I feel like death. And death is wearing a fleece blanket as a dress. And is seriously contemplating wearing this to go get something to eat.
I'm good, just tired from chardonnay and giving hand jobs.
She just told me she's too full for a reach-around. Sad.
Dude, I had to stop mid fuck. Her cat was swatting at my balls as I did her from behind. I couldve lost something.
Almost there.
define "almost". like I have enough time to watch a youtube video or oh shit, put on some goddamn pants because they're in the driveway.
don't mind me. just hanging out in this cool air conditioned Babies R Us until the liquor store next door opens.
Delete that photo of me. My ass looks WAY to good it in to be on Facebook for everyone to see. You gotta earn that shit.
SHUT UP I CAN'T HEAR YOU OVER THE SOUND OF UKULELE AND LONLINESS
I think the saddest part about my sex life is that most of it is pity sex.
I think I freaked him out last night. We got back to my place and I made chicken nuggets, chicken Alfredo, and half of one of those huge oreida hashbrown bags. And then ate all of it
It has gotten to a point where I just want to sit on his face. Less butterflies, more orgasms.
Can you not touch my dick while I'm holding a gecko?
Which one of you drunk assholes put a parental lock on my cable box last night? More importantly, what's the pin? I'm missing the UK game.
I still have that dildo-suction bruise on my forehead and this sweater STILL smells like my Christmas Eve vomit.
Is it sad that the most attractive guy I've come across in a week that's not my professor is the man doing my pedicure?
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