Podcasts about supremacists

Today's episode is about a shocking older murder. And of course there are some true crime updates.This podcast was made possible by www.labrottiecreations.com Check out their merchandise and specifically their fun pop pet art custom pieces made from photos of your very own pets. Use the promo code CRIMEXS for 20% off a fun, brightly colored, happy piece of art of your own pet at their site.Music in this episode was licensed for True Crime XS. Our theme song is No Scars from slip.fmYou can reach us at our website truecrimexs.com and you can leave us a voice message at 252-365-5593. Find us most anywhere with @truecrimexsThanks for listening. Please like and subscribe if you want to hear more and you can come over to patreon.com/truecrimexs and check out what we've got going on there if you'd like to donate to fund future True Crime XS road trip investigations and FOIA requests. We also have some merchandise up at Teepublic http://tee.pub/lic/mZUXW1MOYxMSources:www.namus.govwww.thecharleyproject.comwww.newspapers.comFindlaw.comVarious News Sources Mentioned by NameAd Information:New Era Caps: https://zen.ai/dWeCYLHxxANOaZ6NcKocEwLiquid IV: Link: https://zen.ai/45lYmDnWl1Z3cR66LBX5mAZencastr: Link: https://zen.ai/SFkD99OGWGNz_plc2c_Yaw

This is Frank Gaffney with the Secure Freedom Minute.  Eighty years ago today, the Second World War in Europe ended. Amidst celebrations of the anniversary, there's widespread cognitive dissonance – psychologists' term for an inability to perceive what one doesn't want to see. European elites in particular profess concerns about the possibility of another invasion of their lands, this time by Russian dictator Vladimir Putin. They bemoan President Trump's purported diminished commitment to Europe's security in light of Chinese preparations for war that our Indo-Pacific commander recently described as at a “rapid boil.” The truth is that Europe has already been invaded by millions of illegal immigrants best described as Sharia-supremacists for their attachment to Islam's totalitarian code which requires that its adherents engage in jihad and conquest. Europe's collective failure to address – and mitigate – this threat may mean the next victory there will be celebrated by freedom's enemies, not its friends. This is Frank Gaffney.

Three viral videos are circulating on social media of women making racially charged statements. The women in question are also of three different races, or mixes thereof, one being “white,” another Indian-Fijian, and the last “Chinese.” In all three cases the women use the word “nigger” or “niggah” to describe a person with dark skin. The context is also not provided, as all three videos are under 60 seconds. Based on what is known, one of the videos may even be a stunt to make money, with the woman in question having generated nearly three-quarters of a million dollars in a few days to “help protect my family.”The reaction is the same either way: the entitled use the videos as evidence of their victimhood, while others use them to justify their own raw bigotry. Between these extremes is the question of how the “white supremacist” side deals with a Chinese girl saying something they ultimately agree with, or how the “stop asian hate” side deals with an asian harassing blacks. These extremes neglect three other important details: what does “white” or “black” even mean, why does this take precedent over nearly everything else with one exception in the racial hierarchy, and what the origin of the word “nigger” even is. In case of the latter, the term comes from the Spanish “negro” and Latin “niger.” It was adopted initially to describe the skin of Africans. It later was turned into a slur, and due to accents and dialects became “nigger.” Still later the term changed again for the same reasons into “niggah,” which describes a behavior rather than a physical characteristic. The reality is despite there being a subset of truly raw supremacists in any society, average people tend to dislike a person who is loud, obnoxious, immoral, and disrespectful. This reality also holds that racial slurs, feelings of supremacy, and the like are not only universal, but are not, and should never be, illegal in the United States. Grow up.*The is the FREE archive, which includes advertisements. If you want an ad-free experience, you can subscribe below underneath the show description.-FREE ARCHIVE (w. ads)SUBSCRIPTION ARCHIVEX / TWITTER FACEBOOKMAIN WEBSITECashApp: $rdgable EMAIL: rdgable@yahoo.com / TSTRadio@protonmail.comBecome a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/the-secret-teachings--5328407/support.

Host Noam Weissman explores the controversial ideas, and long-lasting influence of Meir Kahane—American-born rabbi, founder of the Jewish Defense League, and pioneer of the far-right ideology known as Kahanism. Once dismissed as a fringe figure, Kahane's ideas are making a troubling comeback, echoed in memes, political platforms, and even Israeli policy debates. Noam goes beyond the headlines to ask: Who was Meir Kahane--really? What did he believe? Why do some Jews say he was “right”—while others see him as a terrorist and racist? Featuring insights from historian Gil Troy, Orthodox thinkers, and voices across the political spectrum, this episode examines Kahane's life, legacy, and the resurgence of Jewish extremism in the wake of October 7. Click here for the sources used in this episode. Follow Unpacking Israeli History on Instagram and check us out on youtube. Please note that our email address has changed. You can now email noam@unpacked.media. This podcast was brought to you by Unpacked, a division of OpenDor Media. ------------------- For other podcasts from Unpacked, check out: Jewish History Nerds Soulful Jewish Living Stars of David with Elon Gold Wondering Jews

We live in America-first times. But what if we applied that instinct to a pro-Earth party? On a break from NASA's office above the Seinfeld diner, a leading scientist visits Pablo to power-rank the human viability of our solar system — and get excited about being part of the solution... instead of Elon Musk's vision of discount Bladerunner on Mars. Plus: Pablo's recruiting trip to SpaceX, why weather should be optional, The Independence Day Solution, witchcraft, livestock burps and life on a giant fart moon. • Pre-order: "Human Nature: Nine Ways to Feel About Our Changing Planet" • Previously: How to Re-Make the Climate-Change Horror Movie as a Rom-Com Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

We live in America-first times. But what if we applied that instinct to a pro-Earth party? On a break from NASA's office above the Seinfeld diner, a leading scientist visits Pablo to power-rank the human viability of our solar system — and get excited about being part of the solution... instead of Elon Musk's vision of discount Bladerunner on Mars. Plus: Pablo's recruiting trip to SpaceX, why weather should be optional, The Independence Day Solution, witchcraft, livestock burps and life on a giant fart moon. • Pre-order: "Human Nature: Nine Ways to Feel About Our Changing Planet" • Previously: How to Re-Make the Climate-Change Horror Movie as a Rom-Com Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Monday was National Abortion Provider Appreciation Day. What kind of mess is that? Ben & Jerry's joins in the abortion push and suggests if you don't approve of abortion, you're a "white supremacist."To watch on YouTube, click here.RELEVANT LINKS: https://www.instagram.com/p/DHB4WtePo2w/ https://abortioncarenetwork.org/abortion-provider-appreciation-day/ https://www.cdc.gov/mmwr/volumes/73/ss/ss7307a1.htm#:~:text=White%20women%20had%20the%20lowest,abortions%20per%201%2C000%20live%20births). https://www.pewresearch.org/short-reads/2024/03/25/what-the-data-says-about-abortion-in-the-us/#:~:text=Looking%20at%20abortion%20rates%20among,the%20rest%20of%20New%20York. SUBSCRIBE, LIKE, SHARE, AND COMMENT RESPECTFULLY. Subscribe to the MAIN CHANNEL, The Adrienne Ross Show: https://www.youtube.com/@TheAdrienneRossShow If you appreciate my content and would like to donate: Cash App: $AdrienneRossCom Venmo: @Adrienne-Ross-25 Thank YOU! FOLLOW MY WRITING ON SUBSTACK: https://adrienneross.substack.com/ BMG NETWORK: https://www.thebmgnetwork.com/theadriennerossshow WEBSITE: https://www.adriennerosscom.com FOLLOW ADRIENNE ROSS COMMUNICATIONS ON SOCIAL MEDIA: Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AdrienneRossCommunications Twitter: https://twitter.com/AdrienneRossCom CONNECT WITH ME ON SOCIAL MEDIA: Twitter: https://twitter.com/Adrienne2012 Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/adriennerossny2mo/ God bless you abundantly! Get full access to Adrienne Ross Communications at adrienneross.substack.com/subscribe

The online white supremacist group 'Terrorgram' is being sanctioned by the Federal Government. NAB has become the first of the big four banks to cut its fixed rate mortgages, ahead of this month's Reserve Bank meeting. AND Kanye West's wife has shocked on the Grammy's red carpet! See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

The online white supremacist group 'Terrorgram' is being sanctioned by the Federal Government. NAB has become the first of the big four banks to cut its fixed rate mortgages, ahead of this month's Reserve Bank meeting. AND Kanye West's wife has shocked on the Grammy's red carpet! See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

This morning, our Victory Coalition opens a new front in the war to save our country. My colleague, John Guandolo, and I will brief Steve Bannon's vast War Room audience concerning a mortal threat we face here, as well as elsewhere. Since at least 9/11, we've been told America confronts “terrorists” who inexplicably use violence against us and others. Actually, they are overwhelmingly Muslims who adhere to the Islamic totalitarian doctrine of Sharia and follow its dictates to engage in jihad to terrify and conquer. Fortunately, not all Muslims practice Sharia. Unfortunately, the authorities of the faith and millions of others do – including those at war with Israel. They seek to inflict the same on us to achieve global Islamic domination. If we are to survive, let alone prevail, we must recognize and act on these hard realities. Follow us at VictoryCo.org. This is Frank Gaffney.

What would that look like

Go to https://expressvpn.com/winston and find out how you can get 3 months of ExpressVPN free!Maajid Nawaz, writer, activist, politcal commentator and author of the book ‘Radical: My Journey out of Islamist Extremism' joins me to discuss the truth about the British-Pakistani r*pe gangs.As co-founder of Quilliam, he explains their 2017 report which found that 84% of gang CSE in the UK was perpetrated specifically by Pakistani-Brits.We explore why and how this systemic failure of Britain's most vulnerable children happened. The failed ideologies, the gang behaviour, and its roots in Pakistan and Afghanistan.We also discussed social cohesion in Britain, relations between Muslims and and non-Muslims and the attitudes of “Muslim supremacists” who dominate the airwaves.All this and much more…-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------To see more exclusive content and interviews consider subscribing to my substack here: https://www.winstonmarshall.co.uk/-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------FOLLOW ME ON SOCIAL MEDIA:Substack: https://www.winstonmarshall.co.uk/X: https://twitter.com/mrwinmarshallInsta: https://www.instagram.com/winstonmarshallLinktree: https://linktr.ee/winstonmarshall----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Chapters 00:00 - Introduction 02:15 - British Muslims and De-Radicalization 12:10 - Complicity and Cover-Up in Grooming Gangs18:21 - Motivations and Justifications for Grooming Gangs 24:40 - Muslim Supremacists and Their Influence 55:56 - Challenges of Multiculturalism and Integration 56:44 - Practical Solutions and the Role of Law and Order 1:03:22 - British Identity and Cultural Heritage 1:05:39 - The Impact of Consumerism and the Need for Spirituality 1:06:531:10:15 - The Emiratis' Ban on British Entities and Islamism 1:15:27 - The Potential of Post-Islamist Governance in Syria 1:19:32 - The Role of Nigel Farage in British Politics 1:24:13 - The Impact of Trust and Corruption on British Muslim Voting Patterns 1:28:49 - Closing Thoughts Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Welcome to the start of the second quarter of the 21st century. In the Chinese zodiac, 2025 is a year of the Snake, a period of extreme transformation as old ways are shed and new ones adopted. It seems like an apt description of what the coming year will be like. Things are going to change and if the news of this week is any indication, that change is so sweeping and encompassing, it is creating its own vortex in which all that falls in gets weirder and weirder and weirder. Here's a short list of some of the strange stuff we look at this week. Google has decided to be a start-up again. Apple is trying to save Google from the DOJ preferring the status quo over alternatives. Elon Musk's arguments have attracted odd bedfellows in his suit against OpenAI. Kekius Maximus rules Supremacists, and OpenAI's o3 cheated its ARC-AGI test and isn't that smart after all. That's just a start to the strange as we start this new year. We also talk about a lot of Google and Bingly stuff. Best wishes for 2025.Support this podcast at — https://redcircle.com/webcology/donationsAdvertising Inquiries: https://redcircle.com/brandsPrivacy & Opt-Out: https://redcircle.com/privacy

Dan offers his legal services, free of charge, to Pete Hegseth after former NAACP lawyer Sherilyn Ifill casually refers to the Secretary of Defense nominee as 'a known white supremacist.' This is an obvious case of slander.Celebrating the nomination of Robert F. Kennedy, Jr. as the next Secretary of Health and Human Services in a concerted effort to 'Make America Healthy Again.'

Patching things up with Yasmin  and  Nikita plus complications. In 25 parts, edited from the works of FinalStand. Listen and subscribe to the ► Podcast at Connected.. “Strength is equal parts Body and the Mind, but true strength comes from a relentless Spirit.” (Late Saturday Morning) "Why is she here?" Yasmin asked me, giving a nod toward Buffy. Buffy was a good ten meters away, technically fulfilling her duty as my bodyguard. Yasmin had agreed to meet me at a park. "Her name is Buffy Dubois and she's my bodyguard for the weekend," I explained. "At least I'm back at my apartment." "What happens with her if you don't go back to work Monday?" Yasmin inquired. "Does your 'bodyguard' kill you?" "Nah, not Buffy," I gave a lop-sided grin. "My co-workers believe in overkill. I bet they'll send at least three to make it nice, swift and quiet." "Why do you joke about this?" Yasmin studied me. "As opposed to what?" I chuckled. "Lashing out is futile. Running isn't much better. I chose to fight when I must, love when I can and laugh when I should be crying." "Do you think they will come after me?" she murmured. What Yasmin really wanted to know was if her 3-year old son was in danger. From everything I'd learned and seen about Yasmin, she was tough as nails. I had given this some serious thought. I couldn't read Katrina's, or Hayden's minds, so I had to go on my limited experience. Yasmin had seen and heard a great deal yet Elsa let her walk away, and that had definitely been Elsa's doing. Elsa was the worst kind of racial Supremacist; the benevolent one. She didn't base her status on some pseudo-scientific mumbo-jumbo. She based it on the feats of her ancestors, the training she had endured and the devotion she and her sisters dedicated to their craft; violence. She was better than the rest of humanity because she could kill us if she desired and take what she wanted. We had what we had, even our lives, because she allowed it and she had no orders to the contrary. That was her generosity; her benevolent act. "Might," I sighed. "If I fuck up my balancing act, they might use you to hurt me, or as an object lesson." Yasmin's face clouded with anger. "Why did you invite me over if you thought things would develop this way?" Yasmin glared. "Not being insane, I cannot fathom the minds of the insane," I reasoned. "As soon as I find a way around one challenge, they throw up something new. I certainly didn't know there was a 'members only' facility along with a gym for the rest of us peons." She looked down at her hands. "They really are some kind of crazy cult," she muttered. She sighed. "You can't get out and now they know I exist; this is screwed up. What are we going to do?" She could be referring to herself and her son, or herself and me. "I've got some money," I said. "A few thousand. I can get you plane tickets and you two can take off somewhere safer than here." "You are a real man," Yasmin slowly smiled. What? Sensing my confusion. "You take responsibility for your actions, protect the weak and those in need, and you are brave in the face of pain and adversity. Where I come from, that is the definition of a man." "Funny; where I come from that is the definition of bad Hollywood scriptwriting," I grinned. "Ha," she laughed. She'd decided to stick around and fuck me despite the specter of eminent death. She was not callous to the fate of her child. Far from it. The only ally she had in this fight was me. She'd beat the fuck out of her husband with a bullet in her shoulder. When surrounded by hostile Amazons she still struggled to get to my side. "What about your Jason Statham?" she prodded. "He's English. Besides, I prefer Chiaki Kuriyama," I eyebrow pumped. "There is something about a chick with cast-iron balls." "Who?" Yasmin searched her memories. "Gogo Yubari from Kill Bill Volume 1," I informed her. Yasmin thought that over. "That girl was clearly insane!" she thumped my chest. "Believe me, female mental health issues have never stopped me in the past," I shrugged. "I'm beginning to think you have low standards," Yasmin smirked. "That implies you think more of me than most women who actually know me," I snorted. "Let's go get something to eat. There is a place that serves authentic Acarajé and Vatapá close by," Yasmin stood and took my hand. I went with her. "So, what are those things you mentioned?" I asked. "You'll have to wait and find out. I owe you a few dozen surprises after what you've put me through," she teased. After a few seconds, I started laughing. Yasmin was confused. "As bad as it is going to be for me, think how rough it is going to be on Buffy," I chuckled. "As far as I know, she doesn't even speak Portuguese, much less traveled to Brazil." The restaurant taught me a few things. Yasmin was a regular, the men knew her and were afraid of her. A little bit of eye-ball psychology taught me that Yasmin was apparently a one woman domestic abuse arbitrator. Translation: if you were a man who hit your wife, or girlfriend, she pointed you to the closest Emergency Room after she was done with you. In Brazil, men could use the 'machismo' defense; basically, the bitch had it coming because she threatened my manhood. In Yasmin's New York City, machismo worked a 'little' differently. Essentially, there wasn't a 'straight' Brazilian man alive who would admit that Yasmin, a woman, had beat the ever-living Hell out of them. The Brazilian ladies who stopped by introduced me to another quaint Yasmin term. It was called 'parroting'. Parroting was what happened when some asshole became a real, repeat problem. Yasmin dragged them to the roof of whatever building she found the dumbass in and threw him off; technically aiming for the closest dumpster. The men often flapped and squawked like parrots as the plummeted down, thus the term. Women were stopping by because I appeared to be an aberration; a man on a date with Yasmin. Best of all, 80% of the conversation in a language I didn't know. The first serious question thus caught me out of the blue. "Do you date many women?" one sultry number purred. "I'm not sure I would say 'many'," responded after some feigned concentration. "I only date women from Manhattan; and the Tri-State Area; pretty much the East Coast; and the Ohio Valley and the Mississippi Valley. I should include the Deep South; okay, maybe every women this side of the Rockies; and the West Coast; Hawaii and Alaska would be a change of pace as well." "I've met some nice Asian girls," I continued to muse, "and South America is looking real promising at the moment. At this point," I looked over the small clique of women hanging about, "ignoring Africa, Europe, India and the Middle East would be short-sighted." "Do you fuck as good as you exaggerate, (along with some pet name I didn't know)?" the waitress asked. I could so do her. "No," I sighed. "I'm a virgin boy fresh out of Catholic School and have never known the intimate touch of a woman." For a second, they all wanted to believe that. Guys aren't the only ones who want to 'break in' a virgin, believe me. I've used the 'I'm a nervous virgin uncertain if I want to attempt sex' mystique more than once. It is a win-win. Sexually under-confident women know they won't be judged against any other women and when the sex becomes stellar, they think they are great teachers so they become more willing to experiment. After all, if they get it wrong, I; the young virgin; won't know the difference. Now, it is not that I always lie. It is just that the truth doesn't normally get me what I want. As an example, if a girl is terrible at giving a blowjob; don't tell her that. Tell her she's doing fine, but maybe this (a technique you know works) might feel different (i.e. better/less painful). Sure, I lied to her. Instead of making her upset and not want to continue in the art of fellatio, she learned a valuable lesson and will not only make me happy, she'll make happy every other man she is with later. Others can keep their slavish devotion to honesty. I'd rather dispense happiness. Besides, I'll give them other reasons to be pissed with me soon enough. "Hardly," Yasmin laughed. "I imagine the closest you've come to religion is thanking God when you've discovered your date had a horny sister and was willing to share." "Wow; break room talk much," I had the decency to appear embarrassed. "Why yes," Yasmin smirked. "Ms. Reichmann was very expressive in her recounting of your bedroom antics with her and her sister after the sister's date passed out." "To be fair, I hadn't had sex all day and I was kind of wound up," I offered up. "Do you like toying with women's affections?" my original questioner asked. "Wha; wait," I frowned. "You think I'm going out with Yasmin because I want to have sex with her?" Of course I was. "She's interesting and we both practice Brazilian jujutsu." "Why would I hunt down a studio when I found a perfectly good practitioner on the job? Plus, my work place had the sparring mats," I explained. Remember, when lying, tell a lie your audience wants to believe. Yasmin was a feminine titan, standing alone (with her son) against a hostile male world. The women around me counted on that. Dating a hot, physically fit hunk for the purpose of sexual gratification was totally realistic. Dating me because I knew her martial arts style was far less believable, but made them happier, so they went with option B; the workout buddy. "The truth must be like gold to you," Yasmin snickered. "It is so valuable, you hardly ever use it." She looked at her buddies. "I have wrestled him to the mat and he was VERY interested." "Yasmin, that wasn't me hard. When aroused, I'm much bigger," I pleaded. "Liar," she smacked me in the bicep. "I need to take care of something. Don't run off with him," she told the girls; in English; for my benefit. Yasmin left our small table and headed for Buffy who was leaning against the wall right inside the doorway. I couldn't overhear what they were saying. Buffy smiled, nodded and took a table. A minute later, Yasmin had ordered food for Buffy then came back my way. "Is that your girlfriend?" my waitress asked. Why she wasn't working wasn't clear to me. "No, she's his bodyguard," Yasmin interrupted. "Yes, she is," I countered half a second later. I looked at Yasmin. "You know that woman who beat me into the ground?" I met Yasmin's gaze. She nodded. "Well, she was giving Buffy crap for all kinds of reason; only peripherally for befriending me. I didn't have sex with her to get back at that lady. I did it because she needed me and I needed her. After this, we can't engage in intercourse for; 71 days. It's complicated." "Sex with you is some sort of gift?" another one taunted. "Absolutely," I grinned. "Ask every other woman I've been with. Hell, they love me so much, when we break up they normally take some sort of weapon to me, books being the most popular, but I've been shot at, stabbed, punched, slapped and wracked too." There was a moment of silence. Yasmin had her own war story that was well known. "I've seen him naked," Yasmin's smile cut through the tension. "He has the scars to prove it." "You peeked when we were changing?" I gasped. I wasn't really all that surprised. "Yes," she snickered. "They only have Women's changing rooms where Cáel works," she related to the other ladies. The conversation may have flipped back to Portuguese yet the words were definitely descriptive. Either that, or my penis had slipped passed my zipper and the buttons on my shirt had burst off exposing my broad chest and rock hard abs. Yasmin looked at me and said, "É o meu P.A." The girls all laughed. "Anyone going to clue me in on the joke?" I requested. By mutual consensus, they agreed not to; bitches. For a while, this man had been yelling from the kitchen. If finally dawned on me, and our waitress, the cook had been calling her to pick up her orders. I could have ignored her short denim skirt and seductive sway of the hips, but that would have been disingenuous. Besides, in some cultures, if your 'man' wasn't noticing the women around you, he was somewhat less of a man. I unleashed my inner 'machismo' and oinked. Yasmin shoved me while laughing. The other women found my being distracted amusing as well. I could really get used to Brazilian culture especially when that included Brazilian women. After lunch, we picked up Buffy on the way out. Buffy 'thanked' Yasmin; in Portuguese. Mother-fucker. That was so unfair. Never one to miss an opportunity to make a bad situation better; or worse, I asked Buffy what 'É o meu P.A.' meant. Buffy said something to Yasmin in Portuguese. Yasmin responded. They both laughed; bitches. "It is a term of endearment," Buffy assured me. Sure it was. That is why neither one would tell me what it meant; I repeat yet again; bitches. [FYI: 'É o meu P.A.' (P.A. stands for Pinto Amigo) literally means 'my friend Penis (or) my penis friend'. In Brazilian Portuguese slang (many thanks to a buddy from Portugal who saved me from a grievous linguistic error) this is a term of sexual endearment indicating trust and a sexual history, but don't tell Cáel that.] Yasmin and I walked a ways before she had to head in a different direction. We kissed. I kept my hands firmly on her hips like a good boy. She put her hand down my pants and stroked my cock for about a minute, in public. "Next time, I think we have sex," Yasmin winked before departing. I watched her walk away until she vanished in the crowd. She didn't look back. She was far too confident. "Well, she seems nice," Buffy caught me off-guard. She'd snuck up while I was watching Yasmin and she was still being so horribly friendly to me. Best of all, she assured me she'd be back to her normally aggressive self-come Monday morning; right about the time I finally got used to her being nice to me. "Yeah; she is," I sighed. "What's wrong?" Buffy inquired compassionately. "What do you mean?" I stared evenly at Buffy. "Hanging out with me could get her killed, that's what's wrong." "That's not likely to happen," Buffy to reassure me. I shook my head. "I'd ask you if you were nuts, but I know you are nuts," I grunted. "Elsa wouldn't kill you yet she'd kill Yasmin and her son without batting an eye if she felt a severe lesson was in order. Buffy, you work for animals. We both do. The difference being that you are one." "I don't think you appreciate how popular you are with the company," Buffy insisted. "You've worked really hard to impress them and they value your efforts." I screamed to the Heavens. Elsewhere, I would have drawn some serious looks. In NYC, I barely drew any notice. "Yeah; great. Remind me to clap like a pet seal Monday morning. Buffy, you, Katrina and a few others are grinning, thinking you've made great strides on this New Directive and the crime for a security guard shooting me as I walk in the office every day is the same; a transfer to someplace less pleasant. Correct me if I'm wrong," I laid into her. "The difference is that they don't want to shoot you," Buffy countered. "Wow, if you put 'you-Buffy' in place of 'you-Cáel' you will realize how inconsequential that is," I informed her. "I'm a human being; unless I'm in Havenstone. Inside, my well-being is based solely on your sufferance; just like a test monkey." "If you really empathized, you would realize the only other people that walk around think 'gosh, I shouldn't murder that person today' are serial killers. Yet you expect me to be thankful for tap dancing faster than you shoot at my feet. You have this happy dream that I've accomplished anything," I shook my head. "In 71 days one of you is going to kill me; that is the reality I'm staring down," I gazed at her. "Why do you think we'll turn on you then?" Buffy actually appeared upset. "Havenstone has been letting me play with this '84 Day' fiction because it amuses all of you," I took a deep breath. "Whatever I can do in the last 71 days of my life probably won't matter." "You've made a difference with Aya and Oneida," Buffy rallied. "Great, I saved the life of someone who would stab me in the heart if I slapped her," I countered. "As for Aya; I dread to think what she will go through when she figures out you've put me down like a rabid dog. I help her because I have to try, because the rest of you have written her off." We walked the rest of the way to the apartment in silence. "Katrina is not going to like the results of our little chat," Buffy mumbled. I laughed. "Buffy, she knows. When the time comes she's sending Elsa to take me alive. I don't know how I'm going to beat her. It is one of the thousand, or so, things I'm working on," I chuckled. "I know Katrina better than you do," Buffy rolled her eyes. "I think you under-estimate her affection for you." "I don't doubt her affection for me," I told Buffy. "I simply deem it to be valueless. Listen, it took me ten seconds to figure out what Aya needed at the Archery range." "Not a God-damn person who knew her their entire lives would have ever done what I did," I continued. "It wasn't that they didn't understand what needed to be done; show a little faith in her. It was that none of them would have ever had the humanity to do it. Katrina could think the Sun rises and sets on me. It doesn't change a damn thing that happens in 71days." I neglected to say that Katrina murdered/dueled her own grandmother to bring Desiree into the Epona fold. That was the head of her household. I wasn't an Amazon, or even a woman. Buffy was making shit up to keep the insanity of her life at bay. Oh, she'd kill me if Katrina gave the order. She'd hate herself for it. That wouldn't do me a damn bit of good though. (Saturday Afternoon and then some) Our conversation died for two reasons as I led the way into my apartment. First off, it was Havenstone business and neither one of us was foolish enough to talk about it in front of Timothy and Odette. The other reason would have been Brooke and Libra sitting on Timothy's sofa. Those two stood up as we entered. "Hi;” I got to say. "We just came around to tell you that you are an;” Libra spat but then, "Which one is this?" "You could have called first," I snapped back. I reached for my phone; which wasn't there. Odette sheepishly lifted my phone up from her side. I imagine that bitch had been ringing off the hook since my departure. There was a major bitch-fest coming down the pipeline. I wasn't going to let that happen. There is an advantage to people having a low opinion of you. It gives you the unspoken permission to act like a crass asshole whenever you feel like it. "This lady is Buffy Dubois and she's my bodyguard for the weekend," I tried to sound bored. "Listen, the restaurant we went to was long on sizzling hot food and short on ceiling fans, so I'm going to take a shower," I callously stated. "Brooke, want to join me?" No, Brooke didn't want to join me. She wanted to rip my hair out in large, painful clumps. She was the Princess and I was the bottom feeder with dirt under my fingernails (huge salary be damned). "No, I don't want to shower with you, you Jerk!" Brooke snarled. Sadly, now I was making poor use of my loyal Odette. Such is life. "We only stayed long enough to give you a piece of our minds." "I'll come with you!" Odette peeped. She had been on the floor, back to the small space of wall between the workout alcove and the door to my bedroom. Timothy was leaning on the portion of the living room wall next to the short hall that led to the bathroom and his bedroom. He seemed more and more amused as the encountered unfolded. "No," Brooke squalled. "I'm not done with him yet." She followed me to the bathroom. Now normally, I would get a towel from the bathroom, go to my bedroom to strip down then return to the bathroom for a shower, or soak in the tub. This time I went straight to the bathroom. Brooke had built up a good head of steam, I slammed the door shut the second she came in. She was about to unload some truly spectacular vitriol on me. That wasn't the game plan. I shoved Brooke into the door and pressed my lips against hers, conveying my deep desire for her and dowsing her rage. "No, you don't;” she got out. Game plan. "God Brooke, I've been worried sick about you. Have you been holding up okay?" I turned on the concern. This is what she wanted to hear. I wasn't indifferent to her emotional state. In fact, I was so wrapped up in her Brooke's turmoil I was nearly paralyzed into inactivity. These are the words that Brooke wanted. What mattered to Brooke most was Brooke, followed up by how much Brooke mattered to other people. "I; ah," she mumbled before we kissed once more. This time she was hungry and passionate. She had reaffirmed that I was in her 'corner'. Now she could get down to the real reason she'd shown up to a place where some middle class guy who didn't return her phone calls lived; sex. "Work's been a mess since Trent jumped ship and took that promotion," I grumbled, still focused on giving Brooke oral stimulation. "The important thing is how have you been recovering? How have you been coming along?" Seduction is multi-layered. Know your partner; not just their erogenous zones, but their likes, dislikes, mindset and goals. Thus I used words like 'Trent jumped ship' and 'promotion' to fixate Brooke's anger on Trent, not me. He deserved it. Also, I used 'recovering' and 'coming along' to insinuate that Brooke; strong Brooke; was getting through this trauma all on her own, so now she could let me help her and not be in a weak, desperate position. All that led up to Brooke justifying to herself that she could let me ravish her in the shower without her looking like some insecure, post-breakup slut. The first words that came to mind were 'Pound Puppy' though 'Pound Kitty' was more apropos. I was nice, tender, gentle and loving as I drew her into the tub with the shower on. She cuddled against my chest, got off a few tears; mainly for my benefit to express how much she still needed comforting. Then I began tearing her up. I went VOA this time out; vaginal, oral, anal; and she had no doubt that I was Fucking her, capital 'F'. She was no Chalmers' girl, but she certainly spared no expense on the screams, howls and caterwauls as I ripped piece after sensual piece off of her; body and soul. Thankfully I keep six condoms beneath the shampoo dispenser. It is indicative of the state of disrepair of our apartment building that the water heater didn't exhaust the water supply and turn cold; it turned lukewarm. More screwing for Brooke and me. When she finally came crashing down from her trash pile of depression, self-doubt and rage over a world that had suddenly stopped making sense, I cut off the water, held her tight, and exited us from the tub. Both being players, Timothy and I had stocked up on nice, plush terry-cloth towels. Nothing builds up a mood for a repeat performance like drying off in a really comfy towel, or kills it faster than being wrapped up in some rag. I partially dried off Brooke because she was still craving close, romantic contact. Again, the most important person in the room was Brooke, and by attending to her, I was reinforcing that. I even stopped what I was doing to watch her put her underwear, socks then pants back on. She loved it. Then Brooke began looking around the small space for her bra. I had been hiding it behind my back. I revealed it, avoided having her swipe it back then used one finger to beckon her forward. Her resistance was enough to assert her independence, but not enough to dampen the sensuous course of events. She stepped forward, I tapped my lips indicating she had to kiss me to get back her undergarment. Brooke faux-resisted then kissed me. Then she French kissed me. I gave her bra back, still she pushed her body against mine, kissing away. She gave up the oral gratification when she wanted to give it up. She was the one in command, she asserted that by giving me what I wanted, so I was okay with things. She kept radiating her confidence as I kept very still, looking her over as she finished putting on her clothes. I cannot stress this enough: give the girl what she wants. There was absolutely no difference between lashing Rhada, instructing Odette in sensuality, finger fucking Elsa, upping my game to the highest levels with Buffy and going at Brooke in a romantic-aggressive style. Oh yeah, it is rarely productive to actually ask a girl what she wants. Most of the time they want to please you, so they'll lie. Lie better than they do and read what their body likes. Go from there. That was another gift from my mentor. When she was teaching me ancient love poetry, literature and culture, she was doing more than that. She was teaching me how to read women, get inside their minds and make them happy with things they may not even acknowledged they liked. God, I miss her. We/she decided that graduation was the end of the road for our romantic journey. She'd find another young man in need and start over. I would go out in the world and spread the passion and love, my fidelity failings be damned. Libra wasn't far from being a happy camper when Brooke and I came back out of the bathroom, one arm around Brooke's waist, the other holding my clothes and me in a towel. "Woot!" Odette, sitting on the floor once more, fist-pumped. "You knocked it right out of the ballpark." Brooke glared. Libra scowled. Odette basked in the knowledge that she was on the 'inside' of my little world now. She didn't have to play games. If she wanted to hang out, or have sex, she could come on over and I'd do my best to accommodate her. Odette had gone from hook-up, to fuck-buddy, to friend. She was still a girl around me with all the resulting pitfalls. That wasn't going to go away. What she had decided was that she was getting to hang out with cool, adult people. Dating in high school had never been difficult yet in the transition to adulthood, she'd be caught in a state of limbo. One night she met this young, dark stranger and she'd decided to take a chance. Now she had a big, musclebound gay sofa-buddy who was a relatively famous tattoo artist, a woman bed companion who apparently kicked ass for a secret society of some kind (Odette wasn't stupid) and that gorgeous, dark stranger to make love to her, to cuddle with and to wake up next to. I'd even kissed her before I raced off to work. I never kicked her out once I was 'finished' with her. We hung out, watched movies and talked about adult stuff. Timothy had offered to take her to a gay club; even a gay strip club. She couldn't wait. Odette wanted the three of us; she liked the idea of being a trio; going clubbing. Sure, she'd be sponging off me, but Timothy said I wouldn't mind. Timothy even insisted that we both really liked her. He also told Odette that 'with all the wacky bitches in his life, he needs you'. Before this, Odette had always thought of one boy-one girl. After a few days with me, monogamy flew out the window and she honestly couldn't recall why she'd been so hung up on it. I gave Brooke another steamy kiss, before heading to my bedroom. I bent over Odette, stroked her cheek as she looked up and smiled at me, and met her lips in a tender, caring moment. Yes, she knew she was special to me. Libra was ready to bifurcate me; verbally. Blood is so difficult to get out of clothes. Why was I going to get away with this? I banged the Trent out of Brooke; again. She could assume I was either ignoring her; Heaven forbid; or I was working up to her; a far more appealing illusion. I nearly closed my door. I wanted to hear what was going on. "Let's go," Libra groused. "Why don't we see if he wants to go out to eat?" Brooke suggested, ignoring Buffy, Odette and Timothy. "We had Brazilian for lunch," Buffy calmly informed them. It was mid-afternoon. "Oh, how was Yasmin?" Odette inquired in a friendly manner. "Are you his social director?" Libra sneered. "Oh no," Odette chattered back. "Cáel Nyilas and I are buddies. We have a lot of sex, but mainly I hang around for the meals and company." "Is he fucking you too?" Libra snapped. "Yes," Buffy sighed happily. "Yes he is. It is only for this weekend. After that, I have to wait for the end of his internship." "Damn," Libra seethed, "Is he fucking you as well?" "No," Timothy said regretfully. "Cáel isn't even bi-curious, despite my dreams and fantasies." "I guess that's something," Libra grumbled. Right then I stepped out, looking all male-scrumptious. For guys, imagine a D-Cup tanned blonde, in a midriff exposing damp, white t-shirt, no bra, and red bikini bottoms. This is pretty much how most women demean me in their libido clouded minds. I've never actually felt demeaned by this. I mean, if the opposite sex finds me sexy, do I really care if that's going to be the limit of them getting to know me? I think not. By the way, for all you curvaceous blondes out there who gripe and groan about men only seeing you as sex objects; really? That bothers you? Do this; tease them the say 'now sit there and listen to what I have to say, or no nookie for you'. Talk away. Will they understand you? No, but then very few of us understand Stephen Hawking either. Consider yourself in a select group that includes the smartest human on the planet. That guy/girl on their knees before you pleading for intimate contact? They will agree with you in a heartbeat. Congrats; you are a genius. I also don't mind. If women stopped wanting sex, I doubt my life would not be worth living. Less I be allowed to savor a victory, there was a knock at the door. I headed that way. "Oh yeah; Cáel," Timothy called out. "Nikita called and said she was going to stop by." And here I was with two sexually dressed (it was hard for Libra and Brooke to not look sexy) hotties, plus Odette and a Havenstone Stormtrooper in my crib. Had I whispered for Odette to go hide in Timothy's room, she would have hopped to it. Had I fell on my knees, begged, pleaded and was shown to be speaking the Words of God, Libra and Brooke wouldn't have moved an inch. Fortunately (?) this happens to me a great deal. "Hey Nikita," I gave her a sleepy smile. I started to usher in my policewoman/somewhat-girlfriend. Yes, I was acting like nothing was going on, much less like I'd done something wrong. I was aided in this by the fact that the sex had all been shower-based, thus not odiferous. This wasn't a great plan, or even a good plan. It was a weak plan, in fact; rather desperate and last ditch. "Hi," Nikita scanned the room. "Who is this bimbo?" Libra insulted both Nikita and me. "New York City Policewoman Nikita Kutuzov," Niki snapped back. "Who the fuck are you?" "That's Libra Chalmers," Odette spoke up when the two girls wouldn't. "Her sister and Cáel Nyilas were friends at college." "The raven-haired woman is Brooke Lee and her boyfriend was a total douche and made work difficult for Cáel Nyilas and life horrible for her," Odette finished. That was so sweet of her; it was almost 'me'-like. "Are either of you Havenstone?" Niki studied them. "That would be me," Buffy spoke up. Since she wasn't dressed like a desperate cry for sex (like the other three women), Nikita hadn't truly soaked her in yet. For starters, Buffy was clearly older than the rest. "Do you have any weapons on you?" Niki glared. "Yes; do you want to see my Concealed Weapon permits?" Buffy remained serene. "Nice and slow," Niki told Buffy as her hand came to rest on the grip of her 9 mm. Nikita was off-duty so this was an awkward situation. "You have girlfriends with guns?" Brooke gasped. She seemed excited. Libra was uncertain. Nikita being Nikita, she took Buffy's word for nothing, using her cellphone to call in and check the three permits; gun, knife, knife. She wanted to card everybody, but I nixed that. These were my house guests. I put my foot down. Niki became truly angry with me. "I need to talk to you; outside," Nikita insisted. I didn't hesitate to go with her. By outside, she meant to her car because she was sure my place was under surveillance. She was most likely right. As soon as I put my ass on the passenger seat, Nikita wrapped me in a smothering embrace. "I've been so worried about you," she sniffled. No, Nikita wasn't brain damaged, or forgiving. She knew that if I hadn't already had sex with some, if not all, of the four women in my place, I most likely would in the next 36 hours. Don't forget that she knew I was a philanderer, had come to grips with that, and was beginning to count up my allowed indiscretions before she finally gave up on my worthless ass. "You shouldn't do that, Nikita," I hugged her tightly to me. "You have a freaking dangerous job and I'm a big boy. I'll deal with my work problems. You deal with yours and we take what time together as we can." "This is not how the World is supposed to work," she mumbled. "There are two ways of looking at it, Nikita," I stroked her hair. "Peace is merely the interruption of the otherwise endless cycle violence, or life is a constant struggle to avoid the inevitable slide into anarchy." "For such a loving, joyous man, you have a terribly dark side to you," Nikita looked into my eyes. "I read this in a book on the philosophy of social collapse; Imagine that last legionnaire standing atop Hadrian's Wall, his companions ready to march away yet knowing the Picts remained just out of sight, waiting for the last guardians to depart," I recalled. "Did he contemplate that, despite generations of sacrifice, nothing had change, or did he realize that, with their lives, those fellow soldiers bought centuries of peace to an otherwise war-torn land?" "Nikita, no victory is permanent," I explained. "One day the lights will go out in this city and never come back on. One day everything you've worked for will fall. That doesn't mean what you are doing doesn't have value, or that I don't appreciate what you do. Every life you save is still precious; it is invaluable to that person, if no one else." "Every day you take up the badge and gun means hundreds of others get to live their lives wrapped up in the illusion they live in a lawful society," I said. "I say 'illusion' because people tend to not understand that nothing lawful is permanent. They don't understand that one day that last legionnaire will be looking out over their neighborhoods. It is inevitable." "Is that why you don't give a crap about any of your relationships; is this the excuse that you use to cheat; that nothing is ever permanent?" Nikita's gaze hardened. "Remind me to never be honest with you again," I opened the door. Yeah, I was pissed. I'd broken my rule; lie to make the girl happy; and this is what it got me. "Damn it," Nikita yanked on my arm, not letting me leave, "Cáel Nyilas, what am I supposed to think after you tell me that?" I hesitated. I hated honesty. "I don't give a crap about some nebulous, transitory victory, Nikita," I kept looking away. "I don't see monogamy as pointless any more than I feel law enforcement as pointless." "That doesn't mean I want to be a cop, or in only one relationship. My Dad loved my Mom. He never dated after she died. He loved me and raised me the best he could. That is one of the best examples of monogamy I've ever witnessed. It simply isn't me," I told her. "Of greater relevance is my initial comment about the value of victory." "You think you can 'fix' my situation; that somehow the rule of law can apply to people who live outside of it," I turned around. "That isn't happening. You are more likely to convict every banker that had a hand in the 2008 housing loan collapse than you are to ever bring a single senior Havenstone employee up on any charges." "It is wrong," Nikita insisted. "I'm not being naive. No criminal conspiracy is ever impenetrable." "They are not a criminal conspiracy," I sighed. "They are a nation-state without demarcated borders. Criminals are fixated on making money." "Havenstone uses money as part of their arsenal to get what they want," I said. "What is that?" Nikita. "I'll never tell you," I put our faces within millimeter of each other. "Cáel, I want to help you," Nikita persisted. "You can't, Nikita," I stared. "Rome calls and you will obey. It is who you are. It is what I like about you. It also means you won't break the law for me, which means, in the terms of rescue, you are useless to me as anything except a friend. Personally, I suggest you appreciate the next 70 days with me, then find someone who will take care of you, marry them and raise the next generation of policemen and women." "Are you a police officer?" she altered her approach. "No," I played along. "Then don't assume you know what I can and can't accomplish," Nikita grew fierce. "Al-Qaeda thought they were untouchable too. As did the KKK and the Mafia." "Right, Nikita, except there are still terrorists, violent racists and organized crime; different faces but the same hydra," I relayed. "That is what I'm trying to tell you; these ladies are not conventional criminals. They are not going to flip on each other. They aren't afraid of drone attacks, wiretaps, or video surveillance." "If the Justice Department goes after them, they'll strike back. Don't think assassinations and bombings; think 'Tail-hook' and 'Fast and Furious'. The problem is they already know what rules you play by and how law enforcement works. You won't be able to get your side to understand how Havenstone works until it is too late," I stressed. "Your side? We are your side, Cáel Nyilas," Nikita insisted. "No, you are not," I responded. "My side wants to deal with this himself, only risking his life and earnestly not wanting to have my actions resulting in hundreds, if not thousands, of deaths. Your gang wants to enforce the law and turn this problem into a nice, tidy bundle. Making twenty arrests and confiscating a few million in assets will not make Havenstone go away." "They will fade back into the shadows and then wreck vengeance upon you all when it is convenient for them," I stated confidently. I had sat in on exactly one board meeting. That had been enough of an education to figure out how they operated and how long-term their planning was. They wouldn't put a bullet into the head of the lead investigator. No, fifteen years later, while having a routine medical procedure, there would be a mix-up with his medication and he'd die. A few months later, his son, that man's wife and two children would all be involved in a fatal car accident. Yes, they wiped out your family. My bet was they had already done something like that. They'd find a weak link in the investigative team, show him/her the evidence of past misdeeds and impress upon them that they would be next. Witness Protection? Over a twenty year old string of accidents? The fed either played ball, or waited a decade, or two, for their loved ones to start dropping. Havenstone Commercial Investments was only 22 years old. Without a doubt, there had been other incarnations built up then discarded only for some new front to take its place. As for grudges; the Amazons took it as a personal affront that an independent Hellas existed today, despite the reality that those Greeks had little lineage in common with the Greeks from the time of Achilles. The conundrum was I couldn't use the word 'Amazons', or refer to the board meeting. I couldn't talk about the armory, Buffy, or Desiree's backgrounds, or truly impress upon Nikita the absolute level of fanaticism Havenstone engendered in their congregation. If I hinted at it, she'd think of Jonestown, not the Karen Insurgency in Burma. "Why do you have such faith in them, but not in your own law enforcement?" Nikita pleaded. "Training, fanaticism, the ability to act with few restrictions, and their willingness to let a member who makes a mistake to live and learn from it instead of being sacrificed for political and popular expediency," I counted off my points. "They prepare for war, not peacekeeping," I clarified. "By that, I mean that each standard office worker is the equivalent of a soldier in any fully modern armed force. For whatever cause you and your fellow NYPD believe in, there is also a long history of corruption. There is none of that at Havenstone. Infighting; yes. They would never betray the principles of their organization though." "You work under the scrutiny of the judicial system, a normally hostile press and a special panel whose sole duty is to keep your law enforcers in line. They work for superiors who give them far more latitude," I continued. "A Havenstone breaks an external law, the get assigned elsewhere. Violating their internal code of conduct is harsh and immediate then resolved." "You screw up, and you are pilloried in the press, abandoned by your superiors and shunned by your peers as if you had a contagion," I sighed. "The NYPD loses you as a resource because of one mistake. Despite the numerous advantaged of living in a Democratic Republic and a capitalist economy, the underlying weaknesses remain." "People are people, thus flawed. Office-seekers need money and to be scandal-free to get elected which has become a continuous process," I stated. "Those realities allow entities like Havenstone to exist in a parasitic relationship with our society. Face it, why pay $100 million in fines, duties and taxes when you can pay $1 million in campaign contributions." "You are so damn cynical," Nikita frowned. "Nikita," I huffed. "No, I'm not cynical. I'm a romantic realist. I know the score. Despite that, I still chose to make my own way in the world. I don't date a woman expecting a 'Happily Ever After'. I also never make a plan to leave a lady. It happens regularly enough and it is my fault most often, yet it has never been my intention to avoid permanence." "I don't understand you at all!" she yelled. This was expected. This was her prodding me into having some frenzied, 'make me forget about the cruelty of the World' sex. "Nikita, if I did chose to break the law, I wouldn't be caught because there is some cop out there better than me. If I was caught, it would be that the cops have tons more resources than I possess," I explained. "I'm not even criminally inclined and I can beat the system. This doesn't mean I plan to break the law. I have no reason to. In the same way, I won't surrender because I don't have to. I'm still alive and have a degree of freedom," I told her. "It is because I know the score that I can fight with hope. I have spent the last four years not living the easy life; the safe life." "I have the scars to prove it, along with no regrets, because I am me; the man I want to be," I smiled. "So what that I work for killers; they are hot and most of them are willing. The unwilling ones I'll bring around eventually; I always do." Now she wanted to pepper spray, Taser, baton beat and pistol whip me; all at the same time. Sex. "I keep asking myself why I care about you," Nikita wailed. "I don't even know why I came over today. I should have known you would have at least one woman in your apartment. I could have waited for you to return a single damn phone call; but No, I had to drive over and have you stomp on my heart instead." "I don't know how to reply to that," I mused. I did, but drawing it out was important. "My life is a nightmare. It will most likely end in tragedy. If I loved you, I would send you away in a loud, vocal breakup that would convince Havenstone we were done and that would be that. My problem is I like; I selfishly want to know you better and I resonate with you like no other." When you are the bad guy and she knows you are the bad guy, play the bad guy. See, if I was a good guy, I would sacrifice of myself and send her away. Instead, I was 'selfish' and I was selfish because we 'resonated'. Resonate is a good, romantic word. Its definition is a bit shady, thus she can interpret it the way she desires. Before you hate me more than you already do, please recall that I really liked Nikita. She was special to me. Unfortunately, 'special' has sort of a nebulous meaning for me. To put that in perspective, my heart is a five year old child in a toy story. It goes 'get that one, get that one' without explaining to me exactly why I end up doing what I do. "I want you so much," she groused, hating herself for her naked desire. "Let's go back to my place and make love," I suggested. She jerked slightly. "What about all those other women?" she questioned. "Odette is a dear friend, Buffy is my bodyguard and the other two showed up all on their own," I informed her. "I like Libra and Brooke well enough, but the attraction is purely sexual (it better damn be all it is). I hope we have something more," I said. I could even make honesty my bitch, it seemed. "Fine. Let's go before I regain my sanity," Nikita declared. It doesn't take a NASA mission control officer to know that really means 'fuck me now; I've soaked my panties'. Nikita was hopping up and down on the balls of her feet by the time we exited her car and made it around to her/street side. She grabbed my hand and yanked my unresisting form hurriedly back to my apartment. We nearly crashed into Buffy who had been watching from the door. Nikita flashed an embarrassed look. That didn't stop her from bounding up the stairs three at a time as we raced up to my place. Nikita was slowing down on the final approach only to have Odette open the door and stand aside; Buffy had phoned her. In we swept. Libra and Brooke rose from the sofa, I gave them an apologetic look before Nikita drew me into the bedroom. I slammed the door shut. "What the Hell!" Libra screamed. What can I say? When I truly set out to fuck a girl, I leave them wanting more. Before you think I'm an egotist, or a Sex God, it is they want to have sex with me, not that they care about what I want. I've been jumped while putting gas in a friend's car by a girl, whose name I couldn't recall at the moment, who I had banged in a bar's men's room. Midway through that encounter (we were standing up, my back against the car, and her legs spread up and wide as she coasted down from her first orgasm), she confided in me she'd been running around with a condom in her pocket in hopes of finding me; which proved she didn't really know me; I always have a condom. I even have some stashed in my bathroom  and  kitchen; just in case. After that, for the rest of my college career the Kwiki Mart attendant kept smirking at me; the gas pumps had video surveillance. My friend and his date were amused too. My date; less so. Maybe I should have stopped at the first orgasm. It turned out okay. See, unknown to anyone at the start, the girl's (Genevieve it turned out) boyfriend and I had been in a skiing accident and the poor bastard had suffered frostbite dragging me to safety, so I owed Genevieve big time. Yes, my date bought that hastily conjured excuse. All was right with the world and I ended up screwing my date that night and for the next two weeks. That relationship fell apart when three different servers at a Hooters gave me lap dances (who knew; Hooters girls don't normally give lap dances). I swear to God I had never been there before; the truth didn't work that time either. That wasn't too bad. It reminded me of Genevieve. I went back to the bar and nailed her again. In case it matters, I don't have a fake ID. I lie to the DMV about where I live. It is all official-like, if completely illegal. Back to my current official; a rapid analysis of the kaleidoscope of emotions. Lust, fear and confusion battled for dominance. I had to take into account her sexual background, parenting, and personal let downs. I had to give her something she didn't want. No, I wasn't going against my tried and true strategy. I had to give Nikita something she didn't want yet really needed. She began trying to strip off her clothes. Off went her faded denim jacket (despite the heat in NYC in the early summer) then her short-sleeved shirt. Poor Nikita; her nice, gossamer white bra was obviously new; that crisp, pure white doesn't come from Tide, and she had marks from the first bra she'd put on today. Off went the gun; and the cuffs. I had kicked off my shoes and so quickly pulled down my pants it burned my skin. The policewoman was drinking up my Nikita-inspired arousal so I was able to strip off my shirt too. She began working down her pants and undies in one motion when I jumped her. "Hey wait," she giggled. She became a tad more annoyed when I wouldn't relent. With her pants and panties still above her knees, I slipped on a condom, rolled her over and began. "I don't want to do it this way," Nikita insisted angrily. "Let me up." "I can't wait," I grunted in my doggy-style. In I went. "Girr; Girr; ah," she finally gave into her arousal. "Ah; ah; aha." That brought me to a halt. I wove my arms around her waist and drew her back to my chest. "Are you ready to have sex because you want it instead of doing it because you don't know what else to do?" I whispered in her ear. She twisted her head around. Words failed her so we kissed. "Can I take my pants off now?" sighed happily. "I don't know. I kinda like you like this," I replied. "I can barely move," she protested. "That would be a point in my favor," I snickered. Nikita got back at me by wiggling in my lap. Yeah, that put me in my place alright. Changing our orientation was part of my instinctual reaction to her desire for a close visual connection. The whole face down/ass up was only a trick to erase her confusion. Keeping inside of Nikita, I twisted her around until she was on her back, her bound legs resting on my crooked right elbow. Curse me, Nikita looked up at me consumed by bliss. There is disappointment, settling for what you've got, getting what you want and finally, being giving something you never considered yet now you wonder how you lived so long without. This wasn't only a 'good dicking'. It was the revelation that my life was a total train wreck and for a crusader like Nikita, I was virtually the Holy Grail. I would never 'not be in trouble' thus constantly in need of saving. To her, I had transformed into the perfect boyfriend. I could never run away, or be saved by anyone else but her. Oh; and I was giving her a terribly good dicking. "Better?" I murmured. Nikita nodded. My rod kept up steady, moderately powerful penetrations. "Is there anything I can do to make it better?" Trick question. "No," she purred. "I like; this is wonderful; I thought you would be different." She was one happy camper. She had anticipated a domination play. "I'd only be rough with you if that's what you wanted," I pressed her legs farther down so that are faces were very close. "Mmm; are you ever going to stop seeing those other girls?" she poised. She was no longer angry. Perfect boyfriend plus fantastic intercourse. I'm always doing stuff that makes women act in bizarre and unexpected (to them) ways. Won't ever do anal? You'll be ambushing me in the tub and working that ass down my pole inside of two weeks. Trust me. Odette hooking up with Buffy? Been down that road before. "I've only got 70 days left, Nikita," I groaned. "They are going to force me to put out at work." "I might as well try to make love to the women I care for," I told her. No, they weren't going to make me put out at work unless I made the full 84, or was relocated. Lie baby, lie. "I'll make sure you live more than those 70 days," Nikita passionately assured me. Now she was applying some pushbacks to meet my thrusts. "Why are you so nice to me?" I began taking deeper breaths. Please don't say 'I love you'. "No one should have to face your enemies alone," she gave up. Her left hand slithered down and began to tenderly work on her stiff button. I matched it, despite the somewhat awkward placement. My hand rested on hers, developing a synergy and allowing me to get a feel how she liked her clitoral stimulation. Nikita had barely started screeching out her climax when the door swung open. "You Bastard!" Libra screamed at me. To be that fast, she either teleported, or had been eavesdropping at the door. She stormed away, still yelling at the top of her lungs. It was times like this that Timothy appreciated what I told him when I first looked the place over. No locks on the interior doors? No problem. The women would cause less damage if all they had to do was break down the exterior door to get at me. He thought I was a joker. I am, but I wasn't joking about that. Kicking open a door is hard on the door sills. They are far more likely to give way then the door is to splinter, or the lock is to break. There have been a great many women who have busted through all kinds of portals to get at me with vengeance, pain and agony on their mind; my pain and agony if there was any doubt. "Ah, ah, ah; that was mind-blowing, Cáel," Nikita lilted. "Next time; " "Yes?" I soaked up her aroma. "Can we not make this a domestic disturbance case?" she giggled. "Is that an appeal for some real privacy, or stadium seating?" I teased. "You are a meanie!" she giggled gleefully. Who calls an adult a meanie? There was only one proper reaction to such a denigrating insult. I helped her take off the rest of her clothes and fucked Nikita two more times. Nikita and I were exhausted, our bodies intertwined, sweaty, and sated. Odette poked her head in. "Is it okay for us to join in yet?" Odette asked. "No," Nikita moaned. "Not yet," I corrected. I compensate having no control over my willy, by having limited control over every poon tang I interact with. I'm not sure how that works, but it does. Case in point: "I am not engaging in group sex, or sleeping with a girl," Nikita murmured. "Well, can they sleep in our bed tonight? They have nowhere else to go," I reasoned. "Um," she bit her lower lip. "Okay." Ta-da! I didn't argue with Nikita, or challenge/dare her. I said 'our bed' which put her, theoretically, on top of my female acquaintance hierarchy. Truth? Nah. I never had enough women hanging around together to ever have the time to figure that out. Nikita was going to be in bed with me and two other sexual active women. Buffy alone was a morality hazard. Odette was spunky. Nikita was armed with three relationships at best; her mom was a cop after all, so dating had to be fun before college. Finally, there was me; the lowest of the low. If cads had a shred of reverence, they worshipped an idol with my face on it. To my credit (don't laugh), I wasn't forcing Nikita to do anything, only making her do things she'd have never thought she'd do before she met me. We cleaned up then joined the others. The start was awkward. I changed the conversation to things girly: guns. I have a twisted life. Odette knew nothing; pure law-abiding citizen. I was an amateur gunslinger who picked up firearms to romance a girl, or three. Niki grew up around guns and the people who used them; the police. Her area of expertise was handguns and shotguns. She had little experience with rifles. Buffy had gotten a later start in life, but played 'radical catchup' since then. While not going into details, Buffy was very engaging. Timothy had no formal training yet had somehow managed to acquire a familiarity over his misspent life. He had even been paid in an AR-14 once. He had, of course, turned it over to the cops; but couldn't remember which cop, or precinct, when prodded by Nikita. We broke for Korean takeout. There was a problem with the order. Niki, Buffy, and I prepared to head out when Timothy developed a situation in the bathroom. Us guys tried to handle it. We were hopeless. Finally, Nikita intervened and shooed us out to the living room. Timothy 'found' some tools and gave them to Buffy to give to Nikita. Us guys had been exiled, after all. The second Buffy went into the bathroom, I slipped out the door quietly. Odette gave me a 'thumbs up' then snuck off to my bedroom. Bedroom noises commenced. The take-out issue was that my cute Korean delivery babe was missing me. Despite the plethora of sex coming my way, I discovered I missed her too. Later. "Do you find it amusing to not trust us in the least?" Nikita stared at me. I would have felt better if Timothy wasn't bound up with extension cords and his mouth covered with duct tape and trussed up on the floor. Odette was cowering in the far corner of the sofa. "I apologize," I extended my armload of food. "Old habits die hard." "You hurt our feelings," Buffy frowned. Still freaked out by that. Why wasn't someone hitting me? Seriously, there are tons of throw-able things in the apartment plus they both had guns. "If I sneak out, you two don't have to deal with the conflict of me wanting sex with different women," I pleaded. "This has nothing to do with how fantastic the sex with all of you is. It is that I'm so used to disappointing women then running for my life, the option of gaining anything approaching permission isn't something I know how to handle," I explained. "What makes you think we'd ever give you permission to cheat?" Buffy smirked. Ah, the joys of a blossoming four-way. Nikita? Not going to sleep with another woman? Hell, three hours in and she was already dividing up my sex-time with my other bed-buddies. My only worry was Niki would retell this to her Mom, the Police Desk Sergeant. I wasn't worried she'd hurt me. I was worried 'Mom' would toss me in jail. I'm a very pretty man and I doubt I'd do well in an all-male environment. Sure, there would be female corrections officers. That's not a good thing. I'm incredibly horny and I could see 'don't ask, don't talk back' in my future. "Listen, both of you," I got feisty. "If I want this level of aggravation, I'll go back to work and slap Elsa." "Also, why is Odette cowering on the sofa? She didn't do anything wrong," I declared. "She went into your bedroom, shut your door, and made all kinds of sexy noises. It took us ten minutes to realize we weren't hearing you,"

Cáel's tombstone: For the love of women, women put him here.In 25 parts, edited from the works of FinalStand.Listen and subscribe to the ► Podcast at Connected..

Candace Owens claims that Israeli leaders and Israel supporters in the U.S. are "Jewish supremacists."  She also claims Israel harbors pedophiles.  Is there any truth to these claims?

We assume our picture of romance and marriage has always been there, but according to our guest author and professor Sabrina Strings, it was invented in the 12th century as a myth about Sir Lancelot. Marriage was about power, domination, The post White Male Supremacists Fear and Hate it But “Romance” and Nuclear Families Aren’t the Only Option appeared first on Keeping Democracy Alive.

Saying a US politician is "bad on foreign policy but good on domestic policy" is like saying "Sure my husband spends his weekends murdering hitchhikers, but he's a good provider and he knows how to fix a flat tire." Reading by Tim Foley.

A new investigation by ProPublica has uncovered a shadowy non-profit organization that problematically, and probably illegally, is pushing a hyper conservative right wing agenda in this country that very specifically aims to center the church in all parts of society. The group describes its membership as a “private, confidential, invitation-only community of high-net-worth Christian families” with a minimum net worth of $25 million. The organization is called Ziklag, which itself is a biblical reference. Our guest is Andy Kroll, a reporter for ProPublica covering voting, elections and other democracy issues. He is one of the reporters on this shocking story, which is titled, “Inside Ziklag, the Secret Organization of Wealthy Christians Trying to Sway the Election and Change the Country.” Read the story here: https://www.propublica.org/article/inside-ziklag-secret-christian-charity-2024-election — Subscribe to this podcast: https://plinkhq.com/i/1637968343?to=page Get in touch: lawanddisorder@kpfa.org Follow us on socials @LawAndDis: https://twitter.com/LawAndDis; https://www.instagram.com/lawanddis/ The post Shadowy Mega-Rich Christian Supremacist Organization Wants to Politically Define US Future w/ Andy Kroll appeared first on KPFA.

We are raiding the Guardian Long Read archives to bring you some classic pieces from years past, with new introductions from the authors. This week, from 2020: For seven decades, India has been held together by its constitution, which promises equality to all. But Narendra Modi's BJP is remaking the nation into one where some people count as more Indian than others. By Samanth Subramanian. Help support our independent journalism at theguardian.com/longreadpod

Welcome to The Georgia Politics Podcast! We've got a newsy episode for you today: Rudy Giuliani's request for new trial in Georgia is denied, Special prosecutor Pete Skandalakis now investigating Lieutenant Governor Burt Jones and much more! But first, we've got an update on the Catoosa County GOP debacle from field reporter Craig “The” Kidd. The drama continues. Also, you may remember that in December, a jury in the U.S. District Court in D.C. granted Fulton County poll workers Ruby Freeman and Shaye Moss over $148 million in damages. Giuliani had falsely accused them of election fraud in the 2020 presidential election. A judge has now rejected Rudy Giuliani's request for new trial. Another legal update: special prosecutor Pete Skandalakis has been appointed to investigate Georgia GOP Lieutenant Governor Burt Jones. Skanadalakis is the current Executive Director of the prosecuting attorney's council of Georgia.  And Attorney General Chris Carr joined forces with six other states in a lawsuit aimed at halting a new federal initiative aimed at providing student loan debt relief to millions of borrowers across the country. The lawsuit filed by states led by Republicans aims to impede President Joe Biden's second effort to eliminate debts for lower-income borrowers who are struggling with repayments and to alleviate debt burdens for others. Other states in the suit: Arkansas, Florida, Missouri, North Dakota, Ohio and Oklahoma Lastly, we have a NEW SEGMENT: Races We're Watching. Craig and Preston detail races (in Georgia or elsewhere) that they will be watching leading up to November's election. Our intention is this will be a recurring segment until then. Let us know your suggestions! Overhyped/Underhyped, Play-Along-At-Home and much more on today's jam packed episode.  Connect with The Georgia Politics Podcast on Twitter @gapoliticspod Preston Thompson on Twitter @pston3 Hans Appen on Twitter @hansappen Proud member of the Appen Podcast Network. #gapol  

Matt Taylor joins Brad to discuss a new breed of chauvinistic, theologically bull-headed Christian nationalists who might be better called “Christian supremacists.” These hard-liners believe that Christianity deserves a privileged space in American society — that Christians, being better than other human beings, should be entitled to a superior form of citizenship. They claim that Christians are even destined by God to rule over society. What is hazy nostalgia to the “God Bless America” crowd is an organized theological and political program for the Christian supremacists. BONUS CONTENT: AOC outlines why she fears Mike Johnson's plans in 2024 . . . SWAJ Premium IS ON SALE! Subscribe to get bonus content most Mondays, bonus episodes every month, ad-free listening, access to the entire 500-episode archive, Discord access, and more: https://axismundi.supercast.com/ Subscribe to Charismatic Revival Fury https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/charismatic-revival-fury-the-new-apostolic-reformation/id1738709631 Buy Charismatic Revival Fury for ad-free listening: https://mysoundwise.com/soundcasts/1708963220821s Matt Taylor's article: https://religionunplugged.com/news/2024/4/8/the-peril-radicalizing-some-evangelicals-goes-beyond-christian-nationalism Linktree: https://linktr.ee/StraightWhiteJC Order Brad's book: https://bookshop.org/a/95982/9781506482163 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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Heeere they come again: The wrecking crew of Alito, Barrett, Gorsuch, Kavanaugh, Roberts & Thomas – the six plutocratic judicial supremacists determined to force their personal political biases on all of us.

Black Supremacist says "I want all WHITE PEOPLE DEAD"! STABS two teenagers in RACIST RAGE in NYC!

NYC RELEASES violent Black Supremacist RACIST from jail after STABBING 2 children on Christmas Day!

Black Supremacist ATTACKS elderly Jewish couple for being Jews! Media tries to HIDE race of attacker

Get the links to each show here: http://JustinBarclay.comGet a free special report on the coming global financial reset and find out how to protect yourself and your family. http://JustinBarclay.com/GoldTry Cue Streaming for just $2 / day and help support the good guys https://justinbarclay.com/cueUp to 80% OFF! Use promo code JUSTIN http://MyPillow.com/JustinPatriots are making the Switch! What if we could start voting with our dollars too? http://SwitchWithJustin.comNo matter what's coming, you can be ready for your family and others. http://PrepareWithJustin.com#ad

* Guest: Casey Whalen, Investigative Journalist / Videographer, Proprietor of North Idaho Exposed - CaseyWhalen.substack.com * We Are Many, United Against Hate. * It's A Hate Scam, They Are All In It For The Money! - They Would Love To Jail or Kill Us All! - HateScam.com * Understand their Projection mantality, "It's not me, It's You." * There are extremely dishonest, hostile and Narcissistic groups of people in the world who are using Gaslighting and Projection against the rest of us. They have created word and redefined terms such as Hate Speech, Hate Crimes, White Nationalist, Supremacist, Denier, Birther, Phobic and the like to further demonize patriotic Citizens. They are literally so Drunk with Power and Greed, so Addicted to this Psychotic Behavior that nothing we can say or do will talk them down from the ledge. * Alarmingly, Law enforcement is unwittingly working directly with human rights networks around the country to create hate crime enforcement. * Dinesh D'Souza: “Police State” is a movie that I never wanted to make, because I never wanted America to get to a point where a movie like this needed to be made. I feel like the animal that alerts the herd to approaching danger, so we can take precautionary steps before it's too late - PoliceStateFilm.net * THERE IS NOWHERE TO HIDE. THEY HAVE THEIR LISTS - ARE YOU NEXT? * Is the United States becoming a police state? Incredibly the answer is yes, and both sides of the aisle agree. The only difference is that each accuses the other of seeking to establish a police state. Who's right? This film resolves the question by defining what a police state is, and showing how it got started, how it operates, and who's in charge.

On this episode... Live a little more, what happened at Kae's LTN meeting? Meat-free Mondays, and why did Kae spend £££ on takeaway?There's two ways you can listen to our bonus show 'More of a Clue'1 - Apple Podcasts - Click here or Tap Try Free on the Apple Podcasts app for a three day free trial.2 - Via Patreon by clicking herehttps://www.patreon.com/aintgotaclue/Follow AGAC on...Tik Tok- https://www.tiktok.com/@aintgotacluepodYouTube- https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCYz3U9CDm_xhBpmRWN3I9TwInstagram- https://instagram.com/aintgotacluepod Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Stand Up is a daily podcast. I book,host,edit, post and promote new episodes with brilliant guests every day. Please subscribe now for as little as 5$ and gain access to a community of over 700 awesome, curious, kind, funny, brilliant, generous souls Check out StandUpwithPete.com to learn more I had another great conversation with Eric Segall about everything having to do with how much the Supreme Court affects our daily lives Eric J. Segall graduated from Emory University, Phi Beta Kappa 27  and summa cum laude, and from Vanderbilt Law School, where he was the research editor for the Law Review and member of Order of the Coif. He clerked for the Chief Judge Charles Moye Jr. for the Northern District of Georgia, and Albert J. Henderson of the 11th Circuit Court of Appeals. After his clerkships, Segall worked for Gibson, Dunn & Crutcher and the U.S. Department of Justice, before joining the Georgia State faculty in 1991. Segall teaches federal courts and constitutional law I and II. He is the author of the books Originalism as Faith and Supreme Myths: Why the Supreme Court is not a Court and its Justices are not Judges. His articles on constitutional law have appeared in, among others, the Harvard Law Review Forum, the Stanford Law Review On Line, the UCLA Law Review, the George Washington Law Review, the Washington University Law Review, the University of Pennsylvania Journal of Constitutional Law, the Northwestern University Law Review Colloquy, and Constitutional Commentary among many others. Segall's op-eds and essays have appeared in the New York Times, the LA Times, The Atlantic, SLATE, Vox, Salon, and the Daily Beast, among others. He has appeared on CNN, Fox News, MSNBC, and France 24 and all four of Atlanta's local television stations. He has also appeared on numerous local and national radio shows. Listen and Subscribe to Eric's Podcast Supreme Myths and follow him on Tik Tok!   Watch Union Made by Jon Carroll Pete on Tik Tok Pete on YouTube  Pete on Twitter Pete On Instagram Pete Personal FB page Stand Up with Pete FB page All things Jon Carroll  Follow and Support Pete Coe