sa capacité unique à capturer la lumière et les émotions dans ses œuvres. Né en 1840, il traverse une vie jalonnée de défis personnels et financiers, mais son génie transforme chaque épreuve en inspiration artistique. Son tableau Camille sur son lit de mort (1879) est un poignant hommage à sa première épouse, témoignant de sa douleur et de son amour. Rejeté à ses débuts par les institutions officielles, Monet trouve un soutien décisif à l'étranger, notamment aux États-Unis, ce qui lui permet d'acheter la maison de Giverny en 1890. Là, il crée ses célèbres Nymphéas, symboles de son exploration de la nature et de la lumière. Malgré les drames familiaux et une santé déclinante, il reste un innovateur infatigable jusqu'à sa mort en 1926. Monet laisse un héritage universel, incarnant la beauté et la modernité de l'art impressionniste. Merci pour votre écoute Vous aimez l'Heure H, mais connaissez-vous La Mini Heure H https://audmns.com/YagLLiK , une version pour toute la famille.Retrouvez l'ensemble des épisodes de l'Heure H sur notre plateforme Auvio.be :https://auvio.rtbf.be/emission/22750 Intéressés par l'histoire ? Vous pourriez également aimer nos autres podcasts : Un jour dans l'Histoire : https://audmns.com/gXJWXoQL'Histoire Continue: https://audmns.com/kSbpELwAinsi que nos séries historiques :Chili, le Pays de mes Histoires : https://audmns.com/XHbnevhD-Day : https://audmns.com/JWRdPYIJoséphine Baker : https://audmns.com/wCfhoEwLa folle histoire de l'aviation : https://audmns.com/xAWjyWCLes Jeux Olympiques, l'étonnant miroir de notre Histoire : https://audmns.com/ZEIihzZMarguerite, la Voix d'une Résistante : https://audmns.com/zFDehnENapoléon, le crépuscule de l'Aigle : https://audmns.com/DcdnIUnUn Jour dans le Sport : https://audmns.com/xXlkHMHSous le sable des Pyramides : https://audmns.com/rXfVppvVous aimez les histoires racontées par Jean-Louis Lahaye ? Connaissez-vous ces podcast?Sous le sable des Pyramides : https://audmns.com/rXfVppv36 Quai des orfèvres : https://audmns.com/eUxNxyFHistoire Criminelle, les enquêtes de Scotland Yard : https://audmns.com/ZuEwXVOUn Crime, une Histoire https://audmns.com/NIhhXpYN'oubliez pas de vous y abonner pour ne rien manquer.Et si vous avez apprécié ce podcast, n'hésitez pas à nous donner des étoiles ou des commentaires, cela nous aide à le faire connaître plus largement.

January 16, 1944 - From El Toro, California Alexis Smith makes guest appearance.  References include the Corsair aircraft with folding wings, Good Humor wagons, silent film actress Theda Bara, and Oscar Levant who names piano pieces on the game show "Informtion Please", 

If there's one thing I admire, it's the ability to blend passion and skill into something that inspires others, and that's exactly what Tim Flagler has done with Tightline Productions. During our conversation, Tim shared his journey of over 40 years in fly tying, 15 years on YouTube, and his channel's growth to 120,000 subscribers. He spoke about the evolution of fly tying from books to video tutorials, the family-driven effort behind his productions, and his hosted trips to incredible fishing destinations like Argentina and Montana. It was inspiring to hear his dedication to teaching, guiding, and creative innovation. With the combination of these fantastic qualities, it's no wonder Tim was voted as Fly Tyer Magazine's 2022 Fly Tyer of the Year. [01:10] Tim's YouTube Success[06:43] Tight Line Productions Team [11:47] The Evolution of Tight Line Productions [17:27] The Tech and Process of Fly Tying Video Production[41:25] Sourcing Materials and Tools [48:06] Fishing Adventures[57:02] Top Picks for Dry, Nymph, and Streamer Fishing Connect with Tim Flagler https://www.youtube.com/@tightlinevideo Thanks to our incredible sponsors:www.naturesspiritflytying.netwww.nor-vise.comcrosscurrentinsurance.comflyfishingshow.com

Lecture par l'autrice avec Francis Jolly (images) & François Marillier (musique) Soit, au départ, deux textes de Nancy Huston : Les nymphes, méditation poétique sur le plaisir féminin et son refoulement au long des âges, appel fervent à retrouver la myopie de Monet et ses Nymphéas, à ressusciter la joyeuse sensualité des nymphes contre l'atroce précision du regard scientifique et pornographique. Adam, terrifiant monologue d'une mère enjoignant son rejeton, neuf mois, à respecter pour l'instant les règles éthiques de base, sachant qu'une fois grand, vu qu'il fait partie des classes dominantes, il aura le droit de les fracasser allègrement. Mis côte à côte, ces deux textes explorent et déplorent le passage du polythéisme aux monothéismes… Et quand on y ajoute de la musique et les photographies de Francis Jolly, mots et images s'entrecroisent, se parlent, se renforcent, et cela devient un spectacle mordant, éclatant et troublant : Adam et les nymphes ! À lire – Nancy Huston, Adam et les nymphes, images de Francis Jolly, éd. Langage Pluriel, 2024

durée : 01:00:10 - Carole Benzaken, artiste peintre - par : Priscille Lafitte - En dialogue avec les Nymphéas et les Roses au Musée Marmottant-Monet où elle expose, l'artiste Carole Benzaken met aussi en regard ses peintures avec les compositions de John Cage, Jean-Sébastien Bach, Léopold Mozart et John Zorn. Par goût des contrastes saisissants de couleurs et de lumières. - réalisé par : Claire Lagarde

Grégoire Bouillet nous plonge dans une enquête captivante sur les Nymphéas de Monet. Lors d'une visite à l'Orangerie, il ressent un malaise face à ces chefs-d'œuvre. Intrigué, il en fait le sujet de son roman, où son détective Bimor explore les mystères derrière ces toiles, marquées par la Première Guerre mondiale et le deuil de Monet. Une réflexion inédite sur l'art, son sens et son impact. Prêts à percer le secret des Nymphéas ?Notre équipe a utilisé un outil d'Intelligence artificielle via les technologies d'Audiomeans© pour accompagner la création de ce contenu écrit.

In today's poem, while everyone else is dressing up to become something terrible, the acerbic Jonathan Swift gives us a domestic horror story in reverse. Happy reading.Anglo-Irish poet, satirist, essayist, and political pamphleteer Jonathan Swift was born in Dublin, Ireland. He spent much of his early adult life in England before returning to Dublin to serve as Dean of St. Patrick's Cathedral, Dublin for the last 30 years of his life. It was this later stage when he would write most of his greatest works. Best known as the author of A Modest Proposal (1729), Gulliver's Travels (1726), and A Tale Of A Tub (1704), Swift is widely acknowledged as the greatest prose satirist in the history of English literature.-bio via Poetry Foundation Get full access to The Daily Poem Podcast at dailypoempod.substack.com/subscribe

Sodoma a gomora, prekračovanie hraníc alebo nič nové iba starý dobrý sex na verejnosti? Vydali sme sa na jeden z najvýznamnejších erotických veletrhov erotiky na svete Venus, do Berlína! Aké to tam bolo? Čo všetko sme tam videli? So štipkou soli vám prinášame exkluzívne iba my! Bola to kolotočárska erotika? Lebo kolies na točenie tam bolo hafo! Ja som si zajazdila na obrom dilde, nechala som sa zavrieť do kukly z kožených povrazov a aj sme nakúpili! V epizóde zvažujem kúpu šukacieho stroja, ak máte názor dajte mi vedieť do kemntára prosím

durée : 00:07:35 - Nouvelles têtes - par : Marie Misset - Amélie Bertrand nous livre sa vision des Nymphéas de Claude Monet avec un accrochage inédit au Musée de l'Orangerie jusqu'au 27 janvier 2025. L'artiste peintre est l'invitée de Marie Misset. - réalisé par : Lucie Lemarchand

durée : 00:58:46 - La Conversation littéraire - par : Mathias Énard - En cette rentrée littéraire, Grégoire Bouillier publie "Le syndrome de l'Orangerie" aux éditions Flammarion. Devant les Nymphéas de Monet, le détective Bmore défaille puis enquête. L'universitaire Marie-Hélène Boblet viendra éclairer le sens du mot émerveillement dans la littérature du XXe s. - réalisation : Laure-Hélène Planchet, Rafik Zénine - invités : Grégoire Bouillier Ecrivain; Marie-Hélène Boblet Professeure de littérature française à l'Université de Normandie

durée : 00:48:07 - La 20e heure - par : Eva Bester - Auteur prodigue à l'œuvre riche, Grégoire Bouillier a publié le 21 août « Le Syndrome de l'Orangerie » chez Flammarion. Reprenant les traits du détective Bmore dans cette enquête, il s'obsède pour Monet et ses « Nymphéas », qui semblent cacher un secret. Promenade dans les sillons du grand œuvre.

Grasshoppers, both pest species and not, thrive in dry conditions. When back to back (to back) years end up in a dry cycle, grasshopper populations can explode and wipe out a crop. One year of higher moisture isn’t likely to undue that lifecycle bump, so farmers in Saskatchewan and Alberta need to stay vigilant on... Read More

Nise The Nymph is a Producer, Lyricist, & Artist. She has quickly turned heads in Louisville & New York hip-hop culture from her highly unique and lyrical approach.

This episode was originally posted on March 10, 2022. Josh Nugent of Out Fly Fishing in Calgary has been doing a series of “Seven Deadly Sins” podcasts with me over the past couple of years and this one is chock full of great advice [38:38]. Josh is a very preceptive angler and thinks deeply about how flies behave in the water and how trout react to them, and in the interview we go off on a number of tangents—all interesting and all about nymph fishing—and all of them with great advice on how to make your indicator nymphing game more fun and productive.  In the Fly Box this week, we have some great tips and questions from listeners, including: A terrific tip on why tying tube flies is a great way to get kids started What kind of other storage systems does Tom use around his roll-top desk? Where can I learn more about fly fishing for largemouth and smallmouth bass? What do you suggest for preventing cutoffs by chain pickerel? Can I use sitka or axis deer, antelope, or goat hair for fly tying? A great tip on replacing wing cases on smaller nymphs with a drop of UV cure resin Should I use my leader straightener? Can I do longline French/Spanish nymphing with a two-handed rod? How can I locate pinhole leaks ion my waders? How do older series of rods compare to the modern ones? What is better about the more recent models? I know your higher-end rods are made in Vermont, but where do the components come from? Why do Americans shoot and kill birds? What is a good two-line rotation for streamer fishing in Michigan? I kept my fiberglass rod in a hot car and now I notice it has a kink in it. Could the hot car have been the reason?

Aujourd'hui, je reçois Saido Lehlouh, chorégraphe, membre du collectif FAIR-E et de Bad Trip Crew, artiste associé au Théâtre de la Ville. Dans sa dernière pièce "Témoin", un ballet avec 20 danseurs interprètes emblématiques de la scène hip-hop, il clôture un cycle de créations initié avec "Apaches" et affirme pleinement les marqueurs de son écriture.  Tour à tour curateur, performeur, breaker, danseur ou créateur, il raconte ses vies de danse en construction permanente et indissociables du hip-hop et du collectif. On l'écoute avec joie,

Barbara Newhall Follett was considered a child prodigy when her first novel "The House Without Windows" was published at age 12 in 1927, and then she had vanished forever when she was 25 in 1939. What happened to Barbara? And what does her disappearance possibly have to do with another woman who vanished in New Hampshire in 1936, Elsie Whittemore? See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

News: Join us at the Fiber Witch Festival hosted by Circle of Stitches on April 20th 2024 in Salem, Massachusetts, there will be exclusive Valkyrie Fibers self striping and Kitty With A Cupcake merch galore! https://www.fiberwitchfestival.com/   FO: Lauren - a third Dotted Rays by Stephen West https://www.westknits.com/products/dotted-rays in Valkyrie Fibers Matte Sock leftovers from the Heirloom Temperature Blanket - 2 crochet hats in Big Twist pride yarn https://www.joann.com/4oz-medium-weight-anti-pilling-acrylic-199yd-living-yarn-by-big-twist/zprd_18208611a.html   Emily - ‘Something Blue' wedding socks for Shipping Maven Sarah, Knit Picks Hawthorne, Nymph colorway - WestKnits 2023 MKAL https://www.westknits.com/products/geogradient-westknits-mkal-2023 using Ken Yarns Ally AF colorway https://kenyarn.com/, Hedge Hog Fibers Birthday Cake colorway, Three Irish Girls DayGlo colorway, and La Bien Aimee Twist Nouveau base deep eggplant colorway   WIPS: Emily  - Northeasterly Blanket in Lantern Light Fellowship of the Rings Advent calendar mini skeins https://www.lanternlightyarn.com/ - Sock Arms Sweater https://www.tellybeanknits.com/sock-arms in Valkyrie Fibers Matte Sock, main color Lion and Garnet, Amenthyst, and Pearl for the sleeves - vanilla socks in Lang SuperSocks     Lauren - crochet hat in Big Twist pride yarn https://www.joann.com/4oz-medium-weight-anti-pilling-acrylic-199yd-living-yarn-by-big-twist/zprd_18208611a.html - socks in Serendipitous Wool's Lando Calrissian inspired sock set https://www.serendipitouswool.com/         Acquisitions:   Lauren - Anarcho-Indigenism (Essay Collection) https://www.akpress.org/anarcho-indigenism.html - Laughter in Ancient Rome by Mary Beard   Emily -  two tins of Crazy Aaron's Thinking Putty https://crazyaarons.com/     Occult Corner: Lauren found a hag stone on the beach in Mendocino and now you all have to hear about it!     Self Promotion:   Emily has an exclusive pin with Starlight Knitting Society for the Rose City Yarn Crawl! https://www.starlightknittingsociety.com/   Buy our things and support our fundraiser, please! Pronoun Pals coming soon   https://valkyriefiberstahoe.etsy.com www.kittywithacupcake.com

The Dark Nymph https://linktr.ee/TheDarkNymph Gaming Memories https://linktr.ee/gamingmemories

durée : 00:15:28 - Les Odyssées - par : Laure Grandbesançon. - Après des années de vache maigre, Monet dont le talent est enfin reconnu, s'installe à Giverny. Là il sculpte le paysage avant de le faire entrer dans ses toiles. Des fleurs, de l'eau et le mouvement de la lumière, le peintre invente un paysage pacifié à l'heure où le monde s'embrase.

We're taking the month of April to get ready for Season 21. We have three tales from Season 20's Premium episodes to keep you sleepless. “The Fireplace” written by Andrew Perkins (Story starts around 00:02:20) Produced & scored by: David Cummings Cast: Narrator – Mike DelGaudio, Wife – Mary Murphy “Grandma's Funeral” written by RenÈ Rehn (Story starts around 00:10:40) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Mark – Jeff Clement, Dad – Dan Zappulla, Uncle Thomas – Atticus Jackson, Grandma – Mary Murphy “Temple of the Satyr and the Nymph” written by Lisel Jones (Story starts around 00:21:05) Produced by: Jesse Cornett Cast: Laurel – Penny Scott-Andrews, Giles – David Ault, Kayli – Ash Millman, Documentarist – Andy Cresswell This episode is sponsored by: ShipStation – ShipStation makes it super easy to manage and ship all your online orders faster, cheaper and more efficiently. Keep growing your business all year long with ShipStation. Use promo code NOSLEEP today at shipstation.com to sign up for your FREE 60-day trial. Green Chef – Green Chef makes eating well easy with plans to fit every lifestyle. Whether youíre Keto, Paleo, Vegan, Vegetarian, Gluten-Free, or just looking to eat more balanced meals, Green Chef offers a range of recipes to suit your preferences. Go to greenchef.com/nosleep65 and use code nosleep50 to get 50% off plus 20% your next two months! Click here to learn more about The NoSleep Podcast team Click here to learn more about Andrew Perkins Executive Producer & Host: David Cummings Musical score composed by: Brandon Boone “Waiting for 21” illustration courtesy of Alexandra Cruz Audio program ©2024 – Creative Reason Media Inc. – All Rights Reserved – No reproduction or use of this content is permitted without the express written consent of Creative Reason Media Inc. The copyrights for each story are held by the respective authors.

News: Emily will be vending at the Lexington Comic Con from 3/7 - 3/10, come find her in booth 808! http://www.lexingtoncomiccon.com/ We are participating in the Knitathon fundraiser for Knit for Food which concludes on Saturday 3/23, help us reach our goal of $5k by donating under the Fiber Coven Podcast team, donors of $50 or more will be eligible for thank you gifts https://givebutter.com/knitforfood24/fibercoven Join us at the Fiber Witch Festival hosted by Circle of Stitches on April 20th 2024 in Salem, Massachusetts, there will be exclusive Valkyrie Fibers self striping and Kitty With A Cupcake merch galore! https://www.fiberwitchfestival.com/   FO: Lauren - crochet beanie in C1-10P self striping colorway, we decided that it should have a pony tail hole!       WIPS: Emily  - Northeasterly Blanket in Lantern Light Fellowship of the Rings Advent calendar mini skeins https://www.lanternlightyarn.com/ - WestKnits 2023 MKAL https://www.westknits.com/products/geogradient-westknits-mkal-2023 using Ken Yarns Ally AF colorway https://kenyarn.com/, Hedge Hog Fibers Birthday Cake colorway, Three Irish Girls DayGlo colorway, and La Bien Aimee Twist Nouveau base deep eggplant colorway - Sock Arms Sweater https://www.tellybeanknits.com/sock-arms in Valkyrie Fibers Matte Sock, main color Lion and Garnet, Amenthyst, and Pearl for the sleeves - ‘Something Blue' wedding socks for Shipping Maven Sarah, Knit Picks Hawthorne, Nymph colorway     Lauren - a third Dotted Rays by Stephen West https://www.westknits.com/products/dotted-rays in Valkyrie Fibers Matte Sock leftovers from the Heirloom Temperature Blanket - socks in Serendipitous Wool's Lando Calrissian inspired sock set https://www.serendipitouswool.com/         Acquisitions: nothing this week! Take that, Capitalism!       Occult Corner: we recorded on Valentine's Day, so of course we talked about The Lovers tarot card!     Self Promotion:   Buy our things and support our fundraiser, please! Pronoun Pals coming soon   https://valkyriefiberstahoe.etsy.com www.kittywithacupcake.com

In this episode we WadeOutThere with Jon Easdon, from Colorado Springs, Colorado.  Jon grew up in Colorado fishing with his father, who took him to a fly shop when he became fascinated with fly fishing as a boy.  Jon has been fly fishing his entire life since then, and now guides in that same fly shop, Anglers Covey.  There, he continues to follow his passion on the water and off the water, welcoming new folks to the sport he loves.  We discuss presentation while nymphing, the South Platte River, as well as fishing and tying midges.  Jon also shares how finding sobriety saved his life and his relationship with the river.  And why he truly believes there are “No bad days” in fly fishing.To learn more about Jon and the topics we discussed in this episode, or to schedule a guided trip, check out the following links:Instagram: @hookset_flyfishingAnglerscovey.comReelinginserenity.comUmpqua.comNewsletter Sign-UpView Jason's ArtworkThanks for listening.VR- Jason

It's Episode 21 of Season 20. Come join us around the campfire for tales about gods and monsters. “Herders” written by William Meikle (Story starts around 00:03:40) Produced by: Jeff Clement Cast: Narrator – Erika Sanderson, Brian – Jake Benson, Dave – Guy Woodward “Terms and Conditions” written by Seann Barbour (Story starts around 00:32:00) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Narrator – James Cleveland “The Mirabelles” written by Dixon March (Story starts around 00:45:25) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Narrator – Erin Lillis “My Soul to Keep” written by Ray Tardigrade (Story starts around 01:05:00) TRIGGER WARNING! Produced & scored by: David Cummings Cast: Narrator – Jeff Clement “My Pastor Brought Something Strange to Church” written by Ryan Millhollin (Story starts around 01:21:10) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Shelly – Sarah Thomas, Pedro – Atticus Jackson, Pastor Tim – Peter Lewis, Momma – Erin Lillis “Temple of the Satyr and the Nymph” written by Lisel Jones (Story starts around 01:37:15) TRIGGER WARNING! Produced by: Jesse Cornett Cast: Laurel – Penny Scott-Andrews, Giles – David Ault, Kayli – Ash Millman, Documentarist – Andy Cresswell This episode is sponsored by: Tender Beasts - Tender Beasts by Liselle Sambury. If you like mind-bending YA psychological horror stories that keep you up at night, you donít want to miss Tender Beasts. Available wherever books are sold! Click here to learn more about The NoSleep Podcast team Click here to learn more about William Meikle Click here to learn more about Seann Barbour Click here to learn more about Ryan Millhollin Executive Producer & Host: David Cummings Musical score composed by: Brandon Boone “Temple of the Satyr and the Nymph” illustration courtesy of Jen Tracy Audio program ©2024 – Creative Reason Media Inc. – All Rights Reserved – No reproduction or use of this content is permitted without the express written consent of Creative Reason Media Inc. The copyrights for each story are held by the respective authors.

This espresso shot solo episode is an excerpt from my recent Masterclass: 2024: Your Breakthrough Year. In this episode, I discuss the signs of receiving inner guidance, the importance of building self-trust, and the invitation to accept that the universe doesn't make mistakes. I also dive into the four areas of life that contribute to abundance or suffering. Tune in to clarify your values and learn to discern the true voice within. Get the full recording at markgroves.com/2024 —Full Masterclass recording: https://mark-groves.mykajabi.com/Masterclass-2024-sign-up —Follow me on Instagram - @createthelove: https://www.instagram.com/createthelove —Subscribe to my Newsletter: https://mark-groves.mykajabi.com/newsletter —Subscribe to my Substack: https://markgroves.substack.com —Follow me on Facebook - @createthelove: https://www.facebook.com/createthelove —Get My New Book! Liberated Love - Release Codependent Patterns and Create the Love You Desire: https://a.co/d/91ElXvN If you want to dive deeper into my content, search through every episode, find specific topics I've covered, and ask me questions, go to my Dexa page: https://dexa.ai/markgroves Themes: Authenticity, Belonging, Relationships, Boundaries, Self-Worth, Self-Love, Transformation, Mental Health, Purpose, Abundance, Liberation, Integrity, Holistic Health, Truth, Self-Trust, Values 0:00:00 Intro + Annoying Signs of Inner Guidance 0:00:38 Acts of Trust and Sacrifice for Personal Evolution 0:01:30 Embracing Present Circumstances for Growth 0:02:11 How Rejecting Initiation Causes Anxiety and Control Issues 0:03:03 Growing Wings through Self-Trust and Recognizing Miracles 0:03:35 Trusting Yourself: The First Step Towards Growth 0:04:18 The Transformation of a Nymph into a Dragonfly 0:05:14 Finding Purpose in Life's Challenges 0:06:09 Identifying Values for a Foundation of Abundance 0:06:24 Liberation: Freedom to Be Who You Are 0:07:38 Integrity: Living in Alignment with Your Truth 0:08:02 Bringing Ourselves Alive Through Self-Expression 0:08:29 Creating a Beautiful Strategy for Liberation 0:08:45 The Importance of Alignment and Integrity 0:09:23 Choosing Relationships that Align with Your Values This episode is sponsored by Cozy Earth: Use code GROVES for 40% off sitewide at http://www.cozyearth.com Drop us a note at podcast@markgroves.com for sponsor product support, questions, comments, guest suggestions, or just to say hello! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Show Notes: https://wetflyswing.com/564  Presented by: Northern Rockies Adventures, Angler's Coffee, Togiak River Lodge Sponsors: https://wetflyswing.com/sponsors     In this episode, we had the absolute pleasure of chatting with none other than Jim Teeny, a true legend in the fly fishing world, about king salmon fishing. From creating the game-changing Teeny Nymph to revolutionizing fly lines, Jim's done it all. So, grab a cup of your favorite brew, kick back, and let me take you through some of the highlights from our conversation with Jim. Episode Chapters with Jim Teeny on King Salmon Fishing 00:01:36 - Jim shares his upcoming trips with us including his trip to Jurassic Lake in Argentina where he once caught a giant rainbow trout. 00:03:16 - He takes us down memory lane to the 1960s. Imagine this: Jim and his buddy head out to Oregon's East Lake, not knowing they're about to make fly fishing history. That's where the iconic Teeny Nymph was born. And the fly lines? Well, Jim's quest to better sink rates led to a friendly chat with Scientific Anglers, sparking a revolution in how we think about fly lines. Who knew a simple idea could change so much? 00:09:50 - According to Jim, if the water is high in Alaska, the kings will often be on the brackish side of the water. When he's fishing there, he mostly uses his TS-Series and a short leader like three to four feet. When targeting chinooks, he uses a single-hand rod. 00:17:38 - Jim's philosophy on fishing, "I spot 'em I got 'em", is pretty straightforward – if you can see the fish, you can catch it. He swears by polarized glasses and a keen eye. During our talk, he shared some epic moments on steelhead fishing. It's all about reading and understanding the water and being in the right place at the right time. He also details how he would present a fly to the fish. 00:24:49 - He shares a story that he also wrote in his book titled "Fly Fishing Great Waters". One day on their teeny flies and fly lines, they hooked 77 king salmon. Talking about King Salmon with Jim is like listening to an action-packed adventure novel. He's fished from Alaska to the Pacific Northwest and has stories that'll make your reel spin. 00:41:12 - He gives us valuable tips on fishing for Sockeye salmon in Alaska. He mentions the colors that would get you sockeyes and kings, but their number one is hot pink. He also shares about that time when he won a fishing tournament on saltwater. 00:49:18 - Jim's not one to stay put. He shares tales of his fishing trips around the globe. Each adventure is a mix of stunning scenery, amazing catches, and great company. It's like taking a world tour while chasing after the next big catch. 00:55:08 - He briefly shares how he came to start up a business in fly fishing. 1:00:47 - He gives a shout-out to John Randolph, editor of the Fly Fisherman magazine, and Lefty Kreh whom he looks up to in the industry. Show Notes: https://wetflyswing.com/564 

Looking at some of the only NC-17-rated films of recent years, Henry tells the story of addiction in Lars von Trier's Nymphomaniac Vol. I & Vol. II then questions his sexuality for Abdellatif Kechiche's Blue Is the Warmest Colour plus he also talks Ferrari, My Week with Marilyn, and Gladiator.0:00 - Intro: New Bonus Shows AVAILABLE NOW Below!3:46 - Review: Nymphomaniac Vol. I & Vol. II27:22 - Review: Blue Is the Warmest Colour37:17 - Picks of the Week: Ferrari, My Week with Marilyn, and Gladiator43:45 - OutroBuy Bonus Shows: FilmBuds.Bandcamp.comBecome a Member: Patreon.com/FilmBudsFollow Film Buds:Film Buds on InstagramFilm Buds on TwitterFilm Buds on FacebookFilm Buds on Bandcamp (Bonus Shows & Donations)Send Us Suggestions/Questions/Comments: TheFilmBudsPodcast@gmail.comOur Other Podcasts:Music BudsFrankenFilmsElle DeWeese Photography:Instagram: @ElleDeWeesePhotographyLLCFacebook: @ElleDeWeesePhotographyLLCWebsite: Elle DeWeese Photography LLC

Welcome to DreamTime #4, Lurid Listeners! For a few days now, I've been thinking about this dream. I think I have a fuller story that needs to be written from it, or maybe you can take a crack at it. I woke up incredibly amorous after this one. This dream felt like it was packed with texture and exquisite sexual angst, as I (an apparent tree nymph?) was on a mission (with 666 rats by my side) to climb up into an old majestic oak tree, in order to "work" my way back down. My descent was spent chasing after orgasms--one after the other--after the other . . . using special-made "toys." Why? Because "He" was there, waiting for me. Watching. ----------------------- Thank you for being here and for listening to another #DreamTime episode. If you are able to support our show and would like to hear more erotic stories, head over to Audible and search Rose Caraway. We've got lots of great audiobooks waiting for you there. Don't forget to leave us a review, they help more than you know!! Follow us on Twitter! (Yep, we still call it Twitter, lol!) The Kiss Me Quick's: @theKMQ ***(If you follow and tweet the show "I ♥ the KMQ," we'll send you a free audiobook!)*** Rose Caraway: @RoseCaraway Dayv Caraway: @BigDaddyDayv Stupid Fish Productions: @StupidFishPro The Amatory Garden (New posts are coming! Audio and Blog! Stay tuned!): @AmatoryGarden All My Love, Rose Caraway --------------------- *Photo of the original old oak tree. *First frame of the storyboard I began for this story:

In the final episode of our End-of-Year Celebration, John, Chris, and Bronwyn present their favorite comics, novels, films, video games, and more! Plus, the whole crew discusses Flame Con and their favorite Talking Comics moments overall!Books:The Comic Book Podcast is brought to you by Talking Comics (www.talkingcomicbooks.com). The podcast is hosted by Steve Seigh, Bob Reyer, Joey Braccino, Aaron Amos, Chris Ceary, and John Burkle, who dissect everything comics-related weekly, from breaking news to new releases. Our Twitter handle is @TalkingComics, and you can email us at podcast@talkingcomicbooks.com.

My guest this week is the great George Daniel [42:00], who is always pushing the envelope, evolving and experimenting.  He tells us why he uses a 10-foot fly rod for nearly all of his trout fishing, even in smaller streams and he also introduces a new nymphing technique he has been experimenting with.   In the Fly Box this week, we have a great variety of questions and tips, including: Can I use a poly leader in salt water for stripers? Why do I find fewer and smaller fish in low water conditions later in the season? How often do you find yourself adjusting indicator depth in medium and large rivers? What should I do with the reject flies from my tying bench? Is a bow-and-arrow cast stealthier than a roll cast in small streams? I see large crayfish in a stream.  Why don't I see smaller crayfish? Are fiberglass rods more sensitive than graphite rods? Do creek chubs compete with brown trout? What can I do to keep the wings on my parachute flies at 90 degrees once I start fishing them? I found I could double haul better with some Orvis rods I tried than with entry level rods I have.  Is it simply the difference between a premium rod and my current lower level rods? I keep breaking off coho salmon.  What could I be doing wrong? Can I fish egg and worm patterns and streamers with my 7-foot, 4-weight rod? A tip from a listener—if you want to find out where trout live in a particular river, observe them from a bridge. Is there an organization devoted specifically to smallmouth bass?

Join Kat and Jethro as they uncover the bone-chilling tale of Ed Gein, one of history's most infamous figures. Step into the shadowy depths of Ed Gein's twisted mind, exploring the horrific crimes and shocking discoveries that earned him the title of the "Butcher of Plainfield." Discover the macabre details of his murderous spree; the eerie human remains he transformed into grotesque souvenirs, and the psychological darkness that consumed him. This chilling account of true crime will send shivers down your spine and make you question the depths of human depravity.After the bone-chilling true crime story, let us transport you to the lighter side of the supernatural as we unveil the enigmatic legend of Slattenpatten and her intriguing feature—her extraordinarily large breasts. Join Kat and Jethro as they embark on a journey into folklore, exploring the curious tales surrounding the legendary Slattenpatten. Discover the whimsical stories and myths that have circulated through the ages, delving into the origins, cultural significance, and enduring fascination surrounding this peculiar legend. Prepare to be both amused and bewildered by the peculiar nature of Slattenpatten's tale.Join The Box of Oddities hosts for an unforgettable episode where the dark and light sides of human curiosity intertwine. Delve into the horrifying crimes of Ed Gein and then find solace in the peculiar and lighthearted legend of Slattenpatten. Whether you're drawn to the depths of true crime or yearn for the whimsy of folklore, this episode promises to leave you captivated and craving more. Unlock the secrets behind these two extraordinary topics, offering a fascinating blend of the macabre and the whimsical.Check out the Podurama Podcast Player Here!See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.