Scripts, Scraps, Short Stories, and Cutlery

Photo

Sun, 19 May 2013 04:38:05 -0400

myholden: sexwithnobabies: tyleroakley: Accurate. Found...

Sun, 19 May 2013 04:34:47 -0400

myholden:

sexwithnobabies:

tyleroakley:

Accurate.

Found him.

Maybe found him?

Photo

Sat, 18 May 2013 22:08:47 -0400

My scarf is only nine feet long! I want ti to be like fifty feet long!

Sat, 18 May 2013 17:33:34 -0400

montypythonandtheholyblog: we ride together we die together

Sat, 18 May 2013 14:46:13 -0400

montypythonandtheholyblog:

we ride together

we die together

I'm going to knit and watch Elementary ALL DAY LONG!

Sat, 18 May 2013 14:42:52 -0400

I don’t know what I’m doing with my life anymore.

Anyone want a scarf? I’ll make it for you…

I was thinking of making a scarf of sonic games. You know, like the colors of the scarf match the colors of zones.

I don’t know.

This is what graduation looks like…..

DeanDraws: scriptsscrapscutlery: deandraws: Sometimes I leave the most strange...

Sat, 18 May 2013 14:30:47 -0400

DeanDraws: scriptsscrapscutlery: deandraws: Sometimes I leave the most strange...:

scriptsscrapscutlery:

deandraws:

Sometimes I leave the most strange comments to my friends’ posts.

I can’t help it. I’m just really f’ing weird. …but I love you all. Because you put up with it. ^^

I was going to try to one up you…but then I started thinking about ham instead.

Damn…

MY HAIR ISN’T DELICIOUS LOOKING ANYMORE! IT’S BROWN AND SAD!

I’ve lost all of my magical powers.

You’ll never be hungry again….

(but seriously, now I want a milkshake and a cheesburger…yummy yums)

deandraws: Sometimes I leave the most strange comments to my friends’ posts. I can’t help it. I’m...

Sat, 18 May 2013 14:25:00 -0400

deandraws:

Sometimes I leave the most strange comments to my friends’ posts.

I can’t help it. I’m just really f’ing weird. …but I love you all. Because you put up with it. ^^

I was going to try to one up you…but then I started thinking about ham instead.

Damn and Ham rhyme.

Keep up the weird commenting. I hear it brings all the boys to the yard. It’s either that or milkshakes, and I don’t understand why milkshakes would bring all the boys to the yard, so it must be weird commenting.

project-helix: 【腐】ピアーズ受けいろいろ【ホモエロ】 by 遊里 Piers: Hey,...

Sat, 18 May 2013 14:23:08 -0400

project-helix:

【腐】ピアーズ受けいろいろ【ホモエロ】 by 遊里

Piers: Hey, Captain…

Chris: Yeah?

Piers: If there is a next life… I hope I can serve with you again.

Chris: … Then I’ll make sure I’m here waiting for you.

Piers: Thanks, Captain… I’d like that.

THANKS FOR KILLING MY ALREADY PIERS-IFIED HEART

My life is already ruined by this collaboration...

Sat, 18 May 2013 03:59:25 -0400

It’s too amazing.

Just, run. Just run towards it and read it as soon as it comes out…and we are only…like…halfway done with it!

Original work | "Murderabilia"

Sat, 18 May 2013 01:38:40 -0400

PLEASE READ THIS!

I’m considering this piece for publication. It’s one of the few works that I have that doesn’t have to do with any sort of fantastical elements. It’s a bit wonky. That is to say that the subject matter is strange, but I want to know what you guys think. Like I REALLY want to know.

PLEASE READ THIS SHORT STORY!

Please tell me what you think of the idea, the writing and what not!

PLEASE!!!

When you splatter someone across the wall, you’re called a crazy man, a killer, and a psychopath. You are horrifying, and you are to be avoided by ‘balanced’ folk. You were probably teased as a child, killed small animals, and may or may not have been touched inappropriately by a member of your family, probably someone of the same sex as you. The news dedicates hours and hours of programming to you, but of course, it’s only after you’ve been found out. The more people you can kill, and the cleverer you are about it, the better. Do something that no one has ever done? They might even make a movie out of you. It’s a lovely sentiment isn’t it. You become immortal. You become the thing that lives in the closet of children, and lurk under their beds at night. You are what adults fear they will become if they spend to long in their cubical. You become a national icon. Everyone knows your name.

Everyone wants your stuff.

It’s quite fantastic actually, really, if you just think about it. I know, I sound a bit colloquial just talking about murder like it’s nothing, but that’s what happens when you grew up being a kid whose parents were serial killers. I didn’t know about it until I was fifteen, but when I found out, I just started to research. It passed the time, and it made me feel like I was doing something more than just rotting away as someone’s trophy.

Let me explain.

There’s a phenomenon in some societies, in which, when there are estate sales of a serial killer’s stuff, a lot of people like to go and looking through what’s up for sale, and they generally try to grab pieces. I guess they are good conversation starters. Who doesn’t want to know that the moose head hanging over your mantle once belonged to John Wayne Gacy, Jr.? I’m getting a bit excited just thinking about it.

Some people are so interested in a serial killer’s life that they’ll moved into the person’s house. I don’t know about you, but that just doesn’t sound like something that’s particularly interesting to me, and apparently I lived in a house with two serial killers. I know, I know, I’m so blasé about the whole thing, and that’s just it. They were my parents.

How did it make me feel? It’s a question that so many people have asked me over the years, and the truth was, it didn’t make me feel a damn thing. When I lived with them, it was nice. They left me and my brother alone. Every week there was envelope with some money in it on the counter. It was just how we did it. My parents were both doctors. Dad was an anesthesiologist, and Mom was a brain surgeon or something that dealt with inter-cranial debunking, or debulking, or something. They always worked nights. Well, that’s not particularly true. I guess you could say that they were always working nights, but some nights they weren’t at the hospital. Money on the counter. We liked the system. Sometimes Alex would ask me if they loved us, and I would tell him that they probably did, but they didn’t really care about us. We cared for each other. He was only a year younger than me.

People asked why they had kids if they were just planning on murdering people. I always said to ask them because I didn’t know. I didn’t.

You know, I remember being called into the principal’s office on the third day of my sophomore year of high school, and then the next thing I knew, I was in handcuffs for accessory to murder. Five days later, when the cops realized that Alex and I didn’t have any clue that our parents had been giving lethal doses of anesthesia to members of our family and then screwing with their brains, they let us go. That was what it was. An envelope for years, a couple of dead relatives, our parents on death row, and nowhere for us to go.

Our parents had not planned on a few things. They were smart as hell, but for some reason they forgot that in some counties of this great state that neighbors still look out for each other. Uncle Carl’s friends who lived across the street realized that he hadn’t return with our Aunt Clare, and so they started to get nervous. They called the cops, the cops called my parents, my parents said they had no idea, and then the cops found fifteen dead bodies stowed away in the hospital that my parents worked at. They had grown so lazy that they forgot to get rid of the bodies. It was pretty sad.

They also forgot that killing all of our family members meant that when they got caught there would be no place for Alex and me to go.

I told you about stuff that people like to collect. Homes that people like to buy. That stuff is called ‘murderabilia,’ and it was coined by some guy somewhere after something horrible happened to a bunch of people. People like to collect things with horrible pasts. Maybe it’s because of ghosts. The soul of the dead murderer lives in his gym socks, and so we need to keep it around so that one day a horrible show on that science fiction channel can come and investigate our house for maggots, or whatever.

My brother and I, the kids of two murderous people, well, we had no where to go. What happens when you have no where to go? You become wards of the state. You know what happens when you become wards of the state? You become stuff. You know what happens to the stuff of murderers’ on death row? You’re sold to the highest bidder as ‘murderabilia.’

Of course, the state didn’t sell us to anyone, but I’ve never seen so many people lined up to take on two teenage kids in my life. Was it because my parents actually left behind a lot of money, and these people wanted it? I don’t know. But the people we ended up with, the Morticellis, I’m pretty sure they didn’t even realize that we had money.

Alex started to get a bit quieter, and I’ve never seen two people get more excited about it. They alerted us that the quiet ones usually started up trouble. It was like they wanted my brother to go crazy. I knew what he was doing. He was going into an emotional coma. It was what we called it when we needed time to just sift through things. It had been a rough couple of months when we finally moved in with the Morticellis. Alex was just sorting through it. We had taught each other how to subvert feelings, how to self-sooth, and most importantly how to deal with anything.

We assumed we would get split up, so we had started to shun each other to get used to the idea. Kids in the foster home we stayed in said that it was the normal thing that happened. Apparently trying to keep kids together wasn’t particularly true. We don’t know how much of what they said was to scare. We took it as the truth.

Everyday they asked if he had killed someone. My brother assured them that they would be the first to know.

I found his humor to be a bit funny. They didn’t quite get it.

The Morticellis weren’t necessarily bad people, even if their name did means something like ‘house of death’ or something. If anything, their last name was fitting. They had everything. Letters from a murderer to his girlfriend. That shit was hermetically sealed between twelve panes of glass and hung above their bed. They had a knife that some guy used to butcher prostitutes. They claimed that it wasn’t so special since everyone butchered prostitutes. I vomited three times that night. Alex held my hair back and told me that living with them was going to be hell.

It became hilarious when the Morticellis decided that keeping us from eating would change us from the well adjusted kids that we were into the serial killers that they wanted us to be. I broke the window out of our bedroom. Alex and I walked to the taco joint that was right around the corner and got some food that night. They seemed proud of us. They took it as an act of defiance. They alerted the entire neighborhood to our antics. The torches and pitchforks were ready by the end of the week. Remember, in some counties of our great state, neighbors still look out for each other. None of them were really looking out for each other though. Each family just wanted to catch the killers in the act and become famous. The Morticellis didn’t care who did it because they would be immortalized as the people who took care of the murderers. They really were such lovely people.

We were the ultimate prize for the neighborhood. Not only were we famous for being the kids of some abominations who murdered their own family, but we were going to make a neighborhood famous. That’s a lot of pressure for a couple of high school kids with college dreams.

At no point did we even think about doing it. Murder was a recessive gene that past our generation, and the more we thought about it, the more creeped out we were by death. Alex always asked why people were so interested in us, and I said it was because people were interested in how other people die. There was something exciting in it, and he always thought it was stupid. But that was just it. Death was all around. It was immortalizing. We learned that from our parents. We got to see them the day before they were set for lethal injection. They made jokes. Mom was even mad that we didn’t thank her for making us famous.

What terrible kids we were. We didn’t thank our parents for shipping us off to live with some people in the middle of fucking nowhere who thought that we were going to murder them…and were excited about it. They were the idiots that we sitting behind us trying to get my parents’ attention.

My mother told me one time that men like to objectify women. I was eight. She didn’t really explain what it meant, and it took me a long time to figure it out. The worst way that I have been objectified in my entire life was as some sort of chia pet that was interested in mutilating a bunch of people.

The Morticelli’s didn’t keep us around much after they found out I was more interested in girls than I was in boys, and they didn’t like the fact that my brother got into some Ivy League school because he was actually smart and not a sociopath. Apparently, adopted parents get those things mixed up all the time.

They kicked us both out, but it actually helped my brother. He claimed that he was homeless and he got some extra money to get into that nice school of his. My, then, girlfriend and I started living together when I turned eighteen, and I got a job and did my thing. College wasn’t for me, but I’m not doing to bad for myself. Sure, Alex has got some programming job somewhere, but I’m the one with my own business, and I’m the one with the three months vacation whenever I want it. Most of that time is spent seeing him. He’s kind of an asshole that way. We love each other a great deal; we’re all we have after all.

Never before have I been so horrified at the fact that someone would adopt someone else for the sole purpose of getting closer to a serial killer, and yet here I am, telling you everything about my life. Here I am, selling my story to you because I need some cash, and you need to write yet another book on the fact that my parents liked to torture normal people that just wanted to live a long and happy life. Here I am, continuing the chain of ‘murderabilia’ by creating my own little piece of it. My words become the object that you and I make money off of. But that’s the sad thing. I can see the look on your face. You were hoping that I would reveal to you some grand, mysterious design that would give it all away.

The note over the Morticellis’ bed was a clue to how I ended up murdering my first girlfriend, or the fact that they owned a number of clowns was the reason that my brother decided that it was his duty to reenact the previous antics of some guy who we never actually knew, but someone that we had heard about a great deal in our lives.

That’s what it is, isn’t it? It’s all about that. Trying to get to know just a little more. Why does someone do what they do? I bet their children know. If you can’t learn from the source it must be the children. They are they key to our understanding of the fucked up shit that their parents do. Well, that’s the interesting part of it all. My brother has a wife now, and he even has a couple of kids. I know, for a fact, that he hasn’t killed anyone, though he did hit a squirrel last week. He called me and started crying. He’s grown extremely sensitive to death. He always worried about dying, but not the way that others were fascinated by it. He was afraid of what his strength, his hands, could do. I’m surprised that wife of his married him. He’s a good kid, but he’s always been contemplative. He’s always been in that emotional coma. But he loves her, and she loves him, and I couldn’t be fucking happier about it.

Here’s the nugget since you’re going to warp my story and make me out to be some crazed woman, though you’ll probably call me a ‘crazy bitch’ just to get your point across. Violence does not breed violence. Sure, I’m desensitized to the entire idea of murder. I joked about it. That’s what this was, just a big joke. Everything in my life has been one big joke after another because it’s how I kept myself sane during those times that I had to cradle my brother as he cried himself to sleep. Seventeen years old and he worried that every word he said had some terrible consequence that would literally destroy a person. Words can do that, but for him, it actually meant something. It was something.

But that’s just it. That’s not the story that you want. You don’t want to hear about the tears, or the hardship, or the fact that my brother actually loved small animals, or that my father never touched me in a dirty way. You don’t want to hear that I am horrified at the fact that there are some people that touch their children inappropriately. You want to hear about the number of bodies, and you want to hear about how they did it, and that’s all you want.

I don’t know what my parents did, and I don’t know what they were planning on doing to us if they were never caught.

There are a few things that I do know about my life. I am married to a wonderful woman, and we flew to Canada to get married. I have a daughter and a son, and I don’t plan on leaving them. I love my brother more than anything, and my parents were serial killers. That’s what I know. That, and the fact that you’ll never know how I did it.

likeacooldude: Some bara cosplayers

Sat, 18 May 2013 01:15:19 -0400

likeacooldude:

Some bara cosplayers

Reilly, Cheerleader and Minion of Satan

Sat, 18 May 2013 00:33:30 -0400

At your service

Teen Wolf Season 3

Sat, 18 May 2013 00:05:39 -0400

radruby:

And after those last few Anon messages, I think it's safe to say that I'm turning Anonymous messaging off for a while.

Fri, 17 May 2013 23:35:06 -0400

NIVANFIELD | HIGH SCHOOL AU/LeBLANC'S REQUEST | "Piers Smiled"

Fri, 17 May 2013 23:20:02 -0400

So, this one has sex in it.

It’s a bit awkward.

These were the things that LeBlanc wanted, and these are the things that you get when you ask for them.

Enjoy Part II of the High School AU!

“So, this is my house. I would have cleaned up a little bit if I knew that you were stopping by, but I didn’t know that you were stopping by, and so you know, it’s a little messy, and I’m sorry,” Piers said as he showed Chris through the house.

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“Okay. Yeah, I don’t. I’m really nervous.”

“I couldn’t tell,” Chris said. “I can go if you want me to.”

“No! No…. Ugh, did that sound like really desperate?”

“A little bit, but it’s okay. I’m a little nervous about it myself. I’m just better at hiding it. You know, football nerves of steel and all that.”

“Yeah,” Piers said as he laughed a little bit. He went over to the liquor cabinet and opened it up. “Do you want anything? I might have a drink; it might calm me down a little bit.”

Piers fixed himself a cocktail, and Chris walked over and watched him do it. Piers made him one too, just to make sure, and Chris happily accepted it. After they started sipping on it, Chris got a little bit closer to Piers, and he put a hand on his thigh. Piers looked down at it.

“Is this okay?” Chris asked.

“Yeah…” Piers said, and he started blushing a little bit.

Chris’s hand started to slide up a little bit more, and he told Piers to tell him if he was getting uncomfortable, but Piers just sort of smiled a little bit and assured him that he was okay with it. Both of them remained a bit nervous. Chris crawled across the couch a little further, and he planted a kiss on Piers’s lips. Piers laughed as he finished.

“I can feel it,” Chris said.

“I’m sorry…” Piers said through his chuckling.

“Stop laughing,” Chris said as he started to as well.

“I just thought of something…”

“What’s that.”

“Do you have any, um, protection?”

“What?’

“Condoms. Do you have any condoms?”

“Shit, no. You don’t?”

“This is kind of my first time, Chris. I didn’t know that you were coming.”

“Do your parents?”

“Ummmmm…”

“Oh god. I found your mom’s underwear drawer.”

“I’ll look through that one. You look through my dad’s sweaters.”

“Why does he have so many sweaters?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“Your parents are vanilla sex people.”

“I’m vanilla sex people…”

“How do your parents not have condoms? Lube I understand, but no condoms?”

“I’ll go get some. You just wait here.”

“No, no. I’ll come with you.”

“But then the people are going to know that we’re having sex together.”

“Is that a problem? Embarrassed to be having sex with me?”

“No! I was, I was more afraid that you were with me…”

“I’m coming with you.”

Piers smiled.

“There are so many different kinds.”

“Have you never even looked at this section of the store?”

“Nope. What kind do we get?”

“Are you allergic to latex?”

“No.”

“Then I would not suggest getting lambskin condoms. I assume you don’t have any STIs.”

“My, what a question to ask in the middle of a supermarket…”

“Well, lambskin doesn’t protect from it.”

“How about these,” Piers said, and he held up some spermicidal condoms.

“No. Jill and I tried those once. It was terrible. I’m a allergic to the stuff. My dick was raw for a week.”

“Let’s just put those down then…”

“I’ve never had anal sex before. Do we have to decide who’s on top, and who’s on bottom?”

“If we do, I don’t think I want to discuss that in the middle of the supermarket…” Piers said as three, white-haired ladies walked behind them. This was starting to get a little awkward, and Piers was realizing how little he knew about all of this. He kind of wished that their school had some sort of sex ed course…or at least one that was worth a damn.

“Let’s just get these,” Chris said. “I’ve used them before, and they work well.”

“Well how about this…?”

“I have no idea.”

There were at least twenty different types of lube to choose from.

“I’ve heard of this.”

“Astroglide?”

“This is so romantic. Picking out condoms and lube with you while people walk by.”

“This might be the most uncomfortable thing I’ve done in a while,” Chris said. “Get the Astroglide stuff. Let’s get out of here.” Chris put his arm around Piers. He really wished they had some sort of sex ed class for this. He wasn’t particularly prepared for gay sex….

“Drinks are still here,” Piers said, and he downed the rest of his and made another one.

“Me too, please!” Chris said as he brought his glass to the bar. He put the plastic bag on the couch as he walked over. The contents spilled out.

“It’s getting late….” Piers said as he poured the rest of the shaker into Chris’s glass.

“Yeah. It’s almost two.”

“Are you tired?”

“If I have another cocktail or two I might get a second wind.”

“You’re not going to leave?”

“Despite being awkward, there was something…real about shopping with you tonight. Do you mind if I stay?”

“My parents won’t be home until Sunday, so yeah.”

“But do you want me to stay.”

Piers smiled again and said, “I want you to stay.”

“How many is that?”

“Four.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever had this much to drink…oh shit. Do you think my parents are going to notice that much of their Jameson is gone?”

“Probably.”

“I’ll just say I drank it.”

“Do they know?”

“About the Jameson being gone?” Piers said as he laughed drunkenly.

“Are you out to them?”

“Yeah, are you out to your parents?”

“No.”

“Oh. Does that, does that bother you?”

“A little bit. I’m not gay.”

“Bi, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You can still come out if you want to.”

“Yeah…”

“So, do you still want to?”

“I’m a little bit drunk,” Piers responded.

“Okay…” Chris said, and he gave Piers a kiss on the forehead.

“You’re mad.”

“Got some blue balls, but when someone responds to sex with ‘I’m drunk’ it means I’m not going to have sex with them,” Chris said with a smile. He put his arm under Piers’s back, and another arm under Piers’s legs, and he picked him up. Piers gave directions to his bedroom. Chris forced Piers to have some water before the two of them finally fell asleep. It wasn’t the grand night that the two of them expected, and all of the awkwardness at the supermarket had been for naught…

“Do you have a headache?”

“A little bit,” Chris said as Piers rolled over and gave Chris a little kiss. Then Chris gave him one. Then they both started to give each other kisses, and before Piers knew it, he rolled over further and on top of Chris. They continued the make out session, and Piers would admit that he was being a little bit aggressive. He had never really kissed anyone before, and so he was moving a little bit fast.

“Slow down,” Chris said. “Like this.”

“Okay,” Piers said, and he slowed down, and he started listening to Chris.

“I can feel it again,” Chris said with a smile.

“I’m nervous, Chris…”

“We can stop.”

“I don’t want to; I’m just nervous. I was letting you know.”

“Take off your shirt,” Chris said. He took his own off first so that Piers could feel a little more comfortable, and then Piers took of his shirt. Most of the clothes that Chris had seen Piers wearing made him look a little fuller than he was, but the truth was that the kid was ripped. Chris put his hands on Piers’s chest as he made a bit of a double take.

“Wait!” Piers shouted. Chris let go. He thought he had done something wrong as Piers ran out of the room.

“Piers? I…I didn’t mean to.”

“No!” Piers shouted from downstairs. And as he came back into the room, he carried the bag from the supermarket.

“Oh! Yeah, that’s helpful,” Chris said.

Piers unbuckled his pants, and then he dropped them, and he stood there for a moment as though he was on display, but Chris could tell, it was because he wasn’t sure about it all. Chris started to take his pants off (realizing that both of them had passed out in all of their clothes), and when he was completely naked he smiled over at Piers. Piers didn’t seem too much better.

“Hey,” Chris said.

“Hey,” Piers replied, and his voice was a little shaky.

“We’re just two guys, and all you have to do is say the word,” Chris said.

“We stop?”

“We’ll stop as soon as you say,” Chris said. “Simple.”

“Okay,” Piers said, and he got back on top of Chris. “Kissing first.”

And so he started to give Chris a bit of a kiss again, and Chris could already feel Piers’s dick getting hard, and it started to sort of climb up his abs as it grew. Chris put his hands onto Piers’s ass, and he gave it a gentle squeeze, and then he flipped Piers over so that he was under Chris. Chris looked him in the eyes for a moment, and then he started to kiss down from Piers’s mouth to his navel. Now Chris was a bit nervous. He didn’t really know how to go give a blow job, but he put his hand around the base of Piers’s dick, and then he wrapped his lips around the tip. Piers let out a little shiver.

“That was nice,” Piers said.

So Chris did it again, but this time, he let Piers’s cock slip a little deeper into mouth, and then he pulled it back out.

“Suck the tip a little bit,” Piers said, and so Chris let Piers’s dick fill his mouth, but as he brought his head back up, he gave it a little suck at the head of Piers’s penis. Chris continued, stroking and sucking in alternative amounts of time, and Piers started to pick up his breathing a little bit.

“Sorry, I can’t go down much further,” Chris said, and he put his lips back to Piers’s cock, and then he licked up the underside of it.

“It’s…oh, it’s fine,” Piers said. “I think I’m about to, um, courtesy moment.”

Chris sucked one more time, and then Piers penis gave a little quiver, and he started to ejaculate. He gave a little laugh, and then he sighed with pleasure. He motioned for Chris to come back up to his face.

“Yes, Piers?”

“I want you to do it,” Piers said, and he pulled the box of condoms out of the plastic back.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Piers said, and he gave Chris a kiss. “Slow. I’ve heard to go slow.”

Chris slipped the condom onto his dick, and he opened the lube. He didn’t know how much to use, so he put a few drops onto his hand and he spread it on to Piers’s anus. It was slippery. That was for sure. He thought it might be a good idea to put some on the condom too, and so he put some more onto his hand and spread it onto the condom. It was better to use more than to be sorry. He placed his dick right on Piers’s hole, and he applied a little pressure, and the head of his penis started to slip in. Piers grimaced a little bit, and so Chris pulled out.

“Go a little further this time,” Piers said. Chris listened, and he pushed in a little further this time, and then he pulled out again. It was a bit awkward, but at the same time, he sort of enjoyed it. They were learning a bit together. He pushed in again, and he kept going until he could go all the way in. He pulled Piers down the bed a little bit, and then he pulled Piers’s hips more into his, and he felt himself enter deep into Piers.

“Ahhhh,” Piers let out, and he bit his lower lip.

“Too much?”

“No, it feels good. You?”

“Yeah..” Chris said, and he leaned forward and gave Piers a kiss. He noticed that Piers was starting to get hard again. Chris thrusted forward, slowly at first, and with each thrust he could feel how tight Piers was. It was a bit different, a bit tighter than it was Jill. When the two of them had sex for the first time, it was Jill who knew more than Chris did, and he was glad that she had been there. He was glad that she had given him advice on condoms, and to ask certain questions. He felt like it was helping this.

“Turn over,” Chris said as he pulled out, and Piers turned over and laid on his stomach. He propped his ass up a little bit by pulling his knees closer to his chest, and Chris entered him again, still a bit slow, but he felt that he could move a little bit faster. He felt Piers’s ass cheeks in his pelvis, and he felt himself getting into it. He could hear Piers moan a little bit, and Chris couldn’t help but let out a little bit of a moan too. He had wanted this.

He kept going, moving a little faster with each thrust, but he made sure to keep it fairly slow. Piers alerted him that everything still felt good, and that he could go a little faster, and so Chris did, and he could feel his own dick start to tense up, and he started to orgasm, and instinctively he pulled Piers’s pelvis closer to himself, and he let out a bit of a moan. When he finished, he slowly pulled out, and Piers plopped down completely on his stomach. He was breathing a bit heavy, and Chris pulled the condom off, and disposed of it in the bin near Piers’s desk. He crawled onto the bed, and he lay adjacent to Piers.

“I liked that,” Piers said giving a bit of a goofy smile.

“Me too.”

“My ass hurts a little bit though.”

“Did I go to fast?”

“Maybe a little, but it felt good while it was happening.”

“This might be a weird time to ask, but any chance you might want to come to dinner with me tonight?”

“Totally.”

“Awesome! So, I have to ask. What did it feel like?”

“Want to find out?”

“Yeah.”

“Then roll over.”

Photo

Fri, 17 May 2013 22:03:13 -0400

nievie: arachnis-deathicus: Gonna quickly throw in an epic...

Fri, 17 May 2013 21:55:15 -0400

nievie:

arachnis-deathicus:

Gonna quickly throw in an epic quote I found on this article.

KJKJ: Gene Roddenberry, with balls of brass, got up on national tv and said, “hey people, if a geneticist took all the best DNA from planet Earth and put it together to make the best human the world has ever seen - he wouldn’t be a white guy.”

This is why I find the casting of a white actor in this role to be so repugnant. They are not whitewashing an Asian role, they are saying that the best genetic material that the entirety of this world and it’s diversity has to offer….still comes from a white guy.

Reblogging again for that

Hey can I request a drabble with 90s Kon meeting his future self and Tim?

Fri, 17 May 2013 21:41:53 -0400

I might be able to do that. Give me a bit, and I’ll have it for you!

RuPaul's Drag Race season 6 awaits your entry.

Fri, 17 May 2013 21:41:37 -0400

Probably not. But you know! A lot of people like that show. It’s just not for me.