It's Friday. Sex?
I am drunk at a castle and it isn't even 3. Europe is amazing.
One reason I don't come to Portland. I saw 8 guys I have had sex with last night. At the same party.
By 8 I mean 9.
And by 9 I mean 10.
I'm trying to spell out I love you with a series of photos of my penis, but I just realized I can't do the Y of you
This inappropriate post strip club text brought to you by Cheetah of Palm Beach and vodka. Blowjob in the champagne room and the clap for the low low price of your paycheck.
During breaking dawn, he leaned over and asked me why she would have to worry about her period since she essentially just married a walking super-absorbant tampon... It was the best way to ruin those movies for me.
he fell asleep like an hour after we got to the beach, he deserved that penis shaped sunburn.
Last thing I remember is ranting about hating pants. Woke up this morning pants less. Couldn't find them, decided to leave. Driving without pants is surprisingly liberating.
This is not a costume party, I'm just wearing fairy wings.
Of course you are.
I need a life alert for his random dick pics. My heart can't handle that.
I want to die, ON THAT, with that INSIDE ME. ironically, I sense that would be the only time I'd feel alive.
She did what?
Who. The correct term is she did who.
Did you see him? The correct term is definitely what.
Tell him that his phone is taped to the dog's stomach. Stop trying to call it because it makes him scared.
I just had the polyamorous Canadian hockey player do the splits while naked in a handstand at my apartment just now. And yes, I know it’s 1:30am on a Thursday.
I don't care that he's really strong. I need him to make me cum not fix my back problems
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