Title: TALES OF VICTORIAN LUST (2013)

Director: Nica Noelle

Models: Ricky Larkin Duncan Black

©️ ROCK CANDY FILMS

Hey man, I've recently hired a trainer to help me get in shape and he's been super helpful! But he gave me this weird deodorant to use, says it's the kind that "real men" use. I don't know what he's saying by that, and the deodorant doesn't seem to be helping, I'm always sweaty and a bit musky after a workout. Any idea what's going on here?

You are not dissatisfied with your body. You are good-looking. You are fit and athletic. But no one believes that you are already 32 years old. No one thinks you're the boss in your own startup. Many think you're the intern. You're quite happy with the results of your collaboration with your trainer so far… You finally have something like upper arms… If the deodorant makes it even better… It won't do any harm.

You've been using the deodorant for a week now. You don't understand why. You're not just under the impression that it's not helping. Somehow you stink more after each application than before. It acts like a fertilizer for your underarm hair. You have a real bush under your arms. And as your upper arms grow, your T-shirt sleeves slip further and further up. Your armpit hair is constantly visible. And when you wear a shirt, you immediately have sweat stains under your arms. You're so uncomfortable that you only work from home.

A week later, you're done with the overshirts anyway. Firstly, none of your shirts fit you anymore. And secondly, the feeling of fabric on your armpits is driving you crazy. You can't stand any more fabric where the deodorant goes. Coach told you not to use the deodorant only under your armpits. You love the smell. Maybe you're overdoing it a bit with the use. One can barely lasts a week.

You've changed gyms. People have complained about your smell at your show-off gym. Sure, pussies who don't train properly don't smell like a real man. And then one of the bourgeoisie said that training with a naked upper body wasn't in line with the house rules. Damn, it itches like hell when you wear a T-shirt during training. Tank top? Maybe. But in the cool gym you're in now, it doesn't matter anyway. Hardly anyone wears a top. And most of them are as hairy as you are. At least almost.

Coach got you a new job. Mover. Finally something honest. The ladies and the boys love it when you carry boxes. And you're no longer just training in the gym, but basically all day long. Coach has given you a new shower gel. Actually something for pussies… Water and deodorant. That's all you need. But if Coach says so…

The shower gel is the devil's stuff. You only use it on your head, face and crotch… When you cleaned out your own old apartment the other day, none of your old neighbors recognized you. But they turned up their noses. You would have liked to have pressed your face into the armpit of one or two of them. But what for? There are plenty of bros in your gym with whom it's more fun. Real men, after all. Just like you are!

This is who Trump has been for years.

Yet, many blue collar supporters think that Trump would take care of them. It’s astonishing to witness such sycophancy, such a lack of critical thinking skills and full on ignorance during a time when truthful information is easily found.

Trump has filed over 3,500 lawsuits to keep from paying people what he promised to pay them.

yet another little Treat for myself! do i have a problem? maybe!

somewhere in another universe wallace wells is a cutthroat capitalist working for a video game company and brad bakshi is scott pilgrims cool gay roommate

Something I really appreciate about the team (mostly Eliot though,) is how much they have respect for "the little guy."

As somebody who works retail (I'm not complaining,) it's sometimes hard to work. A lot of people treat me and my co-workers like garbage because of things we have no control over. (Mainly because of Store policy or inventory or just because I/ we can't please them.) And I know there are other jobs that have it worse. Waiters/waitresses, teachers, maintenance, oil riggers, basically any job that doesn't make billions is frowned upon.

It's just nice to see characters having respect for the "little people." You don't see that often in shows.

Taylor in the lilac suit during the GQ event's dinner party

Bonus from @fivequartersoftheorange and various comments on Weibo

I'M SORRY TAYLOR 🤣🤣🤣🤣

Fun on the not so fair ground

Where Darren was, Darren wasn't there because he was particularly clever or hard-working or charming. No one knew exactly how Darren had made it to division manager. And how he had remained division manager despite dissatisfied colleagues and customers. No one liked the arrogant, smug asshole. He was moody, incompetent… But he was divisional manager and because of some skeleton he had in the closet with some board member, he remained divisional manager.

One of Darren's most striking characteristics was his stinginess. And his resentment. He was annoyed that he hadn't won any tickets for the rollercoaster or the Ferris wheel in the lottery organized by the HR department for the company outing to the fair. But he was all the more delighted to win a ticket for the ghost train. Everyone else had always won two tickets. He suspected that the ghost train was so expensive that there was only one ticket for it. And he had it.

For Darren, going to the fair was more of a chore. Having to deal with his colleagues in the evening was an imposition. But since he had won the ticket, he had to go. And he especially had to go on the ghost train. His colleagues wished him a lot of fun, the meeting was in a beer tent in half an hour. Darren joined the short queue. The ticket taker looked at his ticket. "Oh, the special tour!" he said with a grin. His eyes just lit up red for a moment. Must be some kind of special effect, Darren thought to himself. The bar on his gondola closed. The ride started.

It was a terribly boring ride. Only small children would be frightened on something like this. Darren was happy when the ride was over and the bar opened again. He walked towards the exit. Suddenly a door slammed shut in front of him. And a hidden wallpaper door creaked open. This had to be the part with the special tour. But here too: Lame, boring effects. Some of them were obviously broken. And the dust and cobwebs seemed to be real. Darren stood in front of a picture with the caption "Your greatest horror". Well. Biggest horror. It showed a young man with cheap clothes, a cheap haircut and obviously no future. Darren wasn't afraid of people like that. He ignored people like that. There was a mirror next to the picture. It was captioned 'Your future'. Darren saw a young man with cheap clothes, a cheap haircut and clearly no future. Fuck! He grabbed his face and the reflection did the same. His skin, which had just been flawless for a man in his late 30s, was blemished. As if from too much alcohol and nicotine. And too little care. Maybe it was the remnants of acne, because the man in the mirror was younger than Darren. Maybe in his early 20s. Badly shaved. His hair styled in a preppy undercut. And he stank. That couldn't have come from his reflection. The jacket was made of cheap, badly tanned leather. Sweat. Cheap deodorant. Nicotine. His fingers smelled like those of a chain smoker. And his teeth were yellow like a chain smoker's. In a panic, Darren looked for the exit. He found himself behind the ghost train. There was a "Staff only" sign above the exit. Darren tried to open the door. He rattled the handle. A man opened it for him. Behind the door was a small staff room. The man asked if he wanted to apply for the position of young man to travel with the fair. Darren ran away in a panic.

Where to now? To the beer tent? What would his colleagues say? They wouldn't recognize him. He tried anyway. The bouncer turned him away. For invited guests only. Darren had an invitation. He used to have an invitation in the inside pocket of his jacket. Now he had an almost empty pack of filterless cigarettes and a battered Zippo. His wallet hung on a chain from his torn jeans. With a bit of cash. A ten-ride bus pass that was almost used up. And a driver's license. For big trucks and tractor-trailers. Bloody hell! He still had to be on this ghost train. It was better than he thought. But he didn't feel like it anymore. He wanted a shower and then to get into his silk pyjamas. But his car key was gone. And where his car had been, there was now a completely different one. He had to walk, Darren had no idea how he was going to get home on the bus and he didn't have the money for a cab.

He had been walking for almost half an hour when he finally got home. In the dark windows of his elegant old apartment on the mezzanine floor, the "For Sale" signs were covered with "Sold". The. Is. A. Cursed. Nightmare! Darren no longer had a key for anything. Not for this apartment that used to be his, not for a missing car, not for his office. He had no cell phone, he had the few things he had on his person. A nightmare! His worst nightmare! His biggest horror! Darren climbed over the fence. It was surprisingly easy. His new body was athletic. He had already noticed that on the way here. There was a Victorian summer house at the back of the garden that belonged to his apartment. And he always hid a key there. Under a flower pot. A flowerpot that no longer existed. Everything on the porch of the garden shed was an army duffel bag. With a rucksack in it, a tracksuit, underwear. Everything wasn't quite clean anymore. But it was obviously his. Darren picked up the duffel bag, walked over to the fence, threw the duffel bag over and climbed in after it. A policeman shouted "Freeze!" And Darren ran for his life.

It had taken him three quarters of an hour to get back to the fair with his duffel bag. No idea why he had come back here. A few drunks staggered out of the beer tents. Darren didn't recognize any of them as colleagues. Most of the rides were just closing. "Son, can you give me a hand?" Shouted an older gentleman struggling on the bumper cars. "A few dollars, a bowl of soup, and by the look of you, you could use a place to sleep." Darren took a deep breath, grabbed his duffel bag and helped the man push the bumper cars together and lock them up.

The first few days were hell. Darren wasn't used to physical labor, even though his body was. The little money he earned was enough for cigarettes and pre-paid cards for a cell phone. And the guys he had to share the trailer with snarled and stank. But Darren probably snarled too. And he certainly did stink. The only thing he enjoyed was sex. Plenty of sex. Apparently there were lots of girls and boys, young and old, who liked the fairground rebel type. Darren had stopped counting how many cocks he had sucked between the frames of the rollercoaster, how many asses and pussies he had fucked. Sometimes for free. Sometimes for a handful of dollars. He could put that money to good use. A buddy had a booth at the fair where he did tattoos. Real works of art. Of course Darren got a special price. But even among the bros here at the fair, nothing was for free. The first few days went by. The first weeks went by. Darren, who everyone had long since just called Daz, had gained routine in building and dismantling "his" rollercoaster. The other guys who helped out here were runaways, vagrants… They were usually gone again after a few days. Not Daz. This was his home. This was his family. He loved his job. And he was damn good at it.

When Daz took over the management of the small fairground company with a rollercoaster, a bumper car and a lottery booth a few years later, nobody was surprised. Daz belonged here. Always in a good mood, always ready to help. And always horny!

ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚

white collar is fun and good but neal has the unnervingly blue and staring eyes of a large siberian husky . keep expecting him to tear off across the frozen tundra toward the midnight sun