Stroke My Ego Quotes

Sorry doesn’t mean anything! Not when you’re still with him. It’s not just that you cheated—it’s that he’s still here, and you’re still with him. It just goes on and on, and it hurts every single time I see you with him. I hate it that he makes you smile, and that there’s nothing I can do to stop this. I can’t think straight, and everything hurts, and nothing makes sense anymore. You’re shredding my heart with one hand and stroking his ego with the other. And it’s killing me, Faythe. You’re killing me. And it’s only going to get worse, now that everyone knows.

I is another. If the brass wakes the trumpet, it’s not its fault. That’s obvious to me: I witness the unfolding of my own thought: I watch it, I hear it: I make a stroke with the bow: the symphony begins in the depths, or springs with a bound onto the stage. If the old imbeciles hadn’t discovered only the false significance of Self, we wouldn’t have to now sweep away those millions of skeletons which have been piling up the products of their one-eyed intellect since time immemorial, and claiming themselves to be their authors!

You know that feeling at the end of the day, when the anxiety of that-which-I-must-do falls away and, for maybe the first time that day, you see, with some clarity, the people you love and the ways you have, during that day, slightly ignored them, turned away from them to get back to what you were doing, blurted out some mildly hurtful thing, projected, instead of the deep love you really feel, a surge of defensiveness or self-protection or suspicion? That moment when you think, Oh God, what have I done with this day? And what am I doing with my life? And how must I change to avoid catastrophic end-of-life regrets? I feel like that now: tired of the Me I've always been, tired of making the same mistakes, repetitively stumbling after the same small ego strokes, being caught in the same loops of anxiety and defensiveness. At the end of my life, I know I won't be wishing I'd held more back, been less effusive, more often stood on ceremony, forgiven less, spent more days oblivious to the secret wishes and fears of the people around me... --"Buddha Boy

So, you like me?” His smile is eager and excitable.  I can’t help but laugh at this giant man asking such a childish question. “What do you think?” “Say it. Stroke my ego, Stevie.

Darling, can your mother offer you some advice?" "No." I answer quickly on a small smile. She returns my smile and sits me on the end of the bed. "When you become a wife, you become the core of your husband." She smiles fondly. "Let him think he's in charge, let him think you can't live without him, but never let him take your independence or identity, darling. They need their egos stroked, these men.

In the end it had to do with stroking my own ego, not pleasing you, Sir.

If you’re looking for lollipops and rainbows while you shop for the latest best seller, you best not come to me. I won’t chat you up and tell you how cute your kid is. I won’t smile and flirt. I won’t stroke your ego about the jewelry you are wearing or the shirt you have on. I will help you find what you need. I will recommend books and hell I even talk about what I liked about one book over another but all that other shit is just not my thing.

You know, men are very fickle. Give them what they want and they will do anything for you. Keep your hair long and glossy or invest in good weaves; cook for him and send the food to his home and his office. Stroke his ego in front of his friends and treat them well for his sake. Kneel down for his parents and call them on important days. Do these things and he will put a ring on your finger, fast fast.” My mother nods sagely.

You know what, Peabody? Justice means a little more to me than a pretty gold star on my record or some fucking captain’s bars. And if you want to go run after lover boy and stroke his ego, no one’s stopping you.’ Peabody’s jaw twitched, but her voice was even. ‘I’m not going anywhere, Lieutenant.’ ‘Fine, just stand here and look martyred because I—’ In midtirade, Eve stopped, sucked in her breath. ‘I’m sorry. You’re a goddamn handy target at the moment, Peabody.’ ‘Is that part of my job description? Sir.’ ‘You always have a fine comeback. I could learn to hate you for that.

I love you, Francesca,” Gabriel told her solemnly. “I cannot express in words what you are to me.” She smiled up at him. “You do a fairly good job expressing yourself.” His eyebrow shot up. “Fairly good?” “I think your ego is already far too large. I am not about to call you the greatest lover in the world.” His hand cupped her soft breast, his thumb stroking small caresses over her taut nipple. “But you would if it were not for fear of my ego?

Breaking the kiss when she had reached the point where she had begun to hope he would never stop, he surged over her and she felt his need digging into her belly as he burrowed his face against her neck. "Don't torture me anymore. I am repentant. I swear." She opened her eyes to look at him as he lifted his head. His features were drawn and harsh with painful need. "I have never been more miserable in my life, Mellie, and the only way you could possibly make me more miserable is to leave where I can not even see you." Lifting a hand, she stroked his hard cheek. He turned his face into her palm, kissing it. "Don't make beg, Mellie." "Why?" A pained look flickered across his features. "Because I will, and my ego might never recover.

I feel like that now: tired of the Me I've always been, tired of making the same mistakes, repetitively stumbling after the same small ego strokes, being caught in the same loops of anxiety and defensiveness. At the end of my life, I know I won't be wishing I'd held more back, been less effusive, more often stood on ceremony, forgiven less, spent more days oblivious to the secret wishes and fears of the people around me. So what is stopping me from stepping outside my habitual crap? My mind, my limited mind.

Stroke his ego in front of his friends and treat them well for his sake. Kneel down for his parents and call them on important days. Do these things and he will put a ring on your finger, fast fast.

It was a memorable night for a burgeoning community of food enthusiasts at exactly the right moment. I was ecstatic. For the first time in my adult life, I was doing something purely for the joy of sharing my passion with the world, rather than to stroke my ego or make money. It felt like I was finally living my purpose. I was manifesting my dreams, making tangible an inspiration that came from deep within.

Wanting his mind on other matters, she deliiberately challenged his statement. "You don't know so much about me. There was a man once. He was crazy about me." She tried to look wordly. "Absolutely crazy for me." His answering laughter was warm against her neck, her throat. His lips touched the skin over her pulse and skimmed lightly up to her ear. "Are you, by any chance, referring to that foppish boy with the orange hair and spiked collar? Dragon something?" Savannah gasped and pulled away to glare at im. "How could you possibly know about him? I dated him last year." Gregori nuzzled her neck, inhaling her fragrance, his hand sliding over her shoulder, moving gently over her satin skin to take possession of her breast. "He wore boots and rode a Harley." His breath came out in a rush as his palm cupped the soft weight, his thumb brushing her nipple into a hard peak. The feel of his large hand-so strong, so warm and possessive on her-sent heat curling through her body. Desire rose sharply. He was seducing her with tenderness. Savannah didn't want it to happen. Her body felt better, but the soreness was there to remind her where this could all lead. Her hand caught at his wrist. "How did you find out about Dragon?" she asked, desperate to distract him, to distract herself. How could he make her body burn for his when she was so afraid of him, of having sex with him? "Making love," he corrected, his voice husky, caressing, betraying the ease with which his mind moved like a shadow through hers."And to answer your question, I live in you, can touch you whenever I wish.I knew about all of them. Every damn one." He growled the worrds, and her breath caught in her throat. "He was the only one you thought of kissing." His mouth touched hers. Gently. Lightly. Returned for more. Coaxing, teasing, until she opened to him. He stole her breath, her reason, whirling her into a world of feeling.Bright colors and white-hot heat, the room falling away until there was only his broad shoulders,strong arms, hard body, and perfect,perfect mouth. When he lifted his head, Savannah nearly pulled him back to her.He watched her face,her eyes cloudy with desire, her lips so beautiful, bereft of his. "Do you have any idea how beautiful you are, Savannah? There is such beauty in your soul,I can see it shining in your eyes." She touched his face, her palm molding his strong jaw. Why couldn't she resist his hungry eyes? "I think you're casting a spell over me. I can't remember what we were talking about." Gregori smiled. "Kissing." His teeth nibbled gently at her chin. "Specifically,your wanting to kiss that orange-bearded imbecile." "I wanted to kiss every one of them," she lied indignantly. "No,you did not.You were hoping that silly fop would wipe my taste from your mouth for all eternity." His hand stroked back the fall of hair around her face.He feathered kisses along the delicate line of her jaw. "It would not have worked,you know.As I recall,he seemed to have a problem getting close to you." Her eyes smoldered dangerously. "Did you have anything to do with his allergies?" She had wanted someone, anyone,to wipe Gregori's taste from her mouth,her soul. He raised his voice an octave. "Oh, Savannah, I just have to taste your lips," he mimicked. Then he went into a sneezing fit. "You haven't ridden until you've ridden on a Harley,baby." He sneezed, coughed, and gagged in perfect imitation. Savannah pushed his arm, forgetting for a moment her bruised fist. When it hurt, she yelped and glared accusingly at him. "It was you doing all that to him! That poor man-you damaged his ego for life. Each time he touched me, he had a sneezing fit." Gregori raised an eyebrow, completely unrepentant. "Technically,he did not lay a hand on you.He sneezed before he could get that close.

Keep your hair long and glossy or invest in good weaves; cook for him and send the food to his home and his office. Stroke his ego in front of his friends and treat them well for his sake. Kneel down for his parents and call them on important

Although, as I watched him sleep, it occurred to me that he was way more attractive than I'd originally thought. He was my age-we were both freshmen-so I should've noticed, but his personality had somehow distracted me from the length of his eyelashes, the thickness of his dark hair, the prominence of his Adam's apple, and the way he had the tiniest little dimple in his chin. He was, objectively speaking, a very cute guy. "You checking me out, Glasses?" Gah! His eyes remained closed as he said, "Swear to God I can hear you holding your breath. Relax and exhale, kid; it's okay to creep on me." "As if," I growled, irritated that I'd gotten busted, because the last thing on earth I wanted to do was stroke his ego. "I just thought you might be dead." "Worried?" "Hopeful.

You've got good taste,honey." Daffy winked. "In food and in men." As Daffy walked away, Marilee chuckled. "You realize," she said as she lifted the frosty bottle to her lips and drank, "that Daffy was practically drooling when she looked at you." "She drools over every cowboy that walks through the door.Now if you'd drool"-he touched a finger to her jaw-"my ego would definitely be stroked." "I doubt your ego needs stroking. I'm thinking you have a very high opinion of yourself,rebel." He gave an easy laugh. "Does this mean you're not going to buy into my shy-guy routine?" "Not likely.

There’s a swirling, weaving gridwork of light-patterns everywhere and all around. I can hear someone making choking and retching noises. RD was experiencing the vomit of the world’s suffering, but was not suffering himself, as he later told us. At first I can’t do anything – there is no “I” and nobody else. Then I notice that I’m being moved towards the sound, to reach out with my hand, to touch, to help, to give comfort. “I” didn’t decide to do this, it just happened, sort of like an amoeba oozing over toward the source of apparent distress signals. My voice appeared to be making soothing sounds while my hands appeared to be making touching, stroking gestures. Awareness then arose of the other individual, this particular man, RD. Only after that awareness, came the realization that “I” was doing this gesture, this movement (RM).

On top of that—you’ve been trying to get my attention all week. So now you’ve got it. You just happened to get it my way.” Elle looked to the side, as though bored with the entire conversation, but I recognized embarrassment when I saw it. She tried to cover it, but it still came through loud and clear in the pink blush staining her cheeks. “And now that we’ve finished stroking your ego, I think we’re done here,” she said. Her words were quiet, and I didn’t like seeing her bold sassiness muted. I decided to throw myself out there too. Fuck, I hoped I knew what I was doing. “I didn’t say I didn’t like you trying to get my attention. Do you have any idea how hard I’ve been fighting to stay away from you? Jesus, woman, you’re the sexiest fucking thing to set foot in this place. My dick has become way too well-acquainted with my zipper—and a fuck ton more acquainted with my hand since you started.

Yup. Still got it.” Shane caps it off with a playful grin. I can’t tell if he’s referring to football or his looks. Yes to both, but he doesn’t need his ego stroked. “Eh.” I shrug, feigning indifference. His jaw drops. “What do you mean, ‘eh’? You saw me play in high school.” “A few times.” He snorts. “Yeah, right. You went to all the games. You’d sit up on the right side, near the announcer booth. It was like it was your spot. For years.” I frown. “You saw me there?” He never told me that. I assumed I didn’t exist to him before that summer we dated. “Of course, I did. You wore this long, red-and-black sweater that you’d hug around your body like you were cold, even when it was seventy degrees out. I always felt like I should run up there and give you a hug.” I did always wear that sweater. It was old and ratty, and I loved it. And my fifteen- and sixteen-year-old self would have died from happiness had Shane Beckett run into the stands to even acknowledge me. “You stopped coming senior year,” he murmurs, more to himself, his brow puckering.

When he lifted his head, Savannah nearly pulled him back to her. He watched her face, her eyes cloudy with desire, her lips so beautiful, bereft of his. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are, Savannah? There is such beauty in your soul, I can see it shining in your eyes.” She touched his face, her palm molding his strong jaw. Why couldn’t she resist his hungry eyes? “I think you’re casting a spell over me. I can’t remember what we were talking about.” Gregori smiled. “Kissing.” His teeth nibbled gently at her chin. “Specifically, your wanting to kiss that orange-bearded imbecile.” “I wanted to kiss every one of them,” she lied indignantly. “No, you did not. You were hoping that silly fop would wipe my taste from your mouth for all eternity.” His hand stroked back the fall of hair around her face. He feathered kisses along the delicate line of her jaw. “It would not have worked, you know. As I recall, he seemed to have a problem getting close to you.” Her eyes smoldered dangerously. “Did you have anything to do with his allergies?” She had wanted someone, anyone, to wipe Gregori’s taste from her mouth, her soul. He raised his voice an octave. “Oh, Savannah, I just have to taste your lips,” he mimicked. Then he went into a sneezing fit. “You haven’t ridden until you’ve ridden on a Harley, baby.” He sneezed, coughed, and gagged in perfect imitation. Savannah punched his arm, forgetting for a moment her bruised fist. When it hurt, she yelped and glared accusingly at him. “It was you doing all that to him! The poor man— you damaged his ego for life. Each time he touched me, he had a sneezing fit.” Gregori raised an eyebrow, completely unrepentant. “Technically, he did not lay a hand on you. He sneezed before he could get that close.” She laid her head back on the pillow, her ebony hair curling around his arm, then her arm, weaving them together. His lips found her throat, then moved lower and found the spot over her breast that burned with need, with invitation. Savannah caught his head firmly in her hands and lifted him determinedly away from her before her treacherous body succumbed completely to his magic. “And the dog episode?” He tried for innocence, but his laughter was echoing in her mind. “What do you mean?” “You know very well what I mean,” she insisted. “When Dragon walked me home.” “Ah, yes, I seem to recall now. The big bad wolf decked out in chains and spikes, afraid of a little dog.” “Little? A hundred-and-twenty-pound Rottweiler mix? Foaming at the mouth. Roaring. Charging him!” “He ran like a rabbit.” Gregori’s soft, caressing voice echoed his satisfaction. He had taken great pleasure in running that particular jackass off. How dare the man try to lay a hand on Savannah? “No wonder I couldn’t touch the dog’s mind and call him off. You rotten scoundrel.” “After Dragon left you, I chased him for two blocks, and he went up a tree. I kept him there for several hours, just to make a point. He looked like a rooster with his orange comb.” She laughed in spite of her desire not to. “He never came near me again.” “Of course not. It was unacceptable,” he said complacently, with complete satisfaction, the warmth of his breath heating her blood.

Okay,let's do it," Robbie said, slapping his hands together as he stood. He stepped towards me with his arms outstreched and I tripped back. " What? No" " What? Yes," he said. He hit the rewind button and the tape zipped backward. He paused it right as the dance began. " You don't really expect me to ask Tama to dance with me without any practice. Even I'm not that stupid." I was suddenly very aware of my heartbeat. " There's no way I'm dancing with you." " You really know how to stroke a guy's ego," Robbie joked. "Come on. I'm not that repulsive." "You're not repulsive at all, it's just-" " Well, that's good to hear," Robbie said with a teasing smile. He was enjoying this. "it's just that I don't dance," I admitted. Never had. Not once. Not with a guy. I was a dance free-zone. " Well, neither do II mean, except on stage. But i've never danced like this, so we're even" he said. He hit "play". The music started and Robbie pulled me toward him by my wrist. he grabbed my hand, which was sweating, and held it, then put his other hand on my waist. My boobs pressed sgsinst his chest and I flinched, but Robbie didn't seem to notice. He was too busy consulting the TV screen. " Here goes nothing," he said. "Okay, it's a waltz, so one, two, three,,, one, two, three. Looks like a big step on one and two little steps on two and three. Got it?" "Sure." I so didn't have it. " Okay, go." He started to step in a circle, pulling me with him.I staggered along, mortified. " One, two, three. One two, three," he counted under his breath. My foot caught on his ankle. " Oops! Sorry." I was sweating like mad now, wishing I'd taken off my sweater, at least. " I got ya," he said, his grip tightiening on my hand. " K eep going." " One, two, three," I counted, staring down at our feet. He slammed one of his hip into one of the set chairs. " Ow. Dammit!" " Are you okay?"I asked."Yeah. Keep going," he said through his teeth. " One, two, three," I counted. I glanced up at the Tv screen, and the second I took my eyes off our feet, they got hopelessly tangled. I felt that instant swoop of gravity and shouted as we went down. The floor was not soft. " Oof?" " Ow. Okay, ow," Robbie said, grabbing his elbow. " That was not a good bone to fall on." He shook his arm out and I brought my knees up under my chin. " Maybe this wasn't the best idea." "No! No. We cannot give up that easily," Robbie said, standing. He took my hands and hoisted my up. " Maybe we just need to simplify it a little. " Actually i think its the twirl and the dip at the end that are really important," I theorized. It seemed like the most romantic part to me. " Okay, good." Robbie was phsyched by this development. "So maybe instead of going in circles, we just step side to side and do the twirl thing a couple of times. " Sounds like a plan," I said. " Let's do it." Robbie rewound the tape and we started from the beginning of the music. He took my hand again and held it up, then placed his other hand on my waist. This time we simply swayed back and forth. I was just getting used to the motion, when I realized that Robbie was staring at me.Big time." What?" i said, my skin prickling. " Trying to make eye contact," he said. " I hear eye contact while dancing is key." " Where would you hear something like that?" I said. " My grandmother. She's a wise woman," he said. His grandmother. How cute was that? His eyes were completely focused on my face. I tried to stare back into them, but I keep cracking up laughing. And he thought I'd make a good actress. " Wow. You suck at eye contact," he said. "Come on. Give me something to work here." I took a deep breath and steeled myself. It's just Robbie Delano, KJ. You can do this. And so I did. I looked right back into his eyes. And we continued to sway at to the music. His hand around mine. His hand on my waist. Our chests pressed together. I stared into his eyes, and soon i found that laughing was the last thing on my mind. " How's this working for you?

Are you dictating to me, baby?” “I am totally”— she stroked her hand back and forth on his shaft—“ dick-tating to you. Are you listening?” Uh. What? Dammit. He tried to focus. “Listening and obeying. Your wish is my command.” Maybe she’d wish for some oral. He loved to lap at her cream. “Rule one. Don’t touch my bacon. Or chocolate. Or basically anything I’m eating or might want to eat.” “Hold on, does this mean I can’t masturbate anymore? Because we both know you like eating that.” How he loved her red cheeks. “Hayder!” And the shocked tone. Even better, he smelled her arousal. “So was that a yes or a no on the whole touching myself thing?” Her answer was a growl as she pounced on him. He caught her with ease but still allowed himself to stumble back until his legs hit the couch. He dropped down onto it, with her on his lap. Straddling him. He reached to brush her dark hair back, his gaze caught by the serious expression in hers. “I’ll give you my heart and soul for whatever thought is running through your head.” Screw a penny. Go big or go home. “I was thinking how much my life has changed.” “For the better of course.” She laughed. “Of course. As if your ego would allow for anything else.” “I’d do anything for you, baby.” Including walking away from the fight for pack alpha so that she could realize she didn’t need him or anyone else to win her battles. “I know you would. Oh, what the hell, I’ll marry you. And I’ll even share my bacon because you know what? I love you.” Good thing he was already sitting. She definitely stole the strength from him in that moment. Felled the mighty lion with words.

I needed to feel wanted. I needed to feel desirable. I needed to feel beautiful again. And Kai made me feel all those things and more. It was quite possible that my ego needed stroking more than my body did.

I don't mind my ego being stroked. But the real connection is when you caress my soul.

Thick and solid, just the way I liked it. I licked my lips, fondling him. “I want this in me,” I said, and then I added, “I’ve never had someone so big before,” because I’d learned that the only thing that did a man in faster than stroking his dick was stroking his ego. And if you could do both at the same time, well…

I’ve found that I was looking at the parks without really seeing them. Like I was stroking my ego in some kind of completionist epic, hoarding visual moments like they were only real if I had a photo for social media to prove my presence in a place. Despite all the picture-taking I’ve indulged in, the silent, unphotographed experience of each park is far more real than any snapshot I’ve posed for.

YOUR STAMINA IS PITIFUL. YOUR JUDGMENT IS LITTLE BETTER THAN THAT OF A WORM. Gee, thanks. I’ve never felt so confident. MY PURPOSE ISN’T TO STROKE YOUR EGO. MY PURPOSE IS TO PREPARE YOU. For what? WHATEVER IS TO COME.

So asking for advice can make us look smart because it strokes the advice giver’s ego. Rather than thinking we’re not capable or are stupid for asking, advice givers draw a very different conclusion: “Of course my opinions are valuable, so this person is smart for asking for them.”*

From the short time I've known you, I'm positive you don't need anyone stroking your ego and making it bigger." "You're right. I got something better than my ego that grows when you stroke it." I winked.

Lords and dandies who only want to ruin women, ruin our reputations and our virtue. Flattery, I discovered, was the best way to put those men off, and I can’t imagine it wouldn’t work on you as well, Lord Stride. You now have the power to ruin me for London society. Is that enough? How long am I expected to stroke your ego before I’ve sufficiently mollified your colossal vanity, my lord?

let my ego get the best of me. You have no fuckin’ idea how sorry I am for that. I didn’t even feel right watching you walk away. I couldn’t breathe—” “He damn sure couldn’t,” Corey said from the other side of the door. “I thought the nigga was having a stroke.” There was a loud smack, followed by Zuri fussing, “Jesus fuckin’ Christ.” Thankful that their friends had given her a reason to express her joy, Artemis laughed, blinking away her tears. “I knew bringing them with me was a bad idea,” he straightened up. “Nigga, fuck you,” Corey replied. “If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t even be here.” “Facts,” Nixon co-signed.

I don’t need her to stroke my ego, but the fact that even now, she still fucking lies.

Stroking my ego often leads to stroking my dick.

Sit down," Thad whispered. When she did, he pulled her to the edge of the mattress and lifted both her legs, placing her thighs on his shoulders. Then he dipped his head and read her open with his tongue. She gasped, and sound sent a jolt of sensation straight to his dick. Fuck! He knew she would taste good, but this was so much better than good. He stroked her with his tongue, dragging slow, firm licks from her clit on down, and then back up again. Ashanti lifted her hips, grinding against his mouth as he continued to lap at her. Her cries filled the room, hesitant as they were. Thad wanted her to tell her to let go, to just give in and not hold back. But he didn't want to stop what he was doing long enough to speak. He caught her by the waist and held her down while he wedged his tongue inside her, driving in and out. Her legs moved restlessly against his shoulders, as if she didn't know what to do with herself. He tried to make out what she was saying between her breathy pants and realized it was his name. She was calling his name over and over again. Thad had never heard anything sexier in his entire life. It drove him to keep going until he felt her legs shake and tense. She came against his tongue. But instead of stopping, he ramped up the intensity, closing his mouth over her clit and sucking until she came again and again and again. Her body was limp by the time he lifted her legs and set them back on the bed. He stood. As he stared down at Ashanti completely spent on his mattress, Thad realized his ego would never need stroking again. "Are you okay?" he asked her. "I'm a puddle," she said. "Don't ask me to move, because I can't." Nope. No ego stroking necessary for the newly crowned king of cunnilingus.

Work can be a vehicle for self-transcendence in either approach, for according to Hindu doctrine every action performed upon the external world reacts on the doer. If I chop down a tree that blocks my view, each stroke of the ax unsettles the tree; but it leaves its mark on me as well, driving deeper into my being my determination to have my way in the world. Everything I do for my private wellbeing adds another layer to my ego, and in thickening it insulates me more from God. Conversely, every act done without thought for myself diminishes my self-centeredness until finally no barrier remains to separate me from the Divine. The

He has all the beauty of an angel--- a chiseled face and a faint glow. But there's something wrong about him. A rawness that never melted down. His smile is crooked, forged by a false sense of happiness. Though, he is undeniably enthralling. Golden hair and sharpened bones. Fox-like eyes that trail my body as if it's for show. Silently undressing me. Ready to pounce. In another world, I might have let him. I smile, fawning naivety as he takes a step closer. His red lips part with a grin as he brushes a weft of hair over my shoulder. I shiver as he trails my bare skin. His touch is delicate, careful not to startle me as my breathing hitches. Slowly, his fingers trace the vulnerable part of my throat, grazing gently instead of drawing blood. He's careful in his movements, taking his time, awakening my senses until I let out a kitten cry. His hand perches beneath my chin. Our eyes lock, trapped in honeyed heat, as his thumb strokes the fullness of my bottom lip. "You're immaculate," he says. His voice is lush and dark. I tense, trying not to tremble as his tether possesses me. It becomes harder when he whispers, "I have never seen such a beautiful girl." Electric shovers rattle my bones. My knees slacken, and he stabilizes my balance. I refuse to give him the upper hand. I press my palm against his chest, grazing right where his blouse parts. My eyes turn doe-like with wonder, honoring his beauty and tending his fragile ego. "Are we to be married now? I can't wait a moment longer." He grins. "Soon, coquette." I move my hand up to his neck. Not slow and delicate like he was with me. But feral, delicious, wanting. "I need you." I nearly pant. That's it. That's enough to make him tick. He drinks me in like nectar, a sweet ambrosia brewed just for him. "Come," he says, offering his arm.

The energies around the world are harsh everyday and that is just the sad reality now. Despite this, everything is slowly shifting in a more positive way thanks to the many evolved souls who have incarnated from the Realms and Spirit Worlds that exist. With those shifts comes the tantrum throwing by lower evolved human souls. This is what you are bearing witness to around the world. Before the harsh energies came at you once in awhile, but now it is out of control and happens on a daily basis. The internet, technology and phone apps that exist have positive uses, but most do not use it for positive purposes. Technological devices spit out toxic energy at your aura and latches onto your soul. If one is using the devices for selfish reasons, such as to spew negativity, or for ego stroking, then you and the person they direct the energy to will be a magnet for some of these harsh energies.

Muse, We are servants of the Mystery. We were put here on earth to act as agents of the Infinite, to bring into existence that which is not yet, but which will be, through us. Every breath we take, every heartbeat, every evolution of every cell comes from God and is sustained by God every second, just as every creation, invention, every bar of music or line of verse, every thought, vision, fantasy, every dumb-ass flop and stroke of genius comes from that infinite intelligence that created us and the universe in all its dimensions, out of the Void, the field of infinite potential, primal chaos, the Muse. To acknowledge that reality, to efface all ego, to let the work come through us and give it back freely to its source, that, in my opinion, is as true to reality as it gets.

We are servants of the Mystery. We were put here on earth to act as agents of the Infinite, to bring into existence that which is not yet, but which will be, through us. Every breath we take, every heartbeat, every evolution of every cell comes from God and is sustained by God every second, just as every creation, invention, every bar of music or line of verse, every thought, vision, fantasy, every dumb-ass flop and stroke of genius comes from that infinite intelligence that created us and the universe in all its dimensions, out of the Void, the field of infinite potential, primal chaos, the Muse. To acknowledge that reality, to efface all ego, to let the work come through us and give it back freely to its source, that, in my opinion, is as true to reality as it gets.

Give me your phone number,” I say. “As long as you aren’t planning to text me pics of your ego stroking after school.” I laugh and clutch at my heart. “Dammit, Six. I love every single word that comes out of your mouth.” “Cock,” she says dryly. She’s evil.

My hands are too rough to stroke egos.

Forget all else, Junah, but remember this: You are never alone. You have your caddie. You have me. “More devoted than a mother, more faithful than a lover, I stand by your side always. I will never abandon you. No sin, no lapse, no crime however heinous can make me desert you, nor yield up to you any less than my ultimate fidelity and love. “Who walks his path beside me Feels my hand upon him always. No effort he makes is wasted, Nor unseen, unguided by me. “Therefore, Junah, rest in me. Enter the Field like a warrior. Purged of ego, firm in discipline, seeking no reward save the stroke itself. Give the shot to me. I am your Self, the Ground of your being, your Authentic Swing.

Tell me what you can bring to this family. Does your father agree with this union?" Casca didn't waver. "He does. He has remarked to me many times how much he would like to see our families united." Apicius responded with an incline of his head and his mouth turned up at the edges in a thoughtful smile. "Explain to me, then, why are you here instead of him?" "He doesn't have my conviction- that you would find me more suitable than Dolabella or Narses." I was surprised at the audacity of this young man. Apicius was also surprised. He didn't respond right away, which was unusual. When he did, he sounded amused and- although Casca couldn't know it- impressed. "And why do you think I would find you more suitable?" "It is quite simple." Casca looked at me, then at Apicius. "I love your daughter. They do not." Apicius snorted. "Love is not a prerequisite to marriage." "Quite true. However, I bring to you both power and influence- through my father now, but also in my future as I follow in his footsteps. I will continue to bring you and your family honor, and precious votes in the elections. And what I can do that Dolabella and Narses cannot is assure you I will take care of your daughter with every fiber of my being." "Go on," Apicius said, intrigued. I was glad I had decided to bring Casca here on such impulse. "I have watched you with Apicata over these many months. I know how you dote on her, how you hold her close to your heart. She is as important to you as your love for culinary delights," he remarked. Good, I thought. The boy had a sense of how to stroke Apicius's ego, though I knew the truth that Casca- and likely even Apicius- did not. Food and fame would always be first in Apicius's heart. "I can promise you that your daughter will have love and laughter. Narses and Dolabella care not for her as much as they do for your money. My motives are pure. Few in this world have the chance to marry for love. Let your daughter be one of them.

If I had to pick one output (action) word for my right mind, I would have to choose compassion. I encourage you to ask yourself, what does it mean to you to be compassionate? Under what circumstances are you inclined to be compassionate and what does compassion feel like inside your body? Generally, most of us are compassionate with those we see as our equals. The less attached we are to our ego’s inclination for superiority, the more generous of spirit we can be with others. When we are being compassionate, we consider another’s circumstance with love rather than judgment. We see a homeless person or a psychotic person and approach them with an open heart, rather than fear, disgust, or aggression. Think about the last time you reached out to someone or something with genuine compassion. How did it feel inside your body? To be compassionate is to move into the right here, right now with an open heart consciousness and a willingness to be supportive.