Why are you looking at me like that?’’ he asked, his hand tensing for a second on my hip.“No reason.’’ I moved my hand up his chest and on the way his abs contracted.He pushed me away abruptly, forcing me to sit up with him. With the scruff hiding parts of his cheeks I wasn’t sure, but he seemed to be blushing. “You shouldn’t touch a man like that in the morning,’’ he rasped, his hand hiding his crotch.
He stared at the corner of the yellowed ceiling, at the spider web and its solitary occupant. “Why here?” he asked the spider. “You could choose anywhere instead of this house. I know I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have to be.” The spider said nothing. Come to think of it, Callum was sure the spider hadn’t moved even an inch in the last week. Maybe it was dead. Dead and crisp like the untouched wasp carcass on his window sill.
Shadows ran all around her and someone was talking to her but it was all just white noise. Goodbye solo she would never perform. Goodbye perfect night that never got the chance to end in Garrett’s arms. Garrett, oh god. Goodbye love of her life, she had loved him and with the thought of never seeing him again her body gave up a single tear. It escaped her eye and coursed through the blood and dirt on her cheek making a single clean streak as the blackness took over.
His name feels like a secret, and now he's wearing it on his wrist. I want to know all about this girl who put it there. What she looks like. If she's got freckles, fair hair or dark, like his. If she's scrappy or etheral, funny or serious, scrape-kneed or ladylike. I know that she loves him, so I want to know everything else. But West doesn't want to share her with me. I shouldn't keep trying to scale these walls he puts up. I'm a terrible climber.
Now, this is where I draw the line! It's bad enough everybody in town's going to be thinkin' I'm sleeping with a depressed, lice-ridden, hemorrhoidal foreigner who likes to be tied up and might be pregnant, although-since she's just about cornered the market on condoms-I don't know how that could have happened. But I will not-you listen to me, Emma!-I absolutely will not have anybody thinkin' a woman of mine needs a vaginal moisturizer, do you hear me?
I said nothing in my texts. You came up with your own conclusions and you were mad thinking about me being with someone else…’’ “Stop,’’ he said, his jaw tightening. “Touching another man…’’ “Stop it.’’ “Sleeping…’’ He ran to me and grabbed my shoulders, shaking me once, not hard, but enough to make me stop. “Quit it,’’ he whispered, his voice deep and dark.
You’re not going to disappear,” I said. “I won’t let you”.“Even if this is all there is? Going to school and working at my uncle’s restaurant and fighting with Mari? Why would anyone want to remember this?”“I want to remember you. Just like this.”She rolled onto her back, hands covering her face, and I pulled them away.“People like you don’t disappear,” I said.“Then where do they go?”“Everywhere.
Rare contact creates a stir. Gossip spreads. Tensions build. Denying Pissec, miserable Obelmäker and repressed Baumauer are all seething-jealous – openly or reservedly – within the hour. The pay rise promise is working a treat. Brichacek’s licking the tip of a pencil with her sticky pink tongue. “Stop flirting,” he tells her, but he looks at her breasts and thinks, The girls with the bruises in the sex films are just dead dolls, but this pretty toy is alive.
-No deberías beber tanto, imagina la decepción de tu amiguita si luego... ya sabes...-Tranquila, soy perfectamente capaz de cumplir.-No me lo jures.-¿Qué?-Que es fantástico, Lucas. Te felicito por ser tan eficiente.-Bebe-me indicó, más como una orden que como una sugerencia. Cambió su vaso vacío por uno lleno y se lo volvió a tragar de golpe-. Te veo tensa.-No soy yo el que se está bebiendo hasta el agua de los floreros.
The smoke burns slightly down my throat and to my lungs. I focus on this, and empty my head, empty the images of Skye’s beautiful face all bruised up. In the end, I can’t even give her what she’s rightfully asking. A kiss. Just a fucking kiss on her lips. Even that I’m unable to do. It’d be pathetic if our situation and our past weren’t so tragic. I take another drag of my cigarette and watch the smoke swirling in the room only lit by the moonlight. — Duke
Baumauer has been lured into the exhausting habit of supplying Kalist with ever more exceptional quality work just to appease him and often survives all day and all evening without food, but Maxwell D. Kalist is never satisfied. He heavily criticises every piece of banking intelligence the man hands him. The pressure on Baumauer to improve on his performance each month is growing; some say it’s out of control. He’s smoking forty a day and smells like the inside of the deceased Kladno-Konev chimney.
Look, girls know when they’re cute,” he said. “You don’t have to tell them. All they need to do is look in the mirror. I have one friend out in New York, an attorney. She moved out there after the school year to take the bar. She doesn’t have a job. I was like, ‘How are you going to get a job there in this market?’ And she’s like, ‘I’ll wink and I’ll smile.’ She’s a pretty girl. Whether that works despite her poor grades is yet to be seen.
She threw up her hands. "All right. Why not?" Why not?" Sure." His arms fell to his sides. "That's it? I pour my heart out. I love you so much I've got freakin' tears in my eyes. And all I get in return is 'Why not'?" What did you expect? Am I supposed to fall all over you just because you've finally come to your senses?" Would it be too much to ask?"...He'd begun to glare at her again, his eyes growing stormier by the minute."When do you think you might be ready? To fall all over me, that is.
This assumption of the intrinsically repressive nature of collective experience and redemptive power of individuation is a staple of contemporary art theory and criticism. I would argue that a closer analysis of collaborative and collective art practices can reveal a more complex model of social change and identity, one in which the binary oppositions of divided vs. coherent subjectivity, desiring singularity vs. totalizing collective, liberating distanciation vs. stultifying interdependence, are challenged and complicated.
All women should feel as Sex Subjects if they want and choose so without fear of repressions, condemnations and put down and without the need to pay them for that.Being freely a sexy and seductive woman is allowed only for few privileged professions: actresses, dancers, models, singers, prostitutes. They all do it for work. You can pay for them being sexy.If a sexy woman is openly adored by a man, the woman remains as a woman, she is not turning into a table, a cup or a bill of money. She is still the Subject who knows her power.
