Two Scoop Paradise Pt. III

You stand there naked with a white towel slung low around your hips, still damp from the shower.  He doesn’t know you’re standing there behind him.  Water still traced slow down your chest, over the ridges of your abs, and disappearing into the dark hair trail below your navel.  Steam radiates off your body.

The deep, masculine scent hadn’t been washed away — not fully.  Beneath the clean water was a heavier, earthier musk of hours on court: sweat, effort, and that unmistakable, earned testosterone smell that clung to your skin.  A smell that hit the nose like caramel; almost like butterscotch in its heaviness.

Your Nike tennis bag sat there half-open on the bench, abandoned in a rush.  The wolf stood there with his back to you, peering into it.  He glanced to the left and to the right to make sure he was alone.  When he safely believed he was alone, his hand reached for the bag.  He stopped halfway, conflicted.  He knew he shouldn’t.  It was risky.  He looked around once more, checking for safe measure.  The coast is clear. 

It was so close.  The sweat of your effort.  All concentrated in one spot.  Laying there in a heap.  And he wanted to know.  Your smell.  What was it like?  He had to know.  Curiosity got better of him, so he reached into your bag for the freshly used clothes.

His hand shook slightly from the thrill as he touched the shirt first.  He lifted it slowly, the material still warm, still holding the shape of your body that had worn it.  The cotton was damp in places, darkened at the collar and under the arms where exertion had soaked through.  He brought it to his face and breathed in.

For a moment he saw it, the sacred vessel that is your body in motion: muscles flexing in the shirt as you do your ball toss for a serve.  He loved the way your face looked when you served, the look of extreme concentration.  He imagines the way the shirt moves across your toned arms for a clean volley.  The charged way the fabric rubs and soaks in sweat around your armpit as you hit an overhead, the shirt clinging tighter with every point won, every chase run, and every quick burst of speed.

He let the shirt fall back into the bag and reached deeper.

The socks came next.  He wasn’t typically into feet, but he’s into your feet.  He couldn’t explain why.  It was something special he’d felt only for you.  Didn’t hurt that you had a gorgeous pair.  Of feet that is.  He held the socks out like treasure.  They were freshly used.   Faintly damp at the soles.  He turned one inside out.  The pheromone hit his face.  For others, maybe he’d find it offensive but for you, a total turn on.  His cock swelled in his suit pants at the taboo smell.  The wolf was so fucked up in what he found sexy.  It was weird.  Maybe it was those champion feet?    The smell was so concentrated here on this foot patch turned inside out — salty, foot musk, the raw byproduct of constant pivots and lunges.  His cock twitched beneath his suit.

He imagined your body staying balanced and lethal even as the socks grew wetter with sweat.  He inhaled it gain, slower this time, letting the scent settle low in his chest as his cock drew to a full aching erection.

You watch him with sharp intent.  Seeing somebody so consumed with the byproduct of your effort and filth.  Many would find repulsive or creepy, but here with the wolf it felt different.  It felt like he truly is obsessed with your scent.  He reached in your bag for more.

His hand closed around your sweaty shorts.  His attention went straight to the back.  There, right where the ass met the seam, that darker patch of sweat.  The sweat had gathered there from blood-flow.  And the constant movement of your gluteal folds, driving forward and backward.  Fuck!  So hot. 

Some would find it embarrassing or gross but to the wolf he found it intoxicating.  He couldn’t get enough.   The drip from your million-dollar body in this patch.  Large and unmistakable.  Totally obvious.  He thought of how hard you worked for victory.  So hard that even your most hidden place grew slick with sweat.  He imagined the wetness there.  Sweat and effort.  Then he buried his nose right at the spot your asshole rubbed and sweat.  The wolf turned feral.

He closed his eyes and saw it again, your body doing what it does best: the shorts riding up slightly with every step, the friction building exactly at this spot, the body so honest in its rawness.  His breathing changed.  He pressed the patch to his face and held it, letting the smell of intimate sweat fill him.  He got greedy and pushed the fabric up his nostrils, as if wanting the smell to live in his nasal cavity so he can breathe you as he goes about his day.

Only then did he reach inside the shorts for the underwear.

They were stuck so the wolf had to detangle them, yet still the undies were warm from your body it held all session.  He lifted them slowly, turning them in his hands. They felt so powerful in his hands.  Like treasure.  He surveyed the pouch where your cock and balls rested.  The fabric felt hot.  The heat of your sex so overwhelming it imprinted the undies.  So hot that the cotton itself couldn’t cool itself down after such a potent organ occupied its space.  He looked at the pouch all stretched in places, darkened with a mix of sweat and that heavy Murcian musk.  The deep smell of a man needing release after hours of movement.

The wolf brought it to his nose and inhaled deeply.  This scent was most hypnotic and beyond potent: the sharp edge of Spanish bull cock.  Testosterone mixed with this deeper, personal smell of your skin that was so personal and specific to your champion skin.  The wolf’s own cock throbbed hard now, trapped and aching in his formal suit pants.

He stayed like that for a long moment, the underwear held to his face, eyes closed, completely lost in it. The worship was quiet but total — every item had been a map, every scent a memory of the body that had created it, moving with that effortless, devastating power on the court.

You didn’t speak right away.

You simply watched.

You lean your shoulder against the lockers and cross your arms over your chest.  The movement caused the towel to shift lower on your hips.

The wolf froze.  He felt you before he saw you.  And his body went stiff.

For a long moment, neither moved.  Only the sound of soft water dripping from your hair onto the tile.

The wolf turned his head slowly, still holding the undies to his face like he couldn’t bear to let them go.  When his gaze finally met yours, the shame that flooded his expression was immediate and raw.  His cheeks burned scarlet red.

But still, he didn’t let go.  Of either eye contact or the undies.

You tilted your head slightly, studying him.  Your voice, when it came, was low and calm.

“Keep going.” You speak.

The wolf’s breath hitched.

You push off the lockers and walked toward him, slow and unhurried.  Every step made the towel shift against your skin.  The wolf’s eyes dropped for a second — down the line of your chest, the cut of your stomach, the way the towel hung dangerously low — before snapping back up to your face.

You stop just in front of him.

You reach down and take the undies from his hand, bringing them up to your own nose for a moment, inhaling once, then dropping them onto the bench beside him.

The wolf swallowed hard.  His throat worked visibly.

You reached down and hooked a finger under the wolf’s chin, tilting his face up.

“Take the jacket off.”

The wolf hesitated for only a second before shrugging out of the suit jacket.  It fell to the floor behind him in a soft heap.  His white shirt was already damp at the collar from the heat of the moment.  His nipples erect and peeping through his white shirt.

You watch him for another long moment.  Next without any warning you turn around and place your back to him.  You turn your head to the side and look at him out the corner of your eye.  Next you smirk.  That cheeky devilish knowing grin where you’re absolutely know what you’re about to do next.  You take one of those godlike feet and place it on the locker bench next to you.  Finally, you drop your towel to the ground exposing those glorious Spanish globes.  The wolf stood there shocked.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?”  You said teasingly as you arched your back, teasing exposure to your inner ring.

The wolf stood there stunned.  You attacked him the same way you did on the court: unexpectedly and totally unpredictable.  The swift leg up on the locker bench arched back movement happened so quickly, he hardly had time to register it even happening.  This is what made you so deadly.  The unexpected action.  Leading the wolf to feel like he stepped into a fever dream.

“On your hands and knees.”  You order.

The wolf’s eyes flickered with something between shame and hunger.  Slowly, he lowered himself down until both hands were flat on the cool tile.  The position made his back arch slightly, the expensive fabric of his trousers pulling tight across his ass.

The moment hung in the air, charged.

You reach back with one hand, fingers spread across the firm muscle of your own ass as you pull yourself open, inch by inch.  At first, it was just the shape of you: the powerful lines of your strong back narrowing down to your waist, the skin smooth like olive oil.  Then slowly revealing the most intimate part of your body.  Your movement was unhurried, almost casual.  Like it was nothing.  But the effect it has on the wolf was anything but casual.

His hands, which had been resting on his thighs, slowly curled into fists.

Gradually more was revealed.  The deep crease between your cheeks came into view.  The air in the room seemed to change as the scent of him became stronger: that deep, masculine musk that lingered.  Warm.  Earthy.  Concentrated.

You turn your head to the side, getting off on his reaction and ask him completely unprovoked: “Why smell it on my clothes when you can smell the real thing right here?”

The wolf’s eyes moved slowly, almost reluctantly, as if he was afraid of looking at it too directly.  When he finally settled on what it is that you were showing him, something in the wolf’s posture changed.  His shoulders dropped a fraction.  His head tilted slightly forward without him seeming to notice.  His lips parted, but no sound came out.

He was staring at your asshole.

Not with simple hunger but with something so raw and consuming.  His eyes moved over every detail of your hole like he was trying to memorize it: the way the skin looked there, the subtle texture, the way it tightened and relaxed with each of your slow breaths.  He loved how it shifted slightly as you adjusted your grip, and the wolf’s eyes followed it.

You could feel the weight of that stare.  You didn’t turn around.  You didn’t speak.  You simply kept yourself held open, letting the wolf look for as long as he wanted.

The wolf had gone completely still.  Even his breathing seemed to have slowed, like he had forgotten how to do it properly.  His eyes didn’t move away. They stayed locked on hole, wide and unblinking, like he was afraid that if he looked away even for a split-second, it would disappear.

You let the silence stretch.  Letting him sit in it.  Making him feel the full weight of what was being shown to him — not just the body, but the fact that it was being offered in this way.  Deliberately.  Slowly.  Without urgency.

The suited man looked like he had stopped existing anywhere else except in the space between his eyes and the show you were giving him.

* 

You jerked your head to the side: “Come closer,” you dared.

The wolf slowly crawled forward on his hands and knees with his eyes fixed on your pink shrivelled pucker buried under all the hair.  He moved forwards, wolflike in the way he crawled.  Almost predatory and slow. 

You stayed exactly where you were, holding yourself open.  The sight most inviting.

The wolf was frozen, his breathing had gone shallow and uneven, fearful that if he breathed too loudly, suddenly the moment would end.

You glance over your shoulder, with a sexy arrogant smirk on your face.  You knew what he wanted.  What he’d been waiting for.  You felt so slutty in this moment.  Not in a bad way but in an emboldened way.  Like you just knew you were rewiring the wolf’s pleasure centre with sight and smell alone.  Recognizing that what the wolf was experiencing will be etched inside his brain forever.  And that he’d probably masturbate to this for all eternity.  Knowing this makes you feel so desired in this moment, with a slow, amused cocky smirk tugging at the corner of your lips.

“You’re staring like you’ve never seen one before,” you said, voice low and teasing. “It’s just an ass.”

The wolf didn’t answer.  He couldn’t.  His eyes were still fixed.  Pupils blown wide.  Like he’s on drugs.  But the drug is your asshole.

You shift your weight slightly, just enough to make the skin move under your hands.  The dark hairs around your hole brushed lightly across the locker room air.  The suited man made a small, involuntary sound in the back of his throat.

You chuckle softly.

“Close your mouth,” you say. “You’re going to drool on the floor.”

The wolf’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t pull back.  He was getting closer now.  The smell growing stronger.  The sight becoming clearer.  He leaned in a fraction closer, like he just couldn’t help himself.  You could feel the heat of his presence approaching your back — as if the air around the wolf carried his own heat as he drew closer.

You give your ass the smallest, deliberate wiggle, just enough to make everything shift and flex in front of his face.

“Do you like that?” he asked, almost conversationally. “The way it looks and smells?”

The man’s hands flexed against his own thighs.  His voice, when it finally came, was rough and quiet.

“Please…”

You hummed low, pretending to consider it.

“Please what?” you asked. “Be specific. I like it when you’re specific.”

The man swallowed hard. His eyes never leaving your perfect hole.

“Please… let me taste it.”

You let the silence stretch for a few seconds, still holding yourself open.  Then you spoke again, voice dripping with amusement.

“You want to eat my ass that badly?” he cooed softly. “After everything else you’ve done tonight?  Sniffing and licking my dirty shorts and underwear, sniffing my socks like an animal. and now you’re on your knees, drooling because I turned around and showed you my asshole?”

He gave another small, teasing roll of his hips, letting the sight wash over the wolf all over again.

“You’re filthy,” you say, almost fondly. “I like that.”

The wolf’s cock was visibly straining against his trousers now, a dark, embarrassing wet patch forming at the front.  He looked like he was barely holding it together.

“You can look,” you say. “You can even smell. But no taste yet.”

He shifted his grip, pulling himself open just a little wider.

“Not until I say so.”

The wolf’s breathing hitched again.  He looked like he was one slow breath away from leaning in and taking what he wanted — but he didn’t.  He knew you liked restraint and control, so he stayed right where he was, on all fours, trembling with the effort to hold himself back.

You glanced back again, catching his eyes.

“Good,” you murmur. “At least now you’re learning how to wait.”

You stay like that for a while longer — ass spread, hole on full display, the heavy, masculine scent rolling off you in waves — while the wolf was on all fours behind you, completely undone and forced to do nothing but look and take it in.

You were clearly enjoying every second of it.

*

But then something shifted.

Without being told, the wolf slowly sat back on his heels for a moment, looking up at you with something heavy in his eyes.  Then, without breaking eye contact, he shifted backward.

He crawled back a metre until there was enough space in between them.  Only then did he raise up onto his knees, straightening his back.  You sensed him wanting your attention, so you bring your towel up around your waist again and turn around to enjoy the show. 

It was time for the wolf’s response.  You didn’t think you could do all this teasing and not have a response from the prideful wolf now did you?  

His hands moved to the top button of his white shirt.  His eyes never leaving yours.  The wolf’s fingers worked slowly, deliberately.  Undoing one button at a time.  When he reached the middle buttons, the shirt fell open wider, exposing the firm lines of his pecs and the defined shape of his chest.  He wasn’t overly bulky, but his body was clearly strong — the kind of build that came from discipline rather than show.  Sweat from the humid room had dampened the shirt further against his skin in places, making it cling slightly.

The wolf kept going, undressing slower now.  When he reached the final buttons, he paused.  His eyes stayed locked on yours as he finished unbuttoning the shirt completely.  He shrugged it off his shoulders and let it fall behind him, leaving his upper body bare.

Then he lifted his right hand and cupped his right pec.  His fingers brushed over the right side of his chest before gently pinching the nipple between his thumb and forefinger.  He held it there for a second and closed his eyes.  He leaned back as if to steady himself.  It was still sensitive to touch.  He slowly pulled his fingers away to reveal what he was hiding.

A silver barbell.  Right through the right nipple.

It sat horizontally. The metal was simple, clean, but the surrounding flesh told a different story.  Even months later, the piercing still hadn’t fully settled.  It would take months to heal he was told.  The pink skin around the barbell was still slightly puffy, the tiny entry and exit points not completely closed.  It looked sensitive — tender in a way that suggested it still reacted to touch, to friction, and especially to attention.

The wolf stuck his chest out proudly, allowing you see it fully.

The air in the room changed.

Your cock, which had been half-hard under the towel, thickened noticeably.  The head flushed darker as blood rushed south.  Your jaw tightened for a moment, and your eyes stayed fixed on that single silver barbell like it was the only thing left in the room.

The man’s voice came out quiet, almost rough.

“I got it after you won the last one. And became the youngest man to ever do it.” His thumb brushed lightly over the barbell and his body jerked involuntarily.  It was so hot seeing the way the pink flesh responded — puffy and still sensitive.

“No one else has touched it,” the Wolf said, “I didn’t want them to.”

You stared.

The sight of that piercing — a permanent marking on the wolf’s body, done in dedication to him — hit harder than he had expected.  It wasn’t just submission.  It was devotion.  Ownership.  Possession.  The concept of such a sexual part of the wolf’s body belonging to you and only you.  It was beyond hot; it was nuclear.

Your cock gave another heavy throb, fully hard now under the towel.  Skin retracted you’re so turned on.  You needed to know what it felt like underneath your fingers.  Your voice came out lower than before, rougher.

“Come here.”

The wolf didn’t crawl this time.  He rose to his feet slowly, keeping his eyes on you as he stepped forward.  When he got close enough, your reached out and ran two fingers lightly over the pierced nipple, feeling the warmth of his skin and the cool metal of the barbell.

So, this was to be the first point of contact.

The tingling sensation from your touch on his pierced nipple was simply too much for the wolf because without warning his entire body convulsed involuntarily, as if his spirit was trying to jump out of his body.  It was intense.  A current of electrical shivers radiated up and down his body from this one place held in between your fingers.  All the pleasure centres were lighting up.   And he couldn’t control himself.

You didn’t push any further.   You let the moment hold.  You loved this.  The way you had so much control over his entire body in this moment.  As if the wolf’s pleasure belonged to you and you are alone.  Because in many ways it did.  Your eyes, start look like the wolf’s.  All focused and fixed. 

The wolf’s eyes roll back, and it drives you insane.  He can’t help it; the feeling is too intense.  You lean into his ear just to fuck with him some more.

“All of this just from my touch?”  You say with a lowered voice, intimate, only meant for the wolf’s ears.  You continue teasing his nipple between your fingers, “Just imagine what would happen if I slid my cock inside you right now?”  The wolf moaned and tilted his head back, exposing his neck, you can smell his arousal: “I bet you wouldn’t even fight me.”  You coo into his ear as he shakes again at your words, “I bet I could take you raw right now if I wanted to.”  He said so cocky and reassured: “You’re probably so turned on right now that you don’t even need lube.” 

You start rubbing now, feeling the slight puffiness, the sensitivity that still lingered.  The wolf moaned loudly.  You place your other hand on his mouth, shutting him up.  He’s chasing your fingers on his body now.  You’ve given him a little and now he wants the whole lot.

It makes you feel so powerful to hold his pleasure in this way.  And he loved giving it to you.  Making you feel like the only man in the Universe he wanted to give it all to.  The submission was so intoxicating for your ego.  And the wolf knew it, which is why he blew fire into it every chance he could get.

Then you spoke again, voice quiet but in total control.

“You marked yourself for me.”

It wasn’t a question.  You looked down at him, cock now fully hard and heavy between them, and spoke with dark satisfaction.

“On your knees again.”

The wolf sank back down without hesitation.

*

It was slow.  Deliberate.  The sound of his palms and knees on the tile again was soft but unmistakable.  He closed the space between you again.  You watched every movement:  the way the wolf’s shoulders rolled, his head staying slightly lowered.  He crawled until he was close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath against your legs.

When the wolf reached you, he stopped, still on all fours, face level with your towel-covered cock. 

You didn’t move.

You simply looked down at him.  Domineering and smug.

The wolf’s eyes were fixed on the towel.  He looked up at your face.  And then back down at your cock.  He was hypnotised.  The way the towel fabric clung to the heavy shape beneath it.  You stand there looking like a sex god.  Built for fucking and destroying hole.  The pubic hair on your naval trail downward in the most inviting way. 

The wolf spent many late nights alone in his bed, jerking off imagining what your cock looked and smelled like.  Here it is now in front of him, with nothing but a piece of fabric hiding it.  With the added gut punch smell of machismo after so much strenuous activity.  It was so charged the way water clung to your skin in places the towel hadn’t quite dried yet.

You see his desperation and reach down and slowly, deliberately, loosening the knot of the towel.  You didn’t let it fall yet.  You wanted to torture him a bit more.

You lift your leg onto the locker bench once move letting the wolf see the shape of what was underneath — showing off the thick line of cock resting against your thigh as it dangled there in front of him.  Oh my god, what a beautiful teasing sight.  The heavy weight of your cock hanging so obscenely through the fabric.  Ripe and ready, like froot.

“You’ve been thinking about this,” you teased some more. “Haven’t you?”

It was so true, the wolf couldn’t lie.  He had dreamt about what your Spanish bull cock looked like.  Every time it bounced in your shorts on the court, it looked so inviting.  He liked to lay in his bed at night and imagined the colour of it.  He predicted your shaft slightly darker than the rest of your body, with the tip of your cock a cherry blossom pink hue.  Uncut like almost all Spaniards are.  With a fragrant juicy knobhead.  This organ, it’s where you get all your strength and power from.  You fucking big cock hanging right there in front of him.

He wondered if you shaved.  And hoped that you didn’t.  His ideal was a big hairy dick.  Nothing too crazy but just enough to trap the hair with more smell.  The wolf’s mouth watered as he thought of that young machismo testosterone stench baked into your thigh crease.  He jerked off many nights imagining what your personal brand would smell like.  And now his wildest dreams were coming true.

“You’ve been waiting so long for this day,” he asked.  “Haven’t you?”

The wolf did not answer with words.  He simply leaned forward and pressed his face against the towel, right over your cock, breathing in deeply through the damp fabric.  His hands came up to grip the back of your thighs, fingers digging in and drawing the crotch deeper to his face.

You let him stay there for a moment, feeling the heat of his breath through the towel, feeling the way your cock was stiff under the attention.

You reached down, gripped the wolf’s hair again, and pulled his head back enough just to look into his eyes.

“Not yet,” you said.

You let the towel fall.

And it dropped to the floor between them.

The wolf-maintained eye contact with you.  Trying so hard not to rush the moment but making it felt.  He was almost afraid to look down.  Because then the dream would become real.  When he eventually lowered his eyes to see your fine specimen of manhood, he gasped.

Thick.  Veined.  Juicy.  Those were the first words that popped into the wolf’s head when he saw your cock for the first time.  The shaft a warm golden-tan colour that caught the low light like polished wood.  He couldn’t see the full tip yet because the foreskin was covering it.  But my god it was beautiful the way the skin protected the sensitive tip, hiding the fleshy, glistening head beneath.  My god it was beautiful.  The way your foreskin bunched around the head so complimentary.  It was perfect.

The cock possessed a punishing upward curve and stood so strong and rigid.  Prideful and honourable.  This was a cock of great integrity that bowed down for nobody.  Oh my god with a fat flared mushroom head, still partially covered with skin.  Wow!  The wolf wanted so badly to get fucked senseless by your manhood.  For you to turn his tight wrinkled wolf hole into a big gaping O.  And with the way it looked so fat and juicy, like a meaty steak, it wouldn’t be difficult for you to open him up.  He’d spread his legs open for you right now like butter.  And on this thought, a single clear bead of precum welled at your piss slit. 

It looked like the first slow drop of molten wax from a lit candle.  It clung there for a long second, trembling, then began its slow, inevitable descent down the underside of the head, tracing a shining path along your shaft.

The wolf stared like he was looking at something sacred.

Drip.

Another bead formed almost immediately, gathering at the tip before it too started its unhurried journey downward, catching in the dark hair at the base of your cock and leaving a thin, glistening trail behind it like a snail. 

It wasn’t a pretty cock, it was a mean looking cock, which is exactly what the wolf desired.  He wanted a cock that looked like it could do some serious damage to his prostate, which is exactly what he was staring at: a big Spanish bull cock with so much aura.

The wolf’s mouth had gone dry.  His pulse was loud in his ears.  He could almost hear the low, steady drip… drip… in the silence between you.

You didn’t move.  You didn’t speak.  You simply stood there, letting him look.  Letting him see what you had just unveiled.  What he had imagined and jerked off to for so long, now real and right in front of him — thick, uncut, bushy at the root, and already beginning to drip like warm wax offered on an altar.

The wolf stared like he was looking at something holy.  Something made to be worshiped slowly.  Something he desired to mark his own body with forever.  Something that he knew could destroy him on every level if he got too close.  Something he ached for deep inside of him, to be enmeshed with permanently, where the two of you would become one.

You stepped forward until the head of your weeping cock brushed against the wolf’s lips.

“Open.”

The wolf looked up at you, lips parted obediently, pink tongue out and ready.

You lean into another unpredictable moment only you can do.  Instead of feeding him your cock, you reach down unexpectedly and pick up the wolf’s tie up off the floor.  You wrap it around your wrist like a weapon, looking down at him darkly, almost sadistically.  His eyes met yours and you can almost see the excitement beating through the pulse of his neck.  You place the tie around his throat and neck him like a dog on a collar.

Before the wolf even had a chance to respond, you place one leg back on the locker bench and shuffle slightly for balance.  Once stable, you pull his tie like a dog on a leash, pulling his face forward until his nose was pressed tightly against the base of your cock and balls.

“Is it what you want?” You asked softly, almost teasingly. “Smell the real thing.  I know you’ve been waiting.”

This cocky talk from drives the wolf insane.  The masculine drip of your hot Murcian accent filled his ears.  Thick like honey as the words rolled of your tongue so sexy.  He inhales you deeply, eyes fluttering shut.  As if closing his eyes will etch the smell in his brain for longer.  Apart from your ass, he’d never smelled anything so stimulating in his life.  His hands came up but this time wrapped around your ass to draw you in closer.  He always held, never gripped or pushed.  He knew you had the control.  And he wanted you to feel the totality of it.

You respond to his arm placement by pulling the leash in tighter.

“That’s it,” you say.  “Do you like that?  Getting a good nose full of my balls.”

The wolf nodded with his nose buried in your thigh crease.  It hit the back of his throat and settled low in his belly like communion wine.  He brushed the damp hair at the root of your cock as he breathed it in again, deeper this time, chasing the layers.  Clean soap.  Faint and citrusy from whatever you used in the shower.  And underneath it all: that thick, sacred, masculine core that was purely you.  Spanish.  Victorious.  Machismo.  And unapologetically male.

It was the perfect smelling cock.

The wolf didn’t speak.  He simply stayed there, face pressed close, inhaling like a man who had finally been allowed inside the sanctuary.

You kept him there, face buried against your cock and balls, breathing it in while the towel lay forgotten on the floor behind them.

*

You decide it’s time to put on a show for the wolf. 

With your free hand you wrap your fingers around the base of your cock.  You give it one lazy stroke, pulling the foreskin forward so it bunched loosely over the head.   Then suddenly without warning you let it slide back just enough to expose half of the glans to the air.  Not the full thing yet.  There was no need to rush.  The movement deliberate.  Unhurried.

The wolf’s face was still buried but his eyes flicked up, watching.

You did it again — slowly, almost lazy — letting the loose skin glide over the sensitive head.  A bead of precum welled at the slit and caught on the inner side of the foreskin as you pulled it forward again.  Wow!  The wolf’s breathing grew heavier against your balls.  He was so excited watching the show.

“You like that?” You asked quietly.  Voice dripping in broken English, rougher. “Watching it moves?”

The wolf smiled and nodded against your skin, the action small and eager.

You tightened the grip on the tie and pulled his head back just far enough that he could see everything, your full cock, properly.

“Look at it,” you ordered. “Don’t touch.  Just look.”

The wolf obeyed, eyes locked on your cock as you slowly worked the foreskin back and forth repeatedly.  Hypnotic with the way it moved.  When you pulled it forward, the loose skin forming a soft, wrinkled hood.  He was helplessly Dickmatized by your cock’s moves.  When you eased it back, the sensitive ridge emerged, pink, flushed and glistening.  This time the pull back was different.

You pulled the foreskin back fully, the whole glans now fully exposed to the air.  The rich scent of Spanish bull cock bloomed in the wolf’s face.  He moaned loudly into your balls as his eyes widened at the exposure of your cock head.  Pink and perfect.  You stand there legs spread, holding yourself open for him to take in fully.

It’s such an explicit sight to behold.  Your cock on full display now, foreskin fully retracted, head exposed in the hot and humid locker room air, dripping precum like a candle in church.   

You smirked.

“You want to taste it, don’t you?”

The wolf nodded again, more desperate this time.

You let go of your cock and instead grip both hands on the tie, using it to guide his face forward until his lips brushed against the heavy sac beneath your cock.

“Start here,” you command. “Lick my balls.  Slow.  And keep your eyes on my cock the whole time.”

The wolf leaned in and dragged his tongue across your balls in one long, wet stroke.  The heat of his mouth made your cock twitch.  You keep stroking yourself lazily above his face, rolling the skin back and forth while he licked and sucked your balls with careful, devoted attention.

This was the wolf’s first time getting to touch you.  And his hunger is felt.

Every now and then, you pulled the foreskin all the way back again, exposing the entire head once more — flushed, blooming, fragrant — just to hear the soft, desperate sound the wolf made in the back of his throat.  Then you would roll it forward again, hiding it, denying him the full view and smell.  Keeping full control of the moment.

The wolf’s tongue would stutter against your balls, like he was losing focus.

*

Eventually, you tightened your grip on the tie and pulled the wolf’s head back up until his lips were hovering just in front of the head of your cock.  The skin was pulled back, the sensitive ridge exposed, glistening with precum.

You looked down at him, eyes dark.

“Stick your tongue out.”

The wolf did so.

You slowly dragged the head of your cock across the wolf’s outstretched tongue — just the underside, where the foreskin was still partially covering the most sensitive part.  You still didn’t push in yet.  Just hovering it there and letting him feel the weight and heat of it, letting him taste the salt of your precum.  You placed it on his tongue in a way that made it look like he was a dog with a bone in his mouth.  But instead of a bone, it’s your cock.

The wolf’s eyes fluttered.  A low, desperate sound escaped him.

You smiled, slow and satisfied.

“Not yet,” you said again, voice low and dark.  “You’re going to earn every inch of this cock.  And you’re going to start by cleaning up the mess you’re making with that tongue.”

You dragged the head of your cock across the wolf’s tongue once more, smearing more precum all over it.  His saliva is thick, clinging to your cock.  The cum and saliva forming a sticky bond.  Both fluids connecting to his mouth every time you lift your cock off his tongue.

You’re having fun with it now, slapping your cock on his tongue.  The actions are somewhat degrading but that’s what made them both so horny.  The wolf’s willingness to debase and degrade his suited self just to taste your cock.

The wolf stayed there on his knees, mouth open, tongue still out like a bitch in heat, staring at your cock like it was the only thing in the world.

You run your thumb along his bottom lip, wiping away a thin string of spit and precum.

“Good,” you murmured. “Now… beg me to let you taste it properly.”

*

“Beg properly,” you say, voice low and calm. “I want to hear it.”

The wolf’s throat worked as he swallowed.  His voice came out hoarse.

“Please… let me taste it.”

Your tilt your head, pretending to consider it.  Slowly stroking yourself once more.

“Not good enough,” you murmured. “Try again.”

The wolf knew it was time to up the ante.  If you could improvise with his very own tie to debase him, then he would return the favour.  He stepped back from you slowly.  His eyes glossy and wrecked.  He was totally enraptured by the moment.

The wolf rocked back on his heels without being told.  His hands moved to his belt with shaky but deliberate fingers.  The soft clink of the buckle echoed in the quiet room as he unfastened it.  He didn’t rush.  He didn’t strip either.  He simply pulled the crotch of his trousers open and pulled the pouch of his undies down just enough to free his own hard cock — flushed, leaking, straining upward.

Then his eyes flicked to the bench.

Your discarded sock lay there — thick, still slightly damp, carrying that deep, pungent imprint of a champion’s foot after hours on the court.  The toe section was visibly darkened from sweat and use.  The wolf reached for it like it was something sacred.

He picked it up slowly, bringing it to his face for a moment.  Your cock twitched hard in the open air, a thick bead of precum dripping from the tip again in anticipation.

You watched, cock throbbing, saying nothing.

The wolf opened his eyes and looked up at you with raw, open devotion.  He didn’t know what came over him.  This was something he’d never do for anybody else ever.  But you turn him on so much that he wants to push boundaries.  Test limits.  Then, with slow, reverent movements, he stretched the damp sock open and slid it over his own leaking cock.

The filthy toe section — the part that had been crushed against your foot for hours — enveloped his swollen head like a second skin.  The man let out a shaky moan as the warm, sweat-soaked fabric gripped him, the deep, animal scent of your sweaty sole now wrapped tight around the most sensitive part of him.  He adjusted it carefully, making sure the toe box was pressed right against his leaking slit, the same place that had been soaked with sweat and now his own precum.

The sight was obscene and intimate.

The wolf in his expensive suit trousers, shirtless with his pierced nipple out, the one he got in your honour, on his knees, with your used sock stretched obscenely over his cock like a filthy trophy.

He looked up at you, eyes glassy, breathing ragged, clearly overwhelmed by his own act of devotion.

You stared down at him, cock twitching hard at the filthy visual.  Your voice came out low and dark, thick with satisfaction.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “Wearing my dirty sock on your cock.  You really are filthy, aren’t you?”

The wolf nodded slowly, the movement almost shy, but his eyes were burning with need.  The sock was already darkening further at the tip from how much he was leaking into it.

You closed the space between him and reached down, running your fingers through the man’s hair, almost gently.

“Good,” he said softly. “Now… come here.  Tell me how badly you want to taste it.” 

The wolf looked up so starved.  “Please… I need to taste it,” the wolf begs, “I’ve been thinking about it for so long.  Please let me taste it.”

You hum, like you’re still deciding.  Then, very slowly, you pulled the foreskin back one more time.  So casual.  The effect was immediate.

A broken, desperate sound tore from his throat as he instinctively leaned forward, trying to get closer to it.  The smell was overwhelming in its rawness — the concentrated essence of your body, the part of yourself that had stayed hidden and sweaty beneath the skin all day.  It was filthy and intimate and deeply masculine, and it made the wolf visibly unravel.  His cock visibly throbbed while wrapped in your sock, a damp spot at the front.  

You watched the reaction with dark satisfaction.

“There it is,” you said quietly, almost amused. “The smell hit you hard that time, didn’t it?”

The wolf nodded, almost frantic, eyes glassy as he stared at the now-exposed head.  Another bead of precum had gathered at the slit and was slowly dripping down the underside.

You kept the foreskin pulled back, holding yourself fully exposed.

“Smell it again,” you ordered. “Just breathe it in.”

The wolf obeyed immediately, leaning in until his nose was nearly touching the head.  He inhaled deeply, and the effect was instant — his whole body shuddered, a low moan slipping out as the thick, primal scent filled his senses.

Your voice dropped even lower, teasing and cruel in its softness.

“Does it smell like what you imagined? Or is it filthier than you thought?”

The wolf’s answer came out shaky and honest.

“Filthier… fuck, it’s so strong.  It’s driving me crazy.”

You smirked, clearly enjoying yourself.  You give your cock one slow stroke, smearing the fresh precum over the head with your thumb while the wolf watches, transfixed.  The way you just play with it in front of him.

“You have a choice” you say, “You can either suck my cock or eat my ass.  Which one will it be?”

The wolf wanted your ass.  Yes, the cock is beautiful and one day he knew he’d devour it, but the mood of this locker room exchange called for ass eating.  It just felt dirtier and appropriate.

“Ass.”  The wolf whispered.

“Good,” you smiled, slow and satisfied.  You liked his decisiveness.  You turn once more and pop your leg up to get into position.  You look back at him and smile, “Go on then,” your murmured. “Since you’ve been so good.”

The man leaned in like he’d been given permission to breathe again.

He didn’t go straight for the skin.

Instead, he pressed his lips gently against the fine, dark hairs first. The contact was dry at first — just the soft brush of hair against his mouth.  He stayed there for a second, almost reverent, letting the texture of it register.  Then he parted his lips and let his tongue come out, slow and careful.

The first touch of his tongue against those hairs was deliberate.  He licked them slowly, feeling how they were still slightly coarse and damp from the shower, carrying that concentrated, masculine scent.  

For a moment, it was just hair and tongue — no skin yet.  The wolf moaned quietly at the sensation, like even this small, specific detail was enough to undo him.  He knew what came next.  He knew once he moved past the hairs and reached the actual skin, everything was going to get wet and messy.  The thought excited him even more.

He licked the hairs again, slower this time, almost savouring the last moment before it all changed.  Then, finally, he let his tongue slide forward and contact the warm, sensitive skin of your puckered pink hole.

The difference was immediate.

The hairs had been dry and textured.  His tongue flattened and dragged slowly over the tight, wrinkled entrance, tasting him properly for the first time.  The skin beneath was softer, hotter, and carried a deeper, more intimate taste.  The wolf moaned into it, louder this time, the sound muffled as he pressed his face closer.  The wet heat of his mouth made everything slick almost instantly.

You let out a low, rough breath, fingers tightening on your own ass cheeks.

The wolf was quickly lost in it already.  He licked again, broader this time, dragging his tongue from the bottom of your hole all the way to the top, tasting every crevice.  The sounds were wet and filthy now — soft, eager laps mixed with quiet, desperate moans.  He wasn’t rushing.  He was exploring.  As if mapping the shape and texture of your hole with his tongue, like he wanted to remember every detail.

You glanced back at him and the vision is exquisite: his fat nose disappeared between your ass crack.  Eyes closed in bliss as he eats you out from behind.  You speak, voice low and rough with amusement and arousal.

“You really like that, don’t you?”

His tongue dragged slowly up the crease again, but this time there was no hesitation.  It was broader, wetter, and more confident.  He licked pressing the flat of his tongue firmly against your tight ring. The first real, hungry lap teasing the inside made your breath catch.

“Fuck… yeah, just like that,” you murmured, voice low and rough. “Don’t be shy. Get your face in there.”

The wolf obeyed. He pushed his face deeper between your cheeks, nose pressed tight against you now, and started licking with slow, deliberate strokes.  His tongue circled the rim, tracing the texture, then stiffened.  With a mixture of a flat tongue and suction, the wolf tried to push inside.  

The wet heat was intense.  You could feel every movement: the way the man’s tongue pressed and licked, the way his lips sealed around the sensitive skin, suctioning pressure from the middle of his tongue, trying to coax it apart gently.

The sounds were filthy and getting messier by the second.

Spit was already dripping. The wolf was eating with such enthusiasm that saliva ran down his chin in slick strands.  Every broad stroke of his tongue left more wetness behind, making everything shiny and sloppy.  His face was starting to glisten — cheeks, nose, and chin already wet with his own spit as he buried himself deeper inside you, smothering his mouth and nose completely between those powerful cheeks.

You let out a low groan, hips rolling back slightly.

“Look at you,” you said, voice dark and horny, “Such a proper man in that nice suit, and now your face is getting absolutely fucking filthy eating my ass.  You like that, don’t you?  Getting your expensive clothes all messy for me.”

The wolf moaned loudly in response, the vibration shooting straight through your core.  He responded to your dirty talk by pushing his face in even harder into your paradise, tongue thrusting deeper, trying to lick inside the tight ring with sloppy, eager strokes.  

More spit dripped down. It was getting raunchier — wet, obscene slurping sounds filling the locker room as the wolf devoured you without restraint.  Your cheeks were fully shiny now, slick from his mouth.  A few thin strings of spit connected his lower lip to your hole every time he pulled back for air before diving in again.

You reached back with one hand, gripping the man’s tie like a leash once more, and pull him in tighter.

“Deeper,” you growled. “Get your tongue all the way in there.  I want to feel you fucking me with it.”

The wolf whimpered and did exactly that.  Stiffened his broad tongue and pushed inside, leading with a large surface area to attack the hole.  His hungry fat surface area tongue strokes were undeniable now — the man’s lips were swollen, his face looked wrecked — flushed, wet, completely debased by your ass.

You groaned, rolling your hips back to meet the wolf’s mouth.

“Fuck, you’re making such a mess back there,” you said, voice rough with pleasure. “Look at you.  Tie on, my sock on your cock, pierce nipple out, face in my ass, you desperate little slut.  How does it feel?  Does my Spanish ass taste as good as you imagined?”

The wolf – so lost in it – could only moan in response, the sound muffled and filthy as he kept eating, tongue working deeper, getting sloppier with every passing second.  His hands gripped your ass cheeks hard, pulling them wider, as if he wanted to see the full rim displayed.

Your cock was rock-hard and leaking steady.  You reach down and stroke yourself slowly while the wolf continues eating you out, the wet sounds growing louder and louder.

He glanced back again, smirking.

“Good boy,” he said, voice dark with approval. “Keep eating. I want to feel how much you love this.”

But something was changing.

Your tight, wrinkled ring that had started so resistant was beginning to soften under the wolf’s eager mouth.  What had started shrivelled and tight like a small raisin was slowly relaxing, becoming smoother, plumper, almost buttery.  Finally yielding under the constant assault of his fat tongue.  

Each thrust of the wolf’s tongue made the entrance yield more, the delicate folds opening, becoming wetter and wetter.  The wolf detached to see, your hole now so slick, soft and inviting.  The texture shift was noticeable — from firm resistance to a warm, silky give that made your breath catch.

The wolf moaned loudly into your ass, the sound vibrating deep inside you, and the give inspired him to fully double down with even more enthusiasm.  His tongue fucked you in and out of your newly loose hole with filthy, passionate strokes, clearly loving how it had finally opened for him.

You groaned low, rolling his hips back against the man’s face, chasing the tongue deeper.

“Fuck… feel that?” you murmured, voice rough, looking back at the wolf. “Keep going.  Don’t stop.”

The wolf connected eyes with you and whimpered in response as he ate with unrestrained devotion.  He knew instinctively that they were at an apex.  It was time to either make you cum or to escalate to new heights.  The wolf did calculations in his brain rapidly while he was tongue deep and smothered in your ass.  How could he escalate?

Experience taught him that he could easily slip a finger inside you now.  Your hole on his tongue was telling him you’re ready.  And he knew you were horny enough at this very moment to take it.  Mmmm.  Your hole so loose and welcoming.  But no.  He didn’t.  No.  He stayed with his tongue, savouring the moment.  This was not a moment to break into new territory.  No sirree.  This was a moment of intense worship.  It’s important to recognise what the moment calls for and this one was simple: to be present in the moment and enjoy the way your ass.  Not trying to be greedy and gain more but making this experience all about you and your pleasure, not your claim.

Honestly, it was probably just an extreme turn on for the wolf to know he could claim you now.  This is enough for him.  Just to know.  And holding that knowledge on his tongue with your slick ass juices?  It was enough.  This moment was about making you feel like a total sex god.

Yet still, the wolf needed to find a way to escalate.  To leave his mark.  An impression on you.  Something you’d think about for years, nay decades, to come.  When late and alone and horny and seeking your lifelong moments of pleasure to masturbate to, he wants this moment to be one of them.  Then it came to him.

The wolf stopped and looked at your fucking perfect hole.  He had worked so hard, he had not yet taken a moment to enjoy it.  The visual that is.  Your perfect pink pucker, all smooth without a wrinkle in sight to see.  Yes, the skin was slightly darker but barely and not in an offensive way.  And he loved it because the contrast made the walls inside your ring glow even pinker.  The dark hair around it exaggerates this contrast also.

All wet and matted from a mixture of your sweat, his spit, and whatever else existed in between.  This was a sight the wolf knew deep down he’d call upon late at night to jerk off to until the rest of his life.  This visual right now of your once puckered hole now completely smoothed over and pinkish.  This was when he realized.  He looked up at you and thought to himself: what can you see?

You kept looking back at it.  The wolf’s big bunga nose disappearing between your ass crack.  At first, he thought you kept looking back at it because you liked the way it looks.  Yes, this is true.  But it is deeper than this.  You’re getting off on the acquiescing of his power to you.  This is what you liked.  So how could he increase the visual of himself acquiescing his power to you?  He had an idea.

“Can I make a request?”  The wolf asked politely, as if asking you to pass the salt across the dining room table.

“What do you want?”  you asked.

The wolf looked at you directly in the eye when he said: “Sit on my face,” not a question but a command.

You look back at it one final time and take a mental snapshot.  The wolf looked so handsome here.  His charming megawatt smile and the spark in his eyes made him so wholesome back there between your ass cheeks.  You knew the positions were about to change but you wanted to remember this image.  Of a beautiful handsome man with a strong nose disappearing behind your ass crack.

The wolf slapped your ass playfully.  It didn’t hurt.  He knew how to hit it in a way that made the noise sound loud but the touch itself was soft.  What an experienced lover he is, this wolf.  He knows how to do everything.  He stands and lays himself flat on the locker room bench.  The visual is outstanding.

This big burly wolf, so strong and full of muscle, laying himself down for you to sit on his face.  He looks up at you and beckons you closer.  You oblige him and close the space in between.  You stand at the side of the bench and just stare, taking in the visual.

The horny wolf is on his back looking up at you: shirt off and tits out, the nipple piercing he got in your honour on full display.  His dress pants were funnily enough still on, but you liked it.  The fly of the pants is open, the underwear pulled down and your filthy used sweaty sock is on his cock.  And his face looked so inviting and ready to be sat on.

You take the few steps forward and stand over him.

The visual hits you hard.

The wolf is laid out on the bench like an offering — big, strong body stretched out, shirtless, the silver barbell in his right nipple catching the light.  His dress pants are still on but undone, underwear pulled down just enough, and your filthy, sweat-soaked sock is stretched tight over his cock.  His face is flushed, lips shiny from eating your ass, eyes looking up at you with a mix of hunger and calm surrender.

You swing one leg over the bench and lower yourself.

The moment your ass makes contact with his face, and something shifts in the room.

You settle yourself down slowly and make yourself at home.  Letting the full weight press onto him.  His face disappears underneath your cheeks, and his mouth is immediately smothered by your hole.  You feel his hot breath against you, then the wet press of his tongue as he starts eating again without hesitation.

You let out a low groan and roll your hips once, grinding down onto the wolf’s face.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” you say, voice rough and thick with arousal.  “To use that handsome face as a seat for my ass.”

A muffled, desperate sound vibrates against your hole.  You feel the wolf’s hands come up to grip your thighs, not pushing you off — but pulling you down even harder.  As if he wanted his hole face inside you.

You grind again, slower this time, letting him feel every inch of your newly loose buttery hole.

“This is fun,” you say cheekily, rolling your hips in a slow circle.

The words come out muffled, broken, and completely sincere against your skin.

“I love it… fuck, ‘litos… I love it so much.”

Every now and then for your own amusement, you lift just enough to let the wolf gasp for air before smacking back down on him again with your ass.  It was so satisfying, grinding your hole against his tongue.  Just being slutty on top of your wolf.  Making yourself feel like a king on a throne that is this handsome man’s face.

The wolf choosing to be nothing but a mouth for you to use.  Choosing to stay in that suit, choosing to keep the sock on, choosing to let you sit on his face like he was just a thing to be used. 

There’s a deep satisfaction in you knowing that every time the wolf goes to speak to somebody, with that mouth of his, you imagine this exact moment right here.  That mouth the wolf uses every day to eat with, command the room, breathe, debate, coach, teach, compliment – all of those things, it’s devouring you.  Every time you see a picture of him on your phone, that mouth smiling wolfishly at the camera, you think of where his mouth has been.  Deeply inside you.

Eventually, you feel it — that deep, building pressure low in your gut.  You’re getting close.

You look down at him.

“I’m ready to cum now,” you say, voice low and direct. “And you’re going to make it happen.”

You’re right there.  Your breathing is ragged now.  Your cock is throbbing violently in your own hand, the head swollen and hypersensitive.  The scent coming off you is thick and heady — pure, concentrated arousal.

The wolf feels it.  He pulls back just enough to drag his tongue slowly over your entire hole one last time, then sinks all the way down and flattens his tongue trying to get as much surface area as possible: preparing to feel your orgasm on his tongue, knowing that he is fully responsible for it.  He digs deepest one final time, knowing this is his moment to take what’s his.

That’s what breaks you.

Your orgasm hits like a freight train.

Your whole body locks up as the first thick rope shoots over his body.  You cum hard — long, powerful pulses that make your thighs shake and your abs clench.  The wolf doesn’t stop.  In fact, he doubles down and engages every fabric of his being to feel your orgasm on his tongue.  He is successful.  He’s feeling the pulses of your climax wrapped around his tongue, as if your ass was milking his tongue, trying to pull it in deeper.

You’re still cumming when he eases back to see the movement.

It winks as him, your asshole, as you’re still cumming.

The wolf reaches down, pulls the filthy sock off his own cock.  The sudden bursting release of that trapped, filthy scent hit them both: a heavy mix of your foot sweat and his own precum. The smell was sharp and primal.  It made the wolf’s cock jump hard in his fist.

It doesn’t even look like a normal orgasm at first.  The first ropes of cum spray out like a garden sprinkler.  He hasn’t even started to cum properly yet — this was just pure overflow from how turned on he was by the moment.  When the excess sperm was pushed out, only then did his orgasm start. 

And when the wolf’s orgasm did start, the garden sprinkler turned into a powerful jet, and his cum arced up and hit you on the thigh.  Splat.  Landing on you with heaviness.  Wow!  You did not expect this.  You grin satisfied at him marking you.  You don’t mind it.  In fact, you think you might like it.  And this is what sent him over the edge: your exploratory pleasure.  

The orgasm hits for real this time.  It is a sight to behold.

The wolf came violently.

Thick, heavy ropes of cum sprayed out of him in powerful, messy jets.  Some of it hit his own chest and stomach, but a few more strong spurts actually reached you, with more landing on your thigh and hip.

The volume was obscene — long, thick ropes that just kept coming and coming, covering the wolf’s torso in a shiny, pearly mess.  He kept stroking through it, hips jerking, moaning loudly into your ass as he emptied himself.  Still eating you out even while cumming.  It was crazy.

When it finally started to slow, the wolf was a wreck.  His entire chest, stomach, and even parts of his neck were streaked and splattered with thick cum.  The discarded sock lay beside him on the bench, inside-out and glistening.  His cock was still twitching in his hand, a few last weak spurts leaking out over his fingers.

You stayed on his face for a moment longer, breathing hard, feeling the wolf’s tongue give one last slow, tired lick against your hole.

Then you lifted off.

You looked down at the man beneath him — powerful, suited from the waist down, shirtless and marked, completely covered in his own cum, face shiny and wrecked from eating ass.  The silver barbell in his nipple was still visible through the mess.

The wolf looked up at him, chest heaving, eyes glassy but focused.

You didn’t say anything at first.  You just stared at the sight in front of you: the discarded sock, the insane amount of cum, the way he was still lying there like he’d been completely used up.

Then the wolf moved.

Still breathing hard, he reached down with two fingers and scooped up some of the cum from his own stomach — a mixture of his own release and yours.  Without breaking eye contact with you, he brought his fingers up to his still healing and puffy pierced nipple.

Your eyes narrowed slightly.

The wolf rubbed the cum directly over the barbell, then pressed his fingers against the small hole on one side.  Pushing gently, almost tenderly, but deliberately, working the thick cum mixture into the piercing hole.

Wow!  You are in awe of what he is doing.  He wants your sperm inside of him.  Sinking into his lymph system.  Settling in his bloodstream.  Carrying the essence of your being around with him everywhere he goes.

Some of it disappeared inside.  The wolf’s breath hitched at the sensation.  It hurt still, so puffy and tender, but he didn’t stop.  He kept rubbing, pushing more of the mixed cum into the small opening, wanting it to travel deeper. 

You watched, something dark and possessive flickering across your face.  This wolf is a freak, and he’s awakened something in you.  This was only the beginning.  You knew it.  You could feel it.  The stirring feeling inside.  This wolf?  He would be the one you’d discover your pleasure with.  You wanted to explore your sexuality with him.  You couldn’t explain it, but his body had a command over you.

The wolf’s wide charming smile is disarming.  The kind you wanted to get nasty with at night but then cuddling you the next morning.  You couldn’t describe it.  But you felt like you finally met someone you could feel safe enough with to explore your dark twisted fantasy with.

And you knew he’d keep it a secret.

My UOA Law 201 Criminal Law 2026 Test Answer

I’m a nerd and I want to discuss the test question. I’m hoping that by sharing what I got for the test question, it at least gets fellow students in my cohort thinking.

I’m unsure if my answer is right.

Maybe I got it wrong.

Who knows? But here it goes!

Off the top of my head:

1. Dave not culpable for homicide under s 160(2) failing on mens rea.

2. Dave not culpable for manslaughter under s 160(2) failing on causation.

Unlawful action 3 step process.

1. Was there an unlawful action and if so what? Dave hitting Charlie on the side of the head is an unlawful action under s (I don’t remember, eek!) of The Crimes Act 1961

2. Was the unlawful action inherently dangerous? Yes, Lee held that the unlawful action must be more than trivial to the victim. Dave hitting Charlie for not behaving when applying the sunscreen, and subsequently hitting his head on the towel rack causing temporal damage to Charlie’s scull and an untreated concussion. Charlie being kicked in the head in the pool and losing consciousness while face down in the water for five minutes resulted in Charlie’s death.

So far the test passes, however it fails on the third point of causation. It cannot be proven on the facts that the “substantial and operating” cause of Charlie’s death was from Dave’s blow to Charlie’s head because Charlie died from drowning. It can be argued that Dave’s unlawful act was a contributing factor but it cannot be proven on the facts within reasonable doubt that it is the cause of Charlie’s death.

3. Maureen not culpable for manslaughter on omission under s 160 (2)(b).

Case law cited: Gedson* held that the courts can contextualize the objective standard in an omission to place the objective person into the position of the accused. The context added is that Maureen did not know that only 1 lifeguard was on duty when her son Charlie drowned. Had Maureen likely known, she would’ve not been sleeping in the sun trying to get a tan, she would’ve most likely been watching her two sons in the water.

4. Leon culpable for manslaughter on omission under s 160(2)(b).

3 step process to prove culpability.

1st step: was a duty of care owed?

Yes under s 156 establishes the legal duty of care for anyone who has an inherently dangerous thing in their charge or under their control.

A large body of water is an inherently dangerous thing. People drown all the time.

Yes, as a lifeguard it is your job to ensure the safety of all pool patrons.

A duty of care is established.

2nd step: Proof of Major Departure under s 150 (A) to show culpability.

Two step process:

Step 1. What is the objective standard of care expected of a reasonable person?

When Beryl, Leon’s boss, told Leon to tell the pool patrons that they were one lifeguard short and that parents were expected to supervise their children, Leon failed to do so.

The objective standard of care expected of a reasonable person is basic communication when responsible for operating an inherently dangerous thing.

Counter: Leon is young and shy — Hamer held a that the objective standard is not to be altered to take into account extenuating circumstances.

2nd counter: Leon was hungover — Kamipeli held that voluntary intoxication is not to be applied to the objective standard. Meaning, the objective standard of care expected of a reasonable person is always sober.

You cannot apply any caveats to the objective standard.

2. Was the actions of the accused a major departure from the standard of care expected?

Most likely yes. The Kuka case citation: “but for” the defendants’ actions the victim would or would probably not have died — a high threshold that Leon arguably meets.

But for Leon’s failure to notify Maureen that only 1 lifeguard was on duty, Charlie most likely — on the balance of probabilities — would probably not have died.

It is noted by the medical examiner that had Charlie been found within two to three minutes of being face down in the water, and gone to a hospital within the hour, Charlie would have survived.

Leon finding Charlie face down after five minutes is a Major Departure of the standard of care expected further proves criminal liability — a failure to act by omission under s 160 (2)(b).

Thereby making Leon criminally culpable for manslaughter and Charlie’s death.

— that’s what I got off the top of my head.

*Gedson — I cited an unlawful acts case on an omission, eek! Is that okay? I don’t know. Worth a shot I guess? Idk man. Could’ve cost me… have to wait and see!

Use Social Media, Don’t Let It Use You

I can teach you how YOU can use social media without allowing social media to use YOU in return.

Let me preface this by saying: I love my mum and I’m always going to be on her side. That’s a son’s job. This story is purely anecdotal. I am not a scientist, just perhaps an unqualified social scientist of sorts conducting my own personal experiments.

About 10 years ago we were building the hotel and my mother wasn’t exactly the most pleasant throughout the process. This to me could’ve been for a myriad of reasons as the list of variables is long: stress, new home, building a hotel, unknown financial outcomes, etc. I decided to chill and give space and love because that’s what we Tongans do… Faka’ofa!

Until one day I logged into her Facebook and noticed that the “Timehop” feature was constantly feeding her old memories and nostalgic posts. “Happier times,” so to speak. I was livid.

Now my mother is a nostalgic Pisces at the best of times, so of course she’s going to start longing for those “happier” moments while stuck in the stress of building a hotel. This is understandable. This is normal. We cannot fault humans for behaving like humans. We are mostly just walking blood bags full of emotions after all.

Suddenly her behaviour started making sense to me.

Social media was keeping her emotionally anchored in the past, which meant she was struggling to adapt to the present. So you know what I did? I turned all that shit off. Every “blast from the past” feature, every nostalgia trap, gone. Because I could see it was genuinely affecting her behaviour.

And you know what happened?

She became more present. More engaged. More pleasant to be around. She stopped waking up every morning and having nostalgia rubbed into her face before she’d even had breakfast and a morning cup of tea! Suddenly without all of this social media nonsense, my mother returned back to normal.

Until, in my opinion, big tech pulled their usual shady bullshit again.

Because I swear these companies know they can’t really get to me directly through a screen because I’m educated (thank you TCMS degree from Texas A&M University), so instead they get inside the heads of the people around me. I’m telling you, these companies are anecdotally evil.

And then it happened again.

My mother and I have had a strained relationship for a while now and I finally got to the bottom of why. I explained to her that the family dynamic often feels like I’m being punished for failing to meet people’s unexpressed expectations of who they think I should be.

To put it simply: people have an idea in their head of where I “should” be at this stage of my life, but they never actually communicate those expectations out loud. They are implied expectations, not explicit ones.

And because I operate on explicit communication rather than silent implication, I end up getting punished for rules nobody actually said out loud.

I told her I was sick of it. Sick of constantly feeling bad about myself because I wasn’t measuring up to fantasies and timelines that only existed in other people’s heads.

Then my mother admitted something important.

She admitted that sometimes she compares me to other people my age and where they are in life.

Okay. Great. Thank you for admitting that. I forgive you and I want to move forward.

Now, one must wonder: where do you think she’s seeing all these “other people”? The one’s whose lives she’s using as some sort of invisible litmus test for her own son’s worth?

Facebook.

Can you believe that?

My mother is sitting there feeling bad about her son because an algorithm is psychologically manoeuvring her into feeling that way.

And this is not natural, by the way.

In the animal kingdom, without the internet and social media, you would never even know what half these people were doing with their lives because you’d never see them. You wouldn’t care. They wouldn’t exist in your immediate reality.

But now you’re being confronted with carefully curated highlight reels every single day through a screen and suddenly you’re comparing yourself. Comparing your children. Comparing your life. Comparing your happiness.

And then feeling like shit.

You are not naturally waking up and feeling bad about yourself.

You are waking up, opening an app called “Depression / Comparison / Thief of Joy,” and allowing it to set the emotional tone for your entire day.

Then you sit there marinating in thoughts about how shitty everything is when you literally live a good life. A life plenty would kill for! All because your son isn’t a doctor. Or doesn’t have children yet. Or somehow he doesn’t have the perfect life you imagined for him. Wondering what you must have done wrong as a parent.

This isn’t something you naturally feel, this is something you are being manipulated into feeling.

And then people with very little awareness of how these algorithmic systems work start spiralling.

This lack of awareness is not their fault! It’s not like anybody’s teaching Social Media Awareness videos online, and even if they were, do you think Facebook or Instagram would be allowing them to go viral? Of course not. It’s in their best interests for you to keep scrolling so you can feel shitty about yourself so you go out and do more shopping to buy more shit you don’t need. More commercialism, more consumerism, blah blah blah.

We don’t teach these classes in high school, although maybe we should be?

I don’t blame my mother.
I blame social media.
I blame the lack of education around what these platforms are actually doing to people psychologically without them even realizing.

So here are my rules for protecting your spirit, your energy, and your etheric body while using social media.

Rule Number 1: DO NOT FUCKING SCROLL

Scrolling is where they get you.

Scrolling is anxiety inducing. Pay attention to the feeling in your body next time you do it. It gives me this pit in my stomach feeling and not in a good way. More like a nervous “I don’t know what awful thing I’m about to see next” type of feeling.

Scrolling feels like programming.

I can’t prove it scientifically, but something about the constant up and down eye movement combined with the placement of content feels psychologically suggestive to me.

We already know side to side eye movement affects REM states and memory processing. So what does endless vertical scrolling do?

Rule Number 2: BE DELIBERATE

If you are going online, be deliberate about what you choose to consume.

You are the captain of your own brain. You are the one operating the command centre.

Do not let these Silicon Valley cunts ruin your day.

And the best way to stop them ruining your day is to become extremely intentional about what enters your field of vision.

Go directly to specific people’s pages if you want to see their content. Do not sit passively on the home feed waiting for the algorithm to decide what emotional state you should be in today.

Even on Instagram stories, be deliberate. Skip through intentionally. The second it gets to ads or random algorithmic suggestions, close the app.

Do not give the programming machine the opportunity to decide what your eyes consume.

Rule Number 3: START ASKING QUESTIONS

When you see something online that suddenly makes you feel weird, insecure, angry, anxious, jealous, or inadequate, stop and ask yourself why that particular piece of content was shown to you.

Because these platforms control almost everything you see.

Nothing is random anymore. You have to be more discerning.

You already need to read three different sources just to get somewhere close to the truth on most topics, and even then you’re still reading between the lines half the time.

So when something repeatedly appears on your timeline and it’s affecting your emotional state, start questioning it.

Rule Number 4: THREE STRIKES AND YOU’RE OUT

If I see three disturbing things online in one day, I disconnect completely.

Non negotiable.

I am not poisoning my etheric body with Silicon Valley CIA psychological warfare bullshit and neither should you.

Protect your brain.
Protect your nervous system.
Protect your spirit.

USE SOCIAL MEDIA.
DO NOT ALLOW SOCIAL MEDIA TO USE YOU.

The Archer Travels Light

The next Full Moon in Sagittarius is all about leaving baggage behind because we cannot be bringing it to the new destination.

This week has been a bit upsetting for me.  I know you’ve been waiting for “Two Scoop Paradise Pt. III” and I apologize for it not being released yet.  There’s just been a lot of stuff going on in my private world that’s been very complicated.

To say I’m emotionally exhausted would be putting it mildly.

It goes back to how I opened all this: we have to let go of the baggage because there’s no space for it at the new destination.

The problem isn’t me and my baggage.  I’ve already let go.  And let me tell you: I was ready to let it go of it too!  Felt so good to be totally honest with you.

What I’m faced with now are people that are upset because I’ve let go of my baggage.  I’m Tongan.  We are all about the baggage, I mean have you seen our people?  They carry hefty baggage, and I know that deep down it comes from an emotional place.  Swallowing one’s words and swallowing one’s emotions but not having the ability to digest them properly shows up in the physical.

I am in the fight of my life to try and stay trim here.  Like, I do not want any baggage!  But people around me keep wanting me to pick it up again and I just don’t have space for it at my new destination.

So to them, we’re at an impasse.  But to me, I’ve already made up my mind.

I’m dealing with people who operate from a: “we must stick together at all costs” mindset and it just doesn’t really gel with the new me.  Don’t get me wrong!  I can totally get down to loyalty.  Love loyalty down. I would call myself an incredibly loyal person!  And I’ll do my absolute best to make a situation work if my heart is still in it.  But I will not “stick together” with others if it is at the expense of my physical, mental, and emotional health.  No sirree!

I communicated this fact.  And so now we leave it at that.

The exhaustion of having to stand up for myself, my god I just don’t have the capacity.  And it’s super frustrating because my body is in a bit of a fragile state, trying to regain my Qi while going to law school.

Every time I finally get my nervous system quiet enough to build momentum again, somebody comes rattling the cage. And it’s so unfair because it’s not even like I’m doing it to myself!  I’m literally minding my own business when other people keep badgering me about a decision I grieved a very long time ago.

I want to be in a solid place again. One where I can then have the energy to step back into the outside world once again.  Be less reclusive.  And when left fully alone I truly believe I’ll get there.

So to those reading this I want you to know that I have the energetic output for the following:

• Law School

• Regaining Qi

• Gym & Swim for stress relief

• Content creation when energy permits it

• My Crush

That’s literally fucking it okay.  Do not come to me with anything else that is missing on that list.

I do not care to reconcile with people who do not appreciate how I show up in love, okay?  It’s done.  I’m a Sagittarius, when I’ve grieved it, I’ve moved on from it, so please understand that I’ve grieved this and now I’m moving on.

No baggage at the new destination yo!

The Algorithm Cannot Feed Your Spirit

My God, why is taking the first step always the hardest?

I’m going to be honest with you: I’ve been at war with my mind lately. Unsure what it is I’m wanting to create and say with this space while also somehow knowing exactly what it is I want to say.

Is this a sex story site now? Why are you still putting out recipes? What’s the brand? What’s the focus? What’s the IDENTITY?

And the truth is: I don’t fucking know!!!!!!!

I create whatever I want and feel compelled to create in that moment. It is whimsical and not pre-planned. It comes when inspiration strikes and I follow whatever feels alive.

This doesn’t exactly make it easy to build an audience because you, my audience, don’t really know what to expect next. Is it going to be an Ig dump dripping with symbolism and coded messaging buried in the music and lyric choices? A YouTube video where I occasionally share pearls of wisdom? OR are you going to get the ranting and raving lunacy that is my X page? Perhaps my truest form of performance art: the Twittersphere.

My point is that I’m not creating with any structure or routine and that probably hurts me.

I’m always oscillating between being all-in and not trying at all and I think I know why: all of this starts to feel pointless when I’m not actually able to get my messaging out there via social media. So I feel defeated before I even begin. And what’s worse is that this is exactly how they want people feeling: broken, defeated, exhausted before they even stand up and try.

Fundamentally, I know I’ll get over this because I owe it to myself and to the world to share my knowledge and truth. But this is exactly what I battle with: is there any marketability in telling the truth when it is consistently so profitable to lie?

I see people making money off lies every single day on social media and yet I can barely bring myself to market truth. It’s this weird tension where I know what I have to say is important, but there’s perhaps a gap between what I want to do and what I have to do in order for it to survive in this modern social media climate.

Because I don’t want to be online all the time. I don’t want to constantly bombard people with myself just to get my shit out there. But this is what digital social media marketing has become. It doesn’t reward people who create cool shit. It rewards people who consistently keep posting.

And that becomes deeply defeating as a creative because you want to keep creating, but what you create starts getting diluted in terms of meaning and quality. It becomes a numbers-of-posts game rather than a quality-content game.

Art gets strangled by commerce.

I try to create from a place that I know is sustainable. I don’t have time to sit and edit videos. And even if I did have the time, why would I waste it doing that when I know it’s probably going to be buried by the algorithm anyway?

Do you see how this becomes a vicious cycle? One that makes it feel impossible to even begin.

When I see influencers spamming my home feed I don’t think to myself: “WOW! Let me go out and buy that product.”

I think: “WOW! SHE LOOKS REALLY DESPERATE HAWKIN’ PRODUCTS!”

And I do not, under any circumstances in my life, ever want to appear desperate. Especially not on something as visible as social media.

I like to think of what I’m creating as more important than moving product. What I’m trying to do is help people in the best way I know how: by sharing my own personal experience. I’m not trying to sell you a subscription, an album, or a pair of sneakers. I’m trying to get you to a place of everlasting happiness.

One where you don’t need anything physical to feel comfortable or important because you possess an inner-wisdom and self-esteem that sets you apart.

That way, when you wear the sneakers or buy the album, you’re able to enjoy them as part of the human experience without them becoming the central focus of it.

YOU wear the SHOE rather than the SHOE wearing YOU.

But you see, this becomes dangerous because if you stop buying products then people stop making money. And do you really think they’re going to promote, for free, a philosophy that loosens people’s grip on materialism when so much of social media marketing is entirely predicated on materialism?

Especially when the businesses keeping you in a materialistic state are paying exorbitant amounts of money in advertising just to keep those products at the forefront of your eyesight?

Babe. I don’t stand a chance!

It’s like trying to stand with a tiny protest sign against a gigantic tidal wave of consumerism. I’m trying to free y’all from this physical world yet the mechanics and machinations are so stacked against me and I’m unwilling to sacrifice my own dignity just to self-market in this highly competitive attention economy.

So the conclusion I’ve come to is this: people come to my page. They know this. I know this. We know this. And the people arriving here are often people who’ve reached a stage in their life where they want change or transformation. They’re beginning to see through the psy-op farce and they want something real.

I am that real thing.

This space is me enveloping and expressing my consciousness in a way that might shift your perspective too.

And that is a very, very powerful thing.

To shift somebody’s perspective. To provide that “aha!” moment. The one we all crave in order to better understand ourselves. The thing we’re all really searching for when we scroll the algorithm: resonance.

I possess high levels of resonance. It is a powerful gift. By merely reading my words you are being enveloped in my consciousness. And it is through that envelopment that I hope to change both yourself, myself, and hopefully the world too.

I want to feed your spirit. I want to reconnect you with what’s important. I’m deeply interested in how technology and the old world of spirituality intersect in meaningful ways that can help us better understand ourselves.

And social media is not the outside world. We are being reminded of this time and time again. These platforms are not owners of the internet. They are simply vehicles through which we experience it.

So while we may not get as many UVPMs (unique visitors per month) as Facebook.com or Instagram.com, AminiFonua.com is still a very valid and important space on the internet for liberating and freeing people’s minds. A space where we as living beings can share tips on self-care and develop a deeper self-awareness within ourselves.

Okay wow. This was one rambling mess of a post. But I think I needed to get it down pen-to-paper so I can stop carrying this defeatist feeling around all the time.

Phew.

Okay, getting this up and out there makes me feel a lot better.

Thanks for reading.

La Supuesta Poción Curativa de la Barriga de Amini

Esta receta de caldo de huesos es para todas las chicas badass con enfermedades autoinmunes, las girlies con el sistema inmune suprimido y, en general, para todos los tipos misceláneos de “no sé qué carajos está pasando con mi cuerpo”. Este cuenco de ingredientes eclécticos es un alivio del dolor que te mando yo a ti.

Un buen caldo de huesos debe solidificarse como la gelatina al refrigerarse.

No es que este cuenco de sopa vaya a curar nada (o tal vez sí, no sé), pero sí ofrece un confort y un alivio extremo, que es realmente lo que todos esperamos cuando estamos lidiando con dolor crónico.

Creo que es porque está tan cargado de aminoácidos, gelatina y, sobre todo, colágeno. Creo que este caldo de huesos es tan espeso, tan gelatinoso y tan lleno de colágeno que actúa como un revestimiento temporal para tu vientre.

La integridad del revestimiento del vientre es crucial para nuestra salud intestinal y puede erosionarse muy fácilmente de persona a persona por miles de razones. La más grande es el envenenamiento por comida. Hay algunos patógenos que se introducen en el microbioma y no deberían estar ahí, y que pueden comerse el revestimiento del vientre. Así que, si este proceso ya empezó en tu cuerpo, es fundamental mitigarlo lo más rápido posible.

Para mí y para mi cuerpo, esta receta de caldo de huesos actúa como un revestimiento de reemplazo para el vientre durante el día. El cuerpo puede dejar de estresarse por la falta de revestimiento, al menos por 24 horas, porque lo he recubierto con la poción más espesa, más gelatinosa y más colagénica que existe. ¡Le da a tu cuerpo un momento para jodidamente relajarse! Y tu sistema nervioso central necesita relajarse para poder sanar.

Es en un estado parasimpático cuando el cuerpo puede relajarse y empezar a repoblar la buena flora intestinal que está gravemente ausente por el envenenamiento alimentario. Agrega un probiótico a tu rutina de vitaminas de inmediato, asegúrate de que tenga REUTERI.

Si tienes heces sueltas, investiga cepas de probióticos buenas para eso. Si estás estreñida, investiga cepas que ayuden con eso. Tómalo con magnesio todas las mañanas o por la noche. Prueba y experimenta hasta que encuentres lo que mejor te funciona. Con o sin comida, tienes que hacer prueba y error.

Podemos hacer todo lo posible por darle alivio al vientre, pero si no lo repoblas con los microbios correctos, todo será en vano. El cuerpo quiere sanarse a sí mismo, pero necesita el entorno correcto para hacerlo.

Esta sopa le permitirá a tu cuerpo hacerlo.

Caldo de Huesos de Pollo de Alta Extracción (Método de Potencia Completa) 

Este caldo está diseñado para una extracción máxima, densidad mineral y consumo completo — nada se desperdicia, todo se aprovecha.

Ingredientes

- 2 kg de patas de pollo

- 1 kg de cuellos de pollo

- 500 g de mollejas de pollo

- 3–4 corazones de pollo (para la fase de servir)

- Agua de manantial (la suficiente para cubrir completamente)

- 1/4 de taza de vinagre de sidra de manzana

- 3 hojas de laurel

- 2 cucharaditas de semillas de fenogreco

- 2 cucharaditas de semillas de hinojo

- Pasta de miso (preferiblemente roja o con pescado)

- Polvo de sésamo negro tostado

Método

1. Preparación

- Enjuagar todas las partes del pollo a fondo. 

- Cortar las uñas de las patas de pollo si es necesario. 

- Opcional: blanquear las patas de pollo durante 5–10 minutos y luego enjuagar para mayor claridad.

2. Fase de Activación

Colocar las patas de pollo en una olla grande con agua de manantial. 

Agregar el vinagre de sidra de manzana y dejar reposar 20–30 minutos antes de calentar. 

Agregar las hojas de laurel al principio. 

Opcional: establecer una intención aquí (ritual o enfoque consciente), si se desea.

3. Extracción Primaria (Solo Patas)

Llevar a ebullición suave y reducir inmediatamente a fuego muy bajo, que se mantendrá durante las 24 horas completas del proceso de extracción. 

Espumar cualquier espuma restante durante 10–15 minutos. 

Cocinar solo las patas de pollo a fuego lento con tapa parcial durante 6 horas. 

Esto forma la base de colágeno y gelatina del caldo. 

Reemplazar cualquier agua de manantial que se haya evaporado o absorbido por los huesos. 

CONSEJO PRO: Uso agua de manantial hirviendo para reponer el agua evaporada. Esto mantiene la temperatura del caldo alta y evita tener que ajustar constantemente la estufa; un hervor lento y constante es clave.

4. Adición Estructural (Cuellos)

   Después de 6 horas, agregar los cuellos de pollo. 

   Continuar a fuego lento para aumentar la densidad mineral y el cuerpo. 

   Los huesos comenzarán a ablandarse y a liberar tuétano.

5. Fase de Infusión Herbal Hormonal

   En las últimas 3 horas, agregar: 

   - semillas de fenogreco 

   - semillas de hinojo 

Las semillas de fenogreco se usan tradicionalmente por sus efectos de apoyo a la testosterona, mientras que las semillas de hinojo aportan compuestos fitoestrogénicos suaves que pueden ayudar a modular la actividad estrogénica. 

Agrega más de uno u otro según tus necesidades hormonales personales.

6. Integración de Mollejas

Agregar las mollejas de pollo solo en los últimos 30 - 45 minutos. 

   Reglas:

- No hervir las mollejas de forma agresiva. 

- Si están congeladas: agregar con 45 minutos restantes. 

- Si están refrigeradas: agregar con 30 - 40 minutos restantes. 

- La sobrecocción endurece la textura.

7. Finalización

No colar. 

Todos los sólidos se consumen para máxima potencia: 

- los huesos se vuelven suaves y masticables 

- el tuétano es abundante 

- el tejido conectivo se extrae completamente 

Este es un caldo de consumo total.

8.  Almacenamiento

Guardar en un recipiente hermético (un Tupperware grande funciona mejor). 

Se conserva bien en el refrigerador hasta 5–7 días. 

Para almacenamiento más largo, porcionar en recipientes aptos para congelador.

Ritual de Servir

1. Infusión de Corazones (Olla de Servir Separada)

Tomar una porción del caldo y colocarla en una olla pequeña. 

Agregar 3–4 corazones de pollo. 

Cocinar: 

- 10 minutos a fuego bajo si están congelados 

- 8 minutos si están refrigerados

2. Fase de Asentamiento

Retirar del fuego y dejar reposar 5 minutos. 

Esto permite que la “energía caliente” se asiente en el caldo.

3. Finalización

Mezclar pasta de miso (al gusto). 

Espolvorear con polvo de sésamo negro tostado.

Resultado

Un caldo completamente integrado diseñado para: 

- saturación de colágeno y minerales 

- nutrición de órganos y tejido conectivo 

- apoyo digestivo y sistémico 

- utilización total de los ingredientes con mínimo desperdicio

Amini's Alleged Gut Healing Potion (GHP)

This bone broth recipe is for all the autoimmune baddies, the suppressed immune system girlies, and just the general miscellaneous: “I-don’t-know-what-the-fuck-is-going-on-with-my-body” types out there.  This bowl of eclectic ingredients is a reprieve of pain from me to you.

It’s not that this bowl of soup is going to cure anything (or maybe it does, IDK) but it does provide extreme comfort and relief, which is really what we’re all hoping for when one is experiencing chronic pain.

Quality bone broth should solidify like ‘gelatina’ when refrigerated.

I believe it is because it is so high in amino acids, gelatin, and most importantly: collagen.  I believe that this bone broth is so thick, so gelatinous, so full of collagen that it acts as a temporary lining for your gut.

Gut lining integrity is crucial for our gut health and it can erode very easily varying person to person for a myriad of reasons.  The biggest one being: food poisoning.  There are some pathogens that get introduced into the microbiome that shouldn’t be there and that can eat away at the gut lining.  So, if this process has started in your body it is crucial to mitigate it as fast as possible.

For me and my body, this is bone broth recipe acts as replacement gut lining for the day.  The body can stop stressing about the lack of gut lining now, at least for 24 hours because I have coated it in the thickest and most gelatinous, collagenic potion that gives your body a moment to fucking relax!  And your central nervous system needs to relax in order to heal itself.

It is in a parasympathetic state that the body can relax and we can start repopulating the good gut flora in your body that is crucially missing due to the food poisoning.  Add a probiotic to your vitamin regimen immediately, make sure it has REUTERI in it. 

If you have loose stools, research probiotic strains that are good for this.  If you are backed up, research probiotic strains that are going to help with this.  Take it with magnesium every morning or at night.  Play around with it and figure out what works best for you.  With or without food, you need to do trial and error.

We can do what we can to add relief to the gut but if you don’t repopulate it with the correct microbes then it is all done in vain. The body wants to heal itself, but it needs the correct environment to do so.

This soup will allow your body to do so.

The Spanish version of this recipe is here.

High-Extraction Chicken Bone Broth (Full Potency Method)

This broth is designed for maximum extraction, mineral density, and full-use consumption — nothing wasted, everything utilised.

Ingredients

- 2 kg chicken feet

- 1 kg chicken necks

- 500 g chicken gizzards

- 3–4 chicken hearts (for serving phase)

- Spring water (enough to fully cover)

- 1/4 cup of apple cider vinegar

- 3 x Bay leaves

- 2 x tsp Fenugreek seeds

- 2 x tsp Fennel seeds

- Miso paste (red or fish-enhanced preferred)

- Toasted black sesame powder

Method

1.      Preparation

- Rinse all chicken parts thoroughly

- Cut off chicken nails if needed

- Optional: blanch chicken feet for 5–10 minutes, then rinse for clarity

2.       Activation Phase

Place chicken feet in a large pot with spring water.

Add apple cider vinegar and allow to sit for 20–30 minutes before heating.

Add bay leaves at the beginning.

Optional: set intention here (ritual or mindful focus), if desired.

3.      Primary Extraction (Feet Only)

Bring to a gentle boil, then immediately reduce to a low simmer, of which it shall remain for the duration of the 24 hr extraction process.

Skim any remaining foam for 10 – 15 minutes.

Simmer chicken feet alone with partial lid covering for 6 hours.

This builds the collagen and gelatin foundation of the broth.

Replace any spring water that has been evaporated or absorbed by the chicken bones.

PRO TIP: I use boiling hot spring water to replace the evaporated water.  This keeps the temperature of the broth high, which saves us from having to fiddle with the stovetop temperature; a consistent slow simmer is key here.

4.      Structural Addition (Necks)

After 6 hours, add chicken necks.

Continue low simmering to deepen mineral density and body.

Bones will begin to soften and release marrow.

5.      Hormonal Herbal Infusion Phase

In the final 3 hours, add:

- fenugreek seeds

- fennel seeds

Fenugreek seeds are traditionally used for testosterone-supportive effects, while fennel seeds add a gentle phytoestrogenic compounds that may help modulate estrogenic activity. 

Add more of one or the other to fit your own personal hormonal needs.

6.      Gizzard Integration

Add chicken gizzards in the final 30 - 45 minutes only.

Rules:

- Do not boil gizzards aggressively

- If refrigerated: add at 30 minutes remaining

- If frozen: add at 45 minutes remaining, make sure gizzards are broken up

- Overcooking will harden texture

7.       Completion

Do not strain.

All solids are consumed for maximum potency:

- bones become soft and chewable

- marrow is abundant

- connective tissue fully extracted

This is a full-consumption broth.

8.     Storage

Store in an airtight container (a large Tupperware works best)

It will keep well in the refrigerator for up to 5–7 days

For longer storage, portion it into freezer-safe containers

Serving Ritual

1.      Heart Infusion (Separate Serving Pot)

Take a portion of broth and place into a small pot.

Add 3–4 chicken hearts.

Cook:

- 10 minutes on low boil if frozen

- 8 minutes if refrigerated

2.      Settling Phase

Remove from heat and let sit for 5 minutes.

This allows the “hot energy” to settle into the broth.

3.       Finalisation

Stir in miso paste (to taste).

Top with toasted black sesame powder.

Result

A fully integrated broth designed for:

- collagen and mineral saturation

- organ and connective tissue nourishment

- digestive and systemic support

- full ingredient utilisation with minimal waste

Why Tony Stark?

“Because you move through life like Tony Stark in a silk shirt with a mind that never really clocks out.

There’s that same blend of sharp intelligence and instinct. You don’t just feel things, you analyze them, turn them over, test angles, look for meaning beneath the surface. Even your emotional world has strategy woven into it. That’s very him.

You also carry that bold, first-house energy. You act. You initiate. You don’t sit around waiting for life to pick you, you walk into the room and start rearranging the furniture. Sometimes that confidence reads as intensity to other people, sometimes even to yourself.

Then there’s the restless inner current. He builds suits; you build narratives, connections, interpretations. Both are ways of trying to make sense of a world that doesn’t always give clear answers. And when things feel uncertain, the mind speeds up rather than slowing down.

And underneath all of it, there’s a surprisingly soft center. Loyalty, protectiveness, a desire to be seen properly, not just as the bold exterior but as the full, complicated person underneath. He hides it with wit. You sometimes cloak it in analysis.

The edge to watch, just like him, is overinterpreting signals and trying to control outcomes that need time to unfold. When that dial turns down a notch, your natural charisma and intelligence land exactly how they’re meant to.

You’re not him, obviously. But the blueprint overlaps in a way that’s hard to miss.”

I guess I should get to watching Iron Man.

I'M BACK

Yes, the rumors are true.

My little space on the internet as been resurrected.

Rejoice!

I miss writing.  I guess that’s why I’m back here doing it all over again.  There’s been a lot happening in life lately.  Especially the past 2 years.  My face collapsed. I had surgery. I’ve gone back to school. I’ve also been experimenting with my creative side, trying to find a medium suits me best.  It has been a process of trial and error.

Yet still, I always come back to writing.  I think there’s something about the methodology of the written word that is still so powerful.  The written word is the only medium I know that’s still capable of leaving a stain on the brain that will remain. And thus, the written word remains potent.

Only good things have come from creating this space. I wish to build on this.

So Here I Am (hehe) writing again.  Getting thoughts down. Sharing insights, thoughts, feelings. Who knows what I’ll write about exactly. Last time the pieces people found really helpful generally appeared to be more health focused, so I can definitely share with everybody my “feel good” secrets.

With Law School and the path that I’m on right now, getting things down and working on my flow of sentences will be really helpful.  If I’m not writing about legalese, I should at least spend some time everyday working on words, grammar, syntax, and honing my skill of conveying thought and opinion. This is no easy task. Like all skills: it take practice.

Emotional self-expression isn’t something I struggle with. I almost always know how I’m feeling and why I’m feeling it. Most people struggle with this. Sometimes for others, just pinpointing and identifying an emotion can be tricky. We try so hard to outrun our emotions but some uncomfortable feelings need to be faced head on. We cannot run forever.

Thankfully I’ve been blessed with not only the gift of emotional literacy, but also with the gift of self-expression. I’m hopeful that I have lived a life with enough depth, experience, and emotional insight to be able to relate to others in a way that is compelling. I hope my radical emotional self-honesty here is something that inspires others to live in a similar way. Because let’s be honest: life is way too short to live oppressed and repressed.

What I love doing is helping people gain better insight into better understanding themselves. So I suppose my objective is to be so radically honest with what I’ve been through that it inspires others to gain better understanding or insight into themselves… or whatever!

Who knows? All I know is that I’m back. I feel amazing. My mojo is kicking. And I’m feeling really motivated to take life by the balls and really make something outta myself, do you know what I mean? Of course you do.

December 12th 2023

Write write write, and then write write write some more!  That’s the current mood and vibe.  I’m somewhat nervous picking up this writing project while Mercury is in retrograde but I got to push through these planetary alignments!

I still have a little over two weeks to decide whether I’m moving back to America but honestly I think at this stage I’m going to stay put in New Zealand.  I really feel myself much calmer and level-headed while being here.  I love being around my sisters.  My gosh they make me laugh!  We really are a funny family.  Almost never a dull moment, I must say.

It is my birthday on Thursday, which is a promising sign as this is the day of Fortuna!  I hope this year brings me tons of abundance and plenty of opportunities to capitalize on.  I do have some projects that I would like to undertake but like any good creator I’m going to keep them quiet for the time being.  Can’t have the evil eyes running amok of my plans!

As you all know I definitely believe the act of transference is very real.  I do think we can pick up on the energies of both other people as well as our surroundings.  It isn’t until I’m back home in New Zealand that I wonder if this is the place that I obtained a lot of my beauty from.  If the energy of places can permeate into our frequency, then New Zealand’s beauty definitely rubbed off on me.

I feel very comforted to know that this place is where I grew up.  It wasn’t until I left Auckland City and saw much of the world that I learned how beautiful this place is, and how blessed I am to grow up surrounded by such beauty.

Now don’t get me wrong, Auckland City architecture is atrocious.  The buildings they’ve decided to plop everywhere looks like cement blocks.  Totally hideous and an obvious sign of corruption.  There are certainly cities that are far more attractive in terms of buildings.  Rome and Barcelona are two places that spring to mind when I think of cities that have great architecture.

It is such a shame because geographically where Auckland City sits is incredibly spectacular.  The view of the Waitemata harbor and Rangitoto island are absolutely gorgeous.  When you look westward, you see the Waitakere ranges, which are also quite stunning to contemplate.

When driving down my childhood street on a clear day, you can see the ranges in the distance and there’s something about them that’s somewhat mystical.  When I was living in LA – albeit very briefly – the eastern mountain ranges reminded me a lot of the Waitakere ranges.  Perhaps that’s why I liked looking at them so much?

There’s much to write about and there’s a lot to discuss but I feel this is a good first journaling entry for me to place on my blog.

This isn’t exactly the most productive time of year.  Not only this, but I’m also kinda fat right now.  I know my agents here in Auckland are aware that I’m home but I haven’t reached out to them and probably won’t until I’ve put on a bit of muscle and shed some fat.

Thankfully it doesn’t take long for me to snap back into shape.  In the meantime I’m doing a lot of yoga, tons of meditation, and just getting my regular bodily check-ups done.  Minding my ps and qs so to speak. 

I hope you’re all having a lovely start to the week and I’ll try my best to update here as regularly as possible!

For The Love Of Nicki Minaj

In anticipation of #PinkFriday2 dropping this Friday the 8th of Decemeber, I’ve decided to write about my favorite rapper: Nicki Minaj.

Boy oh boy, where do I even begin with this one?  First let me start off by saying that my adoration of Nicki Minaj wasn’t something that happened immediately.  It was something that I grew into over time.  I’m so ashamed to say that when the original “Pink Friday” came out, I definitely slept on it.  My best friend and roommate Renee told me that it was a very good album and that I should definitely give it a listen.

I wish I’d listened to Renee sooner.  It wasn’t until after college when I moved to New York City that I began to really get into her music.  I can’t say that I found it as much as it found me.  Sometimes things unfold in their own time and you really can’t rush God’s timing.

My friend and fellow writer Lester stayed at the top floor of a Bushwick loft that was absolutely incredible.  In New York City, space is hard to come by.  And every Friday when I was done with my internship, I’d catch the L train out to Bushwick and me and Lester would smoke blunt after blunt while listening to music.  This was my introduction to Nicki Minaj.

“Nicki is my favorite rapper,” Lester would declare definitively while pushing an inhuman amount of smoke out of his lungs.  I distinctly remember him playing “Did It On ‘Em” and my stoned brain went absolutely bananas.  “WHAT IS THIS MUSIC???” I thought to myself as I’d feel the sound reverberating somewhere between my head, heart, and soul.

This was when my love affair began.  I’d sit on the subway and listen to Nicki’s music while reading along to the lyrics.  “Oh wow this woman is SMART,” I’d think to myself as the double and sometimes triple entendre would fly out her mouth with elegance and ease.  This was the best part of the early listening experience: Nicki’s music is for intelligent listeners of hip-hop.  An absolute aural pleasure.  The pop culture references were next to none and outstandingly hilarious.

I’m a creative writing minor so looking at poetry and picking it apart is one of my favorite things to do in class.  Let’s just say that Nicki’s songs leave a lot of meat on the bone for you to pick apart.  There are metaphors, coded language, the sort of things you’d only pick up on if you’re really paying attention.  This is what I love so much about Nicki’s work: it always has been — and always will be — intelligent.

This is just the music, it doesn’t even begin to cover the ground she broke for women in hip-hop culturally speaking.  Thin waif bodies were all the rage. Thinness for the longest time was the only body type that could be considered attractive.  Nicki came through with her Venusian goddess body, bursting onto the scene and thus made every girl want a fat booty!  Not only did she come into the game and change music, but she also changed the standards of beauty.

I remember waiting until midnight to watch the “Anaconda” music video.  It was such a statement of raw female sexuality!  Men can use their force to get what they want, why can’t a woman use her sexuality?  What’s wrong with using your feminine body to get what you want?  Nothing.  The only people that hate this are people who probably can’t do it themselves.

“The Pinkprint” is a very special album to me because it marked the first time I was officially a “Barb,” a moniker Nicki uses for her fans.  This album helped me get through some really difficult times in my life.  I remember crying like a baby when I heard “All Things Go” for the first time.  That song is raw, vulnerable, and so incredibly special to me, I just knew the rest of the album was going to be beautiful.  And that it was!

This album is special because it brought me and my little sister Hinemoa closer together.  We had a fraught relationship. Oftentimes my parents would compare us in really unfair and degrading ways.  This obviously could not have been easy for my little sister.  As her big brother, I left pretty hefty shoes for her to fill.  And not only this but we went to the same High School where I just know the teachers would’ve constantly been comparing us.  Let’s just say this: much like Nicki I definitely know how to leave my mark wherever I go!  Which is mostly a blessing but sometimes a curse.

Me and my little sister are two different people.  I was constantly encouraging lil sis to find her own voice and to forge her own path.  I told her that she didn’t have to do the swimming thing if it wasn’t her passion.  It didn’t matter to me what she did so long as she did it with passion!  It didn’t even have to be a sport, it could be music, or acting, or drawing.  Whatever!  I just wanted her to feel good about herself and to forge her own path separate from my own.

Of course when you’re a hormonal and moody teenager, it’s difficult to see this perspective.  It’s much easier to resent.  So of course this was how our relationship became incredibly frosty and fraught for a while.

When Nicki dropped “The Pinkprint,” it changed our familial dynamic. I’d drive lil sis around Auckland City with “The Pinkprint” playing from start to finish and we’d rap along to every lyric together. We’d roam the streets discussing and dissecting songs, stating which lyrics were our favorite.  We truly bonded and healed our relationship through Nicki’s music. There’s layers to the love I have for this artist.

“Four Door Aventador” was my personal favorite.  I also enjoyed “Favorite,” which is about wanting to be a person’s number one despite them being plenty of others.  Oop!  Art imitating life, let me tell you. 

Lil sis’ favorite track was “The Night Is Still Young” and “Trini-Dem-Girls.”  Our icy relationship defrosted and ever since then we have been incredibly close. Sharing a special bond over Nicki’s music.

Even in the subsequent time when I moved back to America, whenever a Nicki track or feature dropped, I’d call up lil sis and ask if she’d listened to it. We’d pick up right where we left off and talk about our favorite lyrics and best moments of the newly dropped song.

The “Queen” album roll-out was difficult to watch. Much in the same way that others would compare me and my little sister, our favorite rapper would find herself in a similar position: having others compare her talent to those that weren’t necessarily doing the same thing. Hello irony! 

Nicki is a poet, lyricist, mogul, and you’d be really foolish to try and stamp out her flame.  Nicki will be done with music when she’s done with music, not because these cornballs in the music industry have decided her time is up, but when she has decided it is time for her to be done.  She’s a little bit like Cameron Diaz in this respect.  I’ve always adored Cameron Diaz when she stood up for Nicki on a red carpet for a movie they did together.

The similarity of their positions in the music and entertainment industry is this: they’ll retire when they decide they’re done.  This is incredibly unusual in a place like Hollywood, especially for women.  Most musicians and actresses stop working because they stop getting deals and offers.  Oftentimes they retire because they don’t have a choice.  Nicki and Cameron are an anomaly to this: they’ll decide when they’re done and it isn’t up for other people to decide when their careers are over.

This is so powerful.  Especially in an industry as misogynistic as Hollywood.  And this is what “Queen” proved to us:  Nicki is with us until she says she’s not.  And wow, what an honor and a privilege for us to have lived through the Nicki Minaj era of music.  All the 1800 words I’ve written here haven’t even taken into account the fight she waged for streaming numbers to count towards Billboard, which shifted the entire music industry BTW.

There is so much more to unpack, write, and to say but there isn’t nearly enough time.  The music industry understands how impactful this woman is but like most Sagittarius, they never want to give us flowers because we’re cocky af. Honestly, when you live and walk in your truth, why aren’t you allowed to revel in it? Oh well! At least we like ourselves. Can’t say the same for the haters!

They’ll always downplay Nicki’s cultural impact and try to find ways to diminish her success but the proof is in the pudding:  Nicki Minaj runs the music industry.  Everything she creates and puts her name next to sells out quickly.  Just look at the Pink Friday 2 perfume that sold out all over America.  The December issue of Vogue for which she graces the cover (FINALLY!!!!) is difficult to find and at one point was selling for $100 a copy on Amazon. 

Nicki’s a marketing expert and an entertainment powerhouse!  We might never get to experience this type of genius ever again.

So, as you can imagine, I’m incredibly excited for the release of “Pink Friday 2” coming out this Friday, December 8th, which again you can pre-save here.  I can’t wait to sit with lil sis and discuss which songs are our favorite and what lyrics make us giggle, and just soak up the gorgeousness that is the Nicki Minaj vibe!

If it is anything like her career has been so far, “Pink Friday 2” is going to be EPIC.

Learn To Wax Your Body Instead of Shaving

In the pursuit of grooming excellence, waxing your body trumps shaving it for the following 3 reasons:

1. Long-Lasting Smoothness:

   Waxing removes the hair from the root of the hair follicle, leaving a silky smoothness that lasts far longer than the fleeting results of shaving. It is a 6 week smoothness rather than a daily battle with stubble. Say goodbye to stubble and hello to weeks of effortlessly smooth and soft skin!

2. Finer regrowth:

   The blunt regrowth of shaved hair is gross. Waxing by contrast encourages the hair to grow back finer and softer over time. This means not only enjoying longer periods of bare skin but also relishing in the luxury of hair that feels far less coarse and abrasive when it does return.

3. Diminished Irritation:
   Waxing minimizes the risk of irritation compared to the frequent nicks, cuts, and razor burns associated with shaving. Waxing is a more painful process in the short-term yes, but the long term effects of waxing is the gentler approach. Why? Because it ends up leaving the skin undisturbed, smooth, and irritation-free.
   
   I’ve been waxing since I was 20 years old and I’m now 33 with an enviable smooth skin texture. Indulge in the allure of long-lasting, refined smoothness – make waxing your grooming secret for irresistibly touchable skin!

   Wanna turn your body into a luxury? Sign up for my Body Grooming Channel and let me show you how! Here I give body maintenance tutorials (waxing included) that empower you to do it yourself at home.

SHADOWBANNED ON ALL PLATFORMS FOR BEING TOO REAL

Banned On All Platforms For Keeping It Too Real

A couple years ago once the Olympics in Tokyo were over I committed to writing everyday and posting whatever the result was up here on this blog. After careful consideration I think I’m going to do this again. I do believe it helped improve my writing.

Regardless of legibility, I’m going to post everyday on here and there’s nothing anybody can do about it. Recently I’ve had a couple of people try and discourage me from using my voice and platform to pursue a career in content creation: “What I’m wanting from you is that you get a real job,” This is something I’ve always found really funny. Who me? A real job? I have to laugh.

It’s funny because neither of these people making these suggestions are significant nor impactful people. I suppose I should be “grateful” for their insight but I’ve honestly been discouraged by far more successful people. If they were significant and impactful, perhaps they would have a social media following. Maybe they’d be more culturally relevant. Perhaps they’d have some kind of cultural legacy when you Googled their name. Unfortunately, they don’t. Once again, because nobody cares about what it is they have to say.

But people DO care about what I have to say. That’s the point. It’s always people that try their hand in a creative field and never really make it that discourage others from trying to do so. TLDR: they’re bitter they never made it. They’re mad nobody is checking for them or their opinion. So they resent anybody else’s attempt to try.

People know who I am. Whether the numbers reflect it on social media or not, people are aware of who I am. Because I challenge narratives and the status quo, they’re always going to try and keep me down. I know that on Instagram more people are watching my stories than they’re allowing to be seen. I know that my Tweets are being viewed by some powerful people, once again with deflated numbers.

Why do they deflate my numbers? Because they’re trying to discourage me from posting the truth. NEWSFLASH to all my haters out there: AMINI FONUA WILL NEVER SHUT THE FUCK UP ON THE THINGS HE WANTS TO TALK ABOUT AND I WILL ALWAYS USE MY VOICE AS A SOURCE OF TRUTH.

Did you read that properly? Okay. Good. Now carry on with your stupid and measly corporate job and fuck off. I’ve got minds that I need to open.

What proof do I have that these numbers are rigged against me? I don’t have any. It’s just a knowing feeling. Much in the same way I know when the media is lying to the people in their reporting. They keep my numbers deflated and low in the hopes that I’ll go away. They hope, like the other people I mentioned earlier, that I’ll shut the fuck up and just disappear. Unfortunately for them, I’m never going to stop posting and talking and creating content that’s going to get people thinking. It’s what I’ve been brought here to do: bring truth to light on some things.

When you question the status quo, it’s incredibly dangerous. Why? Because the existing power structures begin to get questioned. And trust me, they don’t want you asking questions. They’d rather you be disconnected from the truth and remain in the dark of ignorance because you’re much easier to control this way.

These companies know that incredibly influential people are coming to my page for shits and giggles. When I post certain things, and then I see other influential people alluding to them in their posts, I know that my shit is being seen by some of the greats. Why? Because I’m one of the greats. And like attracts like. They see this and this is all really upsetting for them. So, as a way and means of discouragement, they downplay my cultural impact.

But everybody knows the truth and you can’t keep it hidden forever.

I don’t need a bogus number on a website telling me I’m influential or not. I know my influence. I see it everywhere. I could give examples but why ruin a good thing? I’m just going to continue creating and starting conversations. I’m going to continue challenging people’s belief systems and values and really get them thinking.

Only a true creative genius is capable of doing such a thing. Only a person of intense intellectual thought is going to get people to wake up and smell the coffee. This is what I’m here for. I get people thinking. I get people talking. It’s an incredibly dangerous thing to do but someone’s got to do it.

I remember posting on X a question: if you’re so anti-guns and anti-violence, why do you keep voting for political candidates that continue flooding guns and perpetuating violence all across the world? You can’t say you’re anti-guns and anti-violence when you keep voting for candidates that keep reinforcing the very things you claim to be against.

I’ve worked in public relations, which caused me to see the inner-workings of media at some of the most wide-reaching establishments in the world. What happens in America touches every single part of the globe. I can tell you a lot about how things work. If you can pay the advertising dollars, then you can literally pay for them to write anything. It’s all transactional. This is how it works and this will be forever how it always works: follow the paper-trail.

I’m feeling very vindicated for lots of different reasons right now. The truth is coming to light. How do I know these things? Because there are ancient texts that already predict these outcomes. You’d be a fool to underestimate religion because the way power hungry humans grab onto power is always the same. By sheer force, manipulation, and destruction. Remember: there’s no new game under the sun. The ancient texts of religious doctrine explain to us very clearly how humanity works when we’re left to our own devices and without moral code. Something they’ve been promoting for a while because it’s easier to control you when you don’t know their next move.

I know their next moves 10 steps ahead of when they’re going to take it. They’ll call me crazy but then in 6 months time when it all plays out, they’ll see I’m right.

Tons of gays are going to roll their eyes because they’ve been brainwashed to hate religion, but here is a quote from the bible that rings true. It’s from Mark 4:22 (that means, chapter 4, verse 22 for those of you that don’t study the bible): "For there is nothing hidden except that it should be made known, neither was anything made secret but that it should come to light.”

These people who are trying to stop me from talking are the Godless. They’re loyal to nobody but themselves. And so I’m not going to listen to them. I’m loyal to the truth and nothing but the truth. When and I want to live a meaningless life centered around hedonistic living without any bounds to anything outside of own selfish self, then I’ll sit and listen and hear it is that they have to say. But until then, everything I need to know about the world and about life has already been written about.

This is why they want you hating religion because it’s the very playbook that’s going to get us out of this mess in the first place. Spirituality is the only way forward. The Godless and atheist people are not happy people, I assure you. I posted it on X the other day and it rings true: “If your measure of success is how much money you have in the bank it’ll never be enough.”

And that, my kittens, is the truth. In a world full of lies and constant violation of honesty, you deserve the truth. And I will make it my personal mission to give it to you.

And to the powers that be who control the media and select all the “celebrities” that we see before us, I really wonder how they’re faring now that a lot of the people they’ve selected to become famous are actively seeking to destroy their homeland. This is what happens when you’re disloyal to the truth and you only seek to promote populist ideals: absolute carnage and total destruction.

What happens when the thing that becomes popular is the second coming of the Holocaust? I bet you now you wish you’d made smarter people prolific because these fools are cheering on the very rockets that are shooting into your homeland and killing your people. They’re cheering for the raping of your women. They’re cheering for the decapitated heads of your children. Now all of a sudden, Amini Fonua doesn’t seem to be such a big threat anymore when you have literal nazis marching around in broad daylight. Emboldened by all the lies you’ve been feeding them.

I wish I could tell you that I’m surprised, but I’m not. Ever since the media has been spewing lies for the last 4 years, how can you expect people to suddenly be able to discern the truth? I always knew during the pandemic that the people who believed in the fascist media were going to becomes Nazis. I said to myself: we are a hop, jump, and skip away from the holocaust part 2 and when the shoe drops we’re going to see quite clearly who fell for the propaganda.

It’s the reason why I made a point to visit The Holocaust Museum when I was in Washington DC with my family. It was important for us as a Christian family to pay our respects to something that we teeter on the edge of experiencing once again every day. And you lot are 100% complicit in allowing it to happen. When people are brainwashed so severely by the wrong ideals, all it takes is a few scrolls on a phone screen to radicalize these individuals. Many of whom think destruction is a necessary evil to liberate a very dangerous terrorist organization.

When you’ve been operating on a frequency of deceit for so long, how can you expect people to do what’s right? You can’t. You blur the lines between what’s right and wrong to suit your own agenda and this is the ensuing result. Everybody is out here justifying their moral codes with bullshit. None of it is real. And now, with dire and tragic consequences for the entire world.

I bet you dimes to donuts that wish you’d made people who stand up for what’s right famous instead of idiots whose only currency of operation — and the only thing they’re loyal to I might add — is popularity. If you are willing to continue to spread and perpetuate so much mistrust through sharing half-truths, people are just going to start believing whatever it is they want to.

The media and journalism industry did this to themselves. They chose to print lies for all these years and now this is where we find ourselves: on the brink of WWIII, millions of people displaced with at least half a million dead, a mass migration all throughout Europe unlike we’ve ever seen in history before, and everybody living under constant threat of nuclear annihilation.

I might have been dangerous for a brief moment in time because I question narratives in search of the truth, but now you’ve got anti-Semitics and literal Nazis walking around in broad daylight. But once again, if you’re willing to sew seeds of mistrust and popularize half-truths, you only have yourselves to blame.

All of a sudden, Amini Fonua doesn’t appear to be so threatening.

My New Grooming Channel

I absolutely adore the physical specimen of manhood.  I call it just shy of worshipping man.  And all this adoration makes me feel compelled to want to bring out the best in men’s physical beauty and their appearance. I absolutely love and adore the physical body of a man!  It gets me very excited.  It gets me very turned on.  You could say I’m boy-crazy but I’m really just man-crazy.  I’m just crazy for boys and men in general!

I’m also a huge lover of grooming.  When I moved to New York City 10 years ago I had the honor of working with Out Magazine to do a grooming series for a big corporate conglomerate!  There was a video of me training for the Gay Games and it included a jog down to Brooklyn Bridge Park.  A park that is very special and near and dear to me, of course!

So ten years after my Out Magazine partnership, it seemed like a natural fit for me to start my own Grooming Channel, paying forward all the lessons I’ve accumulated over the years. 

As men, we don’t really discuss grooming. I think because it is embarrassing but mostly because it is deemed “feminine.”  Oftentimes, men want to know how to do something, but perhaps they aren’t comfortable seeking out this advice. Well, if this sounds like you then you’re in luck because this space is for you!

I plan on covering everything.  Starting with the feet.  Foot fetishists, rejoice!  I haven’t told anybody this but you get it here on the BLOG EXXXCLUSIVE.  We will start with grooming the feet. 

Why?  Because feet, well,  they carry us through life.  They are sort of very important to take care of.  I am a very physical guy and my feet sweat a lot, so I’ll show you on the grooming channel all the small things I do to maintain good footcare.  The goal is to minimize sweat, thus keeping bacteria, fungus, and all sorts of gross pathogens at bay.

My wish is to keep things simple and economical.  It costs $65+ to get your legs waxed at a salon (probably more since I last went) and this is non-inclusive of tip.  This is expensive.  Especially when you can spend $9.99 on my grooming channel, $20-$25 on your own waxing kit via Amazon, and learn how to do it yourself… All in the privacy of your own home. Better yet, for the rest of your life!

Footcare first, and then we move up the body to leg waxing next.  And then after the legs are done, well.  You get my drift.  Sometimes it is nice to keep people guessing!

We embrace all forms of beauty here, of course.  If you want to keep your nipples hairy and the patch above your ass-crack hairy, that’s your decision.  But wouldn’t you want to know how to get rid of that ass-crack patch if you wanted to?  Wouldn’t it feel empowering to get naked and feel confident, knowing that everything is exactly as you like it for yourself?  Feeling beautiful: it’s such a gift! And it is a gift I would like to share with you.

Don’t be afraid of the self-indulgence.  I hope if anything, you feel slightly more at east with the idea of grooming and removing the shame and stigma surrounding men’s bodies.  Throughout it all my slogan remains the same: “a little goes a long way.”

So, if you’re interested in turning your body into a luxury, sign-up for my Grooming Channel today!

*kisses*

Still Not Over Carlitos' Nike Shirt

There are some TikTok sounds that run through my mind all throughout the day.  They’ve become more like sayings to live by.  Attitudes to adopt.  The best sounds on TikTok capture an energy and a tone so perfectly.  Lately for me it has been: “The girls that get it, get it, and the girls that don’t, don’t.  Obviously, you don’t get it because you’re not that girl; got it?”

Photo Credit: X

This TikTok sound perfectly and succinctly encapsulates my thoughts and feelings on Carlitos’ shirt at this year’s US Open.  It is a controversial piece.  First of all, it’s sleeveless, which everybody immediately associates with Rafael Nadal.  Nadal obviously wasn’t the first athlete to go sleeveless, but he was certainly the first one to pull it off in a compelling way.

The other is that the shirt is multi-colored.  The base color is a nude flesh tone and the accompanying pattern is a bunch of different asymmetrical shapes in multiple different colors.  When the shapes do overlay one another, the colors change on the shirt adding depth to the garment. 

There’s no real consistency of pattern to any of the shapes either, they are literally all over the place!  Much like the way Carlitos plays the game of tennis on the Arthur Ashe court. Carlitos is famous for his footwork and being speedy around the court.

His most viral videos show the champion running here, running there, and running everywhere! Usually sealing the point with some ridiculous passing shot or drop-shot endeavor.  To me personally, it reminds me of the Spanish painter Picasso.

I’ve been blessed to see Picasso’s paintings at the Met Gala during an exhibit in 2015 (thank you ESTÉE LAUDER). Again, I see parallels between Picasso and Carlitos’ one of a kind playing style that can’t be replicated.  Not many people can pull off this painting style, and not many people can pull off this type of shirt, nor can many people play this type of game: it is a reflection of genius itself!

Photo Credit: AmazonMusic

In some ways it reminds me of Keith Haring in an abstract way, although Haring’s colors were a lot more limited.  Because I’m a Barb, I obviously see similarities between the shirt and Nicki Minaj’s “Pink Friday …  Roman Reloaded” album cover. The one where her body is the canvas and paint is splattered all over the place.

Photo Credit: X

One thing I like about Carlitos is that he’s never dressing older than his age.  Everything is age appropriate.  The player is 20 years old and has a playfulness with fashion that we haven’t seen for a while.  It reminds me of the younger Williams sisters when they were pushing all kinds of fashion boundaries on the court. It keeps the sport exciting!

The people who don’t like this shirt probably wouldn’t look good wearing it.  Accessibility is very important obviously when it comes to creating garments but that’s not the point of this shirt. 

If people could step outside of their vanity and see that the shirt is only meant to be worn by a certain few. That’s the point! I view it as more of a collector’s item.  If he makes a run for it and goes the whole way, this shirt will be a piece of art.  Fingers crossed he pulls it off! Best of luck to Carlitos and his team!

To the haters of this shirt, I leave you with the following TikTok saying once more for emphasis: “The girls that get it, get it, and the girls that don’t, don’t.  Obviously, you don’t get it because you’re not that girl; got it?”

The Type Of College Swimming Coach I'd Be

I like to think of myself as a forward-thinking coach.  Part of being this way is understanding that landscapes are constantly changing in sports.  In this social media era of athletics and sports, it is important to remember and recognize that athletes themselves are now brands.

4 years ago I was at The Standard for a party (I forget which one but my friend Martin was hosting) and I was talking to somebody working at Balenciaga.  You know, before it got canceled.  Anyway, this diva was OBSESSED with Serena Williams.  I asked him why high fashion houses haven’t merged with sports stars yet, as this to me seemed like a marketing no-brainer.  He said he kept putting sports stars forward for partnerships and deals but that it was still a hard sell.  This I understand.  Everything in terms of casting in fashion is always a fight.

World Number 1 and current Wimbledon and US Open Champion Carlos Alcaraz is the brand ambassador for Louis Vuitton.

Fast forward to spring/summer 2023 and we have nothing but sports stars as the ambassadors for high fashion houses.  And no rinky-dink small up and coming designers either but Louis Vuitton babes, have ya heard of them?  Carlos Alcaraz was announced as their new brand ambassador right before winning Wimbledon earlier this year; Félix Auger-Aliassime is the brand ambassador for Dior; Jannik Sinner is working with Gucci and got special dispensation from Wimbledon to carry a Gucci monogrammed bag onto Centre Court this year.  All very prolific fashion brands with all very big sports stars.  We honestly love to see it!  The time has arrived.

The kids these days are walking brands and billboards, drawing great significance and importance to the causes near and dear to their heart.  I mean hello!? The white Nike bucket-hat Carlitos wore at Wimbledon sold out and I’ve seen several white buck-hat knock-offs since.  I walk past one at the Urban Outfitter’s window on my walk to Brooklyn Bridge Park every morning. 

We are living in different times now.  We are so close to living in a time where athletes are able to close deals and keep their full check while also participating at NCAA (college sports) in America.  This was not always the case when I was an athlete myself.

I hate to make it all about me and go Uncle Rico from Napoleon Dynamite on that ass, but back in my day when I was a student athlete, we weren’t allowed to make money off our image.  We had to maintain “amateur” status.  This means we couldn’t swim professionally either.  If we swam professionally and won prize money, we got to keep upwards of what we could prove the trip cost.  So we had to keep receipts and proof of purchase and then whatever was leftover in terms of prize money we had to return. 

Can you imagine how depressing this was?  Winning prize money for your talent and not even being able to keep it.  For non-sensical reasons.  Oh my god how suffocating is that?  It was very strict.  We couldn’t even host swim clinics to make money or anything.  But this of course has all changed and I’m going to tell you how it all changed.

Image Credit: Donatella Versace’s Instagram.

Texas A&M Heisman Trophy winner Johnny Manziel trademarked the name “Johnny Football” and alongside it came a lot of controversy.  It opened a pandora’s box of questioning the NCAA’s exploitation of student athletes.  Why did the NCAA seek to make so much money off the back of their athletes in the excess of millions of dollars yet the athletes themselves weren’t allowed to exploit their own talent, image, and namesake to make a dime for themselves?  It was sort of around this time that the media began tearing Johnny Manziel to shreds.

It did beg a good question at the time though: why is it that all these media companies can make so much money off the back of student athletes and their image, without the athletes themselves making any money off their own image?  It is absolutely non-sensical. 

And the Supreme Court of the United States agreed. In June 2021 during the NCAA vs Alston case the Supreme Court unanimously held that the NCAA may no longer restrict member institutions from offering education-related compensation and benefits to student athletes.  In laments terms: student athletes can now make money from education-related compensation, aka swim clinics.  This is a small step in the right direction but still a far cry from where we need to be.

Now there are legal challenges to the “amateur status” business model that the NCAA holds onto in order to keep their enterprise running.  It is only a matter of time before the student athletes are completely liberated from this very strange desire to keep athletes “amateur,” so media companies can line their pockets up with money.

As a coach in order to anticipate this change, when it comes to social media and trying to control the image of my athletes, I’m going adopt a laissez-faire attitude.  I believe that as a coach, there are far more useful ways for me to use my time.  Like writing engaging practices that are going to contribute to my team’s success.  This is what I’d rather be doing.  Rather than fretting over athletes’ behavior online.

Canadian tennis star Felix Auger Aliassime at the Dior fashion show earlier this year.

Controlling and policing social media isn’t part of the job description of a coach yet it has somehow become this unwritten rule and responsibility.  I have no interest in doing this type of work.  If I did then I’d apply to be a social media manager, not a coach. 

I’d rather spend my time finding ways to inspire my swimmers.  This is what the job is about: extracting my swimmers’ best effort at practice every day.  So much so that they’re going to care more for their recovery and post-practice nutrition than anything else.

As for going out, during my time at Texas A&M they encouraged athletes to limit their alcohol consumption to once per month.  At “Champs Class,” which is a compulsory class every freshman Texas A&M student athlete must take, we had a presentation on alcohol and all the ways it can interfere with muscle development, sleep cycles, and hormonal imbalances.  Once per month ensured minimal damage to the body and it takes about a month of abstaining from alcohol in order for the body to reset its tolerance.

Learning this as a student athlete was so helpful.  The Aggie Athletic department understood that kids are going to do what kids are going to do, so the least they could do is encourage their athletes to drink responsibly and in a way that is going to ensure their academic and sporting success.

This influenced me to only go out once per month.  I honestly think this is what saved my studies and swimming.  Not everybody adhered to this rule of course, but I did notice that the kids exercised more self-discipline and control around alcohol always had higher grades and performed better at the end of year competitions.

Jannik Sinner got special dispensation at this year’s Wimbledon to carry a Gucci monogrammed bag onto the court.

Kids are social creatures.  It is normal after all the stress of tertiary classes and mid-term exams to want to blow of some steam every now and again.  Sometimes it is necessary.  After a night of fun dancing or karaoke on a full moon, I feel more focused for the upcoming month.  It is very important to release tension!  As much as we want to think our student athletes are all going to sit at home and play the sims on their laptop every Saturday night, this is simply unrealistic.  Especially in a city like New York City where there is so much going on.  Don’t be naïve!

I’ve heard stories of coaches punishing their athletes because they posted that they went out on their Instagram stories the night prior.  I find these things really inane and rather silly.  If somebody goes out the night prior but then shows up to practice and turns out a good workout, what else matters?  Furthermore, all because they were out the night before doesn’t necessarily mean that they were drinking and getting rambunctious.  There were plenty of nights I went out in college and didn’t drink.  I was a considerate teammate too and would volunteer to be the designated driver.  Social media is the worst because so much is contextual and making assumptions over what a person is doing is such a waste of time and energy.

I’d like to work with an athletic department that allows me to coach in such a way that encourages but doesn’t restrict.  I think this is the way and this is the future.  These kids and their social media pages are brands.  Whether they are real or caricatures of themselves remains to be seen, but it doesn’t work in anybody’s favor to try and censor athletes.  Let them show off their personalities!  Sports is all about personalities.

Hiring me as a college swim coach is a big risk because I’m a bit of a lunatic online.  But please understand that online persona is simply this: an online persona.  It is performance art.  It is an overwhelmingly large personality in a space where personality is so desperately needed.  The sport of swimming needs to showcase more personalities!

I cannot tell you how refreshing it was to see and hear Cate Campbell talk trash about the American swim team on national television in Australia these last World Champs!  Finally, we are beginning to see some personalities from our swim stars.  People are starting to make things interesting.  I wonder what the inspiration was behind all of this?

America’s Breaststroke sweetheart and multiple Olympic gold medalist Lilly King talked trash right back!  Lilly isn’t new to controversy of course.  Do you remember when Lilly waved her finger in the ready room at Russia’s Yulia Efimova at the Rio 2016 Olympics?  Wow.  What a fabulous moment for sports!  It grew the rivalry and hyped things up for the final.  And all the drama that had led up to the women’s 100M Breaststroke final in Rio made it absolutely electric!

The mature executives in upper-management of athletics need to understand that sports is entertainment!  Yes, we all wish to exercise good sportsmanship but can’t we have some fun at the same time too?  These athletes work so hard for their bodies, can’t they show them off online too?  Nobody here is aging backwards.  Nobody here is getting any younger either.  We should be fostering an environment where people feel proud of their bodies, not shame.

There is so much room to grow in the sport of swimming.  So many stories to be told and lives shared.  It isn’t always the gold medalists that always have the most interesting stories that are needing to be told either: Yusra Mardini taught us that.  There is so much potential to grow this sport through the art of creation and story-telling.  I feel like this is what I’ve been brought here to do.

At the end of the day: it comes back down to the athletes themselves.  That’s the reason why we’re here.  This is why people tune in.  We want to see what the sports stars are wearing.  How they’ve cut their hair.  What brands they’re wearing.  We want to hear about the things that are near and dear to their heart.  We want to listen to what they’ve got to say.  We like it when they feed us parts of their puzzling personalities that are surprising, unpredictable, and interesting.

The time has come for all the worlds of entertainment to collide.  No more artists looking down on athletes and no more athletes looking down on artists, the lifestyle is the same at the end of the day.  We slave our guts out everyday to produce the best quality work that we can, and social media should be seen as the vessel and the medium in which we can choose to express that journey.  I’m a coach that recognizes this as an opportunity and less of a hindrance and I’m a part of that changing landscape and future.

This is the type of coach I’d be.  No nonsense when it comes to the day-to-day practices, but with enough room and space for my athletes to grow and blossom and develop their own winning identities and personalities.  The kids these days don’t even have to be very good to make money from their sport either, they just have to be creative, have an imagination, and develop a following.

The Ultimate Skinny Summer Meal: L'amini Salade

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Pre-Tossed L’amini Salade.

If you’re looking for a cool and crispy salad that’s going to be as tasty as it is refreshing then listen up.  Introducing “L’amini salade,” which is my favorite salad for the past few years now.  I know the name seems silly but it is in homage to the francophile in me.

It might have the word “mini” thrown in there but there’s nothing minimal about this salad. It is very calorie dense.  Most flavorful foods are calorie dense, but these calories I would argue are good calories that our bodies will digest easily. There’s a difference between eating a hearty salad full of calories and natural cheese, and chowing down a full bag of cheez-its that are also full of calories.

Post-tossed L’amini Salade.

We have to stop thinking of calories as a number but also consider how certain foods are easier for our bodies to digest than others. Most of the calories are coming from the dressing, which is really just olive oil, apple cider vinegar, goat’s cheese, and honey. The best part? The dressing is made inside the salad bowl saving time and not compromising on any flavor.

Without further ado, here is L’amini Salade! If you want to download a jpg version of this recipe to save on your phone without the nonsense and pictures then find it linked at the bottom of this post alongside a video of me making this delicious recipe earlier this week.

Amini's Phat Ass Leg Workout

In the 2nd edition of my workout program, here’s what I do for legs:

Please beware, my leg workout is no joke. It really is not for the faint of heart. If you are new to lifting weights, don’t be afraid to do the whole thing with the bar only if you have to. There is a lot of squatting and lunging. My burn set is more of a burn series than a set but it pushes blood to the appropriate places to get a “pretty hot and tasty” (PHAT) ass.

If you aren’t new to lifting, I’d still suggest going easy on yourself. Work your way up to squatting your body weight during the power sets. I know this leg workout might look psycho but it took me 10 years to build up to doing it this way consistently. When I take a break from lifting, I take it easy when re-introducing legs.

Post-gym recovery is especially important when it comes to legs. Make sure you get plenty of water. Leg day can cause more sweat and dehydration than other days. I think this is the reason why a lot of people skip leg day: it’s a mixture of weight lifting and cardio.

I hate it when guys skip leg day because it is so obvious when you look at the body. Everything comes together nicely when it’s being held together by a good pair of legs. So if there’s any motivation to do this leg workout, just think about how well everything will come together as a result of your leg workout.

Always try to keep the weight on your heels when squatting and lunging.. Make sure you protect your back by keeping a big chest, eyes-up and not looking down, keeping the integrity in your back. I know it’ll be uncomfortable but as you squat down it is imperative that you stick your butt out. This is awkward, yes, but it’s almost guaranteed that you’ll protect your back from injuries.

If you can, try and foam-roll directly after doing a leg workout to breakdown lactic acid. Don’t be concerned if you can’t walk for the first 24 or 48 hours after this workout, it means that it is working! Happy PHAT ass growing everybody!!!