Hair saloon for men st peters

I'm a South Asian dude, 5'6, an Engineer doing well for myself, and have had a fair share of dating experience. I could've shared more if Anonymous posting was an option.
I see all of you here in such misery and loneliness. There's always a whole race that wants you! If you're white, heck ALL of the other races want to have a chance at dating you! I've dated before and I have a date tomorrow and the day after with 2 different women who know I'm 5'6 cus it says on my profile. Most of them are 5'1 or 5'2 and I usually look for that crowd and I feel better when I'm with them. I use the Conzuri shoes, prolly look 5'8 with them on.
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If you're white, I advise you to get an app where other races are (Muzz, Salams, DilMil, etc.). I betchu girls are dying over there to be with white men, they show them off too! I had a friend in Europe who was white and had trouble finding a decent girl and ended up dating a HOT GORGEOUS Bangladeshi girl that was studying there. She would show him off to all her Bangali friends for having a white bf.
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I'm not white, I was fat, bald and short, still could make decent dates, I always bought Dating apps premium feature so I have no matches unmatched. Later, I started working out, shed 30lbs, wore conzuri to help with the height and started wearing Hair Systems to have a full thick head of hear. I love myself so much more and I wanted to say there's still a lot you can do for yourself and be back in the dating pool!

Posting this here as there are a lot of folks like me who’s on an eternal search for the right pair of pants. For the past 3-4 years my favorite pair has been the golf pants from Target. I alternate between those and a couple of bonobos depending on weather and this is as close to “perfect pants” as I’ve come. But, the Target pants has one big caveat and it’s that they absolute reek after one wear. I’ve never had a piece of clothing that smell like rotten bum, and I’m not a heavy sweater nor is super sensitive to BO. If I’m one bagging and wearing/packing these, I will either have to bring a fresh pair for each day or make sure to do laundry after each wear, both kinda defeating the purpose of onebagging.
So the search continued.
I don’t mind paying a premium for something that’s proper quality so I went for the Lulu ABC’s but the fit wasn’t as good for me as the Target pants. I’m a massive fan of Vuori’s Strato shirts so when I discovered the Meta pants I instantly ordered a pair.
My first reaction was that these feel identical to the Target pants and that’s what prompted me to post this. I could literally not tell the material apart. The Vuori are definitely of better quality in terms of craftsmanship but that’s not particularly important to me. I like that the zipper is on the bum rather than in the front as on the Target pants. Also, the Target pants has just a hair of more stretch to them, but I suspect that’s because I’ve worn them for years. But other than that it would be impossible for me to tell them apart. My immediate reaction was to return them but I decided to wear them and see if they’ll pass the sniff test. I’ll update in a few.
Check out the gallery where I’ve posted side-by-side pics. Few things to note: the Vuori’s are about 20g lighter (0.7 oz) which I can’t feel when holding them. Notice how the exterior and interior fibers look identical. Also, you’ll see that the Target pants are letting in more light than the Vuori’s which should be interesting in a real world test. Furthermore the olive pair is the Vuori and the blue and black are Target.

Part 2
It's coming, Inanna sent to him. Gary looked up from where he'd been peacefully sitting on the bench, waiting for everything to go down. He used his limited skill to push the mental connection to her into a different shape. He carefully followed the instructions Jerry had given him, adding knowledge magic in a certain shape until his awareness of Inanna's words expanded into an awareness of the area around her.
From there, he spotted Suzanne and expanded the magic further. A little love magic, a little knowledge magic, blended together just right, and he could feel her fear. There was a new fear; strong and vibrant, filling her body and making her nerves sing. But he could also feel the old fear. A face that was the source of it, as well as something the poor girl desperately wanted.
He dug into the old fear, knowing that time would slow in the real world. His concern for the girl drove him to dig, until flashes of memories, the source of the fear, began to reach him.
----
Flash. A leather jacket with the sleeves cut off. A woman wearing it, long scars running up and down her arms. The face belonged to that woman, Gary saw, as she turned to Suzanne. Even twisted into an expression of disgust, Suzanne knew every detail of that face.
"Motherfucker," she said, "You filled your diaper again, didn't you?"
Flash. There was a man. He was the biggest man Suzanne had ever seen, with muscular arms and a fat belly. The man was nice, but still scary. Suzanne liked his kind of scary, though. He had scars on his face, one of which gave him a permanent sneer. His name was Mister Liam. He had a leather jacket like mommy's, but his was covered in patches. He had a big skull on the back, and numbers and letters that didn't make words all over. Mommy used to tease Mister Liam that he hadn't earned his jacket, and Mister Liam would tease Mommy the same way.
Flash. "Where's my fucking car keys, you little shit?!" Mommy was angry, which was scary. A stinging slap that made her see stars filled her awareness. "My keys, Suzanne! I saw you playing with them!"
Flash. Mommy was asleep on the couch. It was one of the deep sleeps that she had when she put the rubber band around her arm. Mister Liam opened the door. "Hey Stace, you want to..." he stopped when he saw Mommy on the couch and ran over to her.
"You stupid bitch," he muttered, taking the rubber band off her arm and slapping her in the face.
"Why are you hitting Mommy?" Suzanne asked.
"I need her to wake up, punkin'," Mister Liam said. He shook Mommy's shoulders until she started moaning.
Flash. Mister Liam was standing over the man who'd climbed in the window. Both of them were covered in blood. The stranger was crying, like a little kid, and Mister Liam was breathing heavily. Mommy burst into the room. "What did you do?!" she screamed at Mister Liam.
Flash. Mister Liam was kneeling in front of her. "This doesn't mean we can't still be friends, punkin," he said quietly. "It just means that Mommy and me aren't going to be the same kind of friends we were before."
Flash. Suzanne curled up on the bus stop bench as the rain poured down. It took a long, long time for the bus to come. The doors opened and she got up and ran inside. Even the few feet from the bench to the bus soaked her.
"Can you take me to Mister Liam's?" Suzanne asked. The driver, a heavyset black woman, drew her brows down in concern. "Do you know where Mister Liam lives, honey?"
"No."
"Suzanne!" Mommy's voice sounded angry as she ran up. "Suzanne, get off that bus!" Mommy grabbed her by the arms and yanked her off. "I'm sorry!" she said to the driver, whose frown changed as she regarded Mommy.
Flash. "I'm sorry, Stacey, but you're not in a position to raise a little girl. She needs to go into a foster home." Suzanne looked up, wondering what that meant.
Flash. "Do we tell her?" Miss Beth's voice could be heard through the walls from where Suzanne was playing with a doll.
"Jesus, Beth. How do we tell her? It's her mother."
"She deserves to know, Percy."
"I know, I just... Let's not tell her right away, okay?"
"How long do you want to wait?"
"I don't know. Maybe until she asks about her."
----
He pulled back out just in time to catch Inanna's next words. -ou ready?
Born ready, he sent back.
Okay, I'll try to give you a head's up-Shit!
What's wrong? Gary sent.
Percy and Beth are back, shit, this isn't good...
Gary cursed and prepared to teleport back.
Shit, Inanna sent, right before he left. We're all coming to you. Me, Suzanne, Percy, Beth and the bugbear.
Gary cursed under his breath. He prepared a wet blanket and brought his sword and shield out of hammerspace.
It only took a second for all of them to appear. Well, almost all of them. The three humans and the former goddess appeared next to the illusory bed. Suzanne was crouched down, clinging to Inanna's leg with a look of abject terror on her face.
The two adults both looked startled, knees bent, eyes casting about.
"Holy shit," Percy said.
"Get the fuck out of here!" Gary barked. "Now! Now! Now!" Both of them reacted to the force with which he shouted the command and took off.
They hadn't gotten more than a half dozen steps before an indistinct black shape appeared in front of Beth and she screamed. The black shape lunged at her, and her scream turned wet and then cut off. Gary rushed forward as Inanna collapsed from the effort of teleporting multiple people who weren't in physical contact.
Beth fell to the ground, a mess of blood and meat and the shape surged at Percy.
"Beth!" he shouted as he drew back a fist and punched at the bugbear's head. The thing flashed into solidity for a second, and Gary caught a glimpse of a white, demonic face before Percy's fist slammed into it. The thing had glowing red eyes, deep creases all over its face, large prominent fangs and a head of snarled black hair.
The thing flinched at the punch and growled, a deep, inhuman sound, fading back to indistinction as soon as Percy hauled his fist back for another.
"Kill you," it intoned in a sepulchral voice. Percy hit it again, and for a brief second, Gary thought the enraged man might actually take the beast down.
Percy had a good stance, and he threw his punches from the hip, hitting hard. But the bugbear wasn't an opponent in a boxing ring. When Percy swung the fifth punch, the bugbear flashed into solidity a split-second early, its maw stretching open wide and clamping down on Percy's fist with its fangs.
The man screamed as the bugbear bit his fist right off. Blood sprayed, a heartbeat pulsing it out right as the bugbear pulled back. Gary reached the best and swung his sword, igniting it with a thought as he did.
The bugbear screamed this time, adding its unnatural voice to Percy's as the flames licked at its smokey form. The fire seemed to catch on it and the flames flowed out, engulfing it and making the silhouette more distinct.
Percy fell back and the bugbear fell on him. Gary heard his scream get cut off, and then watched his head bounce away, face still wearing an expression of shock and pain.
Gary growled and slashed again and again, each cut drawing a screech from the beast and making the flames engulfing it burn brighter. The creature jumped away, and then turned to face Gary. Its glowing red eyes bored into his and Gary felt... Something, happening.
----
"Take the shot," Boss said. Gary's hand trembled, making the crosshairs jump.
"You okay, Johnson?"
"I... I can't. It's my friend."
"Fuck it," Boss snapped. He raised his own rifle and sighted in.
"No!" Gary shouted, grabbing his barrel and yanking his aim off.
"God damnit!" Boss shouted. Chris ran up and grabbed Gary by the shoulders. "What the hell, Gary?" he asked.
"He's my friend," Gary said. "And the other one's Nat, baby!" He looked around, confused. How could they not know this?
The two running figures made it to a wall and climbed over.
"FUCK!" Boss screamed, then he grabbed his radio. "Everybody romeo tango bravo, right fucking now. Split up and get back north. We're fucked." He grabbed Rog, their RTO and spun him around. "Call it in. Mike foxtrot."
----
"Shit," Chris barked. Gary turned to see Boss bringing a spotting scope up to his eyes. Gary raised his rifle as Boss said "No way they didn't see us."
They were a couple of boys. Just kids. Running away from the men with guns.
"Drop 'em, Johnson," Boss said.
"They're just kids," Gary responded. Boss' hand came down on Gary's shoulder. "I know, brother," he said, his voice soft. "But you know the deal."
Gary sighted down the first one, but his hand began to tremble. The crosshairs jumped around, ruining his shot.
"They're just fucking kids, Boss," he said. The two figured reached a wall and climbed over it. They were gone.
"Shit, what do we do?" Chris asked.
Boss rubbed his face and thought for a second. "Fuck it," he said. "Charlie mike. Most likely, those two were just scared."
They picked back up their course. They made it almost all the way to the high point that was their destination when the first mortars fell.
"Scatter!" Top shouted, grabbing Boss' strap and yanking him away from where he'd been talking to Rog. Gary looked quickly around, spotting Chris and running in the same direction he was.
Another mortar fell behind him with an ear-splitting crunch, followed by a shout of pain that drew itself out into a scream. He spun to see Top laying on the ground, bloody. His right leg was a couple yards away, and the stump was pumping blood in a great big spray.
"Top's down!" Gary said, squeezing the transmit button on his radio.
Another mortar hit and Gary saw Rog cartwheeling through the air. This was bad, they'd dialed in directly on them. Gary froze, unsure of what to do. He looked between the spot where Rog had fallen and the direction where Chris had stopped to wait for him.
"Fuck," Gary muttered. He turned to Chris and ran, but then a mortar fell right on top of the man he loved in secret.
"Noooooo!" Gary screamed.
----
Chris' shout of "Shit," caught Gary's attention. He turned to see two small figures running away as Boss watched them through a spotting scope.
This was wrong, Gary knew.
"This..." he said. "This already happened."
"What are you talking about, Gary?" Chris asked.
"This already happened," Gary said again. "This isn't real, it's... It's a memory or something."
"What are you talking about?" Chris asked. Gary heard the suppressed crack as Rog took the shot. He looked up to see both figures mounting the wall. Rog had missed.
"Fuck," Boss muttered. "Come on, let's get the fuck out of here."
They made it less than half a mile when the trucks appeared and bullets began to whiz past them. Gary and Chris found cover behind a small shed and the others scattered. Gary leaned around one corner and dropped the man running a truck-mounted PKP before he could light up their cover.
"Shit, they stirred up the whole fucking valley," Gary muttered. He turned to coordinate with Chris, but found him laying on the ground, a neat hole above his left eye.
"Fuck," Gary said, then a hot explosion on the side of his head cut off everything.
----
"Shit," Chris shouted, causing Gary to spin. Boss already had a spotting scope up, and he was tracking two figures running away from them.
"What the fuck?" Gary muttered.
"Gary, you need to drop them," Boss said.
"This is some kind of trick," Gary said.
"It's not a trick, those two spotted us!" Chris responded. He raised his rifle and sighted in on one of them. Before he could shoot, an indistinct black figure appeared and rushed them.
"What the fuck?" Chris shouted as the blurry figure fell over both boys. A second later, Gary heard the screams.
"What in the hell is that thing?" Boss asked as it rose and began to move towards them.
"Whatever it is, fucking shoot it," Rog said, raising his rifle and firing. Gary, Chris and Boss joined in, followed a second later by Top and the rest. They unloaded full magazines into the thing, but it never even slowed. It hit Boss first, throwing him back like a rag doll with his armor and the flesh beneath it shredded. He crashed into Top and the both of them went tumbling in a tangle of limbs.
Gary swung his rifle butt into the creature, but it passed right through. A clawed hand lashed back out at him, easily carving through the ballistic plate in his armor and sending a spurt of blood arcing out. The blood passed through the creature to splatter Chris in the face.
"Gary!" he shouted. Gary stared at him, his arms no longer responding to his brain's commands to move. The creature spun on Chris and rushed forward. As the blood splashed back through the beast again to drench Gary, a word came to him.
"Bugbear," he muttered. Then he fell over and darkness took him.
----
Chris shouted "Shit," making Gary turn.
Anger flooded through him. This was bullshit.
"How many fucking times?" he asked. The two figures in the distance were so small...
"What the fuck am I supposed to do?!" he shouted. "I didn't have any fucking choice! If I let them go, we all fucking die!"
Growling deep in his chest, he raised his rifle and quickly sighted down. He recognized Jerry's haircut on the boy, a brown mop atop a face much younger than he remembered, but familiar nonetheless. But it didn't matter. He fired, causing the figure to throw up its hands and fall.
He lined his crosshairs up on the bouncing braids that terminated the cornrows of the other figure and pulled the trigger the instant the crosshairs swept onto them. That figure dropped, as well.
"You fucking happy?!" he shouted, making his teammates wince and stare at him in confusion.
"Is this what you wanted, you blurry little shit?! You want to make me fucking shoot them? To kill two fucking kids?"
Gary spun, searching for the indistinct figure. All he saw was Afghanistan, his team and two small, dead bodies.
"I did it fucking once, you sad excuse for a boogyman!" Gary shouted. He pulled the magazine from his gun and angrily slapped in a new one, stuffing the old one into the empty slot the new one had come from.
"I fucking did it in the real fucking world!" Gary shouted. "You know that, you vicious shit-stain? And I'd do it again, too. I didn't have any goddamn choice, you hear me?"
Chris and the others looked concerned, now. None of them had said a word, but Gary was beyond caring. Gary was furious in a way he hadn't felt in a long, long time.
"GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE, MOTHERFUCKER!" he roared. He glanced at his rifle, which was wrong. This was the rifle he had carried back then, not the one he carried now. He unclipped the sling and threw it down, then reached into hammerspace for his gun, but then he stopped.
Not the gun.
He drew his sword, instead. The moment the blade appeared in his hand, it lit up with an intense heat. The flames weren't even visible, only the shimmering distortion in the air. Gary felt his eyebrows and beard singing, so he called up his shield, adjusting it to block heat and claws, instead of bullets.
There was still no sign of the beast. Gary drew his shield out of hammerspace.
"You gonna make me find you, motherfucker?!" he yelled through a sneer of disgust and rage. He got no answer.
"That's it," he muttered. "I'm coming, you motherfucker. Fee Fi Fo Fum, Gary's coming to get him some."
He stomped off in search of the bugbear.

So with all the hype I've started replaying the games, and I noticed Peter drops the hanging Fisk goon's phone after Fisk told Peter to keep his men alive. Then after doing this, either Fisk or Peter calls the other back and Fisk tells him to check the roof. Is this an oversight or something? I would assume neither of them has the other on speed dial haha.
Not trying to point out inconsistencies or anything, and tbh the only real inconsistencies I've noticed are only with very minor details that don't matter much lol... Like "How did they get back in touch" rather than a major potentially game-ruining plot hole for example.

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Nefarious was a Limited release in 2023 on Friday, April 14, 2023. There were 19 other movies released on the same date, including The Pope’s Exorcist, Renfield and Mafia Mamma.
As a Limited release, Nefarious will only be shown in select movie theaters across major markets. Please check Fandango and Atom Tickets to see if the film is playing in your area.
Where To Watch Nefarious Online: As of now, the only way to watch Nefarious is to head out to a movie theater when it releases on Friday, April 14. You can find a local showing on Fandango.
Otherwise, you’ll just have to wait for it to become available to rent or purchase on digital platforms like Amazon, Vudu, YouTube and Apple, or become available to stream on Netflix.
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Regrettably, ‘Nefarious’ is unavailable on any of the digital platforms, which means there is currently no way for you to stream the Sean Patrick Flanery starrer for free. But you can still be hopeful and wait for it to land on any online platform offering a free trial to its new subscribers. Nevertheless, it is our humble request to all the readers that they refrain from using illegal methods to watch their favorite content and instead pay for the relevant subscription to do the same.
Is Nefarious on Netflix?
No, Netflix doesn’t house ‘Nefarious’ in its expansive collection. But the streaming giant makes up for it by giving you access to similar thriller movies, such as ‘Hypnotic.’
Is Nefarious on HBO Max?
HBO Max subscribers might be disappointed that ‘Nefarious’ is unavailable on the streamer. Alternatively, there are similar movies you can turn to by using your subscription. We recommend you watch ‘Se7en‘ and ‘The Silence of the Lambs.’
Is Nefarious on Amazon Prime?
We hate to tell you that ‘Nefarious’ is not included in Amazon Prime’s library. But you can still make the most of your subscription by turning to other alternatives that the streaming giant houses, such as ‘Prisoner X‘ and ‘The Prison.’
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Viewers are saying that they want to view the new horror thriller movie Nefarious on Hulu. Unfortunately, this is not possible since Hulu currently does not offer any of the free episodes of this series streaming at this time. It will be exclusive to the MTV channel, which you get by subscribing to cable or satellite TV services. You will not be able to watch it on Hulu or any other free streaming service.
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Nefarious was written and directed by Chuck Konzelman and Cary Solomon. It stars the following actors:
Sean Patrick Flanery as Nefarious Jordan Belfi as Doctor James Martin Tom Ohmer as Warden Moss James Healy Jr as Gate Guard Eric Hanson as Assistant Warden Anderson Cameron Arnett as Trustee Styles Robert Peters as Doctor Stewart Stelio Savante as Detective Russo Sarah Hernandez as Corporal Mendez Jarret LeMaster as Officer Wilson Grifon Aldren as Sergeant Wilborn John Cann as Prison Guard Mark De Alessandro as Doctor Fischer Cedric St. Clair as Glenn Beck Show Producer Tina Toner as Renee Maura Corsini as Melanie Carter Daniel Martin Berkey as Father Louis Jeremy Miller as Officer Campbell Darrin Merlino as Officer Grady Ethan Millard as Prison Guard Dean Martin Sold a Car to Jay Leno, and It is How to Watch Nefarious Online For Free? Most Viewed, Most Favorite, Top Rating, Top IMDb movies online. Here we can download and watch 123movies movies offline. 123Movies website is the best alternative to Nefarious (2023) free online. We will recommend 123Movies is the best Solarmovie alternatives.
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I don’t even know where to start with this but I literally don’t know what to do anymore. Im 17f, lesbian and in the depths of TOCD and i feel so far gone. basically i’ve been having reoccurring tocd for the past near year or so and it’s gotten worse. its to the point where my body, face and mind feel literally warped. im a lesbian and i’ve always been on the more androgynous and masculine-ish side with my style and how i present myself. my hair is short, i like baggy and masc clothing and i’ve always been happy with my androgynous voice and face. from time to time i like wearing some tighter more feminine clothes. i’ve always considered myself at least a mix between an androgynous person and a girl (i don’t like any of the non binary labels for myself) and always been okay with it. im very tall and thin and my body isn’t very curvy at all like most girls my age and i was never insecure about it. all in all, i was okay with having my identity and expression to be whatever i want and none of which was any male label. lots of bi women and some men fetishized me and usually wanted me for sexual purposes and all because i was a “man like” girl it seemed. it made me feel horrible but it seemed like the only way to be liked so i laughed it off for the sake of having friends and now, two years later, i get plaguing thoughts of me as a man and me as a straight man with muscles and a deep voice and doing man things and whatnot. i get urges of wanting it and disliking my old previous gender and i don’t feel like i’m comfortable with myself anymore and i’m so fucking confused and scared. one second i like the idea of being a girl and being androgynous the next i hate it. then one second i “like” being masculine and man like and the next im disgusted and scared as to why i ever even feel like that. who the fuck am i anymore???? i feel so insecure and lost. i feel like a warped identity-less being. compulsions don’t even work anymore. i can’t tell who i am. what makes me even more scared is that i’ve explored gender and pronouns and sometimes im okay with more masculine things. false memories and false feelings are killing me. can ocd really make me feel like i don’t even like my own gender anymore?? is this me or ocd anymore??? please help, i really cant take this anymore.

To be honest I'm unsure of the relevancy of any of the information I've compiled over the past few days, but felt the need to put it out there just in case it can be of any use to anyone. Albeit I've done my best to be thorough I do accept that I may have missed and or misinterpreted the information found, such as acquisition costs of real estate, permits listed below as well as attorneys associated with Andrew Wold. I'm not here to speculate, but just wanted to put out what I've found. All information has been obtained through public record via Iowa Secretary of State, Scott County Electronic Docket Record search, Scott County Property search and Scott County Permit search.
Also apologies if incorrect Flair used - wasn't sure which route to go.
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Confirmed Owned By Andrew Wold Business(s):
324 Main Street - AQ 6/21 $4.193 - Davenport Hotel LLC - The Davenport (Licandro Leases Unit - Active)
219 W 4th St - AQ 06/21 $4.193 - Davenport Hotel LLC
217 Brady Street - AQ 03/20 $660 - Andrew Wold Investments, LLC
307 W 6th Street - AQ 02/20 $1.160 - Andrew Wold Investments, LLC
518 Harrison St - AQ 02/20 $1.160 - Andrew Wold Investments, LLC
1028 Harrison St - AQ 07/15 $10,680 - Andrew Wold Investments, LLC
923 E 6th Street - AQ 10/19 $83,500 - Andrew Wold > Andrew Wold Investments LLC QCD $0 12/19 > Andrew Wold Investments LLC QCD $0 10/22
311 Kirkwood BD - AQ 10/19 $40k - Andrew Wold Investments LLC
317 Kirkwood BD - AQ 11/19 $100k - Andrew Wold Investments LLC
633 Kirkwood BD - AQ 9/19 $100k - Andrew Wold Investments LLC > 10/22 QCD $0
1427 Jersey Ridge RD - AQ 10/19 $160k - Andrew Wold Investments LLC > 12/19 QCD $0 > 10/22 QCD $0
1315 Belle Ave - AQ 10/15 $22k - Andrew Wold Investments LLC
1440 Jersey Ridge RD - AQ 10/19 $160k - Andrew Wold Investments LLC > 12/19 QCD $0 > 10/22 QCD $0
314 E Rusholme St - AQ 10/19 $95k - Andrew Wold Investments LLC > 12/19 QCD $0 > 10/22 QCD $0
2224 Iowa St - AQ 09/19 $97k - Andrew Wold > 12/19 Andrew Wold Investments LLC QCD $0 > 10/22 QCD $0
2215 Jefferson Av - AQ 11/19 $75k - Andrew Wold Investments LLC
801 E Rusholme St - AQ 09/19 $110k - Andrew Wold Investments LLC
2415 Farnam St - AQ 10/19 $65k - Andrew Wold > 12/19 Andrew Wold Investments LLC QCD $0 > 10/22 QCD $0
201 E Dover Ct - AQ 09/19 $130k - Andrew Wold Investments
211 E Dover Ct - AQ 09/19 $84,900 - Andrew Wold > 12/19 Andrew Wold Investments LLC QCD $0 > 10/22 QCD $0
2702 Leclaire St - AQ 10/19 $165k - Andrew Wold Investments > 12/19 Andrew Wold Investments LLC QCD $0
221 W Pleasant St - AQ 09/19 $105k - Andrew Wold > 12/19 Andrew Wold Investments LLC QCD $0 > 10/22 QCD $0
2602 Harrison St - AQ 11/19 $116k - Andrew Wold Investments LLC
2631 Main St - AQ 11/19 $91,500 - Andrew Wold Investments LLC
2801 Harrison St - AQ 11/19 $120k (Purchased from Licandro Management LLC) - Andrew Wold Investments LLC
311 W 3rd St - AQ 4/22 $999,313 - Dorothea, LLC
2612 Harrison St - AQ 05/15 WD $0 - Andrew R Wold > 05/15 Andrew Wold Investments QCD $0 > 12/15 Harrison St CoOp QCD $0 > 05/16 Harrison St CoOp QCD $0
313 Harrison St - AQ 12/19 $1.5 - Andrew Wold Investments LLC > 12/19 307 Harrison St CoOp QCD $0
246 W 3rd St- AQ 12/19 $1.5 - Andrew Wold Investments LLC > 12/19 246 W 3rd St CoOp QCD $0
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Found Business(s) Under Andrew (R) Wold (confirmed by Home Office Location / Signing of Incorporation):
Davenport Hotel L.L.C - 05/21 Addition of Officer Kerr, Leonard per opencorporates.com
Alliance Contracting
Andrew Wold Investments LLC
Village Property Management LLC
Dorothea LLC
246 W 3rd Street Cooperative*
1224 Main Street Cooperative*
917 W 3rd Street Cooperative*
909 W 3rd Street Cooperative*
307 Harrison Street Cooperative*
Harrison Street Cooperative*
Perry Street Cooperative*
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Business (Potentially) Associated To Andrew Wold:
739 Perry Street Cooperative** - Tawna Kerr Signed Articles of Incorporation
Attorney: MICHAEL L. GORSLINE Home Office: 1609 N. ANKENY DR., #200
Kerr Enterprises LLC - - shares same PO box as Davenport Hotel LLC per BBB.org
Attorney: JOHN D. HUNTER Home Office: 1609 N. ANKENY BLVD. #200
246 W 3rd Street Cooperative* - Andrew Wold Signed Articles of Incorporation
Attorney: MICHAEL L. GORSLINE Home Office: 3629 CEDARWOOD CT
1224 Main Street Cooperative* - Andrew Wold Signed Articles of Incorporation
Attorney: MICHAEL L. GORSLINE Home Office: 1740 JERSEY RIDGE RD
917 W 3rd Street Cooperative* - Andrew Wold Signed Articles of Incorporation
Attorney: MICHAEL L. GORSLINE Home Office: 1740 JERSEY RIDGE RD
909 W 3rd Street Cooperative* - Andrew Wold Signed Articles of Incorporation
Attorney: MICHAEL L. GORSLINE Home Office: 1740 JERSEY RIDGE RD
307 Harrison Street Cooperative* - Andrew Wold Signed Articles of Incorporation
Attorney: MICHAEL L. GORSLINE Home Office: 3629 CEDARWOOD COURT
Harrison Street Cooperative* - Andrew Wold Signed Articles of Incorporation
Attorney: MICHAEL L. GORSLINE Home Office: 1740 JERSEY RIDGE RD
Perry Street Cooperative* - Andrew Wold Signed Articles of Incorporation
Attorney: MICHAEL L. GORSLINE Home Office: 1740 JERSEY RIDGE RD
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Address / Building Potentially Associated To Andrew Wold:
The Roslyn Flats - 739 Perry Street - Sold to Kerr Enterprises LLC 10/19 $960,400 > 12/19 739 Perry St CoOp QCD $0 - Reviews as recent as 12/22 claim Andrew Wold as management - Listed by Sarah Tyler + Libby Mills per Zillow Listing 06/01/2023 - Contact Point is Village Property Management per current tenants 06/02/2023
The Berg - 246 W 3rd Street - Quit Claimed $0 From Andrew Wold LLC 11 days after AQ
7086 E Valley Dr - AQ 1/22 $200k - Andrew Wold Investments LLC > 05/22 Tyler Sarah QCD $0
400 N Main St- AQ 06/21 $2.640 - Kerr Enterprises - Found Facebook Comments State Andrew has hand in management of prop - Home Office of Licandro Management
1605 Harrison St - AQ 01/18 $102k - Village Property > Sold to Andrew Wold Investments LLC 01/12 $165k > Sold To Kerr Enterprises 03/21 $525k (Alliance Contracting Office Located in building at Address per BBB.org)
1601 N Harrison St - AQ 12/14 $53,600 - Village Property Management LLC > Sold To Kerr Enterprises 03/21 $175k
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Attorneys Associated To Andrew Wold:
MICHAEL L. GORSLINE (Village Property, 739 Perry Street CoOp., 246 W. 3rd Street CoOp,)
ROBERT H GALLAGHER (07821 STP224465, 07821 SMCR235719, 07701MUNTA0049047, ) (Potential relation to Bettendorf Mayor Robert S. Gallagher)
ROBERT S. GALLAGHER (07821 SCSC235169, 07821 SCSC235170, 07821 SCSC235166 )
THOMAS J. PASTRNAK (Dorothea LLC,)
KEVIN HALLIGAN ( 07821 LACE135491 )
MARY LEANNE TYLER ( 07821 LACE135491)
MATTHEW LEDDIN (07821 STWG949267)
MICHAEL HINES (07821 STSD15019)
ANDREA D. JAEGER (07821 STA0314532, 07821 NTA0314529 )
ROBERT ROSENSTIEL (07821 STA0088502)
PETER GLENN GIERUT (07821 SRCR413113, 07821 EQCE134739, 07821 SCSC240383)
CALEB RAHN (07821 SRCR413113)
MICHAEL MCCARTHY (07821 SCSC217509)
MARC GELLERMAN (07821 LACE125915)
KEISHA DOUGLAS (07821 EQCE133984)
RICHARD ALLEN DAVIDSON (07821 EQCE133984)
ERIC ARMAND WALDMAN (07821 EQCE133984)
LAWERENCE LAMMERS (07821BESTWG378290, 07821BGST100936)
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Found Building Permits w/ Alliance Contracting:
Building Permit 21-106828 > Andrew Wold Investments LLC hires Alliance Contracting for services
Building Permit 21-56229 > Andrew Wold Investments LLC hires Alliance Contracting for services - Fail Elect + Mech
Building Permit 20-84025 > Andrew Wold Investments LLC hires Alliance Contracting for services
Building Permit 21-106816 > Andrew Wold Investments LLC hires Alliance Contracting for services
Building Permit 21-102885 > Andrew Wold Investments LLC hires Alliance Contracting for services
Building Permit 20-80150 > 739 Perry Street Cooperative hires Alliance Contracting for services
Building Permit 21-22769 > WAUKEE INVESTMENTS I LLC hires Alliance Contracting for services
Building Permit 21-56727 > KERR ENTERPRISES LLC hires Alliance Contracting for services
Building Permit 21-57086 > KERR ENTERPRISES LLC hires Alliance Contracting for services
Building Permit 21-57086 > LICANDRO MANAGMENT hires Alliance Contracting for services
Building Permit 20-84861 > KERR ENTERPRISES LLC hires Alliance Contracting for services
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Failed Inspections:
307 W 6th St - The Roosevelt
- Permit 21-56231 - Mech Final Fail
- Permit 21-56230 - Elect Final Fail
- Permit 21-56229 - Mech + Elect Final Fail
- Permit 23-2610 - Elect Final Fail
- Permit 23-2909 - Gas Meter Release Fail
- Permit 23-8239 - Elect Final Fail
311 W 3rd St - The Dorothea
- Permit 22-68798 - Elect Final Fail
- Permit 22-72625 - Elect Final Fail
- Permit 23-15516 - Elect Final Fail
​
217 Brady St - M Lounge
- Permit 20-47526 Mech Final Fail (no inspections called for)
- Permit 20-84025 Building Final Fail (no inspections called for)

Hello, Going to book my Vatican tickets tomorrow for 3rd august. We are wondering whether we should do both Vatican and and St Peters the same day or not ?
We were thinking of going to St peters in the morning, visit the dome first , then visit the basilica .. come out grab a lunch and then go to Vatican mid afternoon .
Wondering if there are better suggestions? Asking since St Peters dome tickets cannot be brought online from what I read and hence trying to beat the tour group crowds by going early for the dome tickets.
Thoughts appreciated. Thank you

It was Danvers who finally pushed him in. We’d been feeding the fire with hardwood since the afternoon and it had gotten big as the wind picked up by nightfall, flickering cross our faces and warming our cheeks better than a gas heater. He didn’t even scream when he fell. The flames just swallowed him up—sparks shooting out like hot vomit. He knew what he’d done. He knew it was wrong. When he lifted himself up and came out of the fire he stood dead still, staring at us, smiling like we’d done him a favour. Maybe he thought he deserved to turn into ash. Maybe he did deserve it. I know I kept my fingers tight round the handle of the axe just the same till he keeled over and Cauley had touched the corpse with his foot and we knew he was dead. The three of us, we kept silent for a long while after that. There was just the sound of wood burning and it was better that way. None of us touched the body but none of us looked away, either: you could still make out his face, unmistakable, when the rest of him was dark and formless. He was a face on a pile. Then the wind started taking bits and pieces and carrying them away. Like I told the police, he didn’t touch me, but I knew some of the kids he’d done it to. He’d done it to Danvers. I remember once when all the other kids were gone, I’d stayed after class, Mr Gregor bent himself close to my ear and told me the real story. “You’re a wicked one,” he said when he was done, “just like Don Whitman.”
They used to scare us with Don Whitman, the adults: the other teachers, our parents, the priest. But no one ever explained it. They’d just say, “You better do what we want or else Don Whitman will come back and get you.” Mr Gregor was the only one ever to tell it to me with details. He told it different, too. He said he remembered because he was the same age as Don Whitman and they went to the same school. He said that what the others say they remember is like Cain and Abel or Little Red Riding Hood. Even the landscape tells the fairy tale. After it happened, Don Whitman’s school got torn down, then his house. And the bells in the Church got changed: the ones they rang after Elizabeth Cartwell had come back hysterical with the news.
You can’t tear down or change a man’s memory, Mr Gregor told me.
Once you see, it’s forever.
Elizabeth Cartwell’s parents moved away as soon as the police investigation finished. A lot of people moved away. But Mr Gregor showed me a newspaper from Hill City, North Dakota from some years later. The paper was yellow but you could read the black print fine. The story was about a girl who’d killed herself. The photo was of Elizabeth Cartwell. As he held it out for me to see, his hand shook and I felt his breath grow warmer against the skin around my neck. Nothing made him shake as much as what happened to Elizabeth Cartwell, not even the details.
Don Whitman was seventeen when he did it. He was handsome, with wide shoulders and played football. All the girls liked him. He was going to go to college. Maybe that’s why they thought he was ready: they thought he was a man. They thought he’d be with them. It was a school night when they woke him and drove out to the old pumping station, so that he could see everything for himself. They wanted to make him a part of it just like they were. If he saw, he would want it just like they did. I was always told that he drove out there by himself, but Mr Gregor told me that’s part of the lie. He said Don Whitman’s father was in the car with the mayor and the chief of police. He said, “How would he have found the place by himself—why would he have gone looking?”
The place is in a wood not far from the border. Of course, the whole underground is filled with cement now, but you can still see where the opening used to be: a fat tube sticking out of the ground, just big enough for a man to crawl down into. There was a hatch on it then, and thick locks. The hatch was sound-proof. If you stood right beside it, you couldn’t hear a thing, but as soon as you opened the hatch you could smell the insides and hear the moans start to drift upwards into the world. A steel ladder led down. Mr Gregor says they all knew about it, everyone: all the adults. They’d all been down that ladder. All of them had seen it.
Don Whitman went down the ladder, too. He must have smelled the insides grow stronger and heard the moaning echo louder with every rung but he kept going. On the ground above, his father spoke to the mayor and they both felt proud. Don Whitman must have been more scared of coming up and disappointing them than of not going down to the limit. But when he reached the bottom, the very bottom, and put his feet to the hard concrete and saw it before his own eyes, something inside of him must have broken—
“They sugarcoat it and they make a child’s game of it because they’re too scared to remember the truth,” Mr Gregor told me. “They can’t forget it, but it’s a stain to them, so they cover it up and pretend that everything’s clean.”
Don Whitman saw the vastness of the interlocking chambers and, within them, the writhing, ecstatic, swollen no-people of the underground, human-like but non-human, cross-bred mammals draped in plaster-white skin pinned to numb faces, men, women and children, male and female, naked, scared, dirty, with humans—humans Don Whitman knew and recognized—among them, on them and under them, hitting them, squeezing them, making them hurt, making monstrous sounds with them, all under slowly rotating heat lamps, all open and together, one before another, and then someone, someone Don Whitman knew, must have put a hand on Don Whitman’s shoulder and Don Whitman would have asked, “But what now, what am I supposed to do?” and then, from somewhere deep within the chambers, from a place not even Don Whitman would ever see, a voice answered:
“Anything.”
Mr Gregor pulled away from me and I felt my body turn cold. Icy sweat crawled under my collar and below my thighs.
I’d been told Don Whitman had found the old pumping station and lured the police to it, that they’d called others—including Don Whitman’s father—to talk him out of any violence, but that he’d snapped and murdered them all without firing a single shot, with his bare hands, and dumped the bodies into the metal pipe sticking out of the ground, the one just wide enough for a man to fit through. Then he’d disappeared. It wasn’t until days later that Elizabeth Cartwell found the bodies and there was never any sign of Don Whitman after that. The manhunt failed. So the church bells rang, the school was torn down, the pipe was filled in and, ever since, the adults scare their children with the story of the high school boy who’d done a terrible, sinful thing and vanished into thin air.
“And why would she decide to go out there?” Mr Gregor asked—meaning Elizabeth Cartwell—his eyes dead-set through a window at the raining world outside. “It’s as transparent as a sheet of the Bible, every word of it. They all pretend to believe because they’ve all made it up together. But the police reports, the testimony, the news stories, the court records, the verdict: a sham, a falsification made truth because a thousand people and a judge repeat it, word-for-word, every night before bed.”
I tried to stand but couldn’t. My heart was pounding me back into the chair. I was thinking about my mother and father. I had only enough courage for one question, so I asked, “What happened to the no-people?”
Mr Gregor turned suddenly and laughed so fierce the rain lashed the windows even harder. He came toward me. He put a delicate hand on each of my shoulders. He bent forward until his lips were almost touching mine and, his eyes staring at me like one stares at the Devil, said:
“Buried in the concrete. Buried alive, buried dead—”
I pushed him away.
He stumbled backward without losing his balance.
I forced myself off the chair, praying that my legs would keep. My knees shook but held. In front of me, Mr Gregor rasped for air. A few long strands of his thin hair had fallen across his forehead. He was sweating.
“He was a coward, that little boy, Don Whitman. Without him, we wouldn’t need to live under the whip of elaborate lies designed by weaker people turned away and shamed by the power of the natural order of things. They trusted him, and he betrayed us all. The fools! The weakling! Imagine,” Mr Gregor hissed, “just imagine what we could have had, what we could have experienced down there, at the very bottom, in the chambers...”
His eyes spun and his chest heaved as he grew excited, but soon he lost his venom and his voice returned to normal.
Finally, he said without any nastiness, “You’re a wicked one, just like Don Whitman.”
And I ran out.
Danvers prodded me awake. I must have fallen asleep during the night because when I opened my eyes it was morning already. The sun was up and the flames gone, but the fire was still warm. Mr Gregor’s dead face still rested atop a pile of ashes. Cauley was asleep on the dirt across from us. I could tell Danvers hadn’t slept at all. He said he’d been to a farmhouse and called the police. We woke up Cauley and talked over what we’d say when they got here. We decided on something close to the truth: Mr Gregor had taken the three of us camping and, when he tried to do a bad thing, we put up a fight and knocked him into the flames. Cauley said it might be suspicious because of how easily Mr Gregor had burned, but Danvers said that some people were like that—they burned quick and whole—so we needn’t say a word about the gasoline. When the police came, they were professional and treated us fair, but when they took me aside to talk to me about the accident, every time I tried to tell them about the bad things Mr Gregor had done, they wouldn’t hear it, they just said it was a shame there’d been an accident and someone had died.
At home, I asked my parents whether Mr Gregor was a bad person for what he’d done to Danvers and others. My mother didn’t say anything. My father looked at me like he was looking at the Devil himself and said morality was not so simple and that people had differing points of view and that, in the end, much depended not on what you did, but who you did it to—like during the war, for example. There were some who deserved to be done-to and others whose privilege it was to do. Then he picked up his magazine and told me it was best not to think about such things at all.
I did keep thinking about them, and about Don Whitman, too. When I got to high school, I was too old to scare with monsters, but once in a while I’d hear one of the adults tell a kid he better do as he’d been told or Don Whitman would come back and get him. I wondered if maybe people scare others with monsters they’re most scared of themselves. I even thought about investigating: taking a pick-axe to the pumping station and cracking through concrete or investigating records of how much of it had been poured in there. But I figured the records could have been fixed and one person with a pick-axe wouldn’t get far before the police came and I didn’t trust them anymore. I also had homework to worry about and I started seeing a girl.
I’d almost forgotten about Don Whitman by the time my mother sent me out one evening with my dad’s rifle to hunt down a coyote she said had been attacking her hens. I took a bike, because it was quiet, and was roaming just beyond town when I saw something kick up dust in a field. I shot at it, missed and it scurried off. I pedaled after it until it seemingly disappeared into nowhere. I kept my eye firm on the spot I saw it last and when I got close enough, I saw there was a small hole in the ground there. I stuck the rifle in and the hole felt bigger on the inside, so I stomped all around till the hole caved and where there’d been a mouse-sized hole now there was an opening a grown man could fit through. It seemed deep, which made me curious, because there aren’t many caves around here, so I stuck my feet in but still couldn’t feel the bottom. I slid in a little further, and further still, and soon the opening was above my head and I was inside with my whole body.
It was dark but I could feel the ground sloping. When my eyes accustomed to the gloom, I saw enough to tell there was a tunnel leading into the depths and that it was big enough for me to crawl through. I didn’t have a light but I knew it was important to try the hole. Maybe there were no-people at the bottom. Mostly, though, I didn’t think—I expected: that every time I poked ahead with the rifle, I’d hit earth and the tunnel would be done.
That never happened. I descended for hours. The tunnel grew narrower and the slope sharpened. Fear tightened around my chest. I lost track of time. There wasn’t enough space to turn my body around and I’d been descending for so long it was foolish to backtrack. Surely, the tunnel led somewhere. It was not a natural tunnel, I told myself, it must lead somewhere. I should continue until I reached the end, turn around and return to the surface. The trick was to keep calm and keep moving forward.
And I was right. Several hours later the tunnel ended and I crawled out through a hollow in the wall of a huge grotto.
I stood, stretched my limbs and squinted through the dimness. I couldn’t see the other end of the grotto but the wall curved so I thought that maybe if I went along I might get to the other end. My plan of an immediate return to the surface was on hold. I had to see what lived here. Images of no-people raced through my head. I readied my rifle and proceeded, slowly at first. Where the tunnel had been packed dirt and clay, the walls and floor of the grotto were solid rock. There was moisture, too. It flowed down the walls and gathered in depressions on the floor.
Although at first the wall felt smooth, soon I began to feel a texture to it—like a washboard. The ceiling faded into view. The grotto was getting smaller. And the texture was becoming rougher, more violent. I was thinking about the texture and Mr Gregor’s burnt body when a sound sent me sprawling. My elbow banged against the rock and I nearly cried out. My heart was beating like it had beaten me into my chair in the classroom. The sound was real: faint but clear and echoing. It was the sound of continuous and rhythmic scratching.
I crawled forward, holding the rifle in front. The scratching grew louder. I thought about calling out, but suddenly felt foolish to believe in no-people or anything of that kind. It seemed more sensible to believe in large rodents or coyotes with sharp teeth. I could have turned back, but the only thing more frightening than a monster in front is a monster behind, so I pulled myself on.
In fact, I was crawling up a small hill and, when I had reached the top, I looked down and there it was:
His was a human body. Though hunched, he stood on human legs and scratched with human hands. His movements were also clearly a man’s movements. There was nothing feminine about them. His half-translucent skin was grey, almost white, and taut; and if he had any hair, I didn’t see it. His naked body was completely smooth. I looked at him for a long time with dread and disgust. His arms didn’t stop moving. Whatever they were scratching, they kept scratching. Even when he turned and his head looked at me, even as I—stunned—frozen in terror, recoiled against the wall, still his arms kept moving and his hands clawing.
For a few seconds, I thought he’d seen me, that I was done for.
I gripped the rifle tight.
But as I focused on his face, I realized he hadn’t seen me at all. He couldn’t see me. His face, so much like a colourless swollen skull, was punctuated by two black and empty eye sockets.
He turned back to face the wall he was scratching. I turned my face, too. The texture on the wall was his. The deeper the grooves, the newer the work. I put down the rifle and put my hand on the wall, letting my fingers trace the contours of the texture. It wasn’t simple lines. The scratching wasn’t meaningless. These were two words repeated over and over, sometimes on top of each other, sometimes backwards, sometimes small, sometimes each letter as big as a person, and they were all around this vast underground lair, everywhere you looked—
Two words: Don Whitman.
He’d made this grotto. I felt feverish. The sheer greatness, the determination needed to scratch out such a place with one’s bare hands. Or perhaps the insanity—the punishment. If I hadn’t been sitting, a wave of empathy would have knocked me to the wet, rocky floor. I picked up the rifle. I could put Don Whitman out of his misery. I lifted the rifle and pointed it at the distant figure writing his name pointlessly into the wall. With one pull of the trigger, I could show him infinite mercy. I steadied myself. I said a prayer.
Don Whitman stopped scratching and wailed.
I bit down on my teeth.
I hadn’t fired yet.
He grabbed his head and fell to his knees. The high-pitched sound coming from his throat was unbearable. I felt like my mind was being ripped apart. I dropped the rifle and covered my ears. Again, Don Whitman turned. This time with his entire body. He crawled a few steps toward me—still wailing—before stopping and falling silent. He raised his head. Where before had been just eye sockets now there were eyes. White, with irises. Somehow, they’d grown.
He got to his feet and I was sure that he could see me now. He was staring at me. I called his name:
“Don Whitman!”
He didn’t react. Thoughts raced through my mind: what should I do once he comes toward me? Should I defend myself or should I embrace him?
But he didn’t step forward.
He took one step back and lifted his long fingers to his face. His nails, I now saw, were thick and curved as a bird’s talons. He moved them softly from his forehead, down his cheeks and up to his eyes, into which, without warning, he pressed them so painfully that I felt my own eyes burn. When he brought his fingers back out, in each hand he held a mashed and bleeding eyeball. These he put almost greedily into his mouth, one after the other, then chewed, and swallowed.
Having nourished his body, he returned to the wall and began scratching again.
As I watched the movements of his arms, able to follow the pattern of the letters they were carving, I no longer felt like killing him. If he wanted to die, he could die: he could forego water, he could refuse to eat. He didn’t want to die. He wanted to keep scratching his name into the walls of this grotto: Don Whitman, Don Whitman, Don Whitman…
I watched him for a long time before I realized that I would have to get to the surface soon. People would begin to worry. They might start looking for me. And as much as I needed to know the logic behind Don Whitman’s grotto, I also needed food. I couldn’t live down here. I couldn’t eat my own eyes and expect them to grow back. Eventually, I would either have to return to the world above or die.
I put my hand on the grotto wall and began to mentally retrace my steps. A return would not be difficult. All I would need to do was follow—
That’s when I knew.
The geography of it hit me.
The hole I’d entered was on the outskirts of town. The tunnel sloped toward the town. That meant this grotto was below the town. The town hall, the bank, the police station, the school—all of it was lying unknowingly on top of a giant expanding cavity. One day, this cavity would be too large, the town would be too heavy, and everything would collapse into a deep and permanent handmade abyss. Don Whitman would bury the town just as the town had buried the no-people. Everything would be destroyed. Everyone would die. That was Don Whitman’s genius. That was his life’s work.
I picked up the rifle and faced Don Whitman for the final time.
He must have known that I was there. He’d heard me and had probably seen me before he pulled out his eyes, yet he just continued to scratch. Faced with death, he kept working.
As I stood there, I had no doubt that, left in peace, Don Whitman would finish his project. His will was too powerful. The result would be catastrophic. It was under these assumptions that I made the most moral and important decision of my life:
I walked away.

• Please don't contact me if you aren't at least 18 years of age or you’re male, even if you’re the bf or husband! - —

It's not creepy. I'm just appreciating a work of art.
Maybe you've had a man notice you and you wish he didn't turn his head away?
Or maybe you don't get noticed like you deserve to be?
Maybe you've wanted to tease a man and watch the hardness grow in his pants?
Maybe you like to wear skirts sans panties, and would stand over me?
Maybe you've wanted to cheat, sort of, without really, actually?
Maybe you've wanted to feel sexy, without sex?
(While we both have masks on. Double masks, even, because covid. Even if you're married.)
I want to find just one woman to, while in her chosen state of undress, would like a respectful and respectable gentleman to just be there close and observe... and moan and ogle and take in the beautify before him, while keeping his hands to himself.
Don't get me wrong, I really do like sex. And I'm not a prude. I just really like the feminine form, these are not times to be exchanging bodily fluids, and truth be told I wouldn't want to actually get physical with anyone I don't feel an emotional connection to first. (Yes there are men like that.)
Now, I realize a woman would be cautious about being so vulnerable with a stranger so I expect a lot of our initial conversations would be about placating your justifiable concerns. I'm all about that. A gentleman bears the burden of making a lady feel comfortable enough to proceed.
That said, based on experience with a similar post I tried from a now-deleted account of mine that brought no success, what I won't do is play games, converse with someone who won't tell me where she's located, engage in virtual play of any kind, or just answer questions while not being allowed to ask a few of my own. I'm sorry but I will block one-liners and incoherence.
About me: Not a creep! Really, women approach me in public to ask for directions and children approach me to help find their parents. I'm told I look "smart" and "presentable." I attractive enough to be noticed more when I don't have my ring on. Brown hair. White.
About you: No age limit either way. I guess I'm open to anything for this but in general I have been attracted to relatively more innocent appearances on the scale of things. As for race, I have mostly been attracted to Asian, Black, Latina, and white (in alphabetical order. And I suppose just because I haven't even been around a lot of Middle Eastern women?) Be at least somewhat attractive. If you're exceptionally attractive and you're used to men noticing you, or if you're not so sure and want the compliment of having me in a state of agonizing desire, this might be perfect for you. Especially if you're much younger or older and just want the appreciation with no contact.
Important: Obviously I don't mean just "check you out" while behind in line at the grocery or watching you jog by while you are wearing tight clothes, because I wouldn't need to post an ad for that. This would need to be in a private or semi-private space or some place that is so vast that we're so far from everyone that they won't wonder what I'm doing examining you so closely . Consider wearing nothing, yoga clothes, a swimsuit, underwear, etc. Just as obviously, I am not looking for an "online thing" or even talk about this with someone who isn't in the SF Bay Area or Northern California.

And by "Creator" I mean the hypothetically plausible being who created our universe and all that we know.
Our universe is this giant thing filled with galaxies and stars and planets and satellites. And we understand so little about it.
This creator made our eyes. And our ears. Our brains. Dogs and cats. Flowers, trees, and whales in the oceans. Volcanoes. The sky.
This hypothetical creator thought to put us on a giant sphereoid planet so big that it would take you ages to walk the length of it all the way around.
The fact that the Earth is spinning. And gravity keeps us all down.
He thought of all this.
All these things were his idea.
I like to think he thought to himself:
"You know what? I'll have 40 different men, over the course of 1,500 years, write books and letters. But I don't want them to contradict each other. I want them to tell the story of human history, truthfully, and I want these stories to teach people important truths. And I want these stories to tell people who I am. Because I want them to know who I am. I want them to know why the world is the way it is. I want them to know that I am here though they can't see me. I care for them and I can hear every thing they're saying. So I want them to understand that if they talk to me, even silently, then I will hear them. I'm going to tell them to speak to me and throw their burdens on me and I will comfort them because I have that ability and I love these people. I'm also going to make it very clear to these individuals, I'm really going to stress the fact that if they do as I instruct them, then they can be saved from the terrible condition they live in. I'm going to give them a savior and it is by his actions I want them to live. It is his life course that they should imitate and he will be the ultimate exemplar for them. Because I care about them. And they have the right to know why evil currently exists. And how to escape it."
The Bible is exactly what our creator would give us in our condition.
It's a very difficult series of books to disprove. In fact, no one has proven the Bible is wrong. It holds up rather well under scrutiny.
It comforts people. It comforts weak-minded people too, but that's exactly what you would expect from a loving creator.
It has supposed prophecies. And I find them very convincing. I believe they are real prophecies. And that many of these prophecies were fullfilled.
The Bibles stories hit me harder than any other book, or series of books, I've ever read.
Ruth. David, Saul, Jonathan. Job. Peter. Jacob. Joseph. Paul. Stephen. Moses. Aaron. Hannah. Sarah. Eve. Abel. Elijah. Jesus. Joshua. Lot. Abraham. Issac. (Etc)
I take great interest in these stories. They're insanely fascinating.
So many times have I heard people say they aren't impressed by the Bible. That only a stupid or evil God would inspire something like it to be written.
I couldn't disagree more.

I’ve seen a few posts like this, but what are some suggestions you have on appearance?
For context, I’m in my mid twenties and co-own a tattoo shop and I’m definitely more “alternative” looking (colored hair, quite a few tattoos, thicker, etc) and I’ve had a couple of SD’s but I’ve been out of the bowl for awhile following a bad experience and I’m looking to get back in, but I am already successful (my shop does well, in a downtown area of my city) and I just don’t know if I should even bother if my appearance will be an issue.
I know these men tend to like more “girl next door” type of women, but I also know some guys like something different. Any suggestions on what to wear and how to present myself to be more attractive to them? I do typically dress nice, and I take good care of myself appearance and health wise (eat healthy, exercise, skincare routine, nails done, etc)

I'm studying to be a teacher. Part of my education is going to schools and helping out in classes. Today I was with a 3rd grade class, helping some kids with writing and math. At one point I was helping a girl with some math and she asked me that question.
"Are you a girl or a boy?"
It came so unexpectedly and I didn't know what to do. I couldn't out myself because I didn't trust this eight-year-old to keep quiet, but I definitely wasn't going to misgender myself.
So I just brushed off the question and said "let's work on your assignment". But the kid kept questioning me. She asked if I was offended. I said no. Then she said "I think you're a girl because you look like a girl". That made me frown, but I ignored her and said we needed to finish her work. A boy who was sitting close to the girl said this assignment had to be done soon and she should hurry (thanks a lot, little man). After that she kept doing her math and stopped asking about my gender.
I couldn't believe that happened because I don't pass whatsoever. I wear men's clothes, but that only gets me as far as looking like a tomboy. I'm pre-everything and haven't even cut my hair out of fear of being disowned, so even the most trans-friendly people assume that I'm a woman and call me she/her.
I'm not sure why that kid questioned my gender. Was it because of my clothes? I wore jeans and a pink/black striped polo. Sure I was trying to look masc, but the outfit was pretty unisex and would have looked ordinary on a man or a woman. Was it something in my face? Was it just my energy? I have no clue.
What that kid said was both validating and crushing. Validating because I must be giving off some kind of masculine vibe to make her wonder, but crushing because she ultimately thought I was a girl and I didn't feel safe enough to correct her.
Part of me just wanted to tell that girl "I'm actually a boy, but don't tell anyone." It felt so dangerous, though. I wasn't out to anyone at the school and didn't know what might happen if a rumor about my gender got out. And even worse, I'm in a conservative state, so I'm afraid there could be consequences if I came out to students. The school itself is pretty LGBTQ-friendly and some of the kids wear pride gear, but I don't know if that expressive freedom extends to those in a teaching role. And the last thing I want is some parent at my throat for "indoctrinating" their kid.
It was a little heartbreaking because I was faced with a huge reminder that I'm pretending to be someone I'm not so I won't be seen as a danger to kids. I've been planning on either teaching stealth one day or moving somewhere safer and being out, but while I'm still in school I feel like I need to take a lot of caution.
I'm going to ask my teaching program for some guidance. Hopefully I'm just overthinking and I won't get in trouble if people find out I'm trans.

HEY! free haircut, exactly that! been doing hair professionally for 15 years! I need a mens model haircut this sunday the 4th of june (10AM) at The Perfect Gentlemen's Salon in pasadena, located within salon repiblic in the outdoor mall.
Just send me a pic of what your hair looks like and what youd want it cut like, long short medium! whatever you want, no strings attatched as long as you show up at 10am sunday and message me beforehand.
THANKS!
-Drew

My hairline is one of my biggest sources of gender dysphoria, behind my facial hair, and I finally got a day scheduled for the procedure! More so, I’m getting it at half the initial price because they want to do before and after photos of me for their webpage! It’s at St. Louis Hair Restoration and it’s $5000 for 2500 grafts!
This is all very exciting, but please let me know if you all think it’s all a scam. I did go there in person in March and the guy was very straight forward, very knowledgeable, and not at all pushy.
Here’s their page: https://www.stlouishairrestoration.com/hair-transplantation-st-louis/fut/
I will keep you all updated and document my process!

On today’s episode of ‘Things I never thought would happen to me’, two human-snake hybrids with long snouts and colorful scales cried in my arms. Despite the unsettling texture of their scales, I instinctively hugged them in a vain attempt to comfort them. It took me half a minute to process what was happening.
Elincia worked at an orphanage.
[Awareness]: Of course she does.
I ignored the System prompt and focused on the kids crying against my chest. Elincia seemed to be too busy dealing with the seven or eight bawling kids at the same time.
“What happened, sweetie?” I asked, trying to sound reassuring.
The snake girl with shining blue and white scales tried to hold back the tears, and she made it for a brief second, but then she wrapped her arms around my neck and burst into tears again. By the way she trembled, I could tell she was scared.
“Hey, hey. It's okay. Elincia is already here. There is nothing to worry about.” I said, softly patting her back.
My words, as I should have expected, caused the kids to cry even harder. This wasn’t my first rodeo with teary small kids, however, it was my first time holding two snake-human hybrids. I wonder what had happened for the kids to be this distressed, a quick inspection told me they weren’t hurt.
The door opened again and a thin elven kid with fair blonde hair and dark circles around his eyes appeared in the doorway. Just as the rest of the orphans, he was dressed with well-worn oversized clothes. The elven kid was older than the rest of the kids but couldn’t be more than twelve or thirteen years old.
I wondered if he was Elincia’s kid but I quickly discarded that theory, there was no trace of human blood in his appearance. The boy seemed to be a pureblood elf.
“What’s happening, Zaon?” Elincia asked over the generalized bawling and I noticed a trembling in her voice, as if she was also about to burst into tears.
The elven kid walked down the flight of stairs and raised his voice to be heard over the generalized bawling.
“M-m-mister Holst left the orphanage f-five days ago. Ilya and I tried to keep things under control but the small ones were nervous without you around. They thought you were going to be gone forever.” Zaon stuttered.
My heart clenched at hearing the kids had been on their own for a whole week. I understood now why the small ones were so scared. Elincia’s angered voice caught my attention.
“Mister Holst did what?!” Elincia exclaimed and the weeping sound of the kids suddenly died, leaving an awkward silence behind.
“Mister Holst had an imp-p-portant Class breakthrough so he left the orphanage to go to the imperial capital. That was five days ago.” Zaon repeated, stuttering the same syllables. “We took care of the cooking and the bedtime of the small ones. I couldn’t get them to shower, I’m sorry.”
My heart shrunk even further.
“You did well, Zaon. Please take the kids inside, I need to talk to Elincia for a moment.” I said, gently putting the snake-children down. “We’ll be joining you in a moment.” I added seeing the kids didn’t let Elincia go.
Zaon nodded and led the way followed by a dozen reluctant small kids who casted anxious glances at Elincia as they entered the manor. After a moment, we were left alone in the front yard.
“I’m going to fucking kill him, that weasel.” Elincia turned around and walked towards the iron gate.
I grabbed her wrist, she tugged but I didn’t let go.
Elincia’s face was red from anger and her knuckles turned white as she clenched her fists. She had done well hiding her anger from the kids. Adult problems should be dealt with by adults.
“I should’ve known something like this was going to happen. I’m so stupid for trusting Holst.” Elincia covered her face with both hands.
“Who’s Holst?”
“Holst is a Scholar who comes to the orphanage a couple times a week to teach the kids. He had a temper but I thought learning under the guidance of a high level Scholar would help the kids.” Elincia replied. “I was so blind. Of course he didn't care about the kids, he was just cultivating his class!”
I understood the general contempt Elincia showed towards the Scholar class now. Holst sounded like a despicable person.
“The kids are safe and that’s what matters the most.” I said, grabbing Elincia by the shoulders and forcing her to look at me. “You should be proud of yourself, Elincia, your kids faced an emergency and managed to get by. You raised them well.”
Elincia dropped her shoulders and took a deep breath with her eyes closed. When she opened her eyes again, she seemed to have regained her composure.
“You are right… but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to kill Holst if he puts a foot in this orphanage ever again.” She grinned with a wicked smile and I knew she was being serious.
“I’ll lend you my shotgun if you don’t mind cleaning up the aftermath.” I grinned back.
“Gross. I love it.” Elincia laughed, leaving behind the bad feelings and walking to the entrance of the manor. She signaled to follow her. “Welcome to Lowell’s Orphanage. You should call me Miss Elincia while the kids are around.”
I followed her.
The reception room was a spacious area with faded white walls and a tall ceiling, adorned solely with an old couch and a couple of worn out chairs. Square areas of less weathered white paint on the walls showed the places where old paintings had hung long ago. On the opposing wall, a great window overlooked the inner courtyard. I caught a glimpse of a small farm plot, a well, and a small groove.
The whole manor seemed to have seen better days but it felt cozy and welcoming.
“This is our home. And these orphaned children are my family.” Elincia said with a mix of pride and embarrassment. She opened her arms in a gesture that encompassed the entire room.
We left the receiving room behind and Elincia led me to the west wing of the manor into a corridor filled with sunlight. To the right there was the backyard and to the left a row of closed doors. Behind the only open door there was a classroom with rows of small worn-out desks lined up facing a worn-out chalkboard. Over each desk there was an old small wax tablet with their respective styluses.
“That is our schoolroom. It ain’t much but it’s quite handy during cold and rainy days. I try to teach the kids to read and write before they leave the orphanage.” Elincia said as she caught me looking inside.
My brain connected the dots and a sense of sadness got a sudden hold on me.
The Kingdom was at war and those who served as fodder were the least fortunate ones. I wondered how many of Elincia’s orphans ended up in the king’s army fighting in the Farlands to never come back home. But my sadness wasn’t solely aimed at the orphans, Elincia was rowing against a storm in a ship that was sailing to nowhere.
“It looks cozy.” I said.
We turned at the corner and found the harpy girl with the white pillowcase dress slowly walking down the corridor. The wooden floor clacked as she tried to catch up with the rest of the orphans but her talons were too big for her small body, making her steps slow and clumsy. She was more than ten meters behind but seemed unfazed by the matter.
The diminutive harpy saw us walking in her direction and stopped. It was my first time seeing a harpy. Her face was human but a pair of wings covered by golden feathers protruded from her pillowcase dress. She waited patiently for us, blocking the path.
“I haven’t peed myself in five days.” The harpy girl proudly declared, putting her hands on her hips and adopting a defiant pose I had seen in Elincia before.
“Shu, you don’t just…” Elincia looked at me, horrified, and I couldn’t help but let out a small laugh.
I squatted to Shu’s height and smiled. “You were so brave! I’m sure Miss Rosebud is happy to hear that.”
The harpy girl chuckled.
“You used the forbidden word. You are going to get scolded by Miss Elincia.” Shu hid her face beneath a wing. Before I could say anything else, Elincia grabbed her by the armpits and lifted her, interrupting our conversation.
Was ‘Rosebud’ a forbidden word?
“I’m going to prepare something to eat for the kids, you can wait in the classroom. I’m going to send Zaon over with a water basin.” Elincia said before Shu could add any extra outrageous comment.
Elincia and Shu followed the rest of the orphans and I came back to the classroom. Once alone, I punched the wall with full force, provoking a throbbing pain in my hand. My sadness had turned into anger. Holst was lucky to be away from Farcrest, otherwise I would be tempted to use one of my two remaining shells on him. I didn’t have a drop of sympathy for people who abandoned children.
I entertained myself with macabre fantasies until the left door opened again and Zaon entered the room carrying a large water basin.
“Miss Elincia says you can use her study to wash up. Then you can throw the water to the plants under the window.” Zaon said as he walked back to the corridor.
I followed him until we reached a closed door just by the corner of the corridor.
“This is the living quarters. The small kids sleep in the common room. We, the older ones, have our own rooms.” Zaon explained pointing with the head at the doors further down the living quarters. “This is Miss Elincia’s study.”
As I stepped into Elincia’s study, a floral smell filled my nostrils. The air was thick, as if I had walked into a greenhouse and I couldn’t help but take a deep breath, enjoying the fragrance.
The room was immaculately tiddy. A large bookshelf covered one of the walls and a wide writing desk was situated just under the window. A shabby bed was tucked in a corner with a knitted quilt neatly folded at the foot. On the night table there was a flower vase and a small diary.
[Awareness]: You have entered the forbidden dungeon: Elincia’s Bedroom.
The prompt made me stop dead in my tracks but no hidden traps were triggered by my presence.
The lack of knives and hunting trophies hanging from the walls made me think this belonged to the Governess and not the adventure junkie I had met in the woods. A sense of serenity emanated from the room and I understood that, for the orphans, this was a place of peace and safety.
Zaon put the water basin in the corner over a dresser and rummaged through the desk’s drawer. He pulled out a pearlescent soap bar, a threadbare towel, and a change of men's clothes from the chest at the foot of the bed. I wondered who the previous owner was.
“Thank you, Zaon.” I thanked the kid as I sat in a small stool by the water basin and washed my hands and forearms. I had a hundred questions to ask him but I didn’t want to entertain him, Elincia probably needed Zaon’s help to deal with the smaller kids.
Zaon nodded and looked at me with curiosity.
“Speak your mind.” I said, realizing I wasn’t going to get privacy until I answered some questions.
Zaon was startled for a moment but he quickly made up his mind.
“C-c-can I? Really? Who are you? Your accent is strange.” He inquired.
“I am Robert Clarke, a Scholar from a faraway land.” I introduced myself, wondering how much information I should disclose to the kids. Or how much information I could get from them. “I met Miss Rosebud in the Farlands and tagged along on the way back here.”
“Are you here to replace Mister Holst… sir?” Zaon got tangled up in his words, unable to figure out the right amount of deference required to address me. I smiled, trying to seem reassuring.
“This is my first time here in Farcrest so I have to meet the Marquis first. I don’t even know if I could stay.” I replied, deciding to tell Zaon the truth. “Miss Rosebud told me about the Imperial Library, so I’m tempted to go to the capital to cultivate my class.”
The kid nodded in awe. For someone from a backwater town like Farcrest, the imperial capital must be a place of wonder and mystery.
“Miss Elincia doesn’t like to be called that.” Zaon pointed out.
“Rosebud?”
“Yes.”
“I think it's a charming name.” I shrugged my shoulders thinking it was too much of a cute name for someone as tough as Elincia.
I waited for a moment, expecting a sassy System prompt to slap me on the face but none appeared. Good. The last thing I needed was more titles about my politically incorrect thoughts. Zaon looked around, as if there were spies somewhere between the walls, before continuing talking.
“I think that too, sir. A truly charming elven name.” Zaon muttered full of pride but suddenly he seemed to realize he had overextended his stay. “I’m not taking more of your time, sir.” He politely added as he left the room at a quick pace.
Finding the key inside the hole, I locked the door before taking my shirt off, and started scrubbing my body. The soap was the size of a small stack of coins and it didn’t produce much foam but it was more than enough after all those days trekking through the Farlands. It felt good to be clean once again. My old shirt was ruined after my adventure in the forest so the new one felt nice even if it was a bit oversized and the fabric coarser.
When I was finished, I opened the window and discarded the dirty water on the clump of bushes and flowers that adorned the mansion’s exterior. Then I unlocked the door and returned to the classroom feeling like a new man.
As I was sitting in the classroom, I saw a group of kids spying on me from the corridor’s windows. I acted like I hadn't seen them. Instead, I let them quench their curiosity while I mindlessly drew doodles on a wax tablet. Zaon probably already informed the rest of the orphans about my identity.
“Here you are.” Elincia said with a tired voice as she stood on the doorway. She carried a tray with a wooden bowl filled with steamy soup. “Scared of being alone in a girl’s bedroom?”
I was about to make a snarky remark when I remembered the kids spying on us. Elincia seemed to notice too because she quickly added. “Shall we discuss our deal in my study?”
I followed Elincia into her bedroom and she invited me to sit at the timeworn desk. Then, she handed me a bowl of soup and a piece of old bread. The soup had a few pieces of vegetables floating on the surface similar to carrots and potatoes. I did what any logical person would’ve done.
Elincia’s Vegetable Soup. [Identify] Edible. A watery, bland, and unseasoned soup made from various donated ingredients. It’s warm.
Luckily enough, Elincia didn’t realize I was using [Identify] on her soup. I put the spoon in my mouth. The flavor was indeed watery and bland but it was the first warm food I had since I arrived in this world, and it felt great. As I dipped the bread into the soup, Elincia untied her padded jacket, revealing a white blouse and a washed out light blue bodice that adhered to her figure.
I wasn’t completely ready for some Renaissance Fair action but I managed to keep my eyes glued to the bowl of soup. Elincia stretched her back and rotated her shoulders with feline grace before settling on the chair.
“You look good disguised as a governess, I almost bought it.” I said, fighting to keep my eyes away from Elincia’s delicate yet strong shoulders. If I didn’t know better, I would swear Elincia had a twin sister that looked after the orphanage while she explored the Farlands.
Elincia looked around as if there were spies in the walls before replying.
“Fuck off, Robert Clarke.” The woman whispered, rolling her eyes. “And thank you for helping me with the kids. You navigated the situation pretty well.” She added in an almost shy tone.
“Didn’t I say I was a teaching focused Scholar?” I replied with a smug voice.
“Yeah, I remember hearing an excuse like that for your lack of level.” Elincia grinned. “Now, show me the goods, I have a sick kid waiting for a potion.”
I brought my backpack I had left forgotten in the corner and started lining the bundles of herbs and roots over Elincia’s working desk.
“When you told me you had a sick kid I thought you meant your son or daughter.” I pointed out.
“Yeah, no. I already have enough kids around.” Elincia laughed as her eyes greedily pried over my alchemical loot.
I wondered if one of her skills allowed her to measure the herb’s magic concentration. Something like [Identify] but for Alchemists.
“Not to mention I’d need a man for that. A good one for that matter.” Elincia added.
“You don't have an army of volunteers lining up at the orphanage’s doors?” I jokingly asked. With her looks, she could have a fan club following her everywhere back on Earth.
Suddenly, Elincia forgot about the ingredients and locked her eyes with mine.
“Oh? Mister Scholar is interested in my relationship status now?” She gave me the biggest shit-eating grin I had seen in my life. And that was a lot to say considering Elincia’s mischievous personality.
“Dream on.” I quickly replied. Elincia’s big mouth made it difficult to feel bad for her.
You have obtained Denial Lv.3. Temporary.
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Hey everyone, Little about me I started T April 29th of this year so haven’t changed anything I still have long hair , don’t want to make the big cut till my voice gets deep enough where I can cut my hair and possibly pass and how I dress so far is eh I mean nobody can really tell i wear men’s clothes so they look like regular clothes anyone can wear. But anyways , I am transferring to csun fall 23 for marine biology major and would like to make new friends at a new school to just hangout and talk about things that others can’t relate too . So any , stealth trans men or trans men go to csun ?

Hey everyone, Little about me I started T April 29th of this year so haven’t changed anything I still have long hair , don’t want to make the big cut till my voice gets deep enough where I can cut my hair and possibly pass and how I dress so far is eh I mean nobody can really tell i wear men’s clothes so they look like regular clothes anyone can wear. But anyways , I am transferring to csun fall 23 for marine biology major and would like to make new friends at a new school to just hangout and talk about things that others can’t relate too . So any , stealth trans men or trans men go to csun ?

HEY! been doing hair professionally for 15 years! I need a mens model haircut this sunday the 4th of june (10AM) at The Perfect Gentlemen's Salon in pasadena, located within salon repiblic in the outdoor mall.
Just send me a pic of what your hair looks like and what youd want it cut like, long short medium! whatever you want, no strings attatched as long as you show up at 10am sunday and message me beforehand.
THANKS!
-Drew