Playboy Love Quotes

Sean groaned. “What are you thinking? The future of Vamps around the world depends on this, and you’re subjecting those poor innocent girls to a playboy and the self-proclaimed Love Doctor?” Phineas huffed. “Dude, I can be a perfect gentleman.” “On what planet?” Sean growled.

And stop with the playboy title. I simply enjoy the company of beautiful women and ( . )( . ) and (_Y_) That’s tits & ass to the untrained eye. :D

Women! They madly love Casanovas for their traits and equally hate them for being disloyal.

...And no prenup. Prenups are for people who plan on getting a divorce. I have so much, Bernie. But I've never had anyone to share it with. From now on, what's mine is yours

Without love, life is nothing but work and sleep.

I couldn't take much more of this. Being the object two men competed for wasn't as glamorous as it sounded in the movies. The two men who both wanted one hundred percent of my time weren't dashing, international playboys. They were undead and surprisingly immature, considering the youngest was just over a hundred years old.

Playboy stretched his arm, patting Carlos on the back. "Well, you know what they say: If you love someone, let'em go. If they don't come back, hunt'em down and kill'em!

I once knew of a minstrel who bragged of having had a thousand women, one time each. He would never know what I knew, that to have one woman a thousand times, and each time find in her a different delight, is far better. I knew now what gleamed in the eyes of old couples when they stared at each other across a room...My familiarity with her was a more potent love elixir than any potion sold by a hedge-witch in the market.

Unlike the millions who casually masturbate in solitude while looking at girlie pictures in Playboy and similar magazines, the massage man preferred an accomplice, an attendant lady of respectable appearance who would help him reduce the guilt and loneliness of this most lonely act of love.

Sometimes love is for a moment. Sometimes love is for a lifetime. Sometimes a moment is a lifetime. Ours for a little while. Wings for eternity.

Aku tahu, mencintai dan melupakan, sama sulitnya.

Jennifer Dixon, I’m a fuck-up. I swear too much, and I like beer. Sometimes I get moody, and I can be a plain pain in the ass.” If this was a wedding proposal he needed a lot of work. “I’m all of those things, but I’m the man who is in love with you. If you asked me to follow you wherever you may go then I’d follow, no questions asked.” He licked his lips. “The biggest mistake of my life was walking out of that door angry at you. I wasn’t angry at you. I was angry at myself. All my life I’ve had everything easy. I never expected to be completely taken over by you.” She watched as he rummaged through his pockets. He pulled out a ring, took a deep breath, and presented it to her. “Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?

Power is insidious when it masks itself as generosity. And generosity is insidious when it’s a camouflage for control. And both power and generosity are confusing when they gaslight you into believing they could be love.

You show true friends the ugly--and trust them enough to turn it into something beautiful.

the patron god of children born on Thursdays is Shiva the Destroyer, and that the day has two guiding animal spirits--the lion and the tiger. The official tree of children born on Thursday is the banyan. The official bird is the peacock. A person born on Thursday is always talking first, interrupting everyone else, can be a little aggressive, tends to be handsome ("a playboy or playgirl," in Ketut's words) but has a decent overall character, with an excellent memory and a desire to help other people.

I'm glad this happened," he said softly. I hoped it was for real,and I didn't want to talk about it too much and ruin the lovely illusion that we were a couple. So I said noncommittally, "Me too." "Because I've been trying to get you back since the seventh grade." I must have given him a very skeptical look. He laughed at my expression. "Yeah, I have a funny way of showing it. I know. But you're always on my mind. You're in the front of my mind,on the tip of my tongue. So if someone breaks a beaker in chemistry class, I raise my hand and tell Ms. Abernathy you did it. If somebody brings a copy of Playboy to class, I stuff it in your locker." "Oh!" I thought back to the January issue. "I wondered where that came from." "And if Everett Walsh tells the lunch table what a wicked kisser you are and how far he would have gotten with you if his mother hadn't come in-" I stamped my foot on the floorboard of the SUV."That is so not true! He'd already gotten as far as he was going. He's not that cute, and I had to go home and study for algebra. "-It drives me insane to the point that I tell him to shut up or I'll make him shut up right there in front of everybody. Because I am supposed to be your boyfriend, and my mother is supposed to hate you,and you're supposed to be making out with me." Twisted as this declaration was,it was the sweetest thing a boy had ever said to me.I dwelled on the soft lips that had formed the statement,and on the meaning of his words. "Okay." I scooted across the seat and nibbled the very edge of his superhero chin. "Ah," he gasped, moving both hands from the steering wheel to the seat to brace himself. "I didn't mean now.I meant in general.Your dad will come out of the house and kill me.

Someday Perky. Someday... When you're ready, you'll realize just how dirty my mouth can be all over you. And you'll love it.

When looking at the attributes associated with masculinity in the US, the same researchers identified the following; winning, emotional control, risk-taking, violence, dominance, playboy, self-reliance, primacy at work, power over women, disdain for homosexuality, and pursuit of status.

Jay just blinked at me. “Let me get this straight. You were talking to a gorgeous blonde woman in a tight red skirt and heels, with a chest that has Playboy ringing her once a month for an interview, who was smiling and flirting with you like crazy and all you noticed was that she looked cold and her lipstick was bright?” Oh. Whoops. We were talking about breasts. Straight men usually notice breasts, don’t they? Shit!

Did those ladies claim that I slept with them?” “No.” She shook her head, and her blush deepened. “But they want to. Along with hundreds of others.” “Hundreds?” He tried not to laugh. “I’m not much of a playboy, am I, if I’ve neglected to sleep with hundreds of willing victims?” She tilted her head, considering. “That would depend on how large a pool of volunteers you started off with.” He lifted his eyebrows. Did she think he was operating in the thousands?

People don't usually think about the meaning of the words they say. It seems to them that words convey truth. That when someone hears the word "red" he will think of a ripe raspberry and not a pool of blood. That the word "love" will evoke Shakespeare's sonnets and not the erotic films of Playboy. And they find themselves baffled when the word they've spoken doesn't evoke the right response.

I tried to play off my outburst as having been touched by the romantic moment (and I think most people bought it!), but in reality I was crying because of what a farce this whole thing was and how stretched thin my nerves were at that moment. Hef reading off the flowing words of love from the card reminded me again what a joke this whole situation was and made me feel like I had missed out on my chance to ever have anything real with someone; to ever meet a man who really deserved a card like that. I had sold my soul to the devil and felt that there was no way out.

I don’t hate men because they’re men, as nuns do. I dislike them because they’re not men enough: babies, and playboys, and poor things showing off all the time, even to themselves. I don’t say I’m any better. I only wish, with all my soul, that some men were bigger and stronger and deeper than I am...

We appeared to be done with the marriage plot. ('What's the alternative to the marriage plot?' She said: ' The alternative is adventure.') My generation (I thought) was the first post-feminist generation. The first to be allowed to see love in terms of adventure and quest, not salvation and redemption.

Marriage and family are certainly beautiful parts of life, but I believe those things can truly be appreciated only when we find, love, and respect ourselves first.

So then reciprocate, my man. Show your girl what she gets in return.

Now bend at the waist, keep that tight ass high in the air, and suck his big dick.

There is love, and everything else is staring into the abyss.

Romantic love is a mirror in which you can see your whole self pleasantly reflected, if you’re lucky. Or it’s a dark mirror into which you can disappear.

I’d always assumed I wouldn’t get serious with a man for years yet, much less fall in love with one. Damn it. My heart’s going rogue, off book, off script, off goddamn whatever, and I have no idea how to stop it.

I’m not a man, I can’t earn a living, buy new things for my family. I have acne and a small peter. I’m not a man. I don’t like football, boxing and cars. I like to express my feeling. I even like to put an arm around my friend’s shoulder. I’m not a man. I won’t play the role assigned to me- the role created by Madison Avenue, Playboy, Hollywood and Oliver Cromwell, Television does not dictate my behavior. I’m not a man. Once when I shot a squirrel I swore that I would never kill again. I gave up meat. The sight of blood makes me sick. I like flowers. I’m not a man. I went to prison resisting the draft. I do not fight when real men beat me up and call me queer. I dislike violence. I’m not a man. I have never raped a woman. I don’t hate blacks. I do not get emotional when the flag is waved. I do not think I should love America or leave it. I think I should laugh at it. I’m not a man. I have never had the clap. I’m not a man. Playboy is not my favorite magazine. I’m not a man. I cry when I’m unhappy. I’m not a man. I do not feel superior to women I’m not a man. I don’t wear a jockstrap. I’m not a man. I write poetry. I’m not a man. I meditate on peace and love. I’m not a man. I don’t want to destroy you

But in that moment, I felt it happen. My heart slowed, took a deep breath, and let out a giant sigh. Just like that, it gave in, unable to fight it anymore. I had no idea how long we had or how things were going to play out, but I knew without a doubt that I was in love with Carter.   ***

Just admit your pussy is weeping for my cock.” “Sure,” she says, pushing her round ass back against my straining dick. “Just as soon as you admit your cock is dying to get inside my pussy.” Son of a bitch. As much as I want to make her come, proving the command I have over her body, I can’t reward her bratty behavior. That’s okay, though. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s playing the long game. “So stubborn,” I say in admonishment. Pulling out of her, I finger-paint a path down the side of her neck with her own arousal, then lap it up with my tongue—fuck, she tastes good—nice and slow, ending with a nip to her earlobe. Her sharp inhale makes my dick twitch before she spins around to face me.

On the other hand, maybe what attracts us aren't the stories of falling apart so much as the stories of self-creation. The falling apart stuff is just a byproduct, a hazard of the trade. Maybe what I loved about Camille Claudel was what she created out of what she smashed to bits. How did a bourgeois girl become an artist and a woman? What was the female equivalent of the Great Man? If it didn't exist, why not? Who said it didn't? Who said it couldn't? What were the conditions that made it so hard? Rodin was the image Claudel identified with and against which she defined herself. Scott was this image for Zelda. A woman could not be a great artist and have a traditional marriage - not unless her husband was a Leonard Woolf. One boyfriend I had in college used to joke, 'Only one artist in the family,' meaning not me. I didn't get it then, but I get it now. There was always something self-annihilating in the act of loving, for a girl with creative aspirations - always - but far more then than now. The message, invariably, was that youthful passions lead to middle-age breakdowns, so choose your institution wisely. Marriage or the nuthouse. One or the other. It started to dawn on me that it wasn't that I was attracted to stories about girls who went mad, I was attracted to stories about girls with ambitions who wound up institutionalized. Getting locked up was not the result of adventure, it was the price you paid for adventure, it was your punishment. I had mistaken correlation for causation. Rookie mistake.

Leta walked to the door and opened it with a ready smile for Colby Lane. And found herself looking straight into the eye of a man she hadn’t seen face-to-face in thirty-six years. Matt Holden matched her face against his memories of a young, slight, beautiful woman whose eyes loved him every time they looked at him. His heart spun like a cartwheel in his chest. “Cecily said it was Colby,” Leta said unsteadily. “Strange. She phoned me and asked if I was free this evening.” His broad shoulders shrugged and he smiled faintly. “I’m free every evening.” “That doesn’t sound like the life of a playboy widower,” Leta said caustically. “My wife was a vampire,” he said. “She sucked me dry of life and hope. Her drinking wore me down. Her death was a relief for both of us. Do I get to come in?” he added, glancing down the hall. “I’m going to collect dust if I stand out here much longer, and I’m hungry. A sack of McDonald’s hamburgers and fries doesn’t do a lot for me.” “I hear it’s a presidential favorite,” Cecily mused, joining them. “Come in, Senator Holden.” “It was Matt before,” he pointed out. “Or are you trying to butter me up for a bigger donation to the museum?” She shrugged. “Pick a reason.” He looked at Leta, who was uncomfortable. “Well, at least you can’t hang up on me here. You’ll be glad to know that our son isn’t speaking to me. He isn’t speaking to you, either, or so he said,” he added. “I suppose he won’t talk to you?” he added to Cecily. “He said goodbye very finally, after telling me that I was an idiot to think he’d change his mind and want to marry me just because he turned out to have mixed blood,” she said, not relating the shocking intimacy that had prefaced his remarks. “I’ll punch him for that,” Matt said darkly. “Ex-special forces,” Leta spoke up with a faint attempt at humor, nodding toward Matt. “He was in uniform when we went on our first date.” “You wore a white cotton dress with a tiered skirt,” he recalled, “and let your hair down. Hair…” He turned back to Cecily and grimaced. “Good God, what did you do that for?” “Tate likes long hair, that’s what I did it for,” she said, venom in her whole look. “I can’t wait for him to see it, even if I have to settle for sending him a photo!” “I hope you never get mad at me,” Matt said. “Fat chance.

Sadly, it seems as though society encourages this type of behavior in which men pursue women, then back off when commitment appears imminent. It’s the classic playboy model and sowing-wild-oats excuse and such behavior leaves the emotional wreckage of confused and hurt women in its wake. It is perceived as a male prerogative—love them and leave them and don’t suffer any consequences. You may try to rationalize his behavior—perhaps he was engulfed by his mother, his father was emotionally unavailable, he was never breast-fed. The bottom line, however, is that he can’t commit and you’ve got a problem.

Gracie Allen wasn’t as dumb as she seemed on the air. She proved that in 1939, appearing on the intellectual quiz show Information, Please, and holding her own with the experts. It takes a keen intelligence to play a dumb role that long and well, but Gracie had more than that. From the beginning, she had a singular ability to make audiences love her. “The audience found her, I didn’t,” said George Burns in a Playboy interview years after her death. The crowds they played to in the early ’20s, when they were “just a lousy small-time act,” defined what Gracie Allen was and would be for the next 35 years. The audience wouldn’t stand for it if her lines required sarcasm or spite. Burns learned that if he blew a puff of cigar smoke in Gracie’s direction, “the audience would hate me.” As he told the interviewer: “She was too dainty, too ladylike,” for malice or mean humor. “She was a beautiful little girl, like a little doll, a little Irish doll.

That’s what it was supposed to be, but then we started meeting up for morning workouts, which led to a joint trip to the GNC, and then we discovered we both play chess, which led to inviting him over for a game night, and then I quoted Mallrats but he didn’t get it, which led to a movie enlightenment mission and several movie-at-home nights…” I trail off, leaving the “etcetera etcetera” unspoken. Huffing out an exasperated sigh, I explain, “The more we hung out together, the more couple-y we got, and before I knew it we were buying extra toothbrushes to keep at our apartments and doing silly shit like giving each other keys. Add in the most amazing porn star sex ever, and it’s apparently enough for me to want to have his puppy.” “You mean baby.” “God, no. You know better than that. I’m not the nurturing type.” “Yeah, well, you also used to say you weren’t the falling in love type, either.” I narrow my eyes at her. “No one likes a wise-ass, Janey.” “Maybe not, but sometimes a hard-ass like you needs a wise-ass like me.

DICK’S DESIRE Dick's eyes- Soft, cold, and blue- Meet Devonshire's- Dark, sexy, and yearning. Turning away- Dick grabs two packets of sugar- While Devonshire's eyes- Are still upon him- Pondering his every move. Is Dick a playboy, A ladies' man, A mans' man, Or a killer? Does his sex long for, Something hard- Or something soft? Does he need cream in his coffee- The screaming splash of a man, Or the sweet flow of a woman? Finishing up at the bar- Dick turns to leave- Meets Devonshire's gaze again- Hot, thirsty, and longing- But full of trepidation. Following the flow of etiquette- Dick shoots out of the cafe, Past Devonshire, And into a world of dashed hopes, And regrets. But Devonshire- No longer of two worlds- Rises in pursuit- Goes after Dick, And taps him on the shoulder. Dick gives a turn, Raises his shoulders, And smiles with interest- Taking Devonshire's hand, And asking his name. Devonshire answers- Desire. Dick invites Devonshire to dinner, Where he eats everything, Swallowing Dick's life stories, And devouring his misgivings. For dessert, Devonshire takes Dick home, Into his bed, Against his flesh, And gives Dick all of him- His deepest desires, The love in his eyes, And the fire in his soul.

What do woman say to little boys? " Stop fighting. Stop being so rough. Stop rough housing." They're boys you know, that's kinda what they're sapossed to do. So, men are sapossed to overcome all these biological drives and I'm just really interested in helping women overcome theirs caus' I think the spotlight of " Outgrow your bestial nature." has been pointed just a little bit too long at men and I think it's time to swivel that motherfucker around and point it at woman and say stop making yourself look like fucking sex clowns to milk money out of men's dicks. Stop lying about who you are and what you're about. Stop being flirty, manipulative, and trying to be sexy. Just stop doing it. It's time for women to outgrow biology just as men have been instructed to for about the last 20,000 years to outgrow their biology. "Stop slamming doors. Stop yelling. Stop climbing trees. Stop being rude. Stop farting. Stop enjoying fart jokes. Just stop being men." Ok, Well; women stop being women. Be people. Be people who have sex, absolutely but, don't be caricatures. Don't aim to be like a woman who looks like the outline of some playboy mudflap on a trucker's rig. Just be people. Be sexual. Enjoy your sexuality and bodies but, stop trying to bury us in tits so that we pass out and you can rifle through our bank accounts. Just stop doing that shit. I won't enable it anymore. Why does your face have to look like some half rained on Picasso water color? I don't need rainbows on the face of a woman. I don't need these weird butterfly wing goth eyebrows and shit like that. Male sexuality is demonized and female sexuality is elevated. That's bullshit. Then women wonder why men prefer porn to them. It's caus' porn doesn't nag you for wanting stuff that's defined as "kinky" or "weird". Male sexuality is demonized and held in low esteem. Woman's sexuality is always beautiful. Woman's sexuality is unremitting shallow. I'm not saying men's isn't but, we know that about men, right? What turns women on? Women say confidence. Do you know what that means? Money. Do women say " He is really confident about his sidewalk art. He is really confident about his subway busking. That's such a turn on!" Why do men like looking at naked women and women get turned on looking at clothed men? Because if a man's clothes aren't on you don't know how expensive his wardrobe is. This is what Mohammad Ali said. I'm going to throw on some old jeans and a old t-shirt and I'm just gonna walk down into some little town and find some woman who doesn't know who the hell I am and then when she's fallen in love with me and we get married, I'm going to take her to my million dollar mansion and my yacht. This is the reality. Once you start having money, once you start having power, then the true nature of massive swaths of female sexuality becomes clear.

I scoffed. “If you loved me, you wouldn’t have said the things you said.” “Which things?” “Any of them!” I threw my hands in the air. “The insults, the breakup, the manipulation! You’ve been horrible to me for longer than we’ve been broken up, but you’ve been extra horrible to me since then and I’m tired of it. I don’t know how much clearer I could be about not wanting you in my life!

Gene Simmons of KISS, a close friend of Donald’s, was the most disgusting misogynist I had ever met. On day one, he walked right up to another candidate, Carol Alt, a model and former Playboy cover girl, talked revoltingly about his famously elongated tongue, and then stuck it into her mouth. She gagged in front of me. When he started walking toward me with his tongue out, I ran. At one point, Simmons was taken off the men’s team and put with the women’s team, despite the fact that just about every one of the women on the show had complained to producers about his offensive behavior. As far as I could tell, they didn’t care. The producers loved it. Trump loved it, too.

I had to believe that there was a greater purpose for the choices I had made: whether it was to help advance my career or whether it was truly for love. And depending on the month, the week, and sometimes even the hour of the day, I would waffle back and forth between precisely why I was living a life as nothing more than 'Girlfriend Number One' to a man who was old enough to be my grandfather. I didn't want to admit that I had sold a bit of my soul for the chance at fame.

I shouldn't have even been obsessing about it anyway, he probably had a girlfriend. Like a supermodel or playboy bunny or something, someone equivalent to his level of sexiness. Not someone normal like me.

What’s this I hear about orgasms in bathrooms?” I throw my hands up in the air, but Addison is quick to reply. “Oh, that? We were just listing all the things you’ll never have, like normal-sized testicles and the ability to put your arms down at your sides. But you keep juicin’, big guy. I’m sure someday you’ll find a girl with a thing for guys with huge boobs and unusually small balls. Come on, Janey, let’s go.

Only thing that matters is that it gets you off. Speaking of which…” I sigh as he begins circling my clit with the tip of his finger. “You like that?” “Mm-hmmm.” I arch my back so I have room to grab his cock and stroke it while he pleasures me. The man has magical fingers, magical lips and tongue, a magical cock…yeah, I’ve decided he’s pretty much a unicorn with attitude, aka The Perfect Lover.

A wicked grin hitches up the corner of my mouth as a plan starts to formulate. “I mean, what if we send over someone to help shake her loose, like she did you.” One of her eyebrows arches toward her hairline. “If you’re talking about coming out of handyman retirement, Chance Danvers, so help me God I’m going to smack you.

Roman,” I say, slapping the table in front of him. “You gonna look up from that thing and weigh in on this conversation, or what?” He keeps his eyes on his phone and his fingers moving over the keyboard. “You mean the one where Massey is whining about ruining his girlish figure?

It’s Friday evening and I’m staring at the blinking cursor on my laptop, waiting for the right words to come to me so I can move that fucker across the page and make some progress. But my muse has been on an extended sabbatical and refuses to make an appearance. Again.

I think you’re right,” Roman says. “Too bad she had to stay and play referee for Big Sis. That dude was furious. I wonder if he’ll call off the wedding.” Liam slaps the table. “Damn, that means my thrusting game would be the reason a marriage gets called off.” He shakes his head and whistles. “That’s pretty fucking heavy, man, but I guess what they say is true. With great cock comes great responsibility.

Don't date just to escape the "Im Single" status. Don't marry just to tick off a checklist. Life is NOT a grocery list. Find yourself first, then find someone who can accommodate the talents, the vision and the ambitions in your heart, someone who can be the enabler for you to emerge into your greatness. Find someone who believes in you, supports and encourages you even when the world laughs at your guts. But first, find yourself because it is far more important to be the right person than it is to date/marry the right person. Become a person of value. Don't go looking for a good woman until you've become a good man. And ladies, don't go looking for a good man till you've become a good woman. If you want a loving, honest, faithful, supportive and rich partner; first become what you are looking for. You must meet the requirements of your own requirements! Leaders, vision bearers and dream chasers look for character, commitment, vision, grit, faith, etc...but ordinary people look for coca-cola bottle shape kinder girl, a six pack kinder guy and a heavy bank balance...but dear men, it's her character that will raise your children not her beauty. It is character that makes a great wife. Dear ladies, It is character that makes a great Dad/husband not a car or a big wallet. Take note good people, you don't need to die to go to hell...misalignment of core values/purpose In your relationship/marriage is the beginning of your own hell right here on earth. In my humble opinion, misalignment of core values is worst than cheating. Yes, both are evil but cheating is a lesser evil compared to misalignment of core values. Trust me, you don't want to test this theory, you may not come out alive. So, leave the girl/boy down the road to a boy/girl down the road. Leave slay queens to slay kings. Leave party queens to party kings. Leave nyaope boys to nyaope girls, drug addicts to drug addicts, leave weed girls to weed boys, playboys to playgirls..,,AND legacy builders to legacy builders!

Love offers zero guarantees. Isn’t that fucked up?” She emits a hollow laugh. “It’s a war between your survival instinct and your heart. Your survival instinct is yelling at you to ‘sit your ass down, buckle your seatbelt and put on your oxygen mask, dammit’. Meanwhile your heart is telling you to ‘jump out of the plane’, knowing fully well that there’s no parachute, knowing fully well that you have no idea where you’ll land.” She nudges her glasses to wipe a tear from her eye. “Why the hell would anyone do it?” I place my hand over hers and squeeze, getting lost in her soulful brown eyes. “Because the fall is so fucking beautiful.” Because you are so fucking beautiful. She takes a deep, shuddering breath, her eyes locked on mine. “So let’s do it,” she begs softly. “Let’s jump. Let’s fall. Together. No parachutes.” I kiss her lips and make a pledge. Two simple words. “No parachutes.

Since I’m new down here, I’m going to need directions on how to make you squirm. Do you like this?” I taunted, sucking her nub into my mouth. She didn’t say a word, I could barely hear her breathing. “Or…” I sucked her clit, moving my head side-to-side. “Like this.” She loudly moaned that time, which earned her a smile. I didn’t even try to hide it. “Feels good, yeah?” “Yes...” With my index and middle finger, I pushed through her pussy. “Oh, God…” Feeling like the king of the fucking world, I continued my sweet torture with my tongue on her clit. “Lala is slippery when wet.” She ground her hips against what I was doing. “I’m going to taste you now, Mila.” A whimper escaped her lips as I dove my tongue as far as it would go into her core, loving the taste of her. She melted against my tongue, into my touch, coming apart from everything I was doing. Sucking her clit harder and faster, I was relentless in my pursuit to have her come over and over again on my fingers and in my mouth. “Oh, God, right there.” Pushing in and out with a steady rhythm, I worked her over. “Right there?” I mocked, pushing harder against that rigid spot inside of her. Her back arched off the bed again, fisting the sheets. Her impending orgasm completely consuming her. “Stop talking and… right there…” “Here?” “Oh god, yes—there…” “You feel that?” I huskily groaned, appreciating the sight and feel of her getting off.

In everyday life we know that someone who is a true lover is very different from someone who is a pretender or a playboy. We know that true love should not be motivated at all by self- interest. And such is God’s love for us. It is a love that seeks the very best for us; it is sacrificial; it never stops giving. Perhaps the closest we can come to understanding the essence and quality of God’s love for us—though it is still a faint reflection of the reality—is the way in which we love our children. We bring these helpless, fragile little things home from the hospital and we love them. They have not done anything to deserve our love, indeed they are totally incapable of doing anything for us, yet we love them. From the moment we become a parent we know that from now on, life will pretty much revolve around our child and often they will inconvenience us in ways we can only dream of! Yet, we never stop loving them—really loving them. Parents and their children are a model to help us understand the way in which our Heavenly Father God really loves each one of us. As we think about how unconditionally we love our children and begin to grasp how complete and unconditional the Father’s love for us is, we can begin to scratch the surface of His grace and understand a little of the motivation behind God’s unmerited offer of salvation and forgiveness for our sins. Despite a lot of good teaching on the subject in the Church over the years, many Christians are still mystified by grace. They fail to live in the richness of it themselves and they fail to show grace to others. Many are still trapped by a performance-based theology that thinks God’s love must be earned or deserved. They think that if they behave well and perform good works for God then He will love them more. This is so far from the truth! God cannot love us any more nor any less than He does now, and He longs for us to live in the place of grace where we understand that He gives His love to us freely. God’s love and grace are gifts for us to receive. Do we ever deserve them? No! We are totally undeserving, but we are the undeserving who are the apple of His eye. GRACE AND FORGIVENESS The title of this book Grace and Forgiveness is purposefully chosen because the issue of God’s grace is vitally intertwined with the issue of forgiveness. They are not simply two distinct aspects of our spiritual life that we have decided to place together in the same book. When we come into a real understanding of the extent of God’s grace towards us and what that means, we begin to see how vital and necessary it is that we pass that grace and love on to others. Grace becomes an irresistible force in our lives. When properly understood, the “unfairness” and “injustice” of God’s grace towards us is deeply shocking, even offensive to our human understanding, as we will see. But in the same way that God lavishly and extravagantly pours His grace out upon our lives, He is calling us to learn how to show grace to others by forgiving those who truly don’t deserve it. The great discovery of forgiveness is that, through a selfless act, we open ourselves up to a greater outpouring of the blessing of God on our lives. There are two important things that every Christian needs to realize at some point in their journey as a believer, preferably sooner rather than later! The first is that our God is very big and very powerful and there is nothing that He cannot do. The second is that He is very loving and compassionate towards us. The Bible says that “God is love”. This is not a statement about what He does, but about who He is. He is the very embodiment of perfect, flawless love. His heart for us is to see us living our spiritual lives where we are operating with the dynamics of His Kingdom, just as Jesus did. It is a Kingdom of love, filled with faith, aware of the bigness of our God; aware of His willingness to interact with us and do things for us as we act in loving obedience to Him.

Израстването ни бе знак, че се променяме и ставаме по-мъдри от предната година; че времето ни е научило на разни неща за живота, но докато настъпеше този преход, се надявах недрата да не се отворят, за да ме погълнат в себе си. „Влюбих се в Playboy” – Ana Sokovsky

CONAN: There was something about her that drew me in deeper than I’d ever thought possible. Maybe it was how she saw me—not as some carefree playboy but as someone worth getting to know. She didn’t judge me for my past or the walls I’d built around my heart. She accepted me for who I was in this moment, and that scared the hell out of me. Yet it also made me want to protect her with everything I had.

Awash in stimulation, our imaginations transformed by the virtual reality of modern media, we are rarely satisfied with ourselves, our partners, or our sex lives. A lovely little study conducted by the evolutionary psychologist Douglas Kenrick asked men to rate their satisfaction with their partners. Before filling out the questionnaire, half waited in a room with books about abstract art, the others in a room with copies of Playboy. Just browsing centerfolds made the second group’s satisfaction with real partners plummet.

The only thing Hef loved more than the mansion was himself.

there is something Hugh Hefner loves more than sex, and that’s fame.

I knew I deserved better—and there’s no way his kind of love was the best the world had to offer.

I was at once excited and afraid as the SAQR flew our entourage to Italy. I was excited for the opportunity to meet the object of my affection after two months absence. At the same time, I was afraid at the thought of sparking another flurry of cupid’s love in the presence of my lover Andy, who had been extremely patient and understanding throughout my childish infatuation with the Italian playboy.

How’d she take it.” Sean thought for a second. “Truthfully? She wasn’t that impressed. She knew her daddy had a plane and she wants a ride. She took it right in stride, like she’d been expecting me to show up any second.” “And you?” Aiden asked. “You take it in stride?” “Aw, hell, it wore me out so bad I fell asleep on her little bed. Slept until the sun was down. After spending about three hours with her—eating her imaginary chicken and broccoli, reading books, picking up toys, talking about bikes and dogs and playmates at school—I was shot. She has these high heels she wears. She took some to school so her friend Jason could wear them, too.” He grumbled. “While I was asleep, she painted my face with magic markers…” Aiden whooped with laughter. “Yeah, you laugh. I’ll turn her loose on you.” “I’d love that,” Aiden said. “When can I meet her?” “Gimme some time, Aiden. I’m way behind the power curve here. I don’t know anything about kids, and there is so much to know. You have no idea.” “She’s just a kid, Sean. Don’t overthink it. Enjoy her.” “Did you know that when a little kid poops, you have to check their little butt to make sure they wiped it clean? Did you know that?” Aiden chuckled. “Yes, Sean, I knew that.” “Where the hell do you learn something like that?” “I dated a woman with a couple of little kids. Haven’t you? Ever dated a single young mother?” Sean was quiet for a moment. “Not really.” “How can you not really date a young mother?” “I’ve gone out with women with kids before, yeah. But I’ve never been around the kids. I have friends with kids, but I never paid attention to that stuff. I’m in way over my head.” “Franci will help you with all that. How is Franci?” “Cautious. I told her I thought we should get married and she told me to slow down—she wants to be sure it’s the right move.” “Bullshit. She wants to be sure you’re in love with her. That you can be a lover and a family man. Don’t you know anything about women?” “Not as much as I thought I did,” Sean admitted. “My little brother the playboy,” Aiden said. “Time to take life a little more seriously, huh? I want to meet her. Rosie. Let me know the minute I can. And I’d love to see Franci again.” “You know, just because Rosie took me in stride doesn’t mean the entire Riordan clan won’t be a little overwhelming for her,” Sean said. “Let’s not throw her in the deep end of the pool, huh?” “Red hair and green eyes, I hear,” Aiden said. “Like Mom and Paddy and half our cousins. That must have been a shock.” “The second I saw her, I knew. Plus, it couldn’t be anyone else’s kid—Franci and I were tight.” He paused. “Till we weren’t.” “Well,

Fun & Games Mario was the first to initiate a game of strip poker. As the losers discarded pieces of clothing, the gathering began a rapid transformation from suggestive sensuality to active sexual magnetism. A few games later, some of us were down to our skivvies. Through the thin cotton fabrics, our erections were veritably obvious. The Count, standing next to his adolescent friend, Tino, began massaging the boy’s shoulders, stimulating his excitement to full attention. Ugo, the boy’s companion, was forthwith turned on watching his friend’s hardness peeking out of his underwear. The sexual instigator had moved to kiss Tino’s neck as he continued rubbing the boy’s penile wetness, stirring him to tilt his bottom towards his aggressor. As we continued our poker game, we were glancing sideways to observe the unfolding erotica, all the while pretending nothing unusual was happening. Through the corners of our permissive eyes we witnessed The Count’s hand sensually caressing the boy’s scrotum. As with many experienced playboys, Mario was no exception to the art of sensuality and sexuality. He was now rubbing his skimpily covered erection against Tino’s willing buttocks. The two items of clothing separating the man’s hardness and the boy’s slit were their moist underwear. Although the adolescent pretended to focus on his cards, his thoughts betrayed his actions as his body lovingly leaned against the Count’s muscular physique. His hands were intimately gripping Tino’s slender waist.

Do you date a lot?” “I suppose you could say I do,” he answered. “There are women I’m friendly with and we share certain interests. There’s a neighbor woman I’ve known for years who is a food critic for the newspaper, and sometimes she invites me along to restaurants she’s reviewing—what an opportunity! She doesn’t listen to a word I say about the food, but I love the whole experience. I have a colleague I can invite to those college parties I’m forced to attend—she’s single and doesn’t usually have a date, either. Mainly I have a number of friends who happen to be women, and if I’m looking for something to do, I might give one of them a call.” He turned and looked toward her. “Maureen, I don’t have anything romantic going on with anyone. Ridiculous as it might be to think a man my age could be a playboy, I promise you, I am not.” “I didn’t mean—” He grinned and grabbed her hand. “Of course you did, and not only am I encouraged, I’m flattered!” “Well, don’t be,” she said. “I didn’t mean that.” And then he laughed at her. George

The world is full of narcissistic cybersex playboys ready to replace you with the swipe of finger when you say “no” or order an appetizer with your drink.

I think it’s realistic that two people in love might not get their happy ending.” “I’m surprised you think that. You give hopeless romantic energy.” “I think I always had myself down as a hopeless romantic. The things I read, the music I listen to, the movies I watch, etcetera. I guess who we think we are and who we are can be different.” “I don’t understand the point.” “Of love? Is this the part where the handsome playboy reveals he doesn’t believe in love? Are we that cliché?

He has charisma and looks that give him the reputation as a playboy. But beyond that he’s also the man I’d secretly fallen in love with many years ago. Had. Past tense.

Henry smiles, and it really invokes a feeling in me that I haven’t quite gotten used to yet. “You think I’m handsome? Are you flirting with me?” “I’m not even sure I know how to flirt, so no.” “You can practice on me.” “How generous of you. C’mon. Playboy who doesn’t believe in love, tell me more.” Henry rolls his eyes but he’s still smiling. “You watch too many movies and I’m not a playboy. And no, I do believe in love. I just don’t value it over other types of love. There are people in my life I love. I love art. I love my parents. I watch my friends love each other. I just don’t see what the big deal is about romantic love. Everything seems more complicated when people fall in love with each other.” “Sometimes complicated is exciting, I guess. I imagine, at least.

I hold on to my playboy card like a life preserver in a tsunami.” ~ Harris Steele

Except, people who build walls never actually feel anything. They experience things in half-truths, as mere shadows of what they’re meant to be. And as much as I’m afraid of the falling out I’m sure will come, I’m even more afraid of missing out on the rush of falling in.

The man who’s responsible for killing the only girl he’s ever loved. The guy who, most days, wishes he died instead.

No one,” he said, pausing for emphasis, “will ever love you as much as I do.” He enunciated the sentence slowly, as if he were making a grand speech. I had no words. Instead, I gave him a friendly hug in order to avoid actually speaking to him. I know he was trying to sound romantic, as if he were pledging his undying love, but to me his comment sounded like a slight. I knew I deserved better—and there’s no way his kind of love was the best the world had to offer.

I've never had someone give up so much for me. To love me so much they're willing to sacrifice so much.

I love you, Alex. The real you, not just the fun playboy you show the rest of the world. Scars don’t scare me. Pain doesn’t scare me. The only thing that does right now is losing you.

Ако винаги се страхуваме да опитаме нещо различно и да излезем от комфортната си зона, никога няма да се научим, как да оценяваме правилно живота. Затова: — Прави нужното и никога не съжалявай; — Откривай себе си и следвай сърцето си; — Чувствай и изпитвай всичко, за което жадуваш; — Гори до последно, щом веднъж си драснал клечката. „Влюбих се в Playboy” – Ana Sokovsky

MSN GROUP: Mystery’s Lounge SUBJECT: Field Report—Life at Project Hollywood AUTHOR: Sickboy For those who don’t know, I’ve been sleeping in Papa’s closet at Project Hollywood. Today was the best day I’ve ever had here, despite all the crazy drama that has been going on. I woke up earlier than usual and went surfing in Malibu with Style and his girlfriend, who is really an amazing person. Seeing how cool they get along is really inspiring. He’s one of the few people I’ve met in the game who has something great to show for all the effort he’s put into it. The surfing was amazing. I was so happy to go because I haven’t gone yet this summer. I recommend taking up the sport to anyone who’s never tried it. As soon as you hit the water, your mind clears and it’s almost impossible to think of anything else. It’s truly a relaxing experience. Afterward, we ate at a fish stand right at the edge of the Pacific Ocean and had a great conversation about music, friends, traveling, life, and careers. When I returned to the house, I did some work. Then I watched The Last Dragon with Playboy, whom I’ve become good friends with. During the movie, Herbal and Mystery talked outside and settled their differences. Though Mystery’s still upset at Katya, he said he wouldn’t hold it against Herbal for falling in love with her. And Herbal said that if Mystery paid for the damages to his room, he’d forgive Mystery for his behavior. Thank God. It’s good to see this thing ended in a sane way. Mystery will be moving out of the house tomorrow anyway, which I think is a shame. At about 2:00 A.M., Playboy, Mystery, and I sat in the main room smoking a hookah, listening to music, and talking about our goals in life. I didn’t have a single conversation today about sarging, pickup, or the community. My day was filled with real conversations with real friends. I didn’t need to fuck some L.A. bimbo from the Saddle Ranch for validation. In fact, I didn’t do a single set all day. These are the days that make life worth living. These are also the days that I will miss when I move out of Project Hollywood. —Sickboy

Addison,” Taylor said quietly. “Has it ever occurred to you that maybe Corbin really cares for you?” “What? Don’t be silly.” I frowned. “I’m just a conquest to him—it’s a feather in his cap to be able to say that a non-glam Auditor is his consort. It’s like… like a mobster showing off his girlfriend who also just happens to be a cop or a judge.” “Maybe not.” Taylor looked thoughtful. “I’ve heard rumors about Corbin.” “Such as?” I raised an eyebrow and made a go on signal with one hand. “Well, he’s not nearly the playboy he makes himself out to be for one thing,” Taylor said. “He’s almost never with anyone—he mostly keeps to himself except to feed occasionally. And he never pays the Crimson Debt or lets anyone else pay it for him.” “Meaning he doesn’t feed on anyone during sex or let them feed on him?” I said. She nodded. “Honestly, I don’t think he has that much sex at all. Not even glam-sex.” “Oh come on, Taylor—he’s a vampire,” I objected. “Sex and blood, that’s what they’re all about—that’s what they do.” “Most of them maybe. But if what I’ve heard is right, Corbin mostly keeps to himself.” “But why?” I asked, frowning. “I mean, it’s not for lack of willing partners, I’m sure.” He got under my skin like a bad rash but there was no denying Corbin was gorgeous. “I don’t know why, exactly.” Taylor shrugged. “They say he had someone once—a human—but he lost her. Now he mostly keeps to himself out of respect for her memory.” I thought of what he’d told me, about having a human female he loved enough to be gentle with once and how she’d “died anyway.” “Why didn’t he just bond her to him?” I asked. Vamps can bond any human they want, which greatly increases the human’s lifespan, sometimes even enough to match the vamp’s. It makes them a little more durable too, though under the law they’re still not supposed to have sex with the vamp that bonds them. “I don’t know.” Taylor shook her head. “But I do know you’re pretty much the only girl he’s shown an interest in. I mean, he does a lot of casual flirting, you know?” “Yeah, I know.” I nodded. Nobody was better at eye-fucking than Corbin. “But none of it amounts to anything. I mean, I’ve never heard of him taking anyone into one of his daylight resting places the way he took you. Not vampire, not human—no one,” Taylor emphasized.

I’d managed to repair my garbage disposal and replace the tank assembly in my toilet by browsing the almighty Google and ignoring all my girly squeamishness at the ick factor of both.

Unfortunately, my stupid bathroom sink pipes aren’t going to be added to that list of accomplishments anytime soon. I don’t know if the slip nuts (thank you, Google Images) had been screwed on by the Incredible Hulk or fused in place by the lesser-known supervillain Rust Man. Either way, those suckers aren’t budging for a mortal female with minimal experience handling a pipe wrench.

You watch too many movies and I'm not a playboy. And no, I do believe in love. I just don't value it over other types of love. There are people in my life I love. I love art. I love my parents. I watch my friends love each other. I just don't see what the big deal is about romantic love. Everything seems more complicated when people fall in love with each other. People value romantic love over platonic love or familial love every day. I didn't really understand platonic love until I met Anastasia, and now I think I'd rather have that with someone. I look at the art people have created on the basis of being in love with someone and it's never the emotion I feel. If you made a piece of art - a picture - I'd look at your choice of medium, the colors you chose, your personal style, your skill level. I'd see a landscape, or a person, an event, or whatever you wanted to create, but I'd feel something else. People paint people they're in love with and I feel the lust, the longing, the joy, the sadness. It's a physical manifestation of someone going, Look! Look at how in love I am. But I don't believe people can look at a painting and see love. I can see friendship though. It's hard to explain.

Carelessness. I lost my one true love. I started drinking. The first thing I know, I’m in a card game. Then I’m in a crap game. I wake up in a pool hall. Then this big Mexican lady drags me off the table, takes me to Philadelphia. She leaves me alone in her house, and it burns down. I wind up in Phoenix. I get a job as a Chinaman. I start working in a dime store, and move in with a 13-year-old girl. Then this big Mexican lady from Philadelphia comes in and burns the house down. I go down to Dallas. I get a job as a “before” in a Charles Atlas “before and after” ad. I move in with a delivery boy who can cook fantastic chili and hot dogs. Then this 13-year-old girl from Phoenix comes and burns the house down. The delivery boy—he ain’t so mild: He gives her the knife, and the next thing I know I’m in Omaha. It’s so cold there, by this time I’m robbing my own bicycles and frying my own fish. I stumble onto some luck and get a job as a carburetor out at the hot-rod races every Thursday night. I move in with a high school teacher who also does a little plumbing on the side, who ain’t much to look at, but who’s built a special kind of refrigerator that can turn newspaper into lettuce. Everything’s going good until that delivery boy shows up and tries to knife me. Needless to say, he burned the house down, and I hit the road. The first guy that picked me up asked me if I wanted to be a star. What could I say?

Alice follows a bunch of astrophysicists on Twitter who, like her, refuse to call it X. After all, X is not a name—it’s a letter. What’s next? Some other billionaire playboy buys Instagram and calls it I or Q?