White coat. Heels.
you were so drunk you slurred your pauses
So guy #2, the dancer, is programmed into my phone under the name H.uy. His number- 11 digits. I should have stopped drinking.
i'm pretty sure i just ruined some dude's romantic riverside sunset proposal by running outside and puking in a bush.
I mean we havent seen each other since december and then bam its cinco de mayo and were having sex under a life guard tower taking tequila shots between each position. no big deal
You should probably wake up already as I have yet another story for you. Teaser? Blood from knife wound. Tequila. Guitar hero. Kitchen counter. Lawyer.
I tried...failed..now im naked on the futon since clothes are hard.
I don't save the phone numbers of guys I don't like. That way it's a surprise when a random number texts me and tells me I have great tits.
I also love my swipe to text changed a singular vagina to a plural vaginas. like my phone somehow knows I secretly want 2 vaginas
WHAT KIND OF GUY JACKS OFF TO A PICTURE OF A BUTT WHAT IS THIS THE 1980s
My brother really should've known better than to make me go egg hunting with his daughter when I was entirely too drunk to do so. Threw up in a plant in front of her.
I tried to help you up but you said "let me dance it off"
I may or may not have tried to give myself a lobotomy
I have just received a gold-medal-deserving sext. He wrote me a fucking novel. Not only am I incredibly turned on but I am beyond impressed. He is the sext god. I must bow to him.
I couldnt face her after that wonderful, terrible blowjob. Made a rope out of towels and climbed out her bathroom window.
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