Beauty topics, products, tips, and advice presented by Filthy.
Sexy Costumes Add A Spark To Your Love Life
On the off chance that your adoration life is feeling standard and the flash is taking steps to go out, inhale some natural air in with the general mish-mash by utilizing provocative outfits. Regardless of whether you might want to let it out, everybody has a dream. For most folks the Farrah Fawcet in the red bathing suit dream is positioned straight up there with the Princess Leia in the two-piece dream. Obviously, any occupation with "hot" recorded before it wraps up out the trifecta of fellow dreams. These incorporate hot medical caretakers, cops, house cleaners, airline stewards, privateers, and, surprisingly, a lunch woman is she's adequately attractive!
Valentine's Day Bruhaha
The season of love is here and everyone is trying to ensure they pertake in the show of love. What ceases to amaze me is how ladies are doing the unimaginable for the sake of a Valentine's day which will fast become a thing of the past.
The Picton boat was due to leave at half-past eleven. It was a beautiful night, mild, starry, only when they got out of the cab and started to walk down the Old Wharf that jutted out into the harbour, a faint wind blowing off the water ruffled under Fenella's hat, and she put up her hand to keep it on. It was dark on the Old Wharf, very dark; the wool sheds, the cattle trucks, the cranes standing up so high, the little squat railway engine, all seemed carved out of solid darkness. Here and there on a rounded woodpile, that was like the stalk of a huge black mushroom, there hung a lantern, but it seemed afraid to unfurl its timid, quivering light in all that blackness; it burned softly, as if for itself. Fenella's father pushed on with quick, nervous strides. Beside him her grandma bustled along in her crackling black ulster; they went so fast that she had now and again to give an undignified little skip to keep up with them. As well as her luggage strapped into a neat sausage, Fenella carried clasped to her her grandma's umbrella, and the handle, which was a swan's head, kept giving her shoulder a sharp little peck as if it too wanted her to hurry...Men, their caps pulled down, their collars turned up, swung by; a few women all muffled scurried along; and one tiny boy, only his little black arms and legs showing out of a white woolly shawl, was jerked along angrily between his father and mother; he looked like a baby fly that had fallen into the cream. Then suddenly, so suddenly that Fenella and her grandma both leapt, there sounded from behind the largest wool shed, that had a trail of smoke hanging over it, "Mia-oo-oo-O-O!" "First whistle," said her father briefly, and at that moment they came in sight of the Picton boat. Lying beside the dark wharf, all strung, all beaded with round golden lights, the Picton boat looked as if she was more ready to sail among stars than out into the cold sea. People pressed along the gangway. First went her grandma, then her father, then Fenella. There was a high step down on to the deck, and an old sailor in a jersey standing by gave her his dry, hard hand. They were there; they stepped out of the way of the hurrying people, and standing under a little iron stairway that led to the upper deck they began to say good-bye. "There, mother, there's your luggage!" said Fenella's father, giving grandma another strapped-up sausage. "Thank you, Frank." "And you've got your cabin tickets safe?" "Yes, dear." "And your other tickets?" Grandma felt for them inside her glove and showed him the tips. "That's right." He sounded stern, but Fenella, eagerly watching him, saw that he looked tired and sad. "Mia-oo-oo-O-O!" The second whistle blared just above their heads, and a voice like a cry shouted, "Any more for the gangway?" "You'll give my love to father," Fenella saw her father's lips say. And her grandma, very agitated, answered, "Of course I will, dear. Go now. You'll be left. Go now, Frank. Go now." "It's all right, mother. I've got another three minutes." To her surprise Fenella saw her father take off his hat. He clasped grandma in his arms and pressed her to him. "God bless you, mother!" she heard him say. And grandma put her hand, with the black thread glove that was worn through on her ring finger, against his cheek, and she sobbed, "God bless you, my own brave son!" This was so awful that Fenella quickly turned her back on them, swallowed once, twice, and frowned terribly at a little green star on a mast head. But she had to turn round again; her father was going. "Good-bye, Fenella. Be a good girl." His cold, wet moustache brushed her cheek. But Fenella caught hold of the lapels of his coat. "How long am I going to stay?" she whispered anxiously. He wouldn't look at her. He shook her off gently, and gently said, "We'll see about that. Here! Where's your hand?" He pressed something into her palm. "Here's a shilling in case you should need it." A shilling! She must be going away for ever! "Father!" cried Fenella. But he was gone. He was the last off the ship. The sailors put their shoulders to the gangway. A huge coil of dark rope went flying through the air and fell "thump" on the wharf. A bell rang; a whistle shrilled. Silently the dark wharf began to slip, to slide, to edge away from them. Now there was a rush of water between. Fenella strained to see with all her might. "Was that father turning round?"--or waving?--or standing alone?--or walking off by himself? The strip of water grew broader, darker. Now the Picton boat began to swing round steady, pointing out to sea. It was no good looking any longer. There was nothing to be seen but a few lights, the face of the town clock hanging in the air, and more lights, little patches of them, on the dark hills. The freshening wind tugged at Fenella's skirts; she went back to her grandma. To her relief grandma seemed no longer sad. She had put the two sausages of luggage one on top of the other, and she was sitting on them, her hands folded, her head a little on one side. There was an intent, bright look on her face. Then Fenella saw that her lips were moving and guessed that she was praying. But the old woman gave her a bright nod as if to say the prayer was nearly over. She unclasped her hands, sighed, clasped them again, bent forward, and at last gave herself a soft shake. "And now, child," she said, fingering the bow of her bonnet-strings, "I think we ought to see about our cabins. Keep close to me, and mind you don't slip." "Yes, grandma!" "And be careful the umbrellas aren't caught in the stair rail. I saw a beautiful umbrella broken in half like that on my way over." "Yes, grandma." Dark figures of men lounged against the rails. In the glow of their pipes a nose shone out, or the peak of a cap, or a pair of surprised-looking eyebrows. Fenella glanced up. High in the air, a little figure, his hands thrust in his short jacket pockets, stood staring out to sea. The ship rocked ever so little, and she thought the stars rocked too. And now a pale steward in a linen coat, holding a tray high in the palm of his hand, stepped out of a lighted doorway and skimmed past them. They went through that doorway. Carefully over the high brass-bound step on to the rubber mat and then down such a terribly steep flight of stairs that grandma had to put both feet on each step, and Fenella clutched the clammy brass rail and forgot all about the swan-necked umbrella. At the bottom grandma stopped; Fenella was rather afraid she was going to pray again. But no, it was only to get out the cabin tickets. They were in the saloon. It was glaring bright and stifling; the air smelled of paint and burnt chop-bones and indiarubber. Fenella wished her grandma would go on, but the old woman was not to be hurried. An immense basket of ham sandwiches caught her eye. She went up to them and touched the top one delicately with her finger. "How much are the sandwiches?" she asked. "Tuppence!" bawled a rude steward, slamming down a knife and fork. Grandma could hardly believe it. "Twopence each?" she asked. "That's right," said the steward, and he winked at his companion. Grandma made a small, astonished face. Then she whispered primly to Fenella. "What wickedness!" And they sailed out at the further door and along a passage that had cabins on either side. Such a very nice stewardess came to meet them. She was dressed all in blue, and her collar and cuffs were fastened with large brass buttons. She seemed to know grandma well. "Well, Mrs. Crane," said she, unlocking their washstand. "We've got you back again. It's not often you give yourself a cabin." "No," said grandma. "But this time my dear son's thoughtfulness--" "I hope--" began the stewardess. Then she turned round and took a long, mournful look at grandma's blackness and at Fenella's black coat and skirt, black blouse, and hat with a crape rose. Grandma nodded. "It was God's will," said she. The stewardess shut her lips and, taking a deep breath, she seemed to expand. "What I always say is," she said, as though it was her own discovery, "sooner or later each of us has to go, and that's a certingty." She paused. "Now, can I bring you anything, Mrs Crane? A cup of tea? I know it's no good offering you a little something to keep the cold out." Grandma shook her head. "Nothing, thank you. We've got a few wine biscuits, and Fenella has a very nice banana." "Then I'll give you a look later on," said the stewardess, and she went out, shutting the door. What a very small cabin it was! It was like being shut up in a box with grandma. The dark round eye above the washstand gleamed at them dully. Fenella felt shy. She stood against the door, still clasping her luggage and the umbrella. Were they going to get undressed in here? Already her grandma had taken off her bonnet, and, rolling up the strings, she fixed each with a pin to the lining before she hung the bonnet up. Her white hair shone like silk; the little bun at the back was covered with a black net. Fenella hardly ever saw her grandma with her head uncovered; she looked strange.
Who's that Girl?
If you surf the internet long enough, then chances are you'll come across a meme. According to Google the definition of a meme is an image, video, piece of text which is typically humorous in nature. It is often copied and spread rapidly by internet users, often with slight variations.
25th of September 2016.
The day I made love for the first time was the 25th of September of 2016, at 23 years, two months and 7 days. I won’t use the term ‘losing my virginity’ at any point in these words. For many of us, losing our virginity happen to us before we are even conscious of what making love is. For me, it was at 6 years old, and it wasn’t to the man of my dreams. My innocence left my body, mind and soul before I had any pubic hair. It left me before I had learnt right from wrong. My innocence was taking from me before I knew it wasn’t anyone’s to take. It was brushed off me like the dust on that old vintage cupboard that is there just for the beauty of its presence.
Beauty Trends or Vanity Insanity...You Decide
Vaginal Rejuvenation (vaginoplasty) – The fact that there is even such a market available makes my face screw up like I ate a dill pickle. But yes, this is a very real treatment and there are lasers that cost more than most homes to tighten up the downstairs.
Please Stop Saying Looks Don't Matter
I happened to come across yet another "what I look for in a man" article the other day. You know the type I'm sure. It is usually written by an attractive and successful woman, and filled with advice for the modern man to help him win more dates with women like herself. This particular article was well written, kind of funny, and well intentioned it seemed. However, among the author's many bits of helpful wisdom she included the classic line I have heard from many women of the years that "looks aren't all that important."
Psychologist: The development law of female "sexual psychology" is that desire changes from spontaneous to passive
Today, sex is no longer a topic that makes people shy and dare not face. People actively talk about sexual experience and exchange sexual experiences, hoping to get sympathy for sexual activities from communication.
Tips on Hiding Your Body Hair From an Ex Exotic Dancer
I remember when I started dancing, there was an obnoxious DJ that told stories about dancers he knew previously in what he liked to call, "the good years." He meant the nineties, which is fair enough, as any dancer that actually danced back then can tell you they basically gave air dances and it rained. Hard.
The Baddest Models on Instagram of 2021
The Baddest Models on Instagram in 2021 is a series we will share with you throughout the rest of the year. A big shout out to Vocal's "Filthy" section which allows us to celebrate this new generation of body positive women!
The French Girl and Vino Rosso
The French Girl and Vino Rosso She walked in. The French Girl has chosen a table in the centre of the restaurant, of course, she would she does not want to hide anymore. She wants to be seen and she wants the world to see the Goddess that has just walked in and is going to sit at her table. She wants to see this Goddess as she walks in and she wants to drink her in as she would her glass of Merlot and she does.
Conservative classy has become the new sexy
What is considered attractive or hot? What is the ideal that others are looking for or attracted to? Is there a pattern in trends of what we find attractive?