Guest enzo-bardi Posted January 5, 2018 Share Posted January 5, 2018 (edited) Empty Edited March 10, 2018 by enzo-bardi I'd like to delete my account Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest enzo-bardi Posted January 5, 2018 Share Posted January 5, 2018 A true story My girlfriend has started stuffing for me It’s been one year and a couple of months we’re together Before that she already was my best friend And one pleasant night of summer while we were sitting on the benches of an empty café I had started telling her I had a weird sexual fantasy She wanted to know more about it, she had already told me about her past, bad, relationships But I had some troubles mustering the courage to put it in words I was afraid of her judgement But she was the sweetest of creatures when she heard my confession That I was turned on by girls who put on a bit of weight, like three, five or ten kilograms By girls who were a little curvy She laughed and told me I was really cute and she expected something way worse From the embarrassed way I was formulating my confession I told her it had always been a thorn in my foot I wanted to get rid of this strange thing, but it stuck to me Fortunately at the time I had stopped masturbating three months before, and during these three months I hadn’t thought about my fetish Which was quite incredible as it had never happened to me since I was a kid A couple of months later, we started being attracted We hesitated to live this attraction since we both love two other persons Me the writer I love another writress, she the paintress loves another painter But those two persons kept on rejecting and eluding us So meanwhile, since the attraction was very strong, we decided to live it between us I had never had a sexual or romantic relationship at the time, despite being already twenty five I had been too much of an idealist all my life, and yet I was also turned on by this weird fantasy of mine I read stories, watched videos, I tried to stop myself but couldn’t And always wondered if I’d ever be capable of having a real relationship with a woman I had strong ideals about love though, I knew there was a special girl for me somewhere in the world, this writress girl I already mentionned (you can read that story on my blog) But it was impossible to reconcile my fetish and my love ideals So, back to my relationship with my best friend the paintress We started living out our attraction And slowly my fear of sexuality started leaving me And I discovered she had another fear, the need of pleasing her partner before pleasing herself For one year and two months we experimented, slowly growing into our understanding of ourselves and the other Our friendship further grew and deepened, if such a thing is possible Until a point when she became ready to live my fantasies Not only to please me, but because it attracts her too It attracts her to see me so strongly attracted She already knew I was sometimes attracted to her after we had eaten, even when we had already fulfilled our desire a couple of hours before She knew I was attracted to her shapeliness, she’s thin but not skinny She used to be skinny when I didn’t know her But for one year she worked at the mcdonald and gained a bit of weight She was 48 kgs at the start, and when she told me all this story she said she was 54, which is not much for her 165 cm Since she’s quite sporty, her body is very healthy, just a bit shapely, like ancient renaissance women in paintings used to be During the year we’ve dated I often cooked for her since I like cooking Very healthy things, I don’t like meat much, so more of grains and feculents and a lot of vegetables Perhaps I was serving her too large portions, as I’m a man and she’s a woman And I gave her nearly equal portions to mine Perhaps she liked too much my cooking Perhaps numbers aren’t correct simply, since mathematics isn’t her strong But she “gained” 2 kgs over a year bringing her to 56 I had never tried consciously or unsconsciously fattening her up I didn’t need that to be attracted to her In the process her belly sticks a little bit more, but I believe it already stuck a bit when we started our physical relationship She sometimes accused me of fattening up, when she’s angry with me or insecure But she knows it’s not the truth I tell her her tiny belly is probably due to the fact that she did some pole dance after the mcdonald gain to muscle herself, then stopped Anyway, she started accepting it and liking it since it is more womanly What I’d like to highlight too is that since before the beginning of our relationship she told me she didn’t like to shave her body hairs And I encouraged her to keep them And even when we moved together I still encouraged her to keep them Why should women cut their body hair in such a frantic way when men don’t? I love her as she is, naturally beautiful So we grew in confidence And a couple of months ago, for the first time I encouraged her to eat a few biscuits and chocolates just before having sex I knew she wanted to do so, but was afraid She ate a few biscuits, three or four, but was too afraid still to let go to her fantasy, her fetish of pleasing me Now dear reader, you will imagine it’s easy to abuse of her That’s what her previous boyfriends ended up doing But that’s not my aim My aim is to heal, healing myself, healing her, if that’s possible And I believe it is To heal my shadows, I first need to accept them, not to fear them Writing you this story and sharing it is part of the process of healing, of stopping to be afraid, to keep it secret I’m even sharing our real identities with you We are artists of the light and our ultimate goal is to bring more love to this world But first we must undercome these difficulties, these fears that still hamper us So back to the story, the first tiny stuffing wasn’t such a turn on I sometimes tried to make her put tighter clothes, but she doesn’t truly have tight ones Sometimes I caressed and played with her belly In the kitchen when she washes the dishes, after a meal She likes it and at the same time she’s afraid of it One month ago we separated for a period of two months While we skyped together once, we decided to masturbate one in front of another I started rubbing my beast, my dick She started rubbing her womanhood Then she laid down and masturbated and orgasmed several times while looking at my hardened dick Then she disappeared from the camera And it turned me on in a way I had not imagined before I heard a noise coming from the fridge She came back with a glass bearing a white milky liquid I asked her what is was, afraid and turned on She told me it was milk and started gulping it down Then she started rubbing her belly She put a long shirt and her trousers The shirt put in highlight her little belly she caressed and pinched There were one or two inches to pinch She showed me her ass, her breasts too, all her shapeliness Then she took off her pant and continued caressing and squeezing her tiny belly Then she disappeared from the camera And she came back with another glass of milk While she drank it in front of me I couldn’t contain myself any longer and orgasmed And unfortunately so busy was she with her glass of milk she missed the ejaculation One of her favorite part in her fetish After that I couldn’t stop thinking of her in that way, each time I masturbated I thought of her, introducing some of my fantasies of her drinking milk, eating But of course she was afraid of what she had done, I was as well And one week passed Once I did her a video alone, I masturbated in front the camera, the first time I ever did something of the kind And I sent her the video, I wanted to turn her on, to please her, and I also hoped she’d do me a video of herself too She didn’t, she doesn’t like to be pressured, she’s still too shy to do a video of herself But a few days later we skyped again and she ate a loukoum Then she drank a glass of milk, then ate two other loukoums, slowly, sensually And she caressed her tiny potbelly And I masturbated and ejaculated in front of her this time Then she was with her family for Chistmas, so we waited another long week When she was back on her own, a couple of days ago, we met again over the camera She had bought a bottle of milk on a whim Usually she doesn’t drink much milk She told me that and of course it turned me on She started undressing, caressing and squeezing her empty stomach I watched her fascinated, without moving, still sitting and not showing her my body, just my obsessed, fascinated intensely attracted gaze And she was fascinated with the intensity and the darkness of my gaze How all the world had stopped for me, except her, my sheer attraction for all her Sometimes we would smile to one another and laugh, but most of the time my attention went to her belly, and her attention to her belly and to my eyes She served herself a glass of milk and gulped it down Then another one, which she drank more slowly Then she ate a loukoum, then a second loukoum She caressed her full belly, masturbated, orgasmed a few times I still watched her fascinated, without doing anything I felt shudders of attraction in all my body Then she tiptoed back to the fridge And came back with her third glass of milk And her bewitching laughing smile, amused by how attracted I was, extremely turned on too Then she started her fourth glass of milk With two other loukoums Then I felt she wanted to continue but was afraid I asked her if she didn’t want to eat something more She said she wasn’t hungry anymore I insisted a bit, she asked me what I wanted she to eat I told her to choose what she liked She told me to choose I said a piece of chocolate and some more milk She replied she didn’t have chocolate, but took a piece of bread with some cheese And then she drank her fifth glass of milk She masturbated and orgasmed again I was starting to rub my gigantic dick in front of her Her gaze was mesmerized by that sight And then I insisted she ate a bit more She took two other loukoums, a piece of bread with cheese Another piece of bread without cheese, and her sixth and last glass of milk Her belly was fully stuffed and tight and stucking forward and hard to the touch She rubbed it and put her pants and her shirts, highlighting her shapeliness, her full belly And I couldn’t contain myself anymore and orgasmed And this time she didn’t miss one bit of my ejaculation And the sperm went on the keyboard and the screen, so taken was I in that moment And I started wiping it away, and she laughed And then we chatted quietly, reassuring one another Laughing like two old comrades, two best friends, two soul mates Even in that moment we knew we weren’t in love with each others We love each other, we are attracted to one another But we ultimately love our respective twin souls, the writress and the painter My best friend and me have found each other to heal one another And also to love one another And inspire the world with her drawings and paintings, and with my poems and stories, and paintings too as she’s encouraged to practice that art I used to neglect, and for the first time I started loving my own paintings, which is rare I will continue sharing this story with you Will she stuff again, will she gain a bit of weight, will she agree to post some pictures of her here, only God knows It’d surely excite her a lot to post some pictures of her here and get your admiration, but it would also frighten her a lot Meanwhile I encourage you to visit our blogs https://erikvincentizakhia.com/ http://chantal-peguiron.blogspot.ch/?view=flipcard And to subscribe by mail if you like them (you can also find us on social media), because we are two young artists who deserve to be supported, who deserve more support we are currently getting If you love our work, share us with other people sensitive to art in your entourage What I believe now is that our fetish, mine and her, are related to past lives traumas By accepting our fetishes and exploring them, I believe we are going to remember flashbacks from our past life together And I’m going to write this story too and share it with you, I already have some inkling about it Perhaps inspiration, remembrance, will come as I write it Good evening to you (it’s already night here) Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
ChubbyGirlLover Posted January 5, 2018 Share Posted January 5, 2018 This is all fine and dandy but where's the pics? capthowdy1282, killerspy9, mrfatfatfatlover and 3 others 3 3 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest enzo-bardi Posted January 6, 2018 Share Posted January 6, 2018 I met her for the first time in the street I saw her eyes only since her face and her hair were covered by a veil It was enough to see her eyes to recognize her though, so familiar were they to me, even if I had never met her I saw her and there was instant recognition and I smiled to her and she smiled to me The encounter of an instant before our lives continued following their separate paths As our feet moved in the opposite direction and we each continued our market stroll She was richly clothed and must have been some sort of noble women, accompanied by other women and servants I was a mere Armenian craftsman who surely couldn’t mix with Ottoman aristocracy But her laughing eyes and the familiarity of her expression remained engraved in my memory Even when I was so young, even she seemed older and from another social class Several years again I met her again, when I had almost forgotten her I was doing some woodwork in the imperial harem And she was there And she was the Sultanah, she had become the Sultanah The principal wife of the Sultan Again I shouldn’t even have seen her, but she wanted to supervise herself the woodwork since she’d paint them later She was a gifted painter, but that I didn’t know yet She gave me some indications without showing any sense of recognition at first But as she came closer to me and I went down from the ladder where I had been working Our eyes met and suddenly her expression softened Even if she was a few years older than me, her face was still childish Not childish in a bad way, childish in dreaminess and innocence I could see the playful child within, beyond, the Sultanah And she could see the playful child within me Even if we had never met we were two children who had grown together, played together, learnt together There was a familiarity between us that nothing could explain She smiled to me with her eyes and I smiled to her in the same way She asked me if I knew how to read Arabic characters I told her I did, even if they were not my strong, I could write Armenian more fluently She was surprised to hear I was lettered, it was rather unusual in the men of my conditions But I had always had an interest toward letters, and when I was not carving the wood at night I enjoyed very much to sit quietly and read and read again the few books I owned I even pushed it as far as writing a bit too, a few poems about fleeting feelings I could not have expressed otherwise Books and writings chanted of a freedom I could not find around me They sang a poetry that lacked in the people I worked with And they were very precious to me After a week of working in the Harem, a week of stolen smiles and eager expectation of nothing in particular as I did not allow myself to hope too much A eunuch came toward me and gave me a little note The Sultanah was inviting me to visit her at night if I was willing to take the risk of meeting her, of being caught I wrote her I was She replied the next day, using again the eunuch intermediary, explaining how I should introduce myself in the imperial palace, I’d have to climb on a wall, and enter her room from the window That was the price of seeing her She was waiting me the same night I had no family in Istanbul, no one awaiting me in the small room I had for adobe So after finishing my work, I went to wash my hands and my face in a fountain Visited the souk to eat a small thing And as the night shrouded the town and the imperial palace in darkness I penetrated in the harem, arrived under her window that was shut because of the cold I threw a couple of fir-cones against it as she had asked me to do, and she opened it herself throwing me a rope I climbed without hesitating and entered one of her magnificent rooms And suddenly I was submerged by shyness I wasn’t in my place there But as though she could read my thoughts she looked into my eyes and smiled And I felt at ease with her, at home within her She told me several eunuchs loved her and did whatever she asked them to do That we were safe, that I didn’t have to worry I asked her about the Sultan Her face turned to disgust The Sultan is old and wrinkled, and he abuses everyone and everything Was her reply I was surprised to see so much unruliness in a Sultanah She invited me to sit in front of her on a low sofa with colorful drapery And we spoke and spoke And I felt closer and closer to her She was not of Ottoman descent She had grown somewhere in a hilly country of Macedonia she barely remembered She used to run on the hills, hide in the woods, her parents were peasants She was raised in the Christian faith as I was Once her town had been raided by pirates and she was taken away by force The fate of her parents and siblings she ignored, it was night and everyone was running in every direction, buildings were being ransacked, the ones already robbed were set on fire It was a night of hell and she thought that she’d die that night She didn’t remember much of it, but she remembered waking up on a ship, her feet chained And she was sold as a slave to the Ottomans and since she was good looking they sent her to the harem And she grew there and got an education and discovered her gift for painting Because of her sensitive intelligence she was greatly admired, and as the former Sultanah died, the Sultan chose her He admired her paintings which was a good thing, but apart from that he was irascible, continued to want to use and abuse of her body even when he was by thirty years her senior, and he treated people around him unfairly, sowing the discord between his children and in his empire The Sultanah watched all that in suffering and growing abhorrence of this man she had to please every day She was born free, and all what she dreamt about was becoming free again, free of going wherever it pleased her, of doing whatever she liked, of retrieving her siblings and her village in Macedonia She didn’t hate the Ottomans, but didn’t like them either And she behaved as a properly as a Sultanah in appearances only because she didn’t have other choice, while trying to improve the lives of the miserable people around her, something that gave meaning to her life We spoke about that as our hands joined And she suddenly took my hand in an impulse and kissed it tenderly I have retrieved you, brother of mine I came from distant Armenia, but somehow her words rang true in my heart We were siblings, brothers and sisters Not of blood, but of spirit Brothers and sisters of spirit, playmates, companions and lovers She invited me in her large oversized velvety bed And we started kissing as though we had parted on the eve My body responded to hers, and hers to mine And we kissed and kissed And our bodies danced the dance of love and for a moment we felt full of warmth and tenderness We had forgotten who we were, all the miseries we had gone through The past had vanished from our mind All what remained was the awareness of the present instant bubble of tenderness and love and acceptance and home coming And so we met again and again Almost every night we saw each other And I read her poetry, the work of other authors, then my own poems as I grew in confidence And she showed me her sketching book, her paintings and drawings And we explored each other body and soul hungrily Each dawn was a painful separation Each night a retrieval When we couldn’t meet because of the Sultan plans to visit her, it was unbearably painful It went on for months, for a couple of years Until the persecutions against Armenians started Each occasion was good to beat Armenians in public, to humiliate them And soon humiliations became slaughters Ottoman soldiers or Kurdish militias were sent to the Armenian neighborhood of the city, and they would reclaim gold, invent a process, and kill whoever was not cooperative enough The Sultan was losing his tempers in the last years of his life The Empire was shaken by insurrections, news such as Mount Lebanon that had retaken the coastal cities of Taraboulous and Saida, that Berbers were in open rebellions, that the Pasha of Damascus was acting as though all his promise was his playground, threatening the Pashalik of Alexandretta, daily reached our ears And people in Istanbul started to be angry and fearful, accusing the Sultan of laxness and weakness If he didn’t change his politics all the Empire would end up crumbling from the inside and collapsing in case the Russians or the Austrians launched an attack The situation was dangerous and something had to be done And what happened? Armenians and other minorities started being slaughtered The fault was thrown on these non Turkish or Muslim minorities that weakened the Empire from the inside We Armenians were the first ones to pay Soon not a day passed without seeing a man dragged in the street, beaten, killed, his corpse launched in meal to stray dogs I started moving around the town with a little dagger hidden in a belt under my tunic, since we didn’t have the right to bear weapons And every night I continued meeting the Sultanah Her voluptuous body pressed against mine shrouded by darkness It was so reassuring to be loved by someone She was my lover, my sister but also my mother As she was older and better settled in life She offered me treats whenever she could, she always thought I was famished She gave me a few garments whenever mine had too large holes that let pass the winter cold She was here for me in a touching way that made me almost teary But it was so natural between us, I did not think of her as a Sultanah, but as the young playful sensitive clever woman she was within her Sultanah disguise And I had not told anyone about these visits in the imperial palace No it was better to keep them for myself, and beyond, I didn’t feel the need of sharing them Armenians continued to be slaughtered, and it wasn’t the first time it happened in history People around me had all dark bags under their eyes, they couldn’t sleep so worried they were it’d soon be their turn to be molested, to die Could we be massacred one after another without saying anything, doing anything? A rebellion started to foment But I did not time to witness and participate in this rebellion We were caught before One night as many others I had met the Sultanah and spent all the hours between nightfall to dawn in her room And we had chatted and spoken and laughed And we had kissed with hunger and passion, as though it were the first time, the last time, we loved one another She was tender beyond words with me, and I was gentle too And when dawn broke and I had to depart regretfully The door suddenly opened and the Sultan appeared And the Sultanah and me both screamed in surprise and horror My first reflex was to run away, but what about the Sultanah So I stayed even when she shouted me to escape In all cases it’s probable I could never have escaped from the soldiers he had brought with him and who were already filling the normally peaceful courtyard of fountains and pomegranate and fir trees I took out my knife and tried to resist Better to die than being caught, but again what about the Sultanah I was strong and lean but had no military training She produced out a dagger and we started fighting for our life Side by side for the last time, whatever turned out to be the outcome of the fight But soon three spearmen were in me and even when I had slightly hurt one I was losing blood from everywhere like a tank that has been pierced by bullets and starts emptying himself My wounds were deep and hurt but they were nothing confronted to the wound of my heart, the wound of losing the Sultanah, the fear of seeing her dying at my feet In the blur of the fight I saw that several soldiers had been necessary to control her The Sultan had shouted at them repeatedly not to hurt her, not to wound her, they were holding her from the hair, from the ankle, from the neck, immobilized on the floor The Sultan gloated he had watched us all night long to find our best respective punishments I was already losing all by blood that was soaking the carpets on the floor And the Sultanah screamed horrified at this sight Deep down I felt very quiet now, like a man who is about to die, who knows he will die, and who’s suddenly found the strength to accept this thought My throat was to be cut, I would be beheaded in a bit of time in front of all the palace And the Sultanah would be dispossessed of her title and her prerogatives and would live a life of confinement dedicated to the good pleasure of her rightful master the Sultan I heard that and nearly fainted and I would have killed the Sultanah with my own hands before killing myself to avoid her such a horrible fate And the thrill of battle surged within my emptying veins and I jumped on my nearest assailer and took his spear in a moment of inattention and I pushed him on the floor and pierced his chest without a second thought at the horrible deed I had just committed But my forces were already waning and they caught me again, inflicting me other wounds on the process, and I crumbled on the floor, nearly lifeless in a pool of blood And soon they put me over the window I had so many times scaled and out of a jest between them they pushed me from there and I fell fell feeling all my limbs dislocating and I crashed on the ground and felt all my bones breaking, shattering, my head exploding I was already a corpse, but it wasn’t nearly enough for them, and they came upon the broken rests of me and cut my neck, and my head went to join the pebbles and the rocks in the courtyard and I passed away And the Sultanah remained in confinement like a ghost of herself, barely eating, barely sleeping, abused each time the Sultan had a craving to torture someone He beat her and used her to fulfill all his depravity, taking her from behind, binding her, molesting her, according to his mood, always sugary and sarcastic when speaking to her She tried to kill herself, several times, with a broken shard of glass opening the veins of her arms, with her paintbrush in her throat, with poison But each time she was surprised by her careful jailors and saved from death, prevented from delivering herself from this life of torments Over the months she grew weaker and weaker, so weak that she looked as an old woman when she was barely thirty-five All this time my soul was still there, floating around her dungeon, trying to console her, to tell her to hope, to be strong She listened to me through her heart but her grief and her sufferings were too great to bear Until finally her body surrendered and collapsed, dying of a slow death of weakness and sickness And the Armenian insurrection was at the same time drowned in blood And thousands of my cousins of arm died and fled and left the Armenian neighborhood nearly devastated and empty So goes life on Earth with its upheavals And it’s not a surprise I hate the mere mention of Ottomans now When I met her soul again we rejoiced But we were both extremely tired and shakened by what had happened to us By the violence we had witnessed on our body, on the very door of our soul We embraced and remembered all the lives we had met, all the things we had done together But this Ottoman life had left deep imprints within us, deep wounds in our soul that we’d need to someday heal And now has come the time of healing We’ve met again this life, as best friends and lovers too Each with a weird fetish reminding us of our former life of pleasure and brutal suffering I’d be attracted to slightly round women as a past remembrance of her Sultanah persona, as a defense against the harshness of life as a women who’s a bit soft suggests tenderness and love and care within her very body She’d be attracted and afraid of cold cynical men like her former Sultan, to make her suffer again part of what she had suffered And she’d be attracted to the attraction of others, to be able to play along my fantasies And help us rediscover this wound of the past and heal both our souls What if we lived several lives and bore in each life the traumas of former lives? If you like my writing don’t hesitate to leave your impressions and perhaps subscribe https://erikvincentizakhia.com/ ! Good evening to you, fellow journeyer. "Envole-toi" is a drawing by Chantal Peguiron. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest enzo-bardi Posted January 6, 2018 Share Posted January 6, 2018 I met her for the first time in the street I saw her eyes only since her face and her hair were covered by a veil It was enough to see her eyes to recognize her though, so familiar were they to me, even if I had never met her I saw her and there was instant recognition and I smiled to her and she smiled to me The encounter of an instant before our lives continued following their separate paths As our feet moved in the opposite direction and we each continued our market stroll She was richly clothed and must have been some sort of noble women, accompanied by other women and servants I was a mere Armenian craftsman who surely couldn’t mix with Ottoman aristocracy But her laughing eyes and the familiarity of her expression remained engraved in my memory Even when I was so young, even she seemed older and from another social class Several years again I met her again, when I had almost forgotten her I was doing some woodwork in the imperial harem And she was there And she was the Sultanah, she had become the Sultanah The principal wife of the Sultan Again I shouldn’t even have seen her, but she wanted to supervise herself the woodwork since she’d paint them later She was a gifted painter, but that I didn’t know yet She gave me some indications without showing any sense of recognition at first But as she came closer to me and I went down from the ladder where I had been working Our eyes met and suddenly her expression softened Even if she was a few years older than me, her face was still childish Not childish in a bad way, childish in dreaminess and innocence I could see the playful child within, beyond, the Sultanah And she could see the playful child within me Even if we had never met we were two children who had grown together, played together, learnt together There was a familiarity between us that nothing could explain She smiled to me with her eyes and I smiled to her in the same way She asked me if I knew how to read Arabic characters I told her I did, even if they were not my strong, I could write Armenian more fluently She was surprised to hear I was lettered, it was rather unusual in the men of my conditions But I had always had an interest toward letters, and when I was not carving the wood at night I enjoyed very much to sit quietly and read and read again the few books I owned I even pushed it as far as writing a bit too, a few poems about fleeting feelings I could not have expressed otherwise Books and writings chanted of a freedom I could not find around me They sang a poetry that lacked in the people I worked with And they were very precious to me After a week of working in the Harem, a week of stolen smiles and eager expectation of nothing in particular as I did not allow myself to hope too much A eunuch came toward me and gave me a little note The Sultanah was inviting me to visit her at night if I was willing to take the risk of meeting her, of being caught I wrote her I was She replied the next day, using again the eunuch intermediary, explaining how I should introduce myself in the imperial palace, I’d have to climb on a wall, and enter her room from the window That was the price of seeing her She was waiting me the same night I had no family in Istanbul, no one awaiting me in the small room I had for adobe So after finishing my work, I went to wash my hands and my face in a fountain Visited the souk to eat a small thing And as the night shrouded the town and the imperial palace in darkness I penetrated in the harem, arrived under her window that was shut because of the cold I threw a couple of fir-cones against it as she had asked me to do, and she opened it herself throwing me a rope I climbed without hesitating and entered one of her magnificent rooms And suddenly I was submerged by shyness I wasn’t in my place there But as though she could read my thoughts she looked into my eyes and smiled And I felt at ease with her, at home within her She told me several eunuchs loved her and did whatever she asked them to do That we were safe, that I didn’t have to worry I asked her about the Sultan Her face turned to disgust The Sultan is old and wrinkled, and he abuses everyone and everything Was her reply I was surprised to see so much unruliness in a Sultanah She invited me to sit in front of her on a low sofa with colorful drapery And we spoke and spoke And I felt closer and closer to her She was not of Ottoman descent She had grown somewhere in a hilly country of Macedonia she barely remembered She used to run on the hills, hide in the woods, her parents were peasants She was raised in the Christian faith as I was Once her town had been raided by pirates and she was taken away by force The fate of her parents and siblings she ignored, it was night and everyone was running in every direction, buildings were being ransacked, the ones already robbed were set on fire It was a night of hell and she thought that she’d die that night She didn’t remember much of it, but she remembered waking up on a ship, her feet chained And she was sold as a slave to the Ottomans and since she was good looking they sent her to the harem And she grew there and got an education and discovered her gift for painting Because of her sensitive intelligence she was greatly admired, and as the former Sultanah died, the Sultan chose her He admired her paintings which was a good thing, but apart from that he was irascible, continued to want to use and abuse of her body even when he was by thirty years her senior, and he treated people around him unfairly, sowing the discord between his children and in his empire The Sultanah watched all that in suffering and growing abhorrence of this man she had to please every day She was born free, and all what she dreamt about was becoming free again, free of going wherever it pleased her, of doing whatever she liked, of retrieving her siblings and her village in Macedonia She didn’t hate the Ottomans, but didn’t like them either And she behaved as a properly as a Sultanah in appearances only because she didn’t have other choice, while trying to improve the lives of the miserable people around her, something that gave meaning to her life We spoke about that as our hands joined And she suddenly took my hand in an impulse and kissed it tenderly I have retrieved you, brother of mine I came from distant Armenia, but somehow her words rang true in my heart We were siblings, brothers and sisters Not of blood, but of spirit Brothers and sisters of spirit, playmates, companions and lovers She invited me in her large oversized velvety bed And we started kissing as though we had parted on the eve My body responded to hers, and hers to mine And we kissed and kissed And our bodies danced the dance of love and for a moment we felt full of warmth and tenderness We had forgotten who we were, all the miseries we had gone through The past had vanished from our mind All what remained was the awareness of the present instant bubble of tenderness and love and acceptance and home coming And so we met again and again Almost every night we saw each other And I read her poetry, the work of other authors, then my own poems as I grew in confidence And she showed me her sketching book, her paintings and drawings And we explored each other body and soul hungrily Each dawn was a painful separation Each night a retrieval When we couldn’t meet because of the Sultan plans to visit her, it was unbearably painful It went on for months, for a couple of years Until the persecutions against Armenians started Each occasion was good to beat Armenians in public, to humiliate them And soon humiliations became slaughters Ottoman soldiers or Kurdish militias were sent to the Armenian neighborhood of the city, and they would reclaim gold, invent a process, and kill whoever was not cooperative enough The Sultan was losing his tempers in the last years of his life The Empire was shaken by insurrections, news such as Mount Lebanon that had retaken the coastal cities of Taraboulous and Saida, that Berbers were in open rebellions, that the Pasha of Damascus was acting as though all his promise was his playground, threatening the Pashalik of Alexandretta, daily reached our ears And people in Istanbul started to be angry and fearful, accusing the Sultan of laxness and weakness If he didn’t change his politics all the Empire would end up crumbling from the inside and collapsing in case the Russians or the Austrians launched an attack The situation was dangerous and something had to be done And what happened? Armenians and other minorities started being slaughtered The fault was thrown on these non Turkish or Muslim minorities that weakened the Empire from the inside We Armenians were the first ones to pay Soon not a day passed without seeing a man dragged in the street, beaten, killed, his corpse launched in meal to stray dogs I started moving around the town with a little dagger hidden in a belt under my tunic, since we didn’t have the right to bear weapons And every night I continued meeting the Sultanah Her voluptuous body pressed against mine shrouded by darkness It was so reassuring to be loved by someone She was my lover, my sister but also my mother As she was older and better settled in life She offered me treats whenever she could, she always thought I was famished She gave me a few garments whenever mine had too large holes that let pass the winter cold She was here for me in a touching way that made me almost teary But it was so natural between us, I did not think of her as a Sultanah, but as the young playful sensitive clever woman she was within her Sultanah disguise And I had not told anyone about these visits in the imperial palace No it was better to keep them for myself, and beyond, I didn’t feel the need of sharing them Armenians continued to be slaughtered, and it wasn’t the first time it happened in history People around me had all dark bags under their eyes, they couldn’t sleep so worried they were it’d soon be their turn to be molested, to die Could we be massacred one after another without saying anything, doing anything? A rebellion started to foment But I did not time to witness and participate in this rebellion We were caught before One night as many others I had met the Sultanah and spent all the hours between nightfall to dawn in her room And we had chatted and spoken and laughed And we had kissed with hunger and passion, as though it were the first time, the last time, we loved one another She was tender beyond words with me, and I was gentle too And when dawn broke and I had to depart regretfully The door suddenly opened and the Sultan appeared And the Sultanah and me both screamed in surprise and horror My first reflex was to run away, but what about the Sultanah So I stayed even when she shouted me to escape In all cases it’s probable I could never have escaped from the soldiers he had brought with him and who were already filling the normally peaceful courtyard of fountains and pomegranate and fir trees I took out my knife and tried to resist Better to die than being caught, but again what about the Sultanah I was strong and lean but had no military training She produced out a dagger and we started fighting for our life Side by side for the last time, whatever turned out to be the outcome of the fight But soon three spearmen were in me and even when I had slightly hurt one I was losing blood from everywhere like a tank that has been pierced by bullets and starts emptying himself My wounds were deep and hurt but they were nothing confronted to the wound of my heart, the wound of losing the Sultanah, the fear of seeing her dying at my feet In the blur of the fight I saw that several soldiers had been necessary to control her The Sultan had shouted at them repeatedly not to hurt her, not to wound her, they were holding her from the hair, from the ankle, from the neck, immobilized on the floor The Sultan gloated he had watched us all night long to find our best respective punishments I was already losing all by blood that was soaking the carpets on the floor And the Sultanah screamed horrified at this sight Deep down I felt very quiet now, like a man who is about to die, who knows he will die, and who’s suddenly found the strength to accept this thought My throat was to be cut, I would be beheaded in a bit of time in front of all the palace And the Sultanah would be dispossessed of her title and her prerogatives and would live a life of confinement dedicated to the good pleasure of her rightful master the Sultan I heard that and nearly fainted and I would have killed the Sultanah with my own hands before killing myself to avoid her such a horrible fate And the thrill of battle surged within my emptying veins and I jumped on my nearest assailer and took his spear in a moment of inattention and I pushed him on the floor and pierced his chest without a second thought at the horrible deed I had just committed But my forces were already waning and they caught me again, inflicting me other wounds on the process, and I crumbled on the floor, nearly lifeless in a pool of blood And soon they put me over the window I had so many times scaled and out of a jest between them they pushed me from there and I fell fell feeling all my limbs dislocating and I crashed on the ground and felt all my bones breaking, shattering, my head exploding I was already a corpse, but it wasn’t nearly enough for them, and they came upon the broken rests of me and cut my neck, and my head went to join the pebbles and the rocks in the courtyard and I passed away And the Sultanah remained in confinement like a ghost of herself, barely eating, barely sleeping, abused each time the Sultan had a craving to torture someone He beat her and used her to fulfill all his depravity, taking her from behind, binding her, molesting her, according to his mood, always sugary and sarcastic when speaking to her She tried to kill herself, several times, with a broken shard of glass opening the veins of her arms, with her paintbrush in her throat, with poison But each time she was surprised by her careful jailors and saved from death, prevented from delivering herself from this life of torments Over the months she grew weaker and weaker, so weak that she looked as an old woman when she was barely thirty-five All this time my soul was still there, floating around her dungeon, trying to console her, to tell her to hope, to be strong She listened to me through her heart but her grief and her sufferings were too great to bear Until finally her body surrendered and collapsed, dying of a slow death of weakness and sickness And the Armenian insurrection was at the same time drowned in blood And thousands of my cousins of arm died and fled and left the Armenian neighborhood nearly devastated and empty So goes life on Earth with its upheavals And it’s not a surprise I hate the mere mention of Ottomans now When I met her soul again we rejoiced But we were both extremely tired and shakened by what had happened to us By the violence we had witnessed on our body, on the very door of our soul We embraced and remembered all the lives we had met, all the things we had done together But this Ottoman life had left deep imprints within us, deep wounds in our soul that we’d need to someday heal And now has come the time of healing We’ve met again this life, as best friends and lovers too Each with a weird fetish reminding us of our former life of pleasure and brutal suffering I’d be attracted to slightly round women as a past remembrance of her Sultanah persona, as a defense against the harshness of life as a women who’s a bit soft suggests tenderness and love and care within her very body She’d be attracted and afraid of cold cynical men like her former Sultan, to make her suffer again part of what she had suffered And she’d be attracted to the attraction of others, to be able to play along my fantasies And help us rediscover this wound of the past and heal both our souls What if we lived several lives and bore in each life the traumas of former lives? If you like my writing don’t hesitate to leave your impressions and perhaps subscribe https://erikvincentizakhia.com/ ! Good evening to you, fellow journeyer. "Envole-toi" is a drawing by Chantal Peguiron. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
akula1369 Posted January 6, 2018 Share Posted January 6, 2018 This should be in the stories sub-forum, not here. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
ChubbyGirlLover Posted January 6, 2018 Share Posted January 6, 2018 34 minutes ago, enzo-bardi said: I met her for the first time in the street I saw her eyes only since her face and her hair were covered by a veil It was enough to see her eyes to recognize her though, so familiar were they to me, even if I had never met her I saw her and there was instant recognition and I smiled to her and she smiled to me The encounter of an instant before our lives continued following their separate paths As our feet moved in the opposite direction and we each continued our market stroll She was richly clothed and must have been some sort of noble women, accompanied by other women and servants I was a mere Armenian craftsman who surely couldn’t mix with Ottoman aristocracy But her laughing eyes and the familiarity of her expression remained engraved in my memory Even when I was so young, even she seemed older and from another social class Several years again I met her again, when I had almost forgotten her I was doing some woodwork in the imperial harem And she was there And she was the Sultanah, she had become the Sultanah The principal wife of the Sultan Again I shouldn’t even have seen her, but she wanted to supervise herself the woodwork since she’d paint them later She was a gifted painter, but that I didn’t know yet She gave me some indications without showing any sense of recognition at first But as she came closer to me and I went down from the ladder where I had been working Our eyes met and suddenly her expression softened Even if she was a few years older than me, her face was still childish Not childish in a bad way, childish in dreaminess and innocence I could see the playful child within, beyond, the Sultanah And she could see the playful child within me Even if we had never met we were two children who had grown together, played together, learnt together There was a familiarity between us that nothing could explain She smiled to me with her eyes and I smiled to her in the same way She asked me if I knew how to read Arabic characters I told her I did, even if they were not my strong, I could write Armenian more fluently She was surprised to hear I was lettered, it was rather unusual in the men of my conditions But I had always had an interest toward letters, and when I was not carving the wood at night I enjoyed very much to sit quietly and read and read again the few books I owned I even pushed it as far as writing a bit too, a few poems about fleeting feelings I could not have expressed otherwise Books and writings chanted of a freedom I could not find around me They sang a poetry that lacked in the people I worked with And they were very precious to me After a week of working in the Harem, a week of stolen smiles and eager expectation of nothing in particular as I did not allow myself to hope too much A eunuch came toward me and gave me a little note The Sultanah was inviting me to visit her at night if I was willing to take the risk of meeting her, of being caught I wrote her I was She replied the next day, using again the eunuch intermediary, explaining how I should introduce myself in the imperial palace, I’d have to climb on a wall, and enter her room from the window That was the price of seeing her She was waiting me the same night I had no family in Istanbul, no one awaiting me in the small room I had for adobe So after finishing my work, I went to wash my hands and my face in a fountain Visited the souk to eat a small thing And as the night shrouded the town and the imperial palace in darkness I penetrated in the harem, arrived under her window that was shut because of the cold I threw a couple of fir-cones against it as she had asked me to do, and she opened it herself throwing me a rope I climbed without hesitating and entered one of her magnificent rooms And suddenly I was submerged by shyness I wasn’t in my place there But as though she could read my thoughts she looked into my eyes and smiled And I felt at ease with her, at home within her She told me several eunuchs loved her and did whatever she asked them to do That we were safe, that I didn’t have to worry I asked her about the Sultan Her face turned to disgust The Sultan is old and wrinkled, and he abuses everyone and everything Was her reply I was surprised to see so much unruliness in a Sultanah She invited me to sit in front of her on a low sofa with colorful drapery And we spoke and spoke And I felt closer and closer to her She was not of Ottoman descent She had grown somewhere in a hilly country of Macedonia she barely remembered She used to run on the hills, hide in the woods, her parents were peasants She was raised in the Christian faith as I was Once her town had been raided by pirates and she was taken away by force The fate of her parents and siblings she ignored, it was night and everyone was running in every direction, buildings were being ransacked, the ones already robbed were set on fire It was a night of hell and she thought that she’d die that night She didn’t remember much of it, but she remembered waking up on a ship, her feet chained And she was sold as a slave to the Ottomans and since she was good looking they sent her to the harem And she grew there and got an education and discovered her gift for painting Because of her sensitive intelligence she was greatly admired, and as the former Sultanah died, the Sultan chose her He admired her paintings which was a good thing, but apart from that he was irascible, continued to want to use and abuse of her body even when he was by thirty years her senior, and he treated people around him unfairly, sowing the discord between his children and in his empire The Sultanah watched all that in suffering and growing abhorrence of this man she had to please every day She was born free, and all what she dreamt about was becoming free again, free of going wherever it pleased her, of doing whatever she liked, of retrieving her siblings and her village in Macedonia She didn’t hate the Ottomans, but didn’t like them either And she behaved as a properly as a Sultanah in appearances only because she didn’t have other choice, while trying to improve the lives of the miserable people around her, something that gave meaning to her life We spoke about that as our hands joined And she suddenly took my hand in an impulse and kissed it tenderly I have retrieved you, brother of mine I came from distant Armenia, but somehow her words rang true in my heart We were siblings, brothers and sisters Not of blood, but of spirit Brothers and sisters of spirit, playmates, companions and lovers She invited me in her large oversized velvety bed And we started kissing as though we had parted on the eve My body responded to hers, and hers to mine And we kissed and kissed And our bodies danced the dance of love and for a moment we felt full of warmth and tenderness We had forgotten who we were, all the miseries we had gone through The past had vanished from our mind All what remained was the awareness of the present instant bubble of tenderness and love and acceptance and home coming And so we met again and again Almost every night we saw each other And I read her poetry, the work of other authors, then my own poems as I grew in confidence And she showed me her sketching book, her paintings and drawings And we explored each other body and soul hungrily Each dawn was a painful separation Each night a retrieval When we couldn’t meet because of the Sultan plans to visit her, it was unbearably painful It went on for months, for a couple of years Until the persecutions against Armenians started Each occasion was good to beat Armenians in public, to humiliate them And soon humiliations became slaughters Ottoman soldiers or Kurdish militias were sent to the Armenian neighborhood of the city, and they would reclaim gold, invent a process, and kill whoever was not cooperative enough The Sultan was losing his tempers in the last years of his life The Empire was shaken by insurrections, news such as Mount Lebanon that had retaken the coastal cities of Taraboulous and Saida, that Berbers were in open rebellions, that the Pasha of Damascus was acting as though all his promise was his playground, threatening the Pashalik of Alexandretta, daily reached our ears And people in Istanbul started to be angry and fearful, accusing the Sultan of laxness and weakness If he didn’t change his politics all the Empire would end up crumbling from the inside and collapsing in case the Russians or the Austrians launched an attack The situation was dangerous and something had to be done And what happened? Armenians and other minorities started being slaughtered The fault was thrown on these non Turkish or Muslim minorities that weakened the Empire from the inside We Armenians were the first ones to pay Soon not a day passed without seeing a man dragged in the street, beaten, killed, his corpse launched in meal to stray dogs I started moving around the town with a little dagger hidden in a belt under my tunic, since we didn’t have the right to bear weapons And every night I continued meeting the Sultanah Her voluptuous body pressed against mine shrouded by darkness It was so reassuring to be loved by someone She was my lover, my sister but also my mother As she was older and better settled in life She offered me treats whenever she could, she always thought I was famished She gave me a few garments whenever mine had too large holes that let pass the winter cold She was here for me in a touching way that made me almost teary But it was so natural between us, I did not think of her as a Sultanah, but as the young playful sensitive clever woman she was within her Sultanah disguise And I had not told anyone about these visits in the imperial palace No it was better to keep them for myself, and beyond, I didn’t feel the need of sharing them Armenians continued to be slaughtered, and it wasn’t the first time it happened in history People around me had all dark bags under their eyes, they couldn’t sleep so worried they were it’d soon be their turn to be molested, to die Could we be massacred one after another without saying anything, doing anything? A rebellion started to foment But I did not time to witness and participate in this rebellion We were caught before One night as many others I had met the Sultanah and spent all the hours between nightfall to dawn in her room And we had chatted and spoken and laughed And we had kissed with hunger and passion, as though it were the first time, the last time, we loved one another She was tender beyond words with me, and I was gentle too And when dawn broke and I had to depart regretfully The door suddenly opened and the Sultan appeared And the Sultanah and me both screamed in surprise and horror My first reflex was to run away, but what about the Sultanah So I stayed even when she shouted me to escape In all cases it’s probable I could never have escaped from the soldiers he had brought with him and who were already filling the normally peaceful courtyard of fountains and pomegranate and fir trees I took out my knife and tried to resist Better to die than being caught, but again what about the Sultanah I was strong and lean but had no military training She produced out a dagger and we started fighting for our life Side by side for the last time, whatever turned out to be the outcome of the fight But soon three spearmen were in me and even when I had slightly hurt one I was losing blood from everywhere like a tank that has been pierced by bullets and starts emptying himself My wounds were deep and hurt but they were nothing confronted to the wound of my heart, the wound of losing the Sultanah, the fear of seeing her dying at my feet In the blur of the fight I saw that several soldiers had been necessary to control her The Sultan had shouted at them repeatedly not to hurt her, not to wound her, they were holding her from the hair, from the ankle, from the neck, immobilized on the floor The Sultan gloated he had watched us all night long to find our best respective punishments I was already losing all by blood that was soaking the carpets on the floor And the Sultanah screamed horrified at this sight Deep down I felt very quiet now, like a man who is about to die, who knows he will die, and who’s suddenly found the strength to accept this thought My throat was to be cut, I would be beheaded in a bit of time in front of all the palace And the Sultanah would be dispossessed of her title and her prerogatives and would live a life of confinement dedicated to the good pleasure of her rightful master the Sultan I heard that and nearly fainted and I would have killed the Sultanah with my own hands before killing myself to avoid her such a horrible fate And the thrill of battle surged within my emptying veins and I jumped on my nearest assailer and took his spear in a moment of inattention and I pushed him on the floor and pierced his chest without a second thought at the horrible deed I had just committed But my forces were already waning and they caught me again, inflicting me other wounds on the process, and I crumbled on the floor, nearly lifeless in a pool of blood And soon they put me over the window I had so many times scaled and out of a jest between them they pushed me from there and I fell fell feeling all my limbs dislocating and I crashed on the ground and felt all my bones breaking, shattering, my head exploding I was already a corpse, but it wasn’t nearly enough for them, and they came upon the broken rests of me and cut my neck, and my head went to join the pebbles and the rocks in the courtyard and I passed away And the Sultanah remained in confinement like a ghost of herself, barely eating, barely sleeping, abused each time the Sultan had a craving to torture someone He beat her and used her to fulfill all his depravity, taking her from behind, binding her, molesting her, according to his mood, always sugary and sarcastic when speaking to her She tried to kill herself, several times, with a broken shard of glass opening the veins of her arms, with her paintbrush in her throat, with poison But each time she was surprised by her careful jailors and saved from death, prevented from delivering herself from this life of torments Over the months she grew weaker and weaker, so weak that she looked as an old woman when she was barely thirty-five All this time my soul was still there, floating around her dungeon, trying to console her, to tell her to hope, to be strong She listened to me through her heart but her grief and her sufferings were too great to bear Until finally her body surrendered and collapsed, dying of a slow death of weakness and sickness And the Armenian insurrection was at the same time drowned in blood And thousands of my cousins of arm died and fled and left the Armenian neighborhood nearly devastated and empty So goes life on Earth with its upheavals And it’s not a surprise I hate the mere mention of Ottomans now When I met her soul again we rejoiced But we were both extremely tired and shakened by what had happened to us By the violence we had witnessed on our body, on the very door of our soul We embraced and remembered all the lives we had met, all the things we had done together But this Ottoman life had left deep imprints within us, deep wounds in our soul that we’d need to someday heal And now has come the time of healing We’ve met again this life, as best friends and lovers too Each with a weird fetish reminding us of our former life of pleasure and brutal suffering I’d be attracted to slightly round women as a past remembrance of her Sultanah persona, as a defense against the harshness of life as a women who’s a bit soft suggests tenderness and love and care within her very body She’d be attracted and afraid of cold cynical men like her former Sultan, to make her suffer again part of what she had suffered And she’d be attracted to the attraction of others, to be able to play along my fantasies And help us rediscover this wound of the past and heal both our souls What if we lived several lives and bore in each life the traumas of former lives? If you like my writing don’t hesitate to leave your impressions and perhaps subscribe https://erikvincentizakhia.com/ ! Good evening to you, fellow journeyer. "Envole-toi" is a drawing by Chantal Peguiron. 18 160.72 kB Dude, knock off posting that. 1st of all, it's like a mile long and 2nd, it's unrelated to this section of the forum. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest enzo-bardi Posted January 6, 2018 Share Posted January 6, 2018 Dear commenters, Why all this harshness? We may or may not post pictures (it depends of how this story goes), so it is indeed related to this section of the forum. Especially that it's a true story. You're not forced to read if it's too long. But perhaps other people are interested to read a weird, unusual, interesting story. Best regards to all! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
John Smith Posted January 6, 2018 Share Posted January 6, 2018 Are all these sexual-innuado metaphors were to take off from a second or third degree? Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
ChubbyGirlLover Posted January 6, 2018 Share Posted January 6, 2018 37 minutes ago, enzo-bardi said: Dear commenters, Why all this harshness? We may or may not post pictures (it depends of how this story goes), so it is indeed related to this section of the forum. Especially that it's a true story. You're not forced to read if it's too long. But perhaps other people are interested to read a weird, unusual, interesting story. Best regards to all! 1st of all, this isn't the section to post your story. 2nd, you're spamming it on multiple sections of the forum. The least you could do is consolidate it so that it's shorter. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Boned Posted January 6, 2018 Share Posted January 6, 2018 Don't waste people's time and not even put a single pic Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest enzo-bardi Posted January 6, 2018 Share Posted January 6, 2018 3 hours ago, ChubbyGirlLover said: 1st of all, this isn't the section to post your story. 2nd, you're spamming it on multiple sections of the forum. The least you could do is consolidate it so that it's shorter. You are afraid You are afraid of the sound of my voice of the meaning and the depth behind my words of the nakedness and the brightness of my truths You are afraid of how I stir and awaken your soul You are afraid of your own self of being forced to confront your ego and your shadows to your inner truths of putting down this wall you’ve built around your heart and laying off this harsh mask of yours exposing your tender face to the world And so you further raise this protective wall of yours You shut off the mere mention of my name from your inner ears Using sarcasm, irony and narrow-minded rationality to mock and discredit me Thus preventing your soul from being lured by this chant of freedom https://erikvincentizakhia.com/ Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest enzo-bardi Posted January 6, 2018 Share Posted January 6, 2018 3 hours ago, ChubbyGirlLover said: 1st of all, this isn't the section to post your story. 2nd, you're spamming it on multiple sections of the forum. The least you could do is consolidate it so that it's shorter. I ask my story to be moved back to the thread where it was. Whether I write long or short is my problem, not yours, as long as it is well-written. Many people from the forum seem to have enjoyed reading it since yesterday I had more than 150 visitors from Curvage on my blog with more than 800 views. This means that my story has aroused interest, even if few people have given me encouragements. But I have a theory on that, my testimony is unusual, slightly disturbing, and people are still shy to engage themselves. But I'm developing a theory, that perhaps our fetish stem from past lives trauma (or current life trauma). And I'm on the process of self-healing and I want to share it with you, with whoever suffers from this fetish, whoever wants to heal. On the main forum it has more visibility than here. If my soulmate is no longer at a certain point we'll share pictures. Give this story the visibility it needs, and you won't be disappointed. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Moderators Avataг Posted January 7, 2018 Moderators Share Posted January 7, 2018 15 hours ago, Boned said: Don't waste people's time and not even put a single pic You just wasted mine while I read your pointless post. Leave the OP alone and be thankful for anyone posting content, even if it doesn't suit you. thelondoncrisp 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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