This is some kinda fucked up sordid doggy brothel peepshow bullshit.
things it involved: vodka, boy parts, possible photos of me on a cell phone. things it did NOT involve last night: my bra, his pants, and sobriety.
his electricity got shut off. i felt like a pilgrim searching for his dick.
My piss changed color midstream. Think that means I have a 50/50 chance of passing the test?
He told me that "my little fuckpig" was a term of endearment in Britain. I think I'm in love.
bong water from a few floors above me just splashed onto my face when i was looking out the window. Happy 4/21 to me
If you value my life, if you value your own, please look for that godforsaken cookie. Please.
I don't know where I am and I feel like a hippo shat in my mouth. This sofa is comfy though.
No more fucking baseball tools. Walk-of-shamed home in only a pinstriped jersey and a Red Sox SnapBack.
Just heard him in the middle stall. Sounded like someone emptied a toolbox into the toilet.
As much as my throat was opened up this weekend, you'd think I wouldn't nearly choke on a damn almond.
I don't think it's ever a good night if I'm this hung over and I didn't even get an orgasm out of the deal...
He says the sweetest things but also that he wants to choke me when we fuck so it's kinda perfect.
The fact that I made out with a twenty one year old father is kind of worrying me now. Like. This is exactly what I wasn't supposed to do in life.
If I slept with her my dick would come out glittery
coward.
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