Topless pictures

I (F,19) have never seen a doctor for my sunken chest - in fact I had not even realised pectus excavatum was a thing until my ex-bf (who has severe PE) pointed it out to me around a year ago. Looking back at childhood pictures I have always had a mild but noticeable sunken chest. For as long as I can remember I’ve always self conscious of how “weird” my chest looks.
I’m slightly underweight/petite so imo it’s still noticeable despite being relatively mild. Included some holiday pics for reference (ignore sunburn pls lol).
From what I’ve seen women w Pectus tend to be smaller chested but I’m a (saggy) C cup. I think my sunken chest has contributed to/highlighted my droopy (hypoplastic?) boobs. They litr hang off my chest like grandma boobs 😭😭 Since hitting puberty I’ve spent many hours crying over how awful I look topless.
Aside from aesthetic concerns, I do believe that Pectus could be behind my unexplained fatigue, dizziness, lightheadedness and blacking out when standing up/fainting spells. I’m planning to see my GP soon to check that out and possibly get a diagnosis.
Since my concern is mainly aesthetic, I was wondering if any women have had experiences with breast correction vs Pectus surgery to improve breast appearance. I’m confused by all of this and have found little help online so any experiences/guidance would be much appreciated ❤️❤️

Mica Miller’s husband, John Paul Miller, admitted in an apology letter to posting a topless photo of her online.
“I’m sorry for putting a picture of you on the internet,” reads the apology email, which was exclusively obtained by NewsNation national correspondent Rich McHugh. “It was for less than one hour and immediately taken down. I was hurt that you are telling everyone horrible intimate details of my past sin, and I just wanted to try and hurt you. Please forgive me. It was evil of me to do that.”
An investigation is underway into the death of Mica, a pastor’s wife who was found dead with an alleged self-inflicted gunshot wound.
A couple of days after John-Paul sent the apology email, Mica sent an affidavit to her attorney. It was roughly nine days before she died.
She wrote: “Since the day we became husband and wife, I have been abused in every way I can think of. Emotionally, sexually, spiritually, financially, and physically. He has harassed me physically and electronically with letters, phone calls, emails, and texts, hacking my emails, hacking my personal Facebook, and impersonating me. Using my stolen phone to send texts and emails out to church members pretending to be me, texting friends and family saying that I am sleeping with teenagers from our church, and showing up in person at places around town … To having installed 3 different tracking devices on my vehicle.”
NewsNation’s McHugh has contacted numerous police agencies in North Carolina and South Carolina inquiring about potential charges regarding these claims but has yet to hear back.
Miller’s father, Michael Francis, and sister Destinee Barrientos told “Banfield” they hold John-Paul “responsible” for Mica’s death.
“I know she was pushed to the brink. … My theory is broad right now. There are bruises on her hand and injuries. These things are not documented, and they don’t show up for no reason. We just want more answers,” Francis said. “As soon as they got married, her behavior went downhill fast. She seemed to be more sad, more under control. I believe he compressed her. He just sucked the life right out of her and caused her to go downhill.”
Barrientos pointed out that authorities are currently in possession of Mica’s phone and that there potentially could be answers in the device.
“He convinced her to get away from our family during her teens. He told her he would find different households for her to live with in the church to get her away from our family. He isolated her,” Barrientos said.
-The rest of the article was repeated info

Tanginang yan. I learned a lesson the hard way.
First time kong maghostel (as a female) last night (I am in a European country rn). Kasi nga gustong magtipid at ang mindset “matutulog lang naman ako dito for a night” so I booked the cheapest hostel in the location I went.
To make it short, I cried hard. Pagpasok ko pa lang sa room, there were 3 old men. Ang isa super creepy tapos ang isa naka topless pa. My bed is in the middle of them three. Naka dress pa ako. I just sat in my bed for 1 min trying to comprehend things but I really felt vulnerable and uncomfortable.
So I gathered my things and stormed out of the room. I went to the reception and I just cried asking for a room where there is a girl. I was so so so so tried from my 10-hr gala around the city (walking pa yan). If I weren’t, I would have find another comfortable hotel around the area.
The receptionists were kind naman and they were worried what happened bc I was crying so hard, di ko na napigilan. So ayun binigyan nila ako ng new room, may mga lalaki pa rin pero may isang babae. I am just so tired, I want to change clothes and lie down.
I went in the new room, I felt better although may lalaki. I slept for 2 hours out of tiredness. Nagising ako kasi may new guy and they were talking about fucking TICKS. And there I saw it in the curtains (it’s in the picture but blurred). PUTANGINAAAAAA.
May ticks din akong nakita sa blanket kaya di nilayo ko na lang at di na ako nagblanket the whole night. Buti na lang wala sa bed ko. But I kept on observing if may makati ba saken, buti na lang wala.
As if things will never get worse, yung guy sa baba ko SUMUKA BA NAMAN???? So amoy na amoy ko yung alak. TANGINAAAAA. Gusto ko na lang talaga umalis pero it’s already 11pm.
I kept on praying to God to let me survive one night and never do this again. Thank God, I did.
LESSON LEARNED: AS A FEMALE, wag magtipid sa accommodation that will compromise your safety and comfort. Babalik lang ang pera pero the bad experience and trauma will forever be embedded in your mind :/

Got baby girl a car seat for topless and doorless season! She does not look amused, but she really does Love Home Depot! (This was just for picture purposes and checking it out, after talking with hubs I think I will ride in the backseat with her and see how she does)

:3

The Lamborghini Huracán Tecnica — they’ve created a monster. I love it.
By Jeremy Clarkson (The Sunday Times, May 5)
In recent weeks people with annoying adenoids and tape measures have explained that the average width of the modern car is now 200cm, which means they are too wide to fit into a standard 180cm wide city street parking bay.
Naturally this demand for ever-larger cars is deemed to be stupid and all the fault of Israel and the Tories and bankers who want us in bigger and bigger Chelsea tractors so we can more effectively bully cyclists and hard-working members of the BLT+ community.
Well, that’s nonsense. The only reason cars are getting bigger is so there’s enough room inside to house all the airbags and side-impact protection bars and crumple zones and those funny little cables that pull the pedals away from your feet when you hit a tree. Safe spaces are what people demand these days, whether they are in a public lavatory or at work. And especially in a car. There’s an expectation that you should be able to drive your family saloon off Beachy Head and emerge from the impact with no injury that can’t be mended with a small sticking plaster.
So yes. It’s a nuisance when you park your enormous Renault in a parking space and the only way out is through the sunroof. And it’s annoying when you find your new Range Rover barely fits through most of London’s width restrictions. But the reason for this is your safety. So you have to conclude that, all things considered, it’s a price worth paying.
Or is it? I mean it is for your children, obviously. You want them to be in a motorised bouncy castle on the road. But I wonder. Do I enjoy feeling safe? I’m not sure I do. I think that’s what made me fall in love with cars in the first place. Because they were a little bit dangerous.
I don’t think I’m alone. Today, all new cars come with “driver aids” that beep when you break the speed limit, tug at the wheel when you stray out of your lane or apply the brakes if sensors think you’re about to crash. And a recent survey found that 41 per cent of us turn these features off before setting off on a journey. They’re there to save our lives and we don’t want that.
If you are a proper petrolhead, you don’t want any sort of environmentally minded propulsion system either. You don’t want a turbocharger or an electric motor or a system that harnesses energy every time you press the brake pedal, because all these things are interfering with the purity of the driving experience. It’s condom sex. Sensible and safe for sure, but when it comes to the environment, I’ll have a proper car and do my bit for the planet by eating more meat or turning the central heating down a bit.
And that brings me on to the Lamborghini Huracán Tecnica. A few years ago I sat next to a Lambo boss at a Sunday Times dinner and he told me that if his paymasters at Volkswagen “ever force me to make an electric car, I will shoot myself”.
Well, sorry mate, you’d better oil your service revolver because Lambo will soon go down the electric route. This, then, is the last of the monsters. No turbo. No hybrid drive. No beeping onboard nanny. And a very real sense that if you get a corner wrong you’ll be going through the pearly gates at 200mph with your trousers on fire.
https://preview.redd.it/63yp9r93uvyc1.jpg?width=1022&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=375a34a87796af36dd10cd040ea2441ae5de5bd9
Let’s begin with the engine. It’s a V10, and I think we are in agreement that this is the best possible configuration, partly because of inherent balance and partly because of reduced reciprocating forces. But mainly because of the soundtrack. Formula One never sounded better than it did when the cars had V10s and the Lexus LFA is the best car I’ve ever driven, principally because of the sound its V10 engine made. And then there’s the BMW M5. There have been many brilliant incarnations of this car over the years but peak M5 arrived, I think, when it had a V10.
The Lambo uses a 5.2-litre version that sends all of its 630 brake horsepowers to the rear wheels. Most Hurácans have four-wheel drive. But this one doesn’t. This one is designed so you can do big, dangerous skids.
So you’re probably thinking that it’s going to be as well-appointed inside as a chest freezer. I did too. But it isn’t. There’s hand-stitched leather and electric seats and a dash-mounted iPad thing that controls all the stuff you’re used to these days. It’s actually quite intuitive too. And best of all you can actually see what’s coming at oblique junctions. That’s pretty much a first for a mid-engined supercar.
So, it’s civilised then? Not really. It starts with the roar of a sci-fi space alien, settles down to a gentle rumble and then starts roaring again every time you go near the throttle. It’s a magnificent sound and when you put it in Sport or Track mode it gets even better.
The only problem is that when you do that you put the suspension in an “uncomfortable” setting. This is because the Hurácan was conceived at a time when it was not possible to make the engine sporty and the suspension not.
I settled, after two yards, for Street mode and fell in love. Because the Hurácan is old and therefore unburdened with all the legislative nonsense that burdens other cars, it feels dainty. And light. And carefree. The back may be singing something volcanic but the front feels as darty as a dragonfly. Couple this exquisite lightness of being to four-wheel steering and you end up with a car that, at first, is quite hard to place on the road. The steering wheel is like the joystick on a Hughes 500 helicopter. You don’t move it to change direction. You just think about moving it.
https://preview.redd.it/b8k7940auvyc1.jpg?width=972&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=b6a75ac36cbcbee09b4bf4f6e660d90b63c71d9b
Eventually you get the hang of it and the result is bliss. I was coming back from a meeting on a road I used to use when I was on Performance Car magazine. It’s a road still used today by Harry Metcalfe for his YouTube car reviews and I noticed I was being followed quite closely by some kind of hatchback.
I wasn’t really pushing it and I’m 64 so way beyond showing off, but I noticed that in the bends, which felt comfortable for the Huracán, the hatchback looked like that boat George Clooney had in The Perfect Storm. All over the place. Hope he had a lot of airbags in there.
Drawbacks. Well, much is made of the styling and technical differences between this and a normal Huracán. But they aren’t that obvious. Also, it’s expensive, thirsty and if you’re big (fat) it’s a bugger to get out of. But that’s as it should be with cars of this type.
So there we are. A brilliant car. A poster car. And an old-fashioned, dangerous car. And, best of all, a gigantic middle-finger salute to the future.
The Clarksometer: Lamborghini Huracán Tecnica
Engine: 5204cc, V10, petrol
Power: 630bhp @ 8000rpm
Torque: 417 lb ft @ 6500rpm
Acceleration: 0-62mph: 3.2sec
Top speed: 202mph
Fuel: 19.5mpg
CO₂: 328g/km
Weight: 1,379kg
Price: £213,600
Release date: On sale now
Jeremy's rating: ★★★★★
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Sorry, but I don’t need to see your wedding tackle
Jeremy Clarkson (The Sunday Times, May 5)
I’m not sure why anyone would want to get married in the nude. Maybe the cost of living crisis means you’re forced to choose between a dress and a honeymoon.
But whatever the reason, it’s now possible, thanks to an enlightened mayor in Sardinia who’s announced that couples can tie the knot on a beach in his manor while wearing nothing at all. Except the bride must have a veil. He’s adamant about that.
Nudism has become a big thing in Italy, apparently. We are told that 600,000 people over there go about their business naked. I’ve never seen any evidence of this myself. All the policemen that have stopped me for motoring misdemeanours in Italy have been clothed, as have all of the waiters in all of the restaurants I’ve visited.
However, we are told that if you go to a beach in Tuscany these days and wear swimming trunks, people will look at you as if you are mad. Which you are if you go to a Tuscan beach, because they are all terrible. But back to this nakedness. How do we feel about that? Relaxed? Or revolted?
When I was growing up, nudity was everywhere. In every BBC Play for Today there would be a bit of dialogue and then, all of a sudden, someone with a Seventies welcome mat between their legs would breeze through the door and start arranging flowers or making tea.
Today, we have warnings before every show about all of the horrors that lie ahead. We’re told that we are going to see nudity and smoking, and that there may be drug “misuse”. Which I always think will be a scene of someone injecting heroin with the wrong end of a syringe. We had none of that before Bouquet of Barbed Wire. The theme music ended and immediately Susan Penhaligon whipped her jumper off.
I wouldn’t have been even slightly surprised had Kenneth Kendall presented the evening news in the nude. It was normal. And it was especially normal at the cinema. I was taken at the age of 11 to see a film about the early life of Winston Churchill. It was all tally-ho and biffing the Boers and then all of a sudden a young lady got her breasts out.
Then there was Vanishing Point. A huge car chase across western America. A tremendous pounding V8 soundtrack. Epic vistas. And then, for no reason at all, a naked woman on a motorcycle. That’s how things were then. I’m surprised they didn’t get a bit of topless action into Morning Departure.
Today we are told on an hourly basis that our children are subjected to far too much online titillation. But back in the day, if you went into a newsagent’s or a petrol station to buy a Sherbet Fountain and some Spangles, one whole wall would invariably be plastered with a seemingly endless selection of girlie magazines.
One was called H&E, which stood for Health and Efficiency. Aimed at the nudist community, it was full of pictures of healthy and slightly Aryan-looking families playing naked swingball and doing leapfrogs over one another. It was completely unsexual in tone. And to demonstrate just how unsexual, there were an awful lot of naked children in there. Hmmm. But at the time, you could read it without shame while listening to Gilbert O’Sullivan singing about his love for Clair. Who was his manager’s three-year-old daughter.
“But why in spite of our age difference do I cry?/ Each time I leave you, I feel I could die/ Nothing means more to me than hearing you say,/ ‘I’m going to marry you. Will you marry me, Uncle Ray?’/ Oh, Clair.”
In 1972, when that song was released, we all thought it was lovely that a fully grown man would write a touching love song about a small child. But now we are more nuanced, more cynical, more aware. Which is why we all read the lyrics today and think: “Hang on a minute.”
And I think we’ve seen a similar change in attitude towards nudity. When Susan Penhaligon appeared topless, we all thought: “Oh dear, the poor girl is probably a bit warm in all that cheesecloth.” Whereas if it happened now, we’d think the director was obviously a pervert and that the poor girl was being abused.
Nudity is now frowned upon. If you go to Juan-les-Pins this summer, you’ll see very few women in carefully designed topless swimsuits. The days of Brigitte Bardot letting it all hang out are over. Yes, there are still beaches where you can lie on the sand in the nude, but these are mainly for people who are melanoma enthusiasts, German or mad.
Why do you think nudist beaches are so remote and difficult to access? It’s not that we don’t want to see all those bits. It’s that we don’t want to see the people the bits are attached to.
I once accidentally stumbled onto a nude beach in the south of France. And noticed that all the chaps had tied cotton tightly around the base of their penises. I have no idea why they might have done this, but it didn’t strike me as normal behaviour.
Then I went with A.A. Gill to a nudist beach on Mykonos, where we encountered a young man wearing only motorcycle boots. So let’s think about that. He’d decided to go to the beach and thought: “What do I need? Sun cream. Towel. And motorcycle boots.” That’s not the thought process of someone who’s sane.
Public nudity used to be mainstream. Even Jenny Agutter did it. But it isn’t any more. It’s been hijacked by the lunatic fringe. So when you think of a naked couple getting married on a sun-kissed Sardinian beach, do not picture in your mind a bridegroom who has the pecs of Apollo and the eyes of Franco Nero. Picture instead someone who looks like Silvio Berlusconi.
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And here's the Sun column. Clarkson's columns are regularly collected as books. You can buy them from his boss or your local bookshop.

Removed Cars that I have and are up for sale on PC:

1. Pegassi Zorrusso
2. Progen Tyrus
3. Vapid FMJ
4. Pfister 811
5. Progen GP1
6. Lampadati Tigon
7. Übermacht SC1
8. Ocelot XA-21
9. Coil Raiden
10. Överflöd Imorgon
11. Emperor ETR1
12. Vysser Neo
13. Annis S80RR
14. Ocelot Locust
15. Dewbauchee Seven-70
16. Truffade Z-Type
17. Ocelot Swinger
18. Grotti Stinger
19. Lampadati Viseris
20. Albany Fränken Stange
21. Übermacht Revolter
22. Enus Stafford
23. Albany Hermes
24. Grotti GT500
25. Invetero Coquette BlackFin
26. Pegassi Torero
27. Vapid Peyote Gasser
28. Lampadati Pigalle
29. Bravado Verlierer
30. Dinka Jester (Racecar)
31. Albany Washington
32. Übermacht Zion Cabrio
33. Canis Kalahari (Topless)

(Pictures included only of the first 20 cars).
If anyone wants any of these cars, drop you Social Club ID's in the comments.