Thigh Gap Quotes

Once upon a time, there was Candy and Dan. Things were very hot that year. All the wax was melting in the trees. He would climb balconies, climb everywhere, do anything for her, oh Danny boy. Thousands of birds, the tiniest birds, adorned her hair. Everything was gold. One night the bed caught fire. He was handsome and a very good criminal. We lived on sunlight and chocolate bars. It was the afternoon of extravagant delight. Danny the daredevil. Candy went missing. The days last rays of sunshine cruise like sharks. I want to try it your way this time. You came into my life really fast and I liked it. We squelched in the mud of our joy. I was wet-thighed with surrender. Then there was a gap in things and the whole earth tilted. This is the business. This, is what we're after. With you inside me comes the hatch of death. And perhaps I'll simply never sleep again. The monster in the pool. We are a proper family now with cats and chickens and runner beans. Everywhere I looked. And sometimes I hate you. Friday -- I didn't mean that, mother of the blueness. Angel of the storm. Remember me in my opaqueness. You pointed at the sky, that one called Sirius or dog star, but on here on earth. Fly away sun. Ha ha fucking ha you are so funny Dan. A vase of flowers by the bed. My bare blue knees at dawn. These ruffled sheets and you are gone and I am going to. I broke your head on the back of the bed but the baby he died in the morning. I gave him a name. His name was Thomas. Poor little god. His heart pounds like a voodoo drum.

And thigh gap?” he mutters to himself. “I hear that phrase all the time. I don’t understand it. Your thighs part well enough for my c*ck and hands and face. That’s a big enough gap for me.

I’ve always wanted a thigh gap.

She lay on her back and walked her fingers down her ribs, skipped them over her abdomen, and landed on her pelvic bones. She tapped them with her Knuckles. [. . .] I can hear my bones, she thought. Her fingers moved up from her pelvic bones to her waist. The elastic of her underpants barely touched the center of her abdomen. The bridge is almost finished, she thought. The elastic hung loosely around each thigh. More progress. She put her knees together and raised them in the air. No matter how tightly she pressed them together, her thighs did not touch.

I listen, and it's Taylor explaining to Martin that she wasn't necessarily trying to get a gap between her thighs, but it's her metabolism, and she didn't even realize that some girls try to get the gap on purpose. Martin nods and scratches his head and looks bored. "She can't help her metabolism, Simon," Abby says. "Apparently not," Taylor may be an undercover, bully-fighting ninja, but she's still kind of awful.

How Do I Deal with My Toddler’s Behavior? Do what most parents do and drown your frustrations in doughnuts and beer come bedtime. Personal trainers and fitness nuts will tell you that eating before bed is bad for your health and waistline. What these idiots don’t understand is that you need to snack so that you don’t abandon your family in the night. When it comes down to it, isn’t it preferable to inhale a bag of Doritos and be forty or fifty pounds overweight than to leave your toddler without a parent? You’re doing the right thing by eating your emotions. Living with a toddler isn’t the time for you to be worried about having a thigh gap. Fun fact: You can actually create a thigh gap no matter what you weigh just by standing with your legs apart. See? Gap. (But, remember, thigh gaps are dangerous because toddlers can use them to climb back into your uterus.)

if I had a thigh gap, I’d probably only use it to hold more snacks or not have to pay for a carry-on while flying Spirit Airlines. Dieting

Raw emotions and the need to hold him close overwhelmed me. Every part of ached for him-my mind, my soul and my body. Without hesitation, i closed the gap between us and pressed my lips eagerly to his. Noah's hands were everywhere, my hair, my face, my back, and for the love of all things holy, my breasts. My hands roamed his glorious body just as greedily. After drugging me with delicious kisses for not nearly long enough, his warm lips skimmed my throat and kissed down the center of my breasts, causing me to arch my back and lose my ever loving mind. Without meaning to, i moaned and whispered his name when his hands wandered to my thighs and set my world and blood on fire. Noah eased me back into the bed and my hair sprawled all around me. "I love how you smell," he whispered as he suckled my earlobe. "I love how beautiful you are." I reclaimed his lips and hooked a leg around his as we moved in rhythm with each other. In between frantic kisses, i whispered the words, "I love you". Because i did. Noah listened to me. He made me laugh and he made me feel special. He was strong and warm and caring and...everything. I loved him. I loved him more than i'd ever loved another person in my life. Every muscle in my body froze when Noah stopped kissing and stare down at me with wide eyes. He caressed my cheek twice over and tilted his head. "Make love to me, Echo. I've never made love." No way. Noah's experienced reputation walked down the hallway before he did. "But..." Noah cut me off with a kiss. "Yes, but never love. Just girls who didn't mean anything" You..." His tongue teased my bottom lip, thawing my body. "Are everything. I got tested over winter break and i'm clean and i've got protection." He reached to the side of the bed and magically produced a small orange square. I froze again. Sensing my hesitation, Noah kissed my lips slowly while stroking my cheek. "And since break?" I asked. "There's been no one," he whispered against my lips. "I met you soon after and i could never think of touching anyone else." I loved him and we were together. I entwined my fingers in his hair and pulled his head back to mine, but the second his hand touched the waist of my jeans, my heart shook and my hands snapped out to stop him. "Please. Wait. Noah..." Oh, God, i was actually going to say it. "I'm a virgin." Now Noah froze. "But you were with Luke." A faint smile grew on my lips. I was typically the tongue-tied one and found it amusing to see him confused for once. "That's why we broke up. I wasn't ready." He shifted his body off of mine and tuckled me close against his warmth. I laid my head on his chest and listened to the comforting sound of his beating heart. Noah ran his hand through my hair. "I'm glad you told me. This needs to be right for you and i'll wait, for as long as you need.

...I had also parsed that there was something powerful about blondness, thinness, flatness, and gaps between thighs. And that power was the context against which all others defined themselves... beauty isn’t actually what you look like; beauty is the preference that reproduce the existing social order.

The flicker of the flame from the fire appears through the thigh-gap of her crotch...

Project Princess Teeny feet rock layered double socks Popping side piping of many colored loose lace ups Racing toe keeps up with fancy free gear slick slide and just pressed recently weaved hair Jeans oversized belie her hips, back, thighs that have made guys sigh for milleni year Topped by an attractive jacket her suit’s not for flacking, flunkies, junkies or punk homies on the stroll. Her hands mobile thrones of today’s urban goddess Clinking rings link dragon fingers no need to be modest. One or two gap teeth coolin’ sport gold initials Doubt you get to her name just check from the side please chill. Multidimensional shrimp earrings frame her cinnamon face Crimson with a compliment if a comment hits the right place Don’t step to the plate with datelines from ‘88 Spare your simple, fragile feelings with the same sense that you came Color woman variation reworks the french twist with crinkle cut platinum frosted bangs from a spray can’s mist Never dissed, she insists: “No you can’t touch this.” And, if pissed, bedecked fists stop boys who must persist. She’s the one. Give her some. Under fire. Smoking gun. Of which songs are sung, raps are spun, bells are rung, rocked, pistols cocked, unwanted advances blocked, well stacked she’s jock. It’s all about you girl. You go on. Don’t you dare stop.

A wall-to-wall Instagram reel of flirtatious young women doing selfies and documenting the gaps in their thighs isn’t a zoetrope of inconsequential self-involvement, so much as a reclamation of the lens: The young and bewildered women who blinked innocently from the dark corners of the early web are holding the camera now, controlling their own images, setting the terms of engagement.

You are so beautiful,” he said as he stared at her, “standing there in the light like that.” She glanced at her Gap black pants and her two-year-old knit turtleneck. “You must be blind.” “Why?” he asked, coming over to her. “Well, I feel like such an ass for saying this.” She smoothed the front of her off-the-rack-and-then-some slacks. “But I wish I had better clothes. Then I’d be beautiful.” Rehvenge paused. And then shocked the crap out of her by kneeling before her. As he looked up, he had a slight smile on his lips. “Don’t you get it, Ehlena.” With gentle hands, he stroked down her calf and brought her foot forward, balancing it on his thigh. As he undid the laces on her cheapo Keds sneaker, he whispered, “No matter what you wear…to me, you will always have diamonds on the soles of your shoes.” -Rehv & Ehlena

They see the straight line of my jaw along the length of their thighs and they see how it fits, the geometry of bodies. They have wondered for so long why nothing ever fits, why the knobs of their spines press hard on chairbacks and why they can't lie parallel in bed, and then there I am. I know how to fill the gaps in a girl.

The girls on the computer are so hot. Their bodies are perfect. I’ve spent many hours fantasizing about being with them. But lately, it seems like I can’t accept imperfection in the women I meet. I’ll start talking with a really nice girl at a bar. She’s cute and has a great sense of humor, but my interest only goes so far. She’s not a ‘ten.’ She has flaws. Her boobs are too small, her waist too thick, or her thighs too wide. I know it’s wrong to be rejecting women because they don’t look like the image of the supermodel girls I find sexy. Porn has created a huge gap between the kind of woman I enjoy being with and the kind of woman I actually desire sexually.

On thick-built men like Joe Mulvane, they tend to bind around the thighs, the back seam has an annoying tendency to crawl between the buttocks. When such men sit and lean forward, say, against a bar, the waistband of their trousers binds them in the belly, while at the base of their spines an unattractive gap appears and seems to tug their shirttails out as well as to create a natural channel for sweat to pour. A belt doesn't close the trench in back; it only presents a retaining wall that bites into the flesh below the navel.

He takes me by the hand to the bathroom in the hallway. He turns the knob in the tub, and a rush of water shoots from the showerhead. We both shed our clothes in silent unison. There's no need for words right now. Callum steps in the shower before I can get a proper look at him. It doesn't matter how many times I see him naked. I'm forever in awe. Under the brightness of the overhead light and the sheen of water, he is stunning. Like always. I claw at the wet muscle in front of me, and he captures my mouth in his. We're kissing so hard, so rabidly that I can hardly breathe. The only air I get is through tiny gaps between our mouths when our movements are too rough. I breathe, he breathes, and we do it over and over. He's grabbing my waist, the fleshy curve of my hips, my generously rounded backside. I give his chiseled chest one last eager grope with both hands. And then I always stroke along his always impressive length, speeding up with every groan and grunt he gives me. It's two minutes until he's done for. I rinse my hand in the stream surrounding us, but then he grips my hips and directs me to sit on the ledge at the far end of the shower. I watch him kneel down in front of me, biting my lip to suppress a groan. The water is lukewarm right now and that's a good thing. I'll need to cool off soon. He pushes his face between my legs and works his magic. Endless swirls and licks and sucks. I'm howling. It echoes against the walls of the bathroom, the only appropriate soundtrack to the filthy actions taking place in this steamy haven. Legs shaking and muscles twitching, I explode. He doesn't dare let up, digging his fingers in my thighs.

You will not have a thigh gap nor lose one inch of belly fat a day nor get a six-pack in 4 weeks nor spritz up you life with a new sofa, kitchen, or life laundry You will be enough... You will unfuck your life - You Will Find Yourself

Compassion is the new thigh gap

Many, if not most, music videos are less good at promoting the artist(s) or album than they are at portraying women as mindless creatures that are good only at doing things such as revealing their thighs and concealing their own hair with synthetic, animal, or someone else’s hair.

He just needed to drink enough to forget the memories swirling in his head. Heather's lies. Kendall's thighs. Ryleigh's eyes.

Real women, for the record, are not defined by their curves, thigh gaps, or chest size. Those are just things generally used to make us feel bad about ourselves and have nothing to do with our label or worth as women.

Ally tells me that you’ve been good friends.” I say with a forced smile. It’s a statement more than a question. I want him to know that I trust what she tells me but that I am questioning his intentions. He clears his throat before speaking.   “Yeah. She’s great. We’ve, uh, been friends for about a year.” He smiles uncomfortably at Ally after he answers.   “She hasn’t told me how you met though, Joshua. Care to share?” Ally reaches for my thigh, pinching the skin lightly but it just makes me smile as I keep my eyes on the boy.   “It’s just Josh.” He swallows. “We met at a Halloween party last year, she helped me clean up after I tipped a table over with a bunch of pumpkin desserts all over it... that’s why she calls me ‘Pumpkin’.” They both laugh at that. I clench my teeth at their adorable inside joke but keep the smile on my face.   “And why do you call her ‘Sweetheart’?” They laugh again. I hate him. “Well, obviously because she’s a sweetheart.” He says it like I’m stupid for questioning that, like I don’t know exactly how sweet she is. Fucker.   “Do you want to fuck my girl, Joshua?” I ask bluntly. Done playing games.   “Alexander!” Ally gasps. I can see Molly and Zeke staring open mouthed in my peripheral but I keep my eyes on Joshua as he gaps at me like a fish…

A splash of light snuck beneath the a dressing room door. He heard a groan. A shuffle. A bump. A heavy sigh. "Uh, too tight." He walked toward the back, stopping outside the dressing room. The door was cracked a fraction. He rested a shoulder against the wall, and glanced inside. Grace as Catwoman blew his mind. A feline fantasy. The three-way mirror tripled his pleasure. He viewed her from every angle. Hot, sleek, fierce. The lady could fight Batman in her skintight black leather catsuit and come out the winner. After a moment she scrunched her nose, slapped her palms against her thighs. Stuck out her tongue at her reflection in the mirrors. He saw what had her so frustrated. Sympathized with her disappointment. Her costume didn't fit. The front zipper hadn't fully cleared her cleavage, which was deep and visible. She wore no bra. She gave a little hop, and her breasts bounced. Full and plump. He felt a tug at his groin. Superhero lust. He cleared his throat and made his presence known. She caught his image in the corner of the glass, and reached for the fitting room chair, positioning it between them. Like that would keep him from her. He should've looked away, but couldn't. He sensed her embarrassment. Her panic. Flight? She had nowhere to go. He blocked the door. He wasn't leaving until they'd talked. "Archibald's going to love your costume," he initiated. She didn't find him funny. Her gaze narrowed behind the molded cat-eye mask with attached ears. Her fingers clenched in her elbow-length gloves. Inspired by the movie The Dark Knight, she'd added a whip and a gun holster. Her thigh-high stiletto boots were killer, adding five inches to her height. Her image would stick with him forever. She backed against the center mirror, and nervously fingered the open flaps over her breasts. A yank on the zipper broke the tab. The metal teeth parted, and the gap widened, revealing the round inner curves of her breasts. A hint of her nipples. Dusky pink. All the way down to the dent of her navel.

But biology hadn't anticipated modern culture. In a world that coveted thigh gaps and bikini bridges, a thirty-three-inch waist might be perfectly healthy for someone with a broad build, but what's considered healthy isn't necessarily what's considered beautiful - which is why perfectly health people spend their lives feeling like crap.

Unfortunately, many of us have bodies that defy us as we try to get this ideal shape. Think about pear shaped women, where the hips and thighs are

Beautiful is a concept I never saw myself achieving—a standard that wasn’t meant for bigger girls like me. It just didn’t exist, and I structured my understanding of beauty around what the conventional standard was in society. Flawless skin, no cellulite, perfectly proportioned boobs, a perky butt, a thigh gap, and a flat stomach. That was the beautiful I’d grown to know. And it was never going to be me.

for Dunaway, constantly kneeling or sprawling to take photographs, her legs, especially her thighs, are far more important to her performance than her eyes; her flesh gives off heat. Tommy Lee Jones is the police lieutenant who represents old-fashioned morality, and when the neurotically vulnerable Laura, who has become telepathic about violence, falls in love with him, they’re a very creepy pair. With the help of the editor, Michael Kahn, Kershner glides over the gaps in the very uneven script (by John Carpenter and David Z. Goodman, with an assist from Julian Barry). The cast includes Raul Julia, Rose Gregorio, Meg Mundy, and Bill Boggs (as himself). Columbia. color (See When the Lights Go Down.)

Not wanting to show scars, I cut into my inner thigh, barely feeling the sting of the razor, my stomach pain drowning it out. Still, my hand shook and I had to lock the wrist with my other hand to keep the lines straight. Once I had made a two-by-three square, I sent the edge of the blade under one corner and began to slice, back and forth, separating the flesh from the meat below. Blood flowed, making it hard to see the lines, so I repositioned myself under the faucet to keep the cuts clean and clear. I sawed from one side to another, then dug my fingernails into the gap and pulled, slowly at first to test the accuracy of the cut. There was still some connective tissue, so I had to burrow my fingers deeper and tug from the bottom up. Blood splattered against the tub walls and swirled down the drain. There was a stinging sensation, but otherwise I felt numb to the fresh wound, even as the flap of skin came free from my body with a sound like wet Velcro.

Solon and Pisistratus were very fond of one another. We are told they entered into a love affair when Pisistratus was a good-looking lad in his teens. Despite a wide gap of thirty years between them, this is not implausible. Solon was highly sexed, if we may judge from his poetry, where he writes of the delights of falling in love “with a boy in the lovely flower of youth,/Desiring his thighs and sweet mouth.” However, it would be wrong to believe that either man was necessarily, in our modern sense, gay. This is because from the eighth century onwards the Greek upper classes established and maintained a system of pederasty as a form of higher education. A fully grown adult male, usually in his twenties, would look out for a boy in his mid-teens and become his protector and guide. His task was to see him through from adolescence into adulthood and to act as a kind of moral tutor. Sex was not compulsory, but it was under certain strictly defined conditions allowed. The older man was the active lover/partner or erastes and the teenager was the loved one, or eromenos. Buggery was absolutely out of bounds and brought shame on any boy who allowed it to be done to him. It could have the most serious consequences, as the fate of Periander showed. This famous tyrant of Corinth in the seventh century unwisely teased his eromenos in the presence of other people with the question: “Aren’t you pregnant yet?” The boy was so upset by the insult that he killed Periander. A popular and acceptable technique for achieving orgasm was intercrural sex: both participants stood up and the erastes inserted his erect penis between the thighs of the eromenos and rubbed it to and fro. The youth was not meant to enjoy his lover’s attentions or show signs of arousal; rather, he was making a disinterested gift of himself to someone he admired. The great Athenian writer of tragic dramas, Aeschylus, wrote a play about the love between the two Greek heroes, Achilles and Patroclus. It was called The Myrmidons, after the warriors whom Achilles commanded during the Trojan War. Achilles is presented as the erastes, and reproaches his lover, in rather roundabout terms, for declining an intercrural proposition.

Come on stub-ears, you can do better than that!" Steel danced and shone before Elly as she desperately blocked strike after strike, her attacker toying with her, relentless in aggression both physical and verbal. He was taller than her, lighter than her, and he moved with true elven grace, gliding around her with his elegantly curved and vicious sword. He lashed out with a practised flick of his wrist that she struggled to read and barely caught with her blade, but he was already moving on, his sword flowing around, a killing blow coming straight for her neck if she did not move– "Sorry stub-ears, I'll try to slow down…" A feint! He could have ended it there, and yet it wasn't enough; no, he had to humiliate her. Before her cheeks could redden he was on her again, thrusting, striking at her thighs, her shoulders, the sting of the metal slowing her down and throwing her off-balance. Elly focused on protecting what she could, guarding her head and torso, anger building in her, wrestling with her for control of the light sword that was her best defence against– "Death!" The tip of his blade was under her raised arm, against the gap in her breastplate beside her triceps. And at once he sprang back, swung his nimble weapon in a lazy figure-of-eight, rolled his shoulders less from tension and more to perform his ease, his casualness, the lack of challenge in fighting her. Where the flat of his blade had stung, she throbbed. "Good showing. How about best of three?

into how embarrassing this is, how much that shame turns me on, while Roman undresses in front of me. I have to watch him through the gap left by my own legs. I’ve had plenty of dreams about this moment, but none of them come close to the reality of his muscled, naked body or the perfection of his thick cock. Eight inches and proud, standing out from his body. I lick my lips. He sees it. Roman comes to the bed and grips my thighs, his thumbs digging into the back, and opens me another stretching inch. He teases between my legs, running his fingers over my slit and then down to my other hole. A single touch there sends a shock through my entire body, and he laughs. “So much to learn,” he says, and I don’t know if he means me or him or both of us, but I’ll take it. I’ll take all of it, no matter how dirty, how depraved… He climbs over me on the bed and his thickness presses against my opening. His muscles work against mine as he enters me, so slowly it’s tortuous, until the head is inside. Then he stops. I’m squirming, panting, mewling, but he doesn’t move. He puts a hand under my chin and pushes my chin up. The sensation of it there, so close to my neck, has me moaning. “Tell me,” he commands. “Do you want more?” I let out a whimpering please and that’s all it takes to unleash him.