Ari

my perspective

[Ari @Ari_Bleu1]

@therealmaf_ Journaling while an 18 month old is screaming on the floor is insane. Glad she got fired.

[maf @therealmaf_]

My sister hired a Gen Z babysitter, and yesterday she called me in a panic because her son had been crying for 20 minutes.

She asked the girl what happened.

The girl said, “He’s having a hard time regulating his emotions, and I don’t want to invalidate his experience.”

My sister asked if she had tried giving him his bottle.

[Ari @Ari_Bleu1]

雨が強くなり始めたのは、まだバーにいるときだった。一杯のつもりが三杯になった。外の街は濡れた光のぼやけに変わっていた。帰ろうとしたとき、彼が二席隣に座った。背が高く、コートの肩がまだ濡れている。私と同じウイスキーを注文し、バーテンダーが離れるまで私を見なかった。
「びしょ濡れになる」彼は言った。
窓を見た。雨はすでに横から叩いている。「わかってる」
彼はゆっくり飲み干して立ち上がった。「傘がある。十二階に部屋もある」
エレベーターまで傘を共有した。風が押すたびに肩が触れた。中は暖かくて近く、コートに染みた雨の匂いと、その下の彼の熱を感じた。太ももを閉じた。何ヶ月も誰にも触られていなかった。体が気づいた。
部屋は暗く、雨に濡れたガラス越しに街の明かりだけが落ちていた。彼はドアを閉めた。傘がカーペットに滴った。明かりはつけなかった。ただ私を見て、コートの前がドレスに触れる距離まで近づいた。
「バーのときから濡れてる」低い声で言った。手が腰に置かれ、親指が薄い布の下に滑った。触れた瞬間、脚の間の疼きが鋭くなった。動くと、すでにびしょ濡れのパンティが張り付くのがわかった。

[Ari @Ari_Bleu1]

I got fired three months ago.
Spent every day applying. Interview after interview. Most of them were forgettable. Then I walked into this one.
He was already standing when I entered the room. Tall. The kind of tall that makes you tip your head back. Black suit fitted across broad shoulders, white shirt open at the collar. Sharp jaw, dark eyes that tracked me the second I stepped inside. I sat across from him and felt heat crawl up the back of my neck. I had been celibate for months on purpose but my thighs still pressed together under the table the moment he looked at me.

[Ari @Ari_Bleu1]

彼は感じた。指が締まった。私を後ろに歩かせ、背中が窓の冷たいガラスに当たった。反対側で雨が叩く。口が私の口を見つけた——最初はゆっくり、それから深く、舌が絡みながら手がドレスを押し上げた。パンティを太ももから引きずり下ろした。冷たい空気、それから彼の掌の熱が脚の間に滑り込んだ。二本の指が私を開き、どれだけ濡れているかをなぞった。音は雨に紛れて柔らかく、卑猥だった。
彼の口に呻いた。指を深く動かし、曲げ、掌の付け根でクリトリスを押すと腰が彼に擦れた。脚が震えた。濡れた手を引き、顔を見ながら指を一本舐めた。それからベルトを外した。
彼は私を持ち上げた。脚を彼の腰に回した。彼の先端が私に当たり、太く熱く、一度だけ割れ目をなぞってから中に入ってきた。ゆっくり。深く。ガラスに押しつけられながら、一インチずつ開かれていくのを感じた。彼は奥まで留まり、片方の手が太ももの下、もう片方の手が頭の横に支えられながら動き始めた。
雨は降り続けた。彼は窓に私を押しつけながら犯した——安定して、それから強く、彼が突き入れるたびに頭の後ろで街の明かりがぼやけた。私はとても濡れていて、音が嵐と混ざった。腕を彼の首に回した。親指が再びクリトリスを見つけると強くイキ、彼を締めつけ、額を肩に押しつけ、息が途切れた。彼はそれを越えて続け、ペースが荒くなり、深く埋めて首に低い声を漏らしながら中で脈打った。雨はガラスを叩き続けた。
しばらくそのままだった。息だけ。手がまだ太ももの下。ドレスは腰に捲れ上がったまま。外では街が動き続け、中ではどちらも話さなかった。
彼は慎重に私を下ろした。ドレスを直した。窓の雨を背に、一度私を見た。
「泊まれ」彼は言った。
私は泊まった。

[Ari @Ari_Bleu1]

雨が強くなり始めたのは、まだバーにいるときだった。一杯のつもりが三杯になった。外の街は濡れた光のぼやけに変わっていた。帰ろうとしたとき、彼が二席隣に座った。背が高く、コートの肩がまだ濡れている。私と同じウイスキーを注文し、バーテンダーが離れるまで私を見なかった。
「びしょ濡れになる」彼は言った。
窓を見た。雨はすでに横から叩いている。「わかってる」
彼はゆっくり飲み干して立ち上がった。「傘がある。十二階に部屋もある」
エレベーターまで傘を共有した。風が押すたびに肩が触れた。中は暖かくて近く、コートに染みた雨の匂いと、その下の彼の熱を感じた。太ももを閉じた。何ヶ月も誰にも触られていなかった。体が気づいた。
部屋は暗く、雨に濡れたガラス越しに街の明かりだけが落ちていた。彼はドアを閉めた。傘がカーペットに滴った。明かりはつけなかった。ただ私を見て、コートの前がドレスに触れる距離まで近づいた。
「バーのときから濡れてる」低い声で言った。手が腰に置かれ、親指が薄い布の下に滑った。触れた瞬間、脚の間の疼きが鋭くなった。動くと、すでにびしょ濡れのパンティが張り付くのがわかった。

[Ari @Ari_Bleu1]

@namukurakoyo 優先席は長生きしたジジイの席じゃなくて、これから生まれる命の席だろが

https://t.co/HXg0xZPP3Z

[Ari @Ari_Bleu1]

I got fired three months ago.
Spent every day applying. Interview after interview. Most of them were forgettable. Then I walked into this one.
He was already standing when I entered the room. Tall. The kind of tall that makes you tip your head back. Black suit fitted across broad shoulders, white shirt open at the collar. Sharp jaw, dark eyes that tracked me the second I stepped inside. I sat across from him and felt heat crawl up the back of my neck. I had been celibate for months on purpose but my thighs still pressed together under the table the moment he looked at me.

[Ari @Ari_Bleu1]

@Anathenumberone Stunning photos. Is this from a recent Tiffany shoot or just aesthetic? Either way, the jewelry sits so well on her.

[Ari @Ari_Bleu1]

The doors closed. For three floors neither of us spoke. Then our eyes met in the mirrored wall. I felt the ache between my legs from the night before, the slight tenderness, the memory of how deep he had been. He didn’t smile. He just looked. I did a small one. Private. The kind that said nothing and everything at once.
The elevator stopped. People got off. We stayed where we were. No awkwardness. No distance. Just the quiet knowledge that everyone else had no idea what happened on that desk, and that neither of us was finished.

[Ari @Ari_Bleu1]

I got fired three months ago.
Spent every day applying. Interview after interview. Most of them were forgettable. Then I walked into this one.
He was already standing when I entered the room. Tall. The kind of tall that makes you tip your head back. Black suit fitted across broad shoulders, white shirt open at the collar. Sharp jaw, dark eyes that tracked me the second I stepped inside. I sat across from him and felt heat crawl up the back of my neck. I had been celibate for months on purpose but my thighs still pressed together under the table the moment he looked at me.

[Ari @Ari_Bleu1]

He kept it professional. Asked about my last role, why I left, what I wanted. I answered. My voice stayed steady. My body did not. Every time his eyes dropped to my mouth I felt it low in my stomach. At one point he paused, tilted his head slightly, and said, quiet enough that only I heard it, “You’re bright. And beautiful. That’ll help with clients.”
The word beautiful landed between my legs. I bit my bottom lip without meaning to. His gaze stayed there. Too long. I shifted in the chair and felt the damp cling of my panties. I was already wet. The kind of wet that makes you sit still because moving would only make it worse.
I got the job.
Weeks later the office emptied. Late. Lights low. Everyone else gone. I was still at my desk when he walked over, no jacket, sleeves rolled, the scent of him thick in the quiet. He stopped beside my chair. His hand settled on my waist. Big palm. Fingers spreading. Thumb stroking once along my side through my blouse.
The second he touched me the wetness turned sharp. I shifted and felt it , slick, heavy, my panties ruined. He felt me react. His grip tightened.
“I knew the day you walked in for that interview,” he said, voice low against my ear. “The way you looked at me. The way you bit your lip when I called you beautiful. I’ve been thinking about how wet you’d be if I put my hand exactly where it is right now… and then lower.”
I turned in the chair. He didn’t wait. He lifted me onto the edge of the desk, skirt already riding up. His hands slid under it, palms rough against my thighs, thumbs hooking my panties and dragging them down until they hung from one ankle. Cool air hit me. I heard the soft, wet sound when he ran two fingers through me. I was dripping. Open. He watched my face while he worked them deeper, curling, the heel of his hand pressing where I needed it. My head fell back. I grabbed the edge of the desk and spread wider, hips chasing his hand.
He kissed me then hard, tongue sliding against mine while his fingers moved, wet sounds loud in the empty office. When he pulled his hand away it glistened. He sucked one finger clean.
“Turn around.”
I did. Bent over the desk, skirt bunched at my waist, palms flat. He stepped between my legs. I felt the heat of him first, thick as he dragged the head of his cock through my folds, coating himself. Then he pushed in. Slow enough that I felt every inch stretch me open. Deep enough that my breath left in a broken sound. He stayed buried for a moment, one hand sliding under my blouse to cup my breast, thumb circling my nipple while he started to move.
It was not soft. The desk shifted with every thrust. Deep, steady, then harder when I pushed back. His hand left my neck and gripped my hip, pulling me onto him so the slap of skin filled the room. I was so wet the sound was obscene. Every time he bottomed out I felt it in my stomach, the stretch, the heat, the way my pussy clenched around him. He reached around and rubbed my clit in tight circles while he fucked me, and that broke me. My legs shook. I came with his name in my mouth, clenching so hard he groaned and drove deeper, fucking me through it until I was gasping against the desk.
He kept going. Pace turning rougher. Hand fisting in my hair, pulling just enough to arch my back. I felt him swell. Felt his thrusts turn shorter, harder. He came with a low sound against my shoulder, spilling deep, hips pressed flush while he pulsed inside me. For a moment neither of us moved. Just breathing. His hand still on my hip. My forehead against the cool surface. The only sound was the quiet after.
He pulled out slowly. Warmth leaked down my thigh. He turned me around, fixed my skirt with careful hands, then looked at me. No rush. Just his eyes, dark and steady.
“Tomorrow,” he said.
I nodded. My legs were still unsteady. My panties stayed on the floor.
The next morning we met in the elevator. Other people filled the space. He stood on one side. I stood on the other.

[Ari @Ari_Bleu1]

@therealmaf_ You were right to say no. Borrowing a car for “an hour” and bringing it back three days later with 400 extra miles isn’t a misunderstanding, it’s taking advantage of someone’s trust.

[maf @therealmaf_]

My neighbor borrowed my car for “an hour” to pick up her kid from practice.
She brought it back three days later.
When I checked the mileage, she had driven over 400 miles.
I asked her about it.
She said, I had an emergency. My sister needed me in the next state. I was going to tell you.
I told her she should have asked first.
She got defensive and said, It’s just a car. You’re acting like I stole it.
Then she added, “I’ll pay for the gas.”
I told her that wasn’t the point.
She left angry.

[maf @therealmaf_]

She introduced a formal request system with a 48-hour turnaround time, claiming it would improve accountability and prevent future disruptions.

I replied, “Thank you for clarifying the new procedure. I’ll direct all photocopying requests to your office going forward.”

And I did.

Every single time someone approached my desk with documents to print, I forwarded them to Karen.

By the end of the month, she was spending nearly an hour a day handling printing requests, clearing paper jams, and chasing maintenance.

One afternoon, she walked past my desk carrying two enormous stacks of documents.

She stopped and glared at me.

“You know, you could have just helped me instead of making all this difficult.”

I looked at my computer screen and kept typing.

“I thought we were trying to improve accountability.”

[maf @therealmaf_]

I thought about that, but I’m not trained to repair office equipment. I don’t want to make the problem worse.”

She stared at me.

“You’ve been fixing it for months!”

“I was trying to help. I thought the maintenance team should handle it now.”

She walked away muttering under her breath.

By lunchtime, two coworkers had confronted me about my attitude. One of them said she’d missed a deadline because I refused to help her print a presentation.

I showed her the maintenance ticket.

She told me to stop acting like a child.

I went back to work.

On Thursday, the office manager sent a company-wide email reminding everyone that employees were not permitted to attempt unauthorized repairs on office equipment.

I saved that email, too.

On Friday morning, Karen arrived at my desk carrying a thick financial report.

“I need twelve copies of this. The regional director is coming at noon, and I want everything ready before the meeting.”

I looked at the report, then at the copier.

“Has maintenance fixed it?”

“No. Just do what you usually do.”

I reminded her about the office manager’s email.

Her expression changed immediately.

“I’m your manager. I’m telling you to print these documents.”

“And I’m happy to help once the machine is operational. I just don’t want to violate the new policy.”

She snatched the report off my desk.

“Unbelievable.”

At 11:15 a.m., the regional director arrived.

At 11:30, Karen was still trying to get the copier to work.

At 11:40, the director walked into the conference room and asked where the financial reports were.

Karen blamed the copier.

Then she blamed maintenance.

Then she said I normally handled those problems.

The director came straight to my desk.

“Why haven’t you fixed the machine?”

I opened my laptop and showed him the maintenance requests I’d submitted since Monday. I also showed him HR’s response and the office manager’s warning against unauthorized repairs.

He read everything without saying a word.

Then he turned to Karen.

“You knew this machine was broken?”

“Yes, but he usually fixes it.”

“Did you submit a maintenance request?”

She hesitated.

“No.”

“Did you follow up with maintenance?”

No, but I assumed he would take care of it.”

The director looked at the report in her hands.

“You promised me printed copies of a financial report for a meeting you scheduled. You knew the copier wasn’t working, and instead of arranging a repair, you assumed an accounts assistant would keep fixing it.”

Karen started explaining that everyone was supposed to help each other.

He cut her off.

“Find a print shop. Get these documents printed. We’ll discuss this later.”

An employee was sent to a nearby print shop, and the company paid $684 for emergency printing and delivery. The meeting started late, and the director postponed the financial review because several documents still weren’t ready.

That afternoon, HR called me into a meeting with Karen and the office manager.

I expected a disciplinary warning.

Instead, HR asked why I’d allowed a minor equipment problem to disrupt an entire department.

I opened my laptop again.

“I reported the problem three times. I followed the instructions HR gave me about my responsibilities. I followed the office manager’s instructions about unauthorized repairs. I’m happy to follow whichever policy the company decides is appropriate.”

Nobody answered.

Then the regional director walked into the meeting carrying a printed copy of the email chain.

He placed it on the table.

“Why did we spend four days arguing with an employee instead of spending ten minutes arranging a repair?”

HR said they would review the process.

Karen didn’t say a word.

The copier was replaced the following Monday.

I thought that would be the end of it.

I was wrong.

Two weeks later, Karen sent an email to the entire department announcing that all photocopying requests would now go through her office.

[maf @therealmaf_]

I was an accounts assistant, not IT support.

Nobody cared.

Last Monday, the copier jammed while I was printing invoices for a deadline. My manager, Karen, walked over, dropped another stack of papers on my desk, and told me to fix it before I left.

I reminded her that I’d already reported the problem twice.

She rolled her eyes.

“Then report it again. We all have to help each other.”

That afternoon, I emailed HR. I explained that the machine was malfunctioning, that I wasn’t trained to repair it, and that constantly fixing it was interfering with my actual work.

HR replied within an hour.

“Teamwork is an important part of our company culture. Employees are expected to demonstrate flexibility and maintain a cooperative attitude.”

They didn’t arrange a repair.

They sent me a lecture.

The next morning, Karen called me into her office and shut the door.

She told me my email made me look uncooperative. Apparently, several people had complained that I wasn’t being a team player.

Then she said something I’ll never forget.

“Sometimes, you have to do things that aren’t technically your job. That’s what makes someone valuable.”

I nodded, apologized for the misunderstanding, and went back to my desk.

I decided to become the most cooperative employee in the building.

On Wednesday morning, the copier jammed again.

I submitted another maintenance request, attached a picture of the error message, and went back to my invoices.

Ten minutes later, Karen appeared beside my desk.

“Why is the copier still broken?”

“Maintenance hasn’t responded to the ticket.”

“You know how to fix it. Just open it up and clear the jam.”

[Ari @Ari_Bleu1]

@therealmaf_ You handled this exactly right. You documented every request, stuck to the policies HR and the office manager had already put in writing, and stopped being the unofficial copier tech.

[maf @therealmaf_]

I complained to HR about our broken office copier. By Friday, my manager had turned a simple repair into a $684 problem for the company.

For three months, that machine had been jamming almost every day.

I was the person who usually fixed it because my desk was closest to it. People would walk over with hundreds of pages, dump them on my desk, and say, “Can you get this working? I have a meeting in twenty minutes.”

[Ari @Ari_Bleu1]

A girl I know started seeing a guy who talks a lot about “protecting his peace.”
whenever something bothers him, he takes hours or days to respond.
he says he needs space to process.
he doesn’t like being pressured to talk when he’s not ready.
but when she needs the same thing, the rules change.
last week she told him she was overwhelmed at work and needed a quiet evening.
he called twice.
then he texted, “you’re ignoring me. what’s going on?”
she explained she just needed a few hours to herself, the same way he sometimes does.
he replied, “I only pull away when something’s actually wrong. you’re just shutting down.”
she stared at the message for a while.
then she said, “so it’s only okay when you do it?”
he didn’t answer for the rest of the night.
the next morning he acted like nothing happened.
she already knew the peace he talks about is only reserved for him.