Thought Catalog

To Anyone Who Thinks They’re Too Fucked Up To Find Love

Posted: 15 Apr 2016 08:45 PM PDT

Alf Santos
Alf Santos

1. Someone out there is as fucked up as you are.

You've heard the famous quote: "We're all a little weird. And life is a little weird. And when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall into mutually satisfying weirdness—and call it love." Replace the word "weird" with "fucked up" and the saying is spot on. We're all messed up. Just in different ways.

2. You're not as bad as you think you are.

You grew up with divorced parents. You're still a virgin. You've been cheated on. You were the one to cheat on someone else. So what? Everyone has baggage. There's someone out there who will be able to deal with yours.

3. You're not fucked up — the world is.

You live in a world that tells you that you should feel comfortable with your body, but that you shouldn't sleep around. In a world that tells you not to care what others think about you, but that you should shave and stay skinny if you want them to like you. It's impossible to be perfect in this imperfect world. So don't be too hard on yourself.

4. Love is a pretty fucked up thing.

People kill for love. They die for love. It's a powerful emotion that can drive a sane man crazy and turn a sweet woman into a psycho. There's nothing logical about the way it works. True love is a bizarre thing. Only bizarre people can handle it.

5. There's someone out there for everyone.

Admit it. You have some pretty strange friends in happy relationships. You've wasted hours wondering how they could've landed someone while you're still single, but the answer is simple. There's someone out there for everyone. They've just found their "someone" faster than you have.

6. You can change if you want to change.

You shouldn't change yourself for your partner, but if you actually hate something about yourself, guess what? You have the power to change it. Stop moping about how shy you are or how lazy you are. Break out of your comfort zone. Become the person you've always wanted to be.

7. Being hard to love is a different story.

You might be hard to love, but you're not too fucked up to be loved. There's a difference. Anyone worthwhile is hard to love, because they have high standards. They won't settle for being treated like shit, so they require effort and attention. And that's not a bad thing.

8. Give yourself some credit.

Why are you being so hard on yourself? What caused you to think that you're such a fuck up? Before you focus on finding someone else to love you, you should really learn to love yourself. You need to get along with the person you see in the mirror every morning.

9. You're still breathing.

You know what that means? That you're a survivor. It doesn't matter if you have scars on your wrists or your heart. Either way, you're alive. You've made it through. Who wouldn't love someone as tough as you?

10. You're wrong.

If you think you're too fucked up to find love, I'm sorry, but you're just plain wrong. Maybe there isn't anyone out there who loves you in a romantic or sexual way yet, but you have parents, friends, and pets who love you. They prove that you're not unlovable. TC mark

You Cannot Will Your Way To Happiness – You Have To Actually Put In The Work

Posted: 15 Apr 2016 08:15 PM PDT


The latest trend in pop psychology is preaching that happiness is a choice.

It's about gratitude, many publications suggest.

It's about accepting yourself as you are, others preach.

And there's a certain extent of truth to these claims. Most of us are more fortunate than we tend to give ourselves credit for. Many of us are capable of entertaining more pleasure than we regularly choose to.

And yet, I find it difficult to believe that willing one's way to happiness is truly the path to achieving fulfillment in life. A temporary state of blissful ignorance, maybe. But not actual happiness. Not the kind that it's possible to sustain long-term.

Let me paint you a couple of pictures.

Scenario 1:

Three years from now, you wake up early in your shoebox of an apartment to get ready for the dead-end job that you hate. You're still tired from the night before, because you stayed up until 3am fiending Netflix and Doritos to forget about the stressful day you'd had at work.

Stepping in front of your mirror, you go through your daily affirmations – reminding yourself that you're beautiful, strong and worthwhile. You conveniently ignore the fact that your body feels sluggish and slow as a result of the crap diet and sedentary lifestyle you've been maintaining. You overlook the permanent bags that have formed under your eyes as a result of your inconsistent sleep schedule.

As you brew the first of many coffees for the day, you reflect on how long it's been since you've spent time with your friends or gone on a date with someone you really like. You affirm to yourself that you don't need to worry about the lack of meaningful relationships in your life, because you're strong, independent and self-sufficient. You don't need anyone to complete you, so socialization doesn't need to be a priority.

Before heading to work, you take a moment to jot down a list of things you're grateful for in your journal, such as:

Roof over my head
Food in the cupboard
New episode of 'Suits' to watch tonight

You crank the radio up high on your way to work, trying to pump yourself up for another day at your dead-end job. Part of you knows that your work isn't fulfilling in the slightest, but another part of you knows that happiness is a choice and if you can only get yourself in the right mindset, you can find fulfillment in the daily grind. After all, your work provides you with a roof over your head, food in the cupboard and enough money to maintain your Netflix membership. You ought to be grateful for those things.


At the end of your eight – ten hour workday, you head out to the bar with some friends. You have been meaning to cut back on going out, but you have to seize the day, right? After all, happiness only exists in the present moment.

You return home several hours later, feeling vaguely disappointed with your night. You'd been hoping something life-changing would happen – a wild unexpected adventure, or an encounter with your future soul mate. But instead you return after midnight feeling worn out, slightly tipsy and broke. It's a carbon copy of so many other nights of your life – and yet you keep repeating the cycle relentlessly, telling yourself at the beginning of each night that THIS one is going to be extraordinary.

THIS day is going to be different.

THIS year will be the year that works out for you.

After all, happiness is all in your mindset, right?

You set your alarm for 6am and prepare to begin the cycle all over again.

Scenario 2:

Three years from now, you wake up in your midtown apartment feeling rested and rejuvenated from a solid eight hours of sleep. You pick up your laptop on the way out the door, heading to a local coffee shop to get some work done.

It's been a long year and a half of scrambling to get your business up and off the ground. You've endured financial mishaps, creative roadblocks, judgments from your peer group and more than a few sleepless nights. You've sacrificed a great deal for the career that you are passionate about, and you're sure that more sacrifices lie ahead.

But there's a sense of quiet, steady satisfaction that accompanies you through the ups and downs of every day you spend on your work. You know that you've chosen your career, rather than settled for it, and that is enough to get you through even the worst of times. It is the nudge that keeps pushing you forward.

When you finally pack up your bags for the day, you know that there are more errands to run. You hit up your local gym first for a workout, grunting and sweating your way through your regular routine. Your entire body burns by the time you head out, but you feel comfortable inside of the strain. The energy and confidence you gain from maintaining an active lifestyle far outweighs the day-to-day struggle of maintaining it.

Finally heading home for the night, you swing by the grocery store and pick up some fresh ingredients for dinner. You don't inherently enjoy cooking, but once the veggies are chopped, the meat is grilled and a fresh plate of food is sitting in front of you, you're happy with your choice to have cooked for yourself.

You check your bank balance after dinner and confirm that you can afford to splurge on a night out with friends this weekend. You message several of your loved ones to set up plans, and head to bed early – looking forward to the week ahead of you and knowing that you'll wake up rested and rejuvenated again tomorrow morning.

Let's Talk About The Differences Between These Two Scenarios

Both of these scenarios are quite obviously exaggerated.

Both are contrived to prove a point.

But both raise the question: what does the scenario leave you wanting for?

The problem with scenario #1 is that it outlines a life that lacks meaning. It lacks depth. It portrays a form of happiness that centers around instant gratification and a contrived sense of purpose.

Daily affirmations are not the problem with scenario #1. Keeping a gratitude journal is also not the problem. The problem is that in scenario #1, the affirmations and gratitude journal are being used as an excuse – an excuse to not pursue what you want out of life, because it's easier to convince yourself that you can manifest happiness in what you already have – which is a life that you're inherently unsatisfied with.

Scenario #2 is not perfect either. This scenario is perhaps too risky and idealistic for some people, too structured and repetitive for others. It is asking you to imagine a life in which you postpone most day-to-day pleasures for the purpose of long-term fulfillment.

And yet each situation can teach us something – the first, that we need to count our blessings and keep in mind what we are grateful for on a daily basis. The second, that postponing instant gratification can provide us with a form of satisfaction that is perhaps even greater than happiness itself. Now imagine if we were to combine these two scenarios.

Imagine if you could cultivate a life in which you work hard to appreciate what you have, and have infinitely more to be grateful for as a result. Imagine a life in which you grow more knowledgeable, more accomplished and more proud of yourself with every growing day. Imagine a life in which you invest purposefully into meaningful relationships that flourish and deepen over time. Imagine how much more you'd have to be grateful for and happy about at the end of every day.

Because the truth about happiness is that it's not just about mindset. It's also not just about purposeful action – it is a matter of striking a deliberate and conscious balance between the two.

You have to take some scary risks to find happiness. You have to invest the necessary time. You have to persevere through the highs and lows of whichever path you choose, because both will inevitably occur.

You can't just decide that the slumps are a good place to stay because they are easy to get stuck in, and you can positive-think your way out. But you also can't postpone all of your happiness to an inevitable point in the future that may never arrive.

The truth about finding happiness is that it's about lifestyle and mindset – it will never be one or the other.

You have to put work in to cultivate happiness. You have to occasionally delay gratification.

But you also have to know when to stop, look around you, recognize that you’ve got a good thing going, and then reap the rewards of what you’ve built. TC mark

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19 Insanely Creepy Texts That Prove How F*cked-Up Online Dating Really Is

Posted: 15 Apr 2016 08:00 PM PDT

I’m Trying To Move On, But All I Can Think About Is Fucking Him

Posted: 15 Apr 2016 07:45 PM PDT


"I had a naughty dream about you and I need you to come over. Now."

This was the text from my ex flashing on my screen when I rolled over, and I was immediately wet.

My ex and I hadn't seen each other for months, until last week when we ran into each other, drunk at a bar and, what the hell? took some shots for good measure. There was some shameless flirting, a few 'accidental' run-ins, and some definite 'fuck-me' glances exchanged since then, but nothing too serious. Not until this text.

But it was time I admitted it. No matter what I did, for the last three months, I couldn't stop thinking about how much I wanted to fuck him.

It was time to give in.


He opened the door to his apartment and I drank him in. His white dress shirt was untucked, the top two buttons undone, just barely showing off his chest. His blonde hair was messy. With a casual hand he pushed the curls out of his eyes and I could already feel myself getting wet.

He leaned in the doorway and put his hand on my hip, squeezing slightly. Fuck. I always loved the way he grabbed my hips. It was sensual, but also commanding as hell. He was luring me into him and I had absolutely no control.

Without saying a word, he pulled me forward. Our bodies pressed against each other and I could feel him, rock hard. He moved his hand from my hip, running his fingertips over the thin fabric of my sundress, pulling it up, slightly, with his touch. He paused, taking a moment to tenderly outline the curves of my hips and breasts, then grabbed me by the back of the neck, thrusting his body to mine.

His fingers tangled in my hair, pulling my neck back so I could look into his green-grey eyes. "Fuck, Rox," he whispered, "you have no idea how bad I've wanted you."

I could feel my body getting weak. He pulled my hair even harder, and leaned his face closer to mine. His stubble rubbed against my cheek as he leaned forward, ran his teeth carefully over my neck.

I closed my eyes and gave in, letting my body melt into his. I could smell him, that fucking cologne mixed with tobacco and sweat. It was musky and natural, it made me absolutely crazy. God, I wanted him bad.

He bit my neck and I lost it, one hand trying to push him back in an effort to kiss him, the other fumbling with his belt buckle. In one quick motion, he let go of my hair and picked me up. My legs wrapped around him and he stepped backwards, kicking the door closed behind him, then turning and shoving me into it.

The pain mixed with pleasure was unreal, euphoric. "Please," I whispered. My entire body was throbbing, begging for him.

Leaning into me for balance, he grabbed both of my arms and threw them back against the door. I was his, fully now. I had no fucking control.

"I don't know if you're ready," he teased, rubbing his stubble against my cheeks again. He bit my collarbone, hard, and I couldn't help it. I moaned.

He grabbed both of my arms in his hand, locking them above my head. I closed my eyes again, leaning my head back. This was it. What my body had been craving for so fucking long. I was dripping wet.

"Please," I whispered pleadingly, locking eyes with him, "I'm ready."

"Oh, I don't think you are."

He reached his hand to my neck and pressed hard, pushing his lips into mine and kissing me aggressively. I didn't have a chance to take a breath, suddenly his tongue was in my mouth and I could taste him, sweet and fucking intoxicating.

He pushed his hand harder against my neck. My legs wrapped even tighter against him in reflex. I could feel him, hard and pulsing behind the thin layer of his pants. I struggled to breathe, feeling myself giving more and more into him. I couldn't pull away, couldn't push him off me.

But I didn't want to.

I thrusted my hips forward in an effort to get him to let go of my neck. Damn, he knew exactly how to turn me on. He pulled away for a moment, lifting his fingers and smirking at me as I gasped for air.

"Fuck you," I whispered, smiling.

"I know you want to," he said, grinning in reply. He always had that way about him, playful and sexy as hell.

He re-tightened his grip on my arms and grabbed my chin again, forcefully pulling me into another kiss. This is it. I thought. Finally. But he paused, pulled away, then put hand on my leg, running his fingertips slowly up my thigh.

He reached the hem of my sundress and played with it for a moment as my entire body begged for him. Then he slid his fingertips underneath and slowly began to push the fabric back. I quivered. I couldn't help myself. The desire to grab him and rip his fucking clothes off was unreal.

His fingertips grazed my inner thigh as he pushed the fabric all the way up, revealing my red lace thong—his favorite. He moaned, toying with the lace, feeling my warmth. I bit my lip in an effort not to cry out. I wanted. No, I needed him.

Gently, tenderly, he slid his fingers into me and I could feel my body tremble. He leaned in as he touched me, and I could feel him starting to lose his composure. His grip on my arms loosened and I pulled free, grabbing for his belt pulling down his pants.

"Fuck me on that table." I said, furiously unbuttoning his shirt so I could run my hands over his back muscles.

"Mhmm." He groaned, stepping out of his pants and thrusting me hard into the door again. I grabbed his cock, feeling it warm and hard in my palm.

"Table," I said, pulling him closer to me. "Now."

This was the table where we'd first fucked, the first time I rode him and we climaxed at the same time like our bodies were meant for each other. Goddamn, we'd always had some good sex.

With his hand still inside me, he turned and pressed my body against the table. I grabbed his shirt, pulling it off his shoulders and toyed with his boxers, teasingly. But he was done messing around. He grabbed my dress and pulled it over my head, slipped my panties off and started pulling his boxers down. I pushed his hands away. I wanted to do it. I slid them off and guided him to me, spreading my legs. He spread my legs even wider and I could feel him enter me.

"Oh God…" He shushed me with his mouth on mine. His fingernails dug into my hips as he filled me with his cock. This was better than I'd ever imagined. He was familiar, fucking good, but the tension between us made it even more incredible.

He thrust hard and deep, then stopped and slowed for a minute, tracing my neck, sending shivers up my back and making me beg for him again. He grabbed my breasts and flipped me over so I could feel them press into the table as he pulled my hair.

"I'm…getting…" he groaned, and I could feel my body tense as he thrust deeper.

I arched my back and he knew what that meant. I wanted on top. "You ready?" I asked, nibbling at the base of the neck, the sensitive spot that drove him crazy.

He groaned in reply and I mounted him, slowly. Painfully slowly.

His eyes closed and his hands grabbed my hips, guiding them back and forth. We moved rhythmically, gaining speed. I could feel my own orgasm coming, matching his.

"I'm gonna…"

I tensed, letting him get deeper inside me. My own body tingled in response. I could feel our tension building together, making us both fucking lose it. We moaned simultaneously, releasing, and falling into complete ecstasy. I collapsed onto him, breathless. He pulled me closer, kissing me on my collarbone.

"Fuck, Rox. That was good."

"Mhmm," I replied, soaking in his smell, his taste, how unreal our sex was every. damn. time.

"Let's do it again." TC mark

Fact or Fiction? 13 People Share Their Creepiest, Most Unsettling Tales

Posted: 15 Apr 2016 07:15 PM PDT

Flickr, Wes Bryant
Flickr, Wes Bryant
Found on AskReddit.


When I was a kid I went to a small elementary school in Los Angeles. In an area most people outside of L.A. would call “ghetto”. It’s not, but whatever. One of the main rooms where we all learned/played had a huge window. It was a wall to wall, floor to ceiling window. Across the street was a building that I don’t remember anyone ever walking in or out of, and next to it a liquor store.

One day me (7 or 8), my younger sister (5 or 6), and a room full of children were playing around. I was playing marbles or pogs, I sincerely can’t remember. I looked up from my game and saw a guy walking with a girl and another girl quickly approaching them. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but you could see the anger from the woman who was alone being directed at the man and woman walking together. I’m not sure what words were exchanged, but the man waved her off and attempted to continue walking on. The girl stop him from moving on and then struck him.

He pulled out a gun and blew the back of her head out. It was the first time I saw someone killed (unfortunately, it wasn’t the last). The teachers swarmed into the room and put us all on the floor. But, I couldn’t stop seeing it. Over and over. The back of her head exploding and becoming a red something I’d never seen. Her body falling to the floor. The guy running away. The other girl looked like she was screaming.

It was surreal. Almost like it didn’t happen. I can still see it happening. I can’t recall anything else about that day or the fallout of it.

I’m being 100% honest.



My mother worked as a nurse during the night shift at a hospital in Sydney. She said the other nurses who’d been there a while would tell stories about mysterious unexplained events during the night shift like things disappearing or people in comas sitting bolt upright and talking to the nurses fit a few seconds before returning to their comatose state.

She thought it was all bullshit until one night she saw an elderly patient who’d been bedridden for months walking purposefully past her door towards the elevators. She called her name and jumped up to check on her but she wasn’t there. She and a colleague checked on the patients room to find she had passed away only moments before. My mum’s not easily shaken, she was mostly just intrigued.



Being American Indian, my family has a lot of stories about supernatural stuff. One of these is the obvious skin walker, which is said to appear if you even dare to discuss it. So I went online and read some experiences people had with that kind of thing and came across a pretty scary story. Some guy and his friends had a three day weekend so they drove out to an old mission in California and had seen some creepy stuff skulking around the place. Clothes, skeletal bits, paintings on the wall. When they left they began to joke that they should drive faster before they got shot with an arrow or anything and one of them began to explain the concept of skin walkers and among all the bullshitting, the driver hit a coyote but said it looked too big to be one. They got out to find nothing anywhere near the car or under it so they got in and kept driving and as they drove away, they saw behind the a coyote looking figure only about the size of or bigger than a man walking over the ridge on it’s hind legs.



This is more my Dad’s story than mine.
He used to tell me a story about his grandfather living (renting) a house in northern NH and the door to the cellar would open at various times on it’s own. Come spring, his grandfather went into the cellar to create a cold room for veggies to be stored in over the winter. He noticed one of the cellar walls had collapsed (stone) and went to repair it. After removing a few stones, he found a woman’s shoe which was attached to a leg bone, which continued to become a whole skeleton.

He said it must have been a ghost that was opening the door and it was left at that. As I got older, I figured he was just trying to scare me.

After he passed away, 6 years ago, I found amongst his things a newspaper article recording this event of finding the skeleton. (It was during the turn of the century from the 1800’s to the 1900’s.)

It seems his grandfather went to seek help “they wended their way through the woods” and after removing the skeleton, the daughter was able to identify her mother from the clothes she was wearing. The daughter had assumed she had taken off west with a man.



My sister was like 5 yrs old, playing outside with a few kids, when a middle-aged man approached her and asked her to help him look at his gas meter. She started to go with him, but her friend (same age) screamed “No, Beth!! He’s a STRANGER!!!”, which caused the man to run off. Later that same week, that man was arrested for raping and killing a little girl, just a block away from where we lived.



Ooh! I went to a Jesuit college, so naturally we have hordes of ghosts and otherwise-unsettled spirits roaming our campus. My favorite is from my freshman year: A few years ago, an RA was moving into my former freshman dorm and getting all of the room checks/paperwork/general RA crap done. As he walked into the last wing of the building, he noticed that all the mattresses were flipped on their sides so that they were perpendicular to the bed frames. He restored them to their natural positions and called the other RA’s together to tell them what a funny joke they played. None of them had any clue what he was talking about, since they were all taking care of other dorms. The next day, he woke up early to go for a run, only to notice that once again, someone had flipped the mattresses back onto their sides in the middle of the night. He put them back normally, went for his run, and went about his business, checking rooms in a different building. The very next morning, the mattresses were — you guessed it — perpendicular to the bed frames.

Impressed, pissed off, and slightly creeped out, this RA decides to stake out the building 90’s style with an RA buddy that night after restoring the natural order of the mattresses from the dorm just across from the original. As the hours drift away to the tune of the Mission Impossible theme, he notices that all of the lights on this floor simultaneously turn on (a feat that should’ve been impossible to coordinate between the sheer number of rooms and shitty, 1900’s era built-by-the-lowest-bidder engineering). As the two sprint back into the dorm, they’re greeted by a young Jesuit priest who tells them that “the problem has been taken care of.” They find the mattresses in what is the widely-accepted position for the torture devices, and go their separate ways. The next day, the RA goes to the Jesuit quarters on campus to thank the priest, and sees a picture of him on the wall while waiting to meet with the headmaster. He points to the picture and says, “Father, do you know where that priest is? He was in [DORM NAME] last night, and I wanted to thank him for helping me out with a bit of a problem.” The elderly Jesuit laughs and says, “Son, Father So-and-so died when I was undergraduate here!”

To this day, Jesuit ghosts are known to haunt that same dorm, offering aid in conjugating Latin verbs and finding lost objects.



I used to work as a night watchman on a large property that was somewhat secluded, but still in a bad area. It had a long gated driveway. One night while starting my rounds I walked out the lighted front entrance and as soon as I did I heard a woman’s voice scream “OH MY GOD SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP ME!” It came from all the way down at the end of the driveway.
I automatically took maybe five running steps towards the driveway and then skidded to a stop, turned around and ran back inside the building and called the cops. Four cop cars and a police helicopter showed up, but found nothing.

I still dont know wtf was going on. I found it odd that it happened right after I stepped outside the building. That maybe someone was trying to lure me out there.



Have you ever heard the story of the rubber-eyed girl? How she’s described changes from time to time. in the 40’s they called her a ghost, by the 70’s she was a machine created by some lonely madman who lost his daughter, but recently she is considered an alien creature sent for unknown purposes. Regardless of what you think she is, all witness account can agree upon one single feature, her motionless, soulless, rubber-like eyes. Nobody is sure when the first abduction took place, girls go missing all the time for various reasons. It wasn’t until one particular night, that abductions were associated with the rubber-eyed girl.

A mother was home with her daughter, the husband late out at work (at least that’s what he told his wife to cover up the affair). It was time to put the daughter to bed. “No Mommy!” she pleaded hoping to play with her toys a little longer. “I’m not ready for bed! I want to play!” The mother, not in the mood for this over-played game slammed her fist down on the counter, no words were needed, the daughter closed her mouth, and shuffled her way to her room quickly. The little girl tossed and turned in her bed, unable to sleep, it wasn’t that she still wanted to play with her toys, it was something different… something uneasy.

She had this deep feeling of anxiety wash down from the top of her spine into the pit of her stomach. Something was very wrong. She hid under her covers in an attempt to keep herself shielded from whatever dark forces were around her, a technique daddy had taught her when she would get scared at night. He also taught her to calm herself down by counting to 10 slowly with deep breaths. “1… 2… 3.” she started, already feeling the tension start to wither away. “4, 5” she continued. Before she could say 6, she heard a quick whisper inches away from her face. Too mortified to take the covers off her face to see what was next to her, she froze, listening closely to see if she would hear the sound again. “6… 7…” an ethereal voice whispered into her ear, the smell of vinegar and blood in its breath.

Overwhelmed by fear, the little girl let out a screech as she shoved the covers off of her trying to hop out of the bed. Just after she pushed the covers off of herself but before she could get out of her bed, the creature in the room pinned her down on the bed, still whispering into her ear “8, 9… 10…” The little girl screamed in terror as she stared at its face, or should I say her own face. The creature looked exactly like the little girl in every way except for one, Its eyes… The mother rushes into the room, just in time to see her daughter dragged out the window by the creature. The mother runs to the window, tears pouring down her face as she screams at the creature to bring her daughter back. The creature freezes, turns around, and stares at the mother with an expressionless face. The last thing the mother saw before the creature disappeared into thin air taking her daughter with her, were those motionless, soulless, rubber eyes.



More than a few years back, my friend and I were hanging out and thought it would be a great idea to go and explore the construction site near his house, where new houses were being built at night. Being teenagers at the time, we thought this was a great idea and were soon walking towards one of the half-built houses. By the time we walked up and could see into the top window, we saw a faint light in what I imagine was the attic. At first we were pretty frightened but brushed it off as a reflection of the nearby street lamp.

We continued to the other houses forcing each other to peer through the pitch black windows and doors with a flashlight to see if anyone was in the empty houses. Walking back with a bit of an adrenaline rush, we looked back through the window and the light was gone. After going through the other houses, we weren’t as scared to go close to this one since nothing bad happened the other times. However, upon going into the vacant garage we heard slow and steady footsteps coming from above us and a very loud and solid thump like someone fell over.

We both booked the fuck out of there and once we were a safe distance away, we peered through the window again and saw the shadow of a large man. We then proceeded to shit our pants and run as fast as our 15 year-old legs could take us. We never went back to those houses and I guess I’ll never know what the fuck that loud thump was.



This happened last night actually. I was up late watching TV and decided I would sleep naked, so I threw my underwear on the ground and snuggled in the bed. I woke up next morning thinking nothing special, but when I stand up I have my underwear on me! I was like WTF. Straight up scariest/creepiest experience of my life.



This always freaked me out — not the creepiest thing I can think of, but off the top of my head, sure.

My dad would go hunting in the woods behind our place. Aside from other hunters, no one would go in the woods during hunting season, the forest was pretty huge and I’m guessing aside from animals, pretty isolated. It wasn’t until years later that my mom told me that one time when my dad returned from hunting he was very quiet and acting weird. She asked why, and he told her that deep in the forest he saw a tree and someone had carved the outline of a woman into the trunk, with a nail hammered in where her heart would be.

I don’t go into those woods anymore.



I’m a hardcore skeptic and devout Atheist. I’m the first person to call BS on any spooky stories and yet I have one of my own. We bought this old 1914 house in Missouri. Old crackety floors…original iron door handles. Anyway, wife is at work and I venture into the creepy basement to clean it out and get out some old relics from the house. Floors are shit and paper thin. I have my computer’s surround sound hooked up and blasting some heavy metal while I cleaned up down there. There is a dark ominous crawl space down there full of trash bags….I was reluctant to start opening up because my lonesome imagination started to think that there was dead bodies in there.

I start to venture closer to the crawl space and the music that is playing on my computer via started to skip like a badly scratched CD. I was so petrified by my computer skipping like this I quickly ran up stairs and turned off my computer. I have never heard or seen of any instance of music skipping on a persons computer unless it was some random form of internet interruption. As big as a skeptic as I am…it gave me the chills.



My ex told me a story once about a guy driving home from work late at night on a quiet road and he comes across a man. They make eye contact but the guy just keeps on driving. Not sure how fast he is driving but a moment passes and he looks out the window and the guy is running along side his car with a crazy grin on his face.

Not sure where this story came from but I don’t like it. It reminds me of smiling man. Too much creeps for me. Anyone that grins/smiles/laughs in these stories frighten me. TC mark

To The Person Who Destroyed Me By Trying To Fix Me Before I Was Ready

Posted: 15 Apr 2016 07:00 PM PDT

Wendy Liu

The way you broke me all over again by trying to 'fix' me is beautifully ironic, I'll give you that. There is something almost poetic about the way you turned my damaged heart into a home for yourself. You see, to you I was a terribly broken thing. You see, to you I was something that needed fixing. Where I saw my most precious possession, my heart, perhaps a little worn for wear but still beautiful to me, you saw a house with broken shutters made of betrayal and creaking floors made of mistrust.

I let you convince me that it wasn’t worth your love as it was, no matter how much love I gave you, it could still be better because it came from a broken thing like that. I let you regard my most treasured possession like a thing of disgust because it had been loved and damaged by someone else before. And what is worse, I looked at it with disgust too. Like I wasn’t good enough for you. I handed you the hammer to start smashing.

So you got to work, fixing creaking doors that would never quite close properly behind people and sweeping away cobwebs from places I had deliberately buried deep within the chambers. You roamed through the rooms of my heart and settled down in what you called a home. A home that was now, you said, worthy of your love. You stood back and admired the handiwork – my heart was no longer my own but now, your home.

And for a while, I believed you. And you and I we were happy. Happy as long as I was doing everything you wanted the way you wanted it. Happy as long as the quick fixes you had made were worth your love. Happy as long as I kept a big smile plastered to my face as you boasted to everyone how much effort it took to fix me up again, so I was worthy of love again, so I was able to love again.

As if I was an unlovable thing before you fixed me. As if you had fallen in love with the idea of me, not the person I am. 

The way you fixed me was insidious at best. Ridiculing me into being comfortable with things before I was ready. Constantly telling me what ‘normal people’ are like and how I need to try harder to be like them. Saying you would leave if I didn’t try harder and harder and harder to be what you wanted me to be, rather than what I needed to be for myself. I learned that if I did not put you first, if I spoke of my past, if I even mentioned pain in any way, shape or form, it would result in you threatening to leave. The way you would refuse to love me when I was anxious, when I was in pain, when I needed love the most because in your mind, it was either perfect, or nothing at all.

It took me a long time to understand that I was a thing worth loving, just as I was. It took me a long time to know that my heart has always been a home, but for no one else, just for me. It took me even longer to understand that fixing people is not how you love them. Healing is not made of quick splashes of paint to cover the sadness, some words to stop the pain from being quite so painful, and words like 'I love you' placed like a new sofa in an old room hoping to cover up the bloodstains and heartache on the floor.

Healing is journey in which one fixes oneself. Slowly. Carefully. Sometimes with one step forward and two steps back. Healing is not a horizontal path. It contains cliffs and seas and mountains and all kinds of things that make it hard to travel. If it was easy, it would not take time, nor patience to complete. And to love a broken thing best is to have patience with it’s journey. It is to hold that person close on the nights when they wake up screaming. It is to understand that though the tears are here, they will one day be a distant memory.

Broken people are not houses. You cannot put your feelings inside them and expect them to be as good as new. Broken people are not projects for you to fix, instead, allow them fix themselves whilst you both grow.

The sad thing is, I loved you enough to want to hurry my own journey, to pretend that you had fixed me, to allow you to let me think that the damage was gone when really, lurking under the surface of my newly wallpapered heart, the damage was resentfully, claustrophobically festering. So one day, I walked in there and ripped apart all that hard work you did just to let it breathe.

You see, this is the trouble with broken things like me. You either love us broken. Or you do not love us at all. I am grateful that you chose the latter. Because in the absence of your need to make me perfect, I have learned to love myself just as I am so much more.

I have learned that my alone is a beautiful, forgiving thing. It is slowly filling these cracks and wounds inside me with love and healing. My alone is softer with my heart than your love had ever left it feeling. TC mark

The Nastiest Thing You’ll Do In Bed, Based On Your Favorite Caffeinated Beverage

Posted: 15 Apr 2016 06:45 PM PDT

Photo by
Photo by

1. Regular coffee

They might take their plain ol' joe with milk and sugar, but there's nothing typical about the regular coffee drinker’s sex drive. They’re anything but vanilla in bed. They want it dirty, and often. They're the ones sexting you daringly from the stairwell at work or masturbating from the bathroom midday because they’re just that horny. They will test your limits and push your boundaries and cum all over your face.

2. Cold Brew / Iced Coffee

People who prefer their coffee iced to hot have absolutely no regard for tradition. They want sex in every unconventional way. They want phone sex and threesomes and even orgies. Every new sexy toy intrigues them, and they're on a mission to master every single position in the Kama Sutra. They're the ones staying up late, paying a cam girl to flick her own nipples, stick a toothbrush in her pussy, and sit on a cake. If they could fuck your earhole, they would.

3. Cappuccino

It's all about the froth and foam for Cappuccino people. That means intricate, extended periods of foreplay. Lots of heavy petting, caressing, and kissing all over the body. They’re experts at dry humping, and they’ll bring you to the brink of orgasm just by rubbing your breasts through your top or fingering your clit in determined circles through your jeans before you’re begging them to put it inside you for real. They fuck with intention and patience and they’ll do whatever it takes to give you a mind-blowing orgasm, secretly aiming for multiples.

4. Black coffee

People who drink black coffee prefer things completely untainted. They don't want lacy lingerie, fishnet thigh-highs, or silk teddies, and they don't want to complicate things needlessly with sex toys or scented candles that melt into massage oils. They want your body in its most authentic form, unperfumed and stripped of clothing. Sex without accessories. As sophisticated in their tastes as they may seem, however, they're animals in the sack because they’re unafraid to tap into their baser instincts. Black coffee drinkers will shock you with a sudden finger in the ass or a startling exclamation: "I'm a cock hungry slut! Fuck me, baby! Harder!"

5. Espresso

Espresso drinkers are efficient at everything from caffeinating themselves to getting off. They're the ones who will proposition you at a party for a bathroom quickie, or pounce on you when you least expect it, as you're studying or preparing dinner. They love impromptu, on-the-go boning, so they’ll find a way to stick it in when you're both half clothed, wherever you may be at the time. They're also huge supporters of 69'ing.

6. Latte

Latte drinkers like to take things at their own pace. They're into savoring every sip of sex and prolonging intimacy for as long as humanly possible. If you spend the night at their place, you'll wake up to the tickle of their tongue gently licking your pussy, or the sensation of their mouth gently sucking your dick. Wake-me-up oral is their way of inviting you to hang out in bed for a few more hours and laze about for awhile.

7. Chai Latte

People who drink chai lattes are drawn to a little extra spice, so they're natural experimenters. They will tie you up and fuck your brains out, and they're not too bashful to enter through the ol' back door. As soon as a chai latte lover loses his or her virginity, they’re exploring stuff like BDSM, titty fucking, and butt play.

8. Americano

Americano drinkers have wild fantasies, but their idea of wild is a bit watered down, just like their espresso. In their eyes, naughty means watching porn from the comfort of home with a significant other, or making a sex tape as a couple. They’re strongly sexual, but relatively reserved for the most part.

9. Green Tea

Those who consume tea instead of coffee aren’t into over-indulging, or feeling over excited in general. They're into moving more slowly—to seeping in sexual energy. They'll lure you in with a detailed erotic sext describing what they want to do to you, step by step, or grab your attention with a prolonged seductive glance from across the dinner table. In bed, they'll take the time to study every crevice of your body and every fold of flesh. They will find your clitoris. Then they'll demonstrate the ins and outs of tantric pleasure. TC mark

This Is Why You Will Never End Up With Your Soulmate

Posted: 15 Apr 2016 06:00 PM PDT


There are three kinds of people in the world. People who believe in soulmates, people who absolutely do not, and people like me: the uncertain ones, the skeptics. I didn’t always feel this way. I grew up in standard 90’s girl culture of princesses, formal gender roles, and the idea that one day you’ll fall in love with someone and live happily ever after.

Oh, I drank that Koolaid, I drank it right up. But then I grew up and learned I liked wine better. I learned. I learned that you may have a soulmate, and they could be out there, but it doesn’t always mean they are the person you necessarily end up with. I learned that sometimes the people who make your life whole in non-romantic ways can also be your soulmate.

I’ve fallen in love. I’ve fallen in love many times. Sometimes with two different people at the same time (oops). In some periods of time, no one at all. Sometimes I just sat there loving myself because I was all that I had. If you think about it, love comes around a thousand times. You love your mother. You love pizza. You love that dress your best friend wore last week. You loved your kindergarten crush. You loved that person you dated for a while. You loved the person you didn't date at all.

And as much as I wish it would be, pizza is not my soulmate.

“You are my soulmate,” “We’re soulmates,” and “Just looking for my soulmate” are all exclamations that have been heard, seen, or said throughout the test of time. In television, in real life, in your own head – it’s been a part of romantic society to convince people that there is someone out there made especially for them and only them. But is there? Couldn't you have a whole bunch of soulmates in your life? Couldn't you have or have had numerous people in your life that make an impact so deep that it touched your soul, regardless of whether or they stick around?

I could say that I have many soulmates in my life. Anyone from a silly crush I used to have, to a best friend who I can’t go a day without. In my opinion, a soulmate is not necessarily someone you feel romantic love for. It’s not necessarily someone you meet and live happily ever after with. You might meet a group of people, and be friends for decades. It could be a sibling that you trust with every facet of your life. It could be someone that you have met, fell in love with, and then broken up with. Your souls could still be connected through the riptide that is life. It doesn't matter what happens, they're still tied into your life somehow, someway. The person you end up with just ties themselves onto you a little tighter than the rest. After all, there is a reason why they stay, isn't there?

Depending on the situations we get into and the people we meet, you eventually align with another person more than anyone else you've ever met. Those are the kind of people we end up with. You don't end up with someone who you feel some sort of cosmic connection with (always). Of course it's possible (and I envy the shit out of you). More or less, the person who you end up with is someone who you know you share mutual love and support with. Sometimes that cosmic "soulmate" connection ends up be extensive lust or passion, without any real backbones that actually make a relationship work. I like to think that's the most fun kind of love to be in, but at the same time it's the hardest to break off. And sometimes it works out. Sometimes you're attracted to that connection you have with another person and it grows into something more substantial.

What you should do for yourself now is this: stop searching for a "soulmate." Start thinking about someone who better aligns with your beliefs and lifestyle. Someone who you could live happily ever after with, but with the knowledge and understanding that not every moment is happy and that you're both going to have to work at making it work. That’s love. The lasting kind. TC mark

This Is Who You Would Be If You Promised To Believe In Yourself

Posted: 15 Apr 2016 05:00 PM PDT

Jesse Herzog
Jesse Herzog

Don’t hope to be, believe yourself to be. Let me ask you, who would you be then, who could you be now, if you were committed to living in that difference, that effort, if you believed in rather than waited for yourself?

It’s worth asking because to have hope for yourself and to have belief in yourself—well, these are two entirely different ways to live, to show up for your life.

Who would you be if you trusted in your capacity to prevail, to triumph through and through? Who could you be if you believed that no challenge could ever ruin you, could never not be confronted and eclipsed? What could become of you if your life wasn’t what you were constantly pinning yourself against but rather was what you found yourself forever being invited into? Yes, what if the world was on your side. How might you handle your days now, what all would you allow for yourself if you were trusting in the state of all things, trusting that, in fact, the world has always and will always be on your side, bidding in your favor?

Imagine the chances you would take then. The chances you would take if conspiracy didn’t threaten your faith and future any longer, if you realized and acknowledged with both humble appreciation and absolute clarity that your world, and all the hearts and faces who’ve ever come and gone from it have, in the big picture, never been less than life’s great effort conspiring to distinguish you, to brilliantly define you in all your legacy.

Let me ask you, what if the point of everything, every little gain and every little loss of ours, what if it happens because the experience of it can help us become more substantial, more meaningful, when showing up as either a gain or a loss in someone else’s life?

We can leave others hoping that eventually something good will come for them, leave them hoping for that one person who will see that they, too, deserve to be treated like someone worth holding on to.

Where ever you are on that spectrum right now, that spectrum of being a gain or a loss in other people’s life, what if life has always been about getting you to this point where you understand you have a choice in how and what and who and why you are, you have a choice in whether you live off hope or live through belief, a choice in which you inspire others to live with too?

How might your life take shape then, how might you begin looking to the world if you saw it as a realm which forever openly supports you, your healing, your growth, if you lived like everything is a choice, a choice to be or not to be meaningful, to be great? Would you let love in, would you allow yourself to love openly, boldly, or at least with more ease? How could you begin to, how much aliveness do you need, how much aliveness do you want, how much aliveness does it take to become all you feel an urge to be, all you feel you are called to be, all you’ve ever hoped and all you’ve ever quietly believed you really can be, how can you begin today to live as if you already are every bit of that dream?

Listen to your heart, to your roar, feel your momentum rise within you, hold on with the greatest and deepest breath you have and hear what is being asked of you, what you are asking of you. Don’t react.

Right now just listen to what your heart is after, believe that you are alive on purpose, that you have been made to create an answer for this single calling, this single roar, this single yearning of your heart.

Then, choose to believe, choose to promise yourself that you will keep your quest and question alive within you, promise yourself that you will add to everyone’s life and not just take from it. Now, step out into your life, into your promise, in a new way. The world will help you but, for it to, you must believe and live like you have what it takes to help yourself too. TC mark

19 Men Confess Exactly How They Feel About Eating Ass

Posted: 15 Apr 2016 04:45 PM PDT

via Flickr - Mark Sebastian
via Flickr – Mark Sebastian

More and more, “eating ass” or “booty eating” is entering the mainstream as a normal sexual act. What’s so great about it and why is it becoming more accepted?

1. “It’s a taboo thing and drives her wild when I do it.

The clit and anus are the two areas of most concentrated nerve endings in a woman’s body. Since I’m already in the neighborhood, let’s go all in.”


2. “Good Lord eating ass makes me as hard as Chinese algebra. Nothing better than a beautiful woman’s ballon knot just giving you a wink and asking you to tickle her with your tongue.”


3. “Life is short, we’re running out of taboos, and people finally understand that nothing you do with a woman is gay unless there’s another man involved.”


4. “I just like ass to a huge degree, why wouldn’t I lick it? It’s not like vagina smells all that good, and yet I eat like a pig at the trough.”


5. “A) It feels naughty, dirty, possibly demeaning, etc.

B) I don't know whether or not there has actually been an increase. If there has, it could be due to influence from porn. When you see something and it turns you on, you often want to try it in real life.

Also, of course, I don't ask. I just do it. Some girls find it immensely pleasurable, many girls find it mildly enjoyable, some girls are quite indifferent to it, and a very few girls say ‘No thanks, not my cup of tea.'”


6. “I’m not into it, but I’ve seen it mentioned a lot on Tinder.”


7. “‘But he gotta eat the booty like groceries.’ She said it, not me.”


8. “The strong increase is mostly because of Kevin Gates. Rapper who talked about eating ass and raps about it quite often. Then a ton of rappers started saying it too.

the way Kevin Gates put it is ‘when you are intimate with your woman you gotta make her feel electric. So suck her toes, eat the pussy, and eat her ass if she into it. If not, you wasting her time.’

My dad at a young age of 14 told me to eat ass and well i kind of did and haven’t stopped since then. Girls I’ve been with have really enjoyed it.”


9. “Well……., if someone eats out the girl, means his mouth is LITERALLY 2mm away from her ass. So, yes: get into it and be a trooper ladies. Tickle the ass, Toss that salad!”


10. “It’s enjoyable and turns girls on. People are letting go of their paranoid taboos about sex.”


11. “It’s kinda dirty. It’s an ass. What’s not to like? It’s just fantastic all around.”


12. “Here’s the thing about the butthole; poop comes out of it, it is in itself not MADE of poop. It is important to avoid doing any rimming when the be-holed individual has very recently had anything along the lines of wet-poop/diarrhea, as there could still be some on the immediate-inside (everyone knows this feeling, its kind of irritating like you have sand in your ass).

Other than that, the butthole (when properly maintained) does not have shit on it or in it. That said, let’s address your specific question.

No, it won’t smell bad. The butthole has its own set of pores designed to keep it slightly damp and not overly-dry. As such the butthole itself has its own distinct scent, which is not that of shit, fart, or w/e has been passed through the butt. A lot of people say the smell is “musky” (depends on the individual of course, but usually it is a bit “musky”). However this is not unlike the wonderful smell of pussy. They are scents that are endearing and intimate, and can in their own rights be appreciated.

Now, a different slightly related topic – taste. Remember in school where they said something like “75% of taste is scent” – that was a lie. Ever tried tasting pineapple shampoo? Not even close. Anyways – the taste of their ass is as wildly different from even the musky scent as apples to oranges. It doesn’t taste like a whole lot, but if I had to describe from my experiences, its like licking a battery, but about 250x weaker in intensity. Its not bad at all.

If you are curious and happen to have a S/O on hand, go ahead and take a smell/taste directly from the source for yourself – or if you are just curious about the “smell” – then just smell the back end of a pair of their panties/underwear. You’ll easily find that unless they are hygienically impaired, it won’t smell at all like poop/farts, but the musk scent I’ve detailed above.”


13. “Look at it this way….puke has come out of her mouth at some point, but you’ll still stick your tongue in there, dead tissue and blood has come out of her vagina, but you’ll lick that till the cows come home. Butthole is just another body part that happens to have to deal with a messy part of daily life occasionally, the rest of the time it’s available for parties and equipped to contribute generously.”


14. “Because I love the booty. Seeing her lay there, on her stomach with that perfectly round butt looking so great it’s hard not to just dive in and show her how much I love it.”


15. “As a man, I love eating ass because in my experience, a lot of girls have never had that before and will be curious about it. It always drives them nuts.”


16. “It feels fucking awesome on the receiving end and it’s really hot watching my girlfriend squirm and moan more as I move from her pussy to ass.”


17. “My wife says she doesn’t like it, for a few of the reasons stated in here. (Not clean, etc.)

But she can’t deny she likes it when I run my tongue over it and she has an instant orgasm.”


18. “I love her ass. I want to do all sorts of things to it…one of those things is put my tongue on it and get her to make them happy noises…don’t know why, but I do.”


19. “I will (eat ass) upon request or if I’m really, really into the girl. But only if we or at least the lady in question has showered in the last hour. I do it because nothing excites me more than having my girlfriend orgasm. If that’s what it takes then no problem.

There was this one time when I was 22. I was with this cougar (she was 30, would recommend). Taught me a lot about myself. She was giving some of the best oral I ever had. Then she lifted my legs up a bit and licked my asshole while stroking me. In the moment it was ecstasy. I shot off instantly. But, after she left, I was really embarrassed and…confused. I had never let anyone near the exit before (I mean come on…not manly. Or very hetro.) And the position I was in with my legs up like that was degrading. I’m of a different opinion now though. I don’t mind it. But it is NOT something I ask for or expect.” TC mark