Everything went well, until I walked into his bedroom and there was a Ronald Reagan poster watching over his bed - creepy
I JUST SHOOK HIS GRANDMOTHER'S HAND. WITH COCK HANDS. THIS IS NOT FUNNY.
My vagina just recognized that song.
It's like he's trying to get head in every car except his.
I am currently listening to someone take a shit. I hate the hole in the ceiling.
I have jerked off in every room in your house. *the more you know
Thanks for coming to the hospital with me, In return, I will buy you ecstasy.
How exactly do I approach the whole "Well that was fun. Am I purchasing the Plan B or you?" topic?
By getting lucky do you mean I get one of your incredible BJs or you not killing me by the end of dinner?
Fuck you, you can't judge me til you've smelt my boobs.
Btw... when someone is licking your balls, "yeah... that's not the worst thing in the world" is not an appropriate compliment/thank you.
They flooded the bathroom and their version of cleaning it up was to throw our couch cushions on it. That's when I decided to chug tequila and go drunk bowling. So hitting the kid with my ball is really their fault.
The walk home lasted longer than the sex. He lives in the flat above the bar.
How do you forget making out with a coworker in the dressing room at Sears on more than one occasion?
...object impermanence?
Long story short, I found someone who takes me seriously when I say I have a Shakespeare kink.
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