we sang an acapella version of barbara ann to his voicemail...i'm not drinking again until tuesday.
My mom asked me if I was being satisfied, sexually. And then discussed positioning.
the trail of clothing leading from the bed to the door was in the exact order i needed to put them on. underwear near the bed shoes by the door.
he kept doing his monologue, "if a vagina could talk."
My penis has a 100% approval rating. He has never received a formal complaint. If you'd like to file one, you can go fuck yourself.
I'm eating my emotions. I am no longer interested in anybody other than my own hand and vagina.
The worst that could happen is you end up with a black eye and I get laid.. I'm okay with my end of that bargain.
No padding. I spent my whole summer with my nips out. October don't need that too.
I want you to read this conversation tomorrow and be proud of the fact that you taught me how to decipher any drunk message. Good job.
Just follow the currents of life. And if they take me on to a guys dick, so be it.
I refuse to be socially acceptable any longer than what is needed to pick up chinese food.
All i remember is looking at the bottle vodka that I was drinking and wondering how it was suddenly empty.
That may have had to do with you chugging it
You can come over but I have to warn you that it is naked Sunday.
their motto was "the first one to get arrested wins" so of course today was interesting
Is there a sexuality term for 'only wants hatefucks'?
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