When you find cherries at the markets for $5/kg😍😍 these vibrant fruit bowls have been my daily go-to for a post-beach afternoon energy boost👅 Here we have vibrant Mango Pomegranate Sorbet (made with @nature.restore pomegranate powder), topped with crunchy homemade granola + fresh sweet cherries👌🏼🍒
Hope you all make a great start to the week!🌟
❤️ (i was also wondering if you could tell us about your adventures in paris sometime?) / bambi
Paris was and always will be the summer I felt happiest, the summer I got to hold my own hand, the summer that the world felt infinite and my bones grew stronger from all the romance and nostalgia and magic.
Paris was a balcony apartment in a beautiful garden walk-up and the three girls I shared it with, the stories we wrote across pavement, getting so drunk in the afternoons and playing music and dancing barefoot, all culminating in smoking cigarettes and eating sandwiches over the city in the 14th arrondisement as the sun turned the sky pink with modesty at our ramblings before the stars perked up and came to listen.
Paris was a film class in the muggy dark, our teacher the epitome of a French woman - sleek bob, shoulders bare, the topic of sex always fresh on her tongue - it was Amelie, La Haine, good conversation over better whiskey or wine, the haze of abstract cinematography, and blurry-eyed staring over concrete and grass.
Paris was soft, but it was also electric. We were lightening bolts across the Champs and in that secret club under the Ponte Alexander. We were sparklers with the rich kids, trying $800 champagne and yelling at the tops of our lungs in formal wear and red lipstick.
Paris was not Paris at all - but a venture back in time to Versailles, sundresses and strawberries on a long train ride, heads on each other’s shoulders as the buildings crumpled into sprawling fields. It was marble and gilded gold and royalty’s pale ghosts, sorbet by crystal lakes and wearing the handprints of lost queens on our shoulders. And after, hitching a bus to nowhere, stumbling across vibrant fruit and flower fields on the countryside and spending hours eating veggies and building bouquets from the ground, only to realize that the last ride back home had come and gone - and we had to hitchhike till dark, doubled over with laughter and the thrill of danger.
Paris was an affair. It was an effingaffair with my high school crush who I encountered in Europe and spent a blissful week with four years after I swore I was going to marry that exchange student someday then thought I’d never see him again. It was parted lips, brushes of skin, legs dangling over the Seine, hips swaying, eyes meeting in the dark, staring breathlessly at the ceiling with my favorite, favorite stranger.
Paris was an adventure. It was buying the perfect dress and smoking too much and always eating outside and making mistakes and crying with my friends for all that I had lost and was about to gain, sight-seeing and bright lights along the Seine bringing tears to my eyes, making me want the world for myself, all while folding over museums and boutiques, roses, fresh tattoos, and heartbreak.
It was everything it had promised me it would be when I was eight years old and hanging up a picture of the Eiffel Tower in my dingy little room, paper cut fingers and thumbtacks.I’m going to make it there someday.
I instruct Dan to free the slimy object from its peel. I receive a questioning facial expression from him, but he nevertheless obeys, slowly slipping off the peel. His fingers are immense, but they’re simply diminutive compared to this banana.
I instruct him to place it on his arm, and he obeys, releasing three moans as I touch him. He reluctantly wraps it around his neck, the most sensitive area of his body, obeying me.
I shove it into his shirt. It touches his smooth, bare back. It’s a sexy sight.
He promptly begins to slap me with it. I’m astonished by this impromptu wave of dominance. He persistently hits me, leaving marks on the pale flesh beneath my Steven Universe shirt.
He grabs me, shoving the banana into my own shirt. We’ve always been more into the cherry flavor and scent sexually, but I believe that this banana will suffice.
I remove the banana from his hand, instructing him to bend over. When he obeys, I begin to palm him through his jeans, my hand drenched in banana chunks.
He moans, pleading for me not to tease him in this way.
I instruct him to remove his pants and underwear, and once he does, I spank him with the banana, receiving a satisfying wince from the younger boy with each hit.
I slowly slide the banana from his back to his testicles, savoring the sight of the banana on each area of his body before moving to the next.
“Get the lube,” Dan whines.
I shake my head. “It’s already moist.”
Lacking a warning, I forcefully shove the banana into his rectum, smashing it into pieces inside of him.
He shrieks as I scoop chunks of the banana out of his rectum using my bare hands, coating my dick and his in the yellow substance.
I shove my penis into his rectum, deepening the banana, witnessing the pain in his eyes. I thrust more and more rapidly, earning an abundance of satisfying moans from the younger boy.
I remove my penis from his rectum and instruct him to blow me. He obeys, swirling his tongue around my tip, tasting the vibrant flavor of the fruit. I push his head further onto me and release banana-tasting cum into his mouth.
Once he swallows, I grab his dick, shoving chunks into his slit and removing them as he screams. I stretch his banana-coated dick out before he releases into my hand.
I fist him, pounding the banana in his body. It grows deeper and deeper. He screams and cums.
“We’ll get that out tomorrow,” I assure him, nibbling at the banana on his earlobe.
Loes Heerink wants you to see what she sees: “the art that street vendors create every day.”
The Hanoi, Vietnam-based artist plans to release a book of photographs of street vendors in Hanoi taken from above — artful, vibrant compositions of fruits, vegetables, and flowers balanced in baskets on the vendors’ bicycles. See more and support the projecthere.