The Thicker The Thighs Quotes

She held a scarlet sequin dress to her chest and posed in front of a mirror. Too hot. She put it back and took a black mini. Too dreary. Then a blue as pale as a whisper caught her eye. She took the dress. The material was silky and clinging. Perfect for a goddess. On the floor below the dress sat scrappy wraparound high-heeled sandals that matched the blue. She didn't understand why she needed to dress up to meet Stanton but the impulse to steal into the storage room had been rising in her since the sun set. She took the dress and sandals back to her room, then sat on the floor and painted her toenails and fingernails pale blue. She drew waves of eternal flames and spiral hearts in silver and blue around her ankles and up her legs with body paints. When she was done, she pressed a Q-tip into glitter eye shadow and spread sparkles on her lid and below her eye. With a sudden impulse she swirled the lines over her temple and into her hairline. She liked the look. She rolled blue mascara on her lashes, then brushed her hair and snapped crystals in the long blond strands. She squeezed glitter lotion into her palms and rubbed it on her shoulders and arms. Last she took the dress and stepped into it. She turned to the mirror on the closet door. A thrill ran through her. Her reflection astonished her. She looked otherworldly, a mystical creature... eyes large, skin glowing, eyelashes longer, thicker. Everything about her was more powerful and sleek and fairy tale. Surely this wasn't really happening. Maybe she would wake up and run to school and tell Catty about her crazy dreams. But another part of her knew this was real. She leaned to one side. The dress exposed too much thigh. "Good." Her audacity surprised her. Another time she would have changed her dress. But why should she?

Angina is the pain you get when there’s not enough oxygen getting to your heart muscle for the work it’s doing. That’s why it gets worse with exercise: because you’re demanding more work from the heart muscle. You might get a similar pain in your thighs after bounding up ten flights of stairs, depending on how fit you are. Treatments that help angina usually work by dilating the blood vessels to the heart, and a group of chemicals called nitrates are used for this purpose very frequently. They relax the smooth muscle in the body, which dilates the arteries so more blood can get through (they also relax other bits of smooth muscle in the body, including your anal sphincter, which is why a variant is sold as ‘liquid gold’ in sex shops). In the 1950s there was an idea that you could get blood vessels in the heart to grow back, and thicker, if you tied off an artery on the front of the chest wall that wasn’t very important, but which branched off the main heart arteries. The idea was that this would send messages back to the main branch of the artery, telling it that more artery growth was needed, so the body would be tricked. Unfortunately this idea turned out to be nonsense, but only after a fashion. In 1959 a placebo-controlled trial of the operation was performed: in some operations they did the whole thing properly, but in the ‘placebo’ operations they went through the motions but didn’t tie off any arteries. It was found that the placebo operation was just as good as the real one—people seemed to get a bit better in both cases, and there was little difference between the groups—but the most strange thing about the whole affair was that nobody made a fuss at the time: the real operation wasn’t any better than a sham operation, sure, but how could we explain the fact that people had been sensing an improvement from the operation for a very long time? Nobody thought of the power of placebo. The operation was simply binned. That’s

6Then King Rehoboam took counsel with the old men, who had stood before Solomon his father while he was yet alive, saying, “How do you advise me to answer this people?” 7And they said to him, “If you will be a servant to this people today and serve them, and speak good words to them when you answer them, then they will be your servants forever.” 8But he abandoned the counsel that the old men gave him and took counsel with the young men who had grown up with him and stood before him. 9And he said to them, “What do you advise that we answer this people who have said to me, ‘Lighten the yoke that your father put on us’?” 10And the young men who had grown up with him said to him, “Thus shall you speak to this people who said to you, ‘Your father made our yoke heavy, but you lighten it for us,’ thus shall you say to them, ‘My little finger is thicker than my father’s thighs. 11And now, whereas  mmy father laid on you a heavy yoke, I will add to your yoke. My father disciplined you with whips, but I will discipline you with scorpions.’” 12So Jeroboam and all the people came to Rehoboam the third day, as the king said,  o“Come to me again the third day.” 13And the king answered the people harshly, and forsaking the counsel that the old men had given him,

Mel was just here. She’s complaining about the food.” “Huh?” Jack answered. “Mel?” “Yeah. She says my food is making her fat.” Jack chuckled. “Oh, that. Yeah, she’s making noises about that. Don’t worry about it.” “She didn’t make it sound like I shouldn’t worry about it. She was pretty much loaded for bear.” “She had two babies in fourteen months, plus a hysterectomy. And—she doesn’t like to be reminded about this—she’s getting older in spite of herself. Women get a little thicker. You know.” “How do you know that?” “Four sisters,” Jack said. “It’s all women ever worry about—the size of their butts and boobs. And thighs—thighs come up a lot.” “She yelled at me,” he said, still kind of startled. Paul laughed and Jack just shook his head. “Did you tell her that?” Preacher asked. “About women getting thicker with age?” “Do I look like I have a death wish? Besides, I don’t think she’s getting fat—but my opinion about that doesn’t count for much.” “She wants salads. And fresh fruit.” “How hard is that?” Jack asked. “Not hard,” Preacher said with a shrug. “But I don’t stuff that pie down her neck every day.” A sputter of laughter escaped Paul, and Jack said, “You’re gonna want to watch that, Preach.” “She wants me to use less butter and cream, take a few calories out of my food. Jack, it isn’t going to taste as good that way. You can’t make sauces and gravies without cream, butter, fat, flour. People love that stuff, salmon in dill sauce, fettuccine Alfredo, stuffed trout, brisket and garlic mash. Stews with thick gravy. People come a long way for my food.” “Yeah, I know, Preach. You don’t have to change everything—but make Mel a little something, huh? A salad, a broiled chicken breast, fish without the cream sauce, that kind of thing. You know what to do. Right?” “Of course. You don’t think she wants everyone in this town on a diet? Because she says it’s not healthy, the way I cook.” “Nah. This is a phase, I think. But if you don’t want to hear any more about it, just give her lettuce.” He grinned. “And an apple instead of the pie.” Preacher shook his head. “See, I think no matter what she says, that’s going to make her pissy.” “She said it’s what she wants, right?” “Right.” “May the force be with you,” Jack said with a grin.

wanting more. Wanting something thicker and harder. Sparks dance behind my eyes. My thighs tighten around his head, my muscles contracting with the agony of being breathless and the euphoria of my impending orgasm. My hands flutter down to him, holding onto whatever I can reach. His shoulders. His hair. He dives in harder, eating at me like he means to consume me. His mouth is sinful, evil, wicked. It’s every dark desire I’ve ever had but have been too afraid to voice. He tortures me until I swear I’m going to pass out. The world closes around me as water runs over my face. My body is both frozen and on fire. Pieces of my skin are flicking off as I come apart. Fear. Desire. Want. Need. Confusion. The glittering stars explode in my head, and then darkness encroaches. Nothingness. Absence. I come to with Isaac’s arms around my legs and back. Our bodies sway side to side as he moves through the waves, his feet slow beneath the water and then more firmly as it drops down. The surface of the ocean drops from our shoulders to our stomachs and then down as the sand grows more sturdy beneath his feet. “You awake?” he asks carefully when my hand reaches up and touches his chest. Water sluices down his hard flesh, over the muscles covered by tan skin. “Yeah.” My voice is little more than a rasp. “I think you tried to kill me, though,” I admit. He doesn’t respond. I’d at least expected a chuckle. When I look up into his face, though, the

They’re a lot bigger than the last ones,” I say. “Yeah, they must be four weeks old. She must have dropped this litter early. Can you sit with your legs out to hold them?” Without a subterranean den, we had to coral them somehow. Inside the copse, there is barely room to move. I drop down to a sitting position with my legs splayed out, and the pups wiggle en masse against my thigh. Their noses press against my pant leg. They calm down and begin to nuzzle into each other. Dirt streaks their coats, which range from coal to warm gray. Their heads are covered in dense auburn fur, and all of them have now closed their milky-gray eyes. I stare at them in disbelief at the thought that, not so long ago, settlers threw dynamite into wolf puppy dens. Their muzzles appear foreshortened and out of proportion to the long and wide jaws they will grow into one day. Something compels one pup to move closer and closer to me until the little wolf wedges its nose firmly into my groin. The other pups trail behind it, tunneling between each other and pawing their way over one another until all four are piled together between my legs. I try not to think about the fact that suddenly I am a temporary nursemaid to some of the world’s rarest wolves while their mother likely paces a few dozen yards away. Adjusting the puppies is futile, as they seem hardwired to nuzzle their way into the warmest, tightest spot they can find. The brambles, while thick on the outside, form a natural opening in the middle that is just large enough for a wolf to circle around in. The mother had dug a very shallow earthen dish - only a few inches deep - to keep her babies in. “Doesn’t seem like much of a den,” I remark. “I thought we’d find another big hole in the ground.” “It varies,” Ryan says. “Sometimes we find them in these bowl depressions, usually where the woods are thicker and the ground is flatter, like here. But sometimes they’re in holes. When the ground is sloped, they’ll dig back into the slope. That’s the most typical kind of den. But we’ve found them in storm culverts, too. It’s all over the map.” Ryan sets to work pulling out rubber gloves, blood-sample supplies and ID chips. Chris snaps and cracks his way to us. He crawls through the copse and curses at the dense vegetation. Finally, he reaches the inner sanctum, where there is barely enough room to sit Indian style jammed up against Ryan’s legs and mine. Roomy for a wolf, maybe, but cramped for three human adults. “What a sorry little den,” Chris remarks. He glances at the scratched-out dirt bed and porous brush overhead. Rain drips through, wetting our heads. “Is she nearby?” “Somewhere over there.” Ryan gestures behind us. “She’s not going far, though, you can be sure of that. These guys squealed their guts out.

My Sarcasm is Thicker Than My Thighs.

There’s something where the student was. Something massive. Something growing. It’s human in shape, I’ll give it that. Squat powerful legs, broad as my chest, thickening at the thigh, ropes of muscle bursting through the jeans he was wearing. Above the waist—an inverted pyramid of flesh, each abdominal muscle a chopping board of flesh, the pectorals as wide as the hood of the car Kayla just cut away, but thicker, vault door thick. And the arms... They grow longer, knuckles strike the ground. Forearms thicker than the thighs. Biceps thicker still. Shoulder muscles like a cow’s carcass dragged over the joint. He’s colossal, ten feet tall and still going. Twelve foot now.

How in the world had she gazed upon the man and maintained a straight face while holding him at knifepoint? He’d been the finest example of masculinity, with such broad shoulders and biceps thicker than her thighs. Soft golden hairs had dusted his chest, and she’d ached to touch it and drag her fingers through them. Above all of that, she’d been more taken by his eyes. They

Find a comfortable chair that supports your back or lie on your back. Close your eyes and uncross your arms and legs. Relax your hands on your thighs. Take a deep breath and breathe in the whole universe. Scientists have noticed that this is a fluid universe and that it communicates with us in many, many ways that are still undiscovered and, yes, as you breathe, there is motion everywhere. Nothing is standing still. So enjoy the excitement of taking a deep breath all the way down to your diaphragm. Now take a deep breath and let it go all the way down to your feet. Now take a breath and notice that you can direct the breath like a beam that you can send all the way down through your diaphragm, through your pelvis, through your legs, through your feet, and into the ground. Then, enjoy noticing that as you breathe all the way down into the earth you can relax, and the beam of the breath can make a pathway back up from the earth through your torso up to your lungs. Now, notice that you can take an even deeper breath and follow that pathway again all the way down, down, down into your abdomen, into your legs, into the ground, and burrow down deeper into the earth through sediments, the shale and rocks, and into oil and water collections. Notice you can follow your breath in a pathway that continues to keep tunneling downward further and further. Send that beam all the way down and notice that it doesn’t take that long for it to work its way through deeper and deeper into the earth. As you breathe again, follow the breath as it continues to gain momentum and strength and watch it create a beam that goes down through your body, further and lower and deeper into the earth, this time about a mile down. Then watch it turn around and come back up all the way, retracing its pathway. As it comes up, the pathway is already open for the beam to return much faster. It comes up faster and faster and faster, up into your chest, up into your head, and can actually come up even a foot or so above your head. Experience the beam with your eyes closed as it explodes above your head and then notice that it really has some power now. Breathe again, deeply, and send the beam down again—all the way down through your body, through your legs. Keep following the momentum and the power behind it now. You can follow your breath like a beam as it passes down further and further, nearly to the center of the earth. And, then, once it reaches that point it lightly touches the center and then circles around and starts to come right back up much quicker. The beam comes up faster and faster, farther and farther until it passes up through the earth and into your feet, into your body, into your head, and then goes about three or four feet above your head. You may notice that as you keep breathing the beam gets stronger and appears thicker, often more golden and platinum colored.