Thangaiku Theriyaamal Amma Magalai Oothen
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The following is as authentic as anything based on memory can be. At least when my memory is the memory in question. It was originally written in my native language, Danish, in an attempt of mine to get past the experiences it covers and move on with my life. It has been edited for typos, and translated to English, but has since its creation neither been streamlined, nor beautified, nor dramatised for the sake of any audience.
The following text contains the truth, as confusing and raw as I saw it at the time of writing it down.
*
I walked out from the police-station. There I fished my cell-phone out of my bag. My red and white, plastic bag. In spite of my gender I have never owned a ladies purse.
The sun shone, I think. Yes, it must have, I didn’t like the weather. Sunshine makes my eyes hurt and reminds me that summers can be warm. Too warm. Since I got fat, I haven’t been able to stand the heat. (Why did I ever agree to try Zyprexa?)
There was a crackling, empty feeling. What had just happened? I had gone to see the police to report a crime. That’s what you are supposed to do when you have been exposed to one. Isn’t it? Is it? Not? Before taking a cab to town, I thought that was what one was meant to do. Was I wrong?
There had to be something I had misunderstood. But what?
On the inside I was shaking, but my hands looked steady and my lips weren’t trembling. The cab soon arrived. My voice didn’t shake when I spoke my address.
I couldn’t remember what the policeman looked like or what his name was. For a merciful moment, I couldn’t remember a word he had said either.
When he let me out of the interrogation room, I couldn’t remember the way out. I couldn’t recognise neither corridor nor staircase.
That happens to me when I’ve been exposed to something unpleasant. Memory-loss. I also get confused and have difficulty thinking straight. Is it like that for everyone?
An interrogation room. I’d never before been in an interrogation room. I was only able to recognise it as that because I once saw an episode of Station 2 where a police officer interrogated a suspect in a room of similar design.
In that episode of Station 2, the seated suspect –with the blurred face– sat and alternately smoked and balanced his cigarette on the police officer’s table. (There was no ash-tray.) The police officer was questioning the suspect about some crime. The suspect alternated between replying and asking if he had now been caught enough times to spend some time on the inside.
I tried to push the association aside. It wasn’t easy.
The first thing the policeman said was something like:
‘You sit there and stay there.’
While delivering the message, he pointed at the chair which you place the suspect in.
Already then I was completely rattled. I had, by a policeman, been ordered to sit in a chair by a wall in an interrogation room. What if I should momentarily forget and stand up? Would it only be extremely embarrassing, or would it also be illegal? Civil disobedience or whatever the term is called.
I was afraid to sit down. I wanted to go home and hide. But, seriously, to a) have gone all the way to the police-station, b) have pulled a number (and waited), c) have explained what crime one had been exposed to (and waited), and d) finally have been taken in to give a statement. Damn, it would be embarrassing to weepishly ask permission to go home the very moment one arrived at the interrogation chamber.
It’s not that I had time to think about all that in the situation. The police-dude had said ‘sit’ and, even though the screams of my instincts made me hesitate, I didn’t consider not ‘sitting’.
In a desperate attempt to act natural and obliging I seated forward on the chair. Too forward. Only half my ass touched the seat.
The next few minutes, I can’t clearly remember. I remember using most of my concentration on figuring out whether I should carefully raise my butt from the seat to push myself all the way onto the chair. Or if I should remain as I were.
I kept pretending I was unaware that the manner in which I sat was utterly ridiculous, and kept pretending that this thing with being placed in the suspect’s seat was natural.
It isn’t natural.
The design of an interrogation room ensures the policeman an architectonic advantage in case of a sudden fight. But, the design also places the subject in a psychologically subdued position.
The policeman has a comfortable chair (at least it looks comfortable from where the suspect sits). The policeman has a table which from the suspect’s point of view hides half the policeman’s body. Suspect has no table. The suspect’s back is against the wall, but the suspect’s front is bared and unprotected.
It is a powerful psychological inequality. Add to this that the policeman is an authority figure, an authority, the impression magnifies.
The humiliating effect of the interrogation room is variable. The suspect’s chair can be moved closer to the policeperson’s table. If the chair is moved all the way to the table the suspect still can’t see what the police-person’s monitor displays, but a psychological equality between the two arises. The legs of both are partially hidden by the table and the physical distance between the two persons are now appropriate for conversation.
It is actually quite brilliant in its simplicity. When the chair is far from the table, the suspect, whether she wants to or not, will be placed in a subdued position and will feel pressured. When the chair is close to the table, the suspect has a chance to relax.
When I was questioned, my chair (the suspect’s place) was at the wall and I wasn’t given permission to move it to the table. On the contrary I was told to stay and not move.
Why!?! What did I do? I went in there to report a crime and then I am being treated as a dangerous criminal. Why?
The memory torments me. To sit there, helplessly trapped on a chair. To remember how I pathetically sat far forward on the chair in a pitiful attempt to maintain just a shred of my dignity. I hate myself when I think about it. It was so undignified and embarrassing. Some place inside, I can’t help but believe it was my own fault.
I had to have done something, right? The police doesn’t do stuff like that to people for no reason. Do they?
In the cab on my way home I said something lame to the driver about being treated badly when reporting a crime. I can’t remember exactly what I said. I couldn’t think clearly. Aftershock. I knew I was looking forward to some bad days. I knew that already before leaving home.
That is the price I am accustomed to paying for doing an errand in town. That’s the main reason I spend a fortune on cabs getting in there and home. The 400 crowns spent on cab fares spares me a day or two in hell.
(Well, that’s the math I’ve come to by comparing downtime following errands where I go by bus, to errands where I go by cab.)
Aftershock. As usual, it fairly much kept itself in check till I got home. I paced back and forth in our living room. It was worse than it usually is, much worse. It smouldered and pounded and hurt in my stomach. I couldn’t keep my hands still. They constantly fisted and opened and I remembered. I began to remember.
Things he had said. Things I had said.
‘I don’t have a particularly good memory,’ I had said.
‘No,’ he had said with a grimace and thereby mockingly agreed.
When I’m having a down time I try to handle it myself, but I couldn’t handle this. I woke my boyfriend and clung to him while weeping hysterically.
I still can’t remember the policeman’s name or face, but small memory-glimpses from the interrogation haunts me. I remember that at one point he started talking a lot. Like really blah blah blah, as if he was trying to tell me something. With my ears open and my mouth shut,
I sat and stared at him trying to make sense of his words.
It was impossible. After a while, I interrupted him and said it, as it is, that I am schizotypal and that I am unable to catch on to allusions. I explained that if he wanted to tell me something then he would have to tell me directly.
I remember, he seemed to have a hard time saying it directly. Sort of testingly he started out with:
‘It’s stupid.’
I think I interrupted him at that. Otherwise I did after a second sentence synonymous with ‘It’s stupid.’
Either way, I, in my confused condition, said something like, ‘Yes, it was stupid. Of course it was stupid. It is stupid to let people into your home. It’s stupid to trust anyone.’
Then the police-dude started explaining that the thing that was stupid, was to leave wallet and credit-card in plain sight.
Although I didn’t understand why he was wasting our time talking about stuff like that, I explained that my boyfriend and I don’t own a safe.
The police-dude didn’t quite think a safe was needed. But, what he actually wanted to say was that… Yes, he did hesitate the closer he got to his point, but in the end it came out.
‘When you leave wallet and credit-card out in the open and let young people come into your home, then, you might say, it is your own fault.’ That was about the words, not exact, though. Memory is rarely exact, especially not mine.
I sat there and looked at him. What was I supposed to say to that? Anyone can figure out that guests, young or old, can find opportunity to steal. In my opinion only the fewest imagine that a guest sneakily will find a chance to write down your credit-card-information while you are at the toilet to then swindle for thousands of crowns via the internet.
I didn’t say any of this. Actually, I couldn’t see the point of talking about the crime having been avoidable. He wasn’t presenting advice of crime prevention. He just said it was my own fault. He didn’t say what I should have done differently.
While I wondered what the point was, I started blabbering. But, of course, it was stupid, I should have acquired something suitable to lock stuff away in, and, of course, I would be more careful in the future. In the back of my head, I was wondering why I was apologising for having been hustled. In the back of my head I wondered, even more, why the police-dude was wasting so much of his valuable time on telling the victim that it was her own fault.
With the wisdom of hindsight:
Is a crime less of a crime, when it can only be committed if the victim displays trust to the criminal?
If it is my fault, should I be accused as accomplice to fraud? After I discovered what that kid had done, the majority of the financial loss of the fraud was transferred to the companies at which he had spent the money. While I was left with American company numbers on my phone-bill (from contacting the firms), unanswered questions on whether that kid’s fraud has affected my credit-value on the internet, cab-expenses, and a really rotten feeling of being a victim.
So far, it is far easier for me to get past the crime I was exposed to by the 16-year old acquaintance than it is to get past the treatment the police-dude exposed me to.
Was I being punished for reporting a crime? Or did I do something else wrong?
Sometimes I think he was nagging on me to get me to pull back the report. Or to, in general, make sure that I’d never again waste the police’s time with insignificant matters.
I don’t get it, it can’t be right. Am I again being naive? What is it I don’t see?
It’s been more than two weeks and my stomach still hurts when I think of the police-dude. I am not capable of simply not thinking about him.
There is so much I don’t get, that is a large part of how come I am sick. I am afraid of people because things very often goes badly between me and others. People easily get pissed at me without me having any clue what I did wrong.
It’s not that I think I don’t do anything wrong. I am 32 years old, over the years a few have gotten their acts together to give me some hints as to what I do wrong. For example I have an incredibly arrogant manner, a bit like, ‘Yes, I’ve got a brain and I’m not afraid to use it.
But how did I manage to piss the police-dude off on the short walk from entrance to interrogation room?
Small glimpses torment me.
‘Now you are muddling up your story,’ he said, or something like that. ‘That wasn’t how you described it before.’
That made me angry. Because just before he said that, I had been rambling about the day the 16-year old most likely snatched my credit-card information. And that, I had not previously described. I hadn’t had an opportunity to. There wasn’t really any reason to be rambling about it though.
A priori, (as you say if you think you are too clever to say ‘In advance’,) I thought the police needed to know that the kid had had opportunity to snatch the information and that he hadn’t had opportunity to use it from me and my boyfriend’s shared apartment.
The reason I was rambling was that mentally I was running on my last vestiges, and the torture-master didn’t quite control the conversation.
When I discovered that my credit-card information had been abused, I first called the bank and had the card locked, then called the police to find out how one reports a crime.
By phone I came through to a guy who said I could report through the internet or by going to the police-station (or is that one called the police headquarters?) during the daytime. But that I shouldn’t expect that the matter would be investigated, that the police doesn’t investigate all these cases, mostly only investigate the big cases.
Small glimpses torment me.
‘I don’t investigate cases unless I have a full name,’ he said. Something like that anyway.
‘I didn’t know that,’ I said, or something like that, while wondering why we were talking about this. I merely came to report a crime and offer the information I happened to have about it.
Why was he wasting his precious time alternately scolding me and debating strange matters?
They don’t have time to solve cases, but they have time to yack away about their routines?
No, that can’t be right. There is something I have misunderstood.
So. I go to the police station to report a crime. I mean, a schizotypal woman and a police officer go into an interrogation room…
I am a walking, talking joke. A loser who, in spite of a functional body, lacks the strength to earn her own living. I’m so fucked up that it’s been impossible for me to find people to be fucked up with.
Well, my boyfriend can stand me.
Apart from each other, we are incredibly lonely. My best friend lives in England. The English friend, my mother, and my boyfriend, are the only adult people who are interested in talking to me without getting paid in some way.
There are some kids who, more or less regularly, come to us to play computer games. They don’t come to be with us, they just like computer games, same as we do.
Sometimes I fear what people think of us. It is, after all, quite Michael Jackson-like.
It is. It isn’t normal.
Once, I gave in to my fear of people. Well, I was broken by it. Or maybe I was just incapable of telling the difference between the two concepts.
I spent more than a year isolated in a one-room-apartment. I got worse every week. It’s a long boring story, so I will skip directly to my point:
Complete isolation is bad for you, even if you suffer from various phobias.
Noisy kids are better company than no company. Even though they make my ears hurt, they can actually be very sweet and funny. When they want to.
Small glimpses.
‘Do they sometimes spend the night, these children?’ That was just about the wording of the police-dude’s question.
‘Y
es,’ was my reply. ‘The little ones who live close-by sometimes do.’ In the mean while, I wondered what that had to do with the matter at hand. I had already explained that the credit-card-abuse couldn’t have taken place from my home. Did he think I was a pedophile? If he thought I were a pedophile, why didn’t he ask for name and address of as many kids as possible?
I didn’t know surname and address of the 16-year old, whom I am convinced is behind the credit-card-fraud. I did have his step-father’s telephone number, though.
Why the long hard interrogation?
There was no organisation in the questioning.
No. If there had been the slightest suspicion that I were pedophile, it would have been a good idea to take the case seriously. By investigating the matter of credit-card fraud, the police-dude would be able to inconspicuously contact every kid who had ever visited us.
No. He probably didn’t think such a thing.
But then why the psychological torture?
Why was I put in that torture chamber, eh – i mean, interrogation room? Why didn’t they just take my information at the front desk and let me go home?
Before I went to the police station, I believed there was such a thing as civic duty. It is a noun. As far as I knew/believed it covered the concept of things considered duty for any ordinary, law-abiding, citizen.
I thought that when you knew of a crime, then it was your duty to report it to the police.
In spite of this understanding (or is it a delusion?) I have never previously been to the police to report a crime.
I’ve been there to have my passport made, back when the police did that. I’ve also once spent a night in the detention (if that’s what it’s called) the place they put drunk people.
At that time, I had spent more than a year in isolation, my younger brother had recently deceased, and I was either hysterical or in the middle of a psychosis. (Psychiatric ER would have nothing to do with me. They claimed I wasn’t insane.)
Anyhow, passport-renewal, some years back, and a night in the drunk-box, also some years back, that was the extent of my familiarity with the police.
So why did he start out so aggressively?
Sit. Stay.
I can’t have done anything in advance. Can I?
I wasn’t the one to ask to be sent on from the front desk.
How in the world did I manage to make him so hateful in advance?
Glimpses.
I had explained that the 16-year old was one of those who steadily came and played computer games in our home, except the 16-year old didn’t come very often. But out of those who had come by this summer, he was the only one whom I could imagine had done it.
‘So, that social-phobia doesn’t apply in your home,’ concluded the police-dude, just about with those words. Very close to it anyhow.
I’m not sure exactly what I replied. I know that I, at that point, was too rattled to compare visiting a café to letting people into your home.
About a week after i went to the police, there was a letter from Fyns Politi in my mailbox. I quickly skimmed it, blah blah, have decided not to investigate, blah blah, 4 weeks window of opportunity to complain. I was actually relieved to get a letter, because, honestly, the way he had been harassing me in the interrogation room, apparently to make me drop the charges, I had started to suspect that he would shelve the case by claiming I had withdrawn the report during the interrogation.
He didn’t ask many questions related to the case during that interrogation. Actually, he used more time saying things than on asking questions.
‘Really. What is this? What kind of amounts are these to present?’
From my net-banking, I had copied every single of the 17 withdrawals from my visa-dankort which the swindler had made. I had printed them out and brought with me.
‘Five crowns,’ spurted the police-dude, and then he said something like, ‘What kind of petty-amounts is that to present.’
Where was he headed with that? I didn’t ask. I merely said, as it was, that I had included every single amount.
There had been 17 withdrawals which I hadn’t made. They varied in size from 5 crowns to 1305 crowns. All in all for more than 3000 crowns. If the matter was going to be investigated, then each amount would tell that on this and this date, at exactly this and this time, the credit-card information was unrightfully used from that and that IP-address.
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My name is Rebecca. Everyone calls me Becca. I entered the police department right out of college. I progressed rapidly, through different divisions and assignments. I always had my eyes set on Robbery-Homicide and after six years of hard word and dedication, I finally made it. At age thirty, I was youngest female in the division for such a coveted assignment, but I was superb at my job. I made it because of my skill not my gender. It was Saturday. Dispatch called our number just after we had...
TabooThanks to my usual cast and crew of Editors and Advance Readers, most of whom prefer to pretend that they don’t know me and wisely wish to take no responsibility for any part of my addled writings... Il n’est rien de réel que le rêve et l’amour - Nothing is real but dreams and love (from Le Coeur innombrable, IV, Chanson du temps opportun by Anna de Noailles) She was my one true mistress and ever faithful lover, my Green Lady and guardian of my dreams and now that I was back home...
Hi friends, indru kathaiyil en nanbanai kathal seithu emathiriya pennai ootha kathaiyai ungal idam pagirugiren. En tamil kathaiyai inaiya thalathil pathivu seithatharku nandri, en peyar pradeep vayathu 21 aagugirathu. En nanbanai oru pen kathal seithu matter mudinthathum kayati vitu vitaal, athanaal naan avalai usar seithu hardcore seiyanum endru mudithu seithen. En nanban enaku nanban endru kanbithukolamal aval idam muthal muthalil pesi pazhaga aarambithen. Aval pathini pola en idam nadika...
Hi friends, indru tamil kama kathaiyil en kanavanuku theriyamal ilamaiyaana kaal kathalanai eppadi love seithen endra kathaiyai ungal idam pagirugiren. Vaarungal tamil kama kathaikul selalam, enathu peyar jaya vayathu 36 agugirathu. Enaku thirumanam aagi oru paiyan irukiraan pinbu en kanavanuku vayathu 42 agugirathu. Naan santhoshamaaga thaan vaazhnthu vanthukondu irunthen, naan oru teacheraaga velai paarthu varugiren. Naan velai seiyum classku arugil oru veedu irukirathu, antha veetil oru...
My name is Anthony and I am twenty-two years old. I have extra-long dark hair and darker eyes. I tie my hair into a ponytail and have a close trimmed beard. I look handsome and enjoy keeping myself in shape. I am a lucky guy as I have a very sexy girlfriend who is two years older than me. Zoe and I met at a mutual friend’s party and hit it off right away. She has short blonde hair and blue eyes. Her small beautiful mouth sits beneath a cute button nose. All in all, Zoe is a goddess and I love...
CrossdressingHi friends, indru sex kathaiyil auntyai usar seithu eppadi matter adithen enbathai ungalidam pagirugiren. En peyar Seenu. Vayathu 21 aagugirathu. Naan ithu naal varai entha penaiyum sex seithathu kidaiyaathu. Naan engineering padithu varugiren, enathu nanbargal oru naal theaterku ennai azhaithaargal. Naangal neraga bar seithu saraku adithom, appozhuthu bagubali padam oodi kondu irunthathu. Naangal oru gramathil irukum theaterku sendru irunthom. Angu pothuvaga pengal athigam vara matargal,...
When the car with Jake in it became a dot on the horizon, Thea turned to go back in the house. Suddenly Floyd appeared. “Mrs. Thea, how you be?” Smiling, she knew immediately what he wanted. He had that look and a glance at his crotch confirmed it. The imprint of his cock was prominent as it pushed against the material. “Looks like everyone is gone.” Floyd said. His eyes looking out over the farm. “Yes, I am by myself for at least the next few days.” She replied in an...
“Well, hell,” Thea said as she wiped the beads of perspiration from her face. “I guess ‘spring’ is here, huh?” “Yeah. It’s supposed to be cooler at higher elevation,” I replied. We took a few minutes in the shade by the rocks before rejoining our boyfriends. The four of us had driven up into the pass to hike. According to the weather report, the last coolness of a fading winter was supposed to continue through mid-week, but they were wrong. Actually, from our view from Eagle Point, where we’d...
Motherless.com! What an original name for a porn site, don't you think? The title doesn't fuck around: your mother would never allow you to watch the kind of filth they’ve got on tap. They pride themselves on being a moral-free zone for sick fucks, where you can find damn near anything. I’m talking about desperate chicks fucking anything that resembles a dick and crazy bitches literally eating shit. When you’re done fapping to the weird vids, you can even find "normal" porno to pass the time....
Free Porn Tube SitesAh, motherless, here we are again. A site known for offering such a variety, that no matter how fucked up your needs are, there is a high chance that you will fulfill them here. However, I am not here to blab about the site in general; I am here to talk about one particular category, interracial. As for those who want to know more about the site, there is a whole different review on my website instead.As for those who came here to learn more about that interracial lovemaking, I got your back....
Interracial Porn SitesTherese looked at the scene before her. Her father and brother naked, her grandfather’s cock sticking out of his trousers and her grandmother eating her mother’s cunt, both of us naked. Beth with the camera, filming. “God, the slut is only in the door and she’s gone sex mad.” she said referring to me. She went and sat on the arm of her father’s chair putting her arm around him and kissing him on the cheek. My father was now hard again. He pushed my mother out of the way and started to fuck me...
Three months later, the sound of laughter made Thea Barton look up. The now twenty year -old blond-headed beauty was in the living room reading when she heard it. Recognizing the voice of Uncle Dan, she smiled as she waited to see whom he was going to be with. When the laughter grew louder, she smiled. Ah, yes! It was Irene, her now very good friend! Uncle Dan seemed to prefer her to the others. Her being married seemed to make no difference to all concerned parties. Thea smiled to herself,...
This week’s show begins with that same old rusty bedstead, and that same old dirty mattress. Pausing to take in the magnificent filthiness of it, then pulling back to reveal the bare concrete floor around it, and to take in the harsh lighting. And then we hear our guest of the week approaching, quick little footsteps ... Light clicks on the studio floor. We pan round to see what we’ve got this week and see a slight, pale, small-boobed lady walking in quick, short strides ... She’s not is a...
Hi, guys. It’s been a long time on ISS. I was away from the city. I hope you did like my other two stories(true incidents) which I had written. This is the next encounter I had with my aunt who was all alone and needed a little love for her. Her name is Bethesda and lived her whole life alone after her husband married another woman. I do have a lust for her and want her so badly. She is 45 years old and looks bomb. She got a good voluptuous body and looks like a brunette. As for me, I’m six...
IncestMy name is Anthony; I am twenty-two years old and live with my beautiful girlfriend Zoe. As you have read I have dark hair and dark eyes and I am clean shaven. Zoe is older than I am by a couple of years and is the driving force of our relationship. I am what many call a cross-dresser: a guy that gets great sexual satisfaction from dressing in women’s clothing.Of course, my girlfriend knows all about my cross-dressing. In fact, she encourages me to cross-dress. Once a week, generally on a...
ToysTheo had been changing into the squirrel too much, he knew that now... as a pulse of heat raced through his body from his groin. He realized that he shouldn't have come to the office.He had been spending most of his days at the squirrel in his home deep in the countryside. Teleworking most of the time, as the squirrel he felt no need for clothes, his heavy furred balls resting between his thighs as his paws raced over the keyboard. The sharp claws on his paws clattering loudly as he typed,...
Fantasy & Sci-FiIt’s time to go to the land of chocolate fountains and golden showers. That’s right. Scat, piss, shit, and every fluid in between. Ever fuck a chick in her ass and freak out when you see that little bit of shit on your dick? Then I’m sorry to say that scat isn’t for you buddy. Were you the only one of your friends that saw two girls one cup and didn’t get grossed out? If so, it’s time to celebrate it! Don’t get pissed off, get pissed on! Scat porn has the craziest, kinkiest chicks and dudes...
Scat Porn SitesI’m not saying anything controversial when I say men love seeing women naked. It’s a fact of life as fundamental as gravity. It’s a force of nature that cannot be stopped by beast, man, or God. It’s an eternal truth and a divine mandate. As sure as the sun will rise, men will attempt to view as many women naked as they possibly can. Any man not doing so is either a sad or a gay one.This means that any woman a man sees regularly is mentally stripped down during every interaction. If any women...
The FappeningClayton Smithers was really glad he had listened to his mother when she told him he should become a doctor. Mom had always told him it would be a lot of work but worth it in money and prestige. She had been only part right. Hardly any work had been required, just learning the jargon and technical terms by studying books and papers written by psychiatrists who had taken the hard route to obtaining their degrees. Clayton Smithers had taken the easy route, buying his degree from the best diploma...
‘To me it’s not really a green. When I think green, I think of grass. That’s more like lemonade color.’ Erica’s nose was far too close to the glasses for my taste. Pouring the nearly clear absinthe over the rough-cut, cane-sugar cubes I favor, I tapped my spoon for a second to get her to back up. I wished I had my full setup here like I have at home, my Absinthe fountains water drippers are missed when I began to try and slowly pour water over the sugar cube. ‘Don’t you light it on fire?’ she...
Have you ever heard about a wonderful site called “Motherless”? I have a feeling that was a dumb question, of course, you fucking have. Well, I am here to talk about Motherless, but I shall also pay special attention to their Arab category. If you think Arabian sluts are hot, well you are in for a tasty treat, believe me.First, I should probably warn you that the name of this place comes from the fact that their content might be a bit too hardcore or questionable for some of you. Back in the...
Arab Porn SitesFuck yeah, life’s a bitch! So here I am, awake at 3:45 AM, after dreaming I was fucking this freaking hot MILF neighbor with heavy boobs, a flat tummy, a nice bubble butt, and sexy long legs. It was all hot and steamy, up until when she was sucking me off and just as I was about to obliterate her cute face with hot cum canon, my dream cut right off and I woke up with a tent on my pajamas.That dream ain’t coming back, but damn it! I sure gotta cum, so I boot up my laptop and type “cum facial” in...
Facial Cumshot Porn SitesHer head had been on the brink of falling onto my shoulder for the past 15 minutes. Every time, I thought I’d feel her soft locks brush against my skin, the train would rattle and she roused herself up again. It was torture. I could clearly see she could barely muster the energy to sit up straight again, and I could no longer bear the torture of anticipating the sensations to come and still not feel her on my shoulder. I couldn’t help but let out an exasperated sigh when the train suddenly...
I had met Gunther while attending a boring conference out of town.Of course my beloved hubby had not been there for sure.He was a young athletic Austrian guy, handsome and muscled. A real gentleman, but I felt he had a dark past and I wanted to know it…Now Gunther was in town and my hubby was out; so I agreed to meet him at a local pub, I knew it was not the sort of place I would normally go with a man on my first date; but I did not care about it…I decided to wear my tightest black leather...
Absinthe 2: The Absinthe of Malice By Morpheus The flight from Seattle to Boston had been extremely long and uncomfortable, even with the two hour delay in Chicago where I got to stretch my legs and change flights. My book had given me something to do during the countless hours in the air, though admittedly, Collin had been my largest savior from boredom. The two of us had ended up talking for over half the flight, and by the time we finally landed, I was even starting to consider...
Und draußen schallte wieder Punkmusik aus dem Ghettoblaster – von der Eisenbahnunterführung bis zu seinem Haus! Punks und Skater hingen da ab. Das war diese Art von Jugendlichen, die ihren Eltern das Leben schwer macht , die von Arbeit nichts hielten, sich an keine Regeln hielten, ständig auf Party machten. Die soffen viel zu viel und kotzten dann in irgendeine Ecke. Denen bedeutete doch nichts und niemand etwas. Wahrscheinlich nahmen sie auch Drogen und trieben weiß-Gott-was mit...
BDSMAnna introduced Ethel to her father, Jonas Strong, when they met him in Wilsonville. Jonas was owner and manager of the bank and was a pillar of the community. He was surprised to see a woman dressed as Ethel was, but was completely taken by her when he found out that she had saved his daughter's life. He was impressed by any woman who had the gumption to be a gunfighter, and he was further impressed by the way she was armed. Jonas wanted to get to know Ethel better, so he and Anna stayed...
Ethel developed a really great liking for Adam Strong in the week she spent visiting them. He did not exactly remind her of her dead husband, Archy, but he had a lot of the same characteristics that she had loved in Archy. His main attraction, though, was that he let her be her. Adam did not try to change her to fit some sort of "ideal woman" in his eyes. Ethel hated to leave at the end of her week's visit, but she knew that she had to if she was ever going to satisfy her vendetta against...
Motherless is the mother of all porn sites. Motherless has no conscience or moral guide. Motherless will show you the stuff that all other porn sites are afraid to put up. Motherless will do this for free. This is seriously one of the nastiest and raunchiest sites out there and Motherless/Fetish is perhaps one of the dirtiest places on the web that are well within reach. Sure you can scan the dark web and find something even more naughty or puzzlingly gross, but why do that when you’ve got...
Fetish Porn SitesJake Peters and I watched the lady friends of Lynette Peters as they played cards at the kitchen table. Jake's comments about Betty, and how he wouldn't mind a roll in the hay with her, surprised me. Jake always dated girls around his own age. Betty was probably in her mid to late thirties. She was pretty, blond and sported a curvy figure. Not overweight, comfy would be the best description. I did notice that she was eyeing us up a bit more than the other women were. But first a brief...
MILFThe next afternoon, Ethel, Hester, and Anna rode into Wilsonville. Ethel had her horse, but the other two ladies were riding in a carriage driven by Anna. Ethel was planning to open her bank account and stay over to play poker, but the other two were going to do some shopping and return home in time for supper. They met Jonas for dinner (lunch to you damyankees) and had a very nice meal at the hotel restaurant. Of course, it was not up to what Hester could and would fix, but it was still...
Ye baat tab ki hai .Job bua unke ek local minister ke pass gayi thi.Hua ye tha ki bua chah ti thi kii phupa ke accident ka investigation hoo.Par police ne use daba diya. Bahut din tak us minister ke ghar ke paas chakr kat ne ke baad unko minister ne mila. Bua ka ek chota batcha tha. Use leke wo ander gaye.Wo minister apni chair pe betha tha. Bua use sab baat kahi.Toh minister ne bola- thik ho jayega.Par use kya milega.Tabhi bua job us minister ko dekha. Toh uska najar bua ke boobs me thi. Bua...
Everybody read my previous stories about my beautiful Chitta and our sweet fucking for the new guys I will explain about my Chitta she is about 40 years old but look like 30. Round beautiful ass which will swaying when she walk and firm boobs .her size is 34d-30-36.she has long black hair and having some hair in her beautiful legs, that make her more beautiful. She often shaves her under arms but her pussy is full of hairs, she had a bushy pussy. I fuck her many times and we had group sex with...
This is a true sex story of how my mom got fucked just because of my silly mistake on road. My mom was a conservative woman. I always used to wonder how she’s sexually satisfied as my dad was working abroad for last 25 years. My mom is 46, she’s health, white and has really a nice figure compared to other Indian woman. She’s slimmer than most Indian woman. She’s got nice milky white cups on her chest. She’s got the biggest ass you can imagine in an Indian woman. I always appreciate her decency...
Incest