This last weekend single handedly took me off the liver transplant list
Sunday was the 8 month anniversary when you shot me in the face...just an FYI.
I would do laundry with you but I vaguely remember swallowing all my quarters last night as some kind of trick.
Home. Hour long discussion with mom. Very frightened. Eating a sausage. Don't remember making it. Confused.
How do I politely say my vagina is not a chew toy and if you bite me again I will slap you?
You could say take it easy, whoa there, be gentle, anything that doesn't fully convey the horror.
We went from zero to drunk tank in 45 minutes.
I seriously want to say to him "Do you know how many blow jobs you could have gotten this summer?"
We had sex on roll out bean bag chair, and then proceeded to sleep with a blanket with dolphins on it. Happy birthday to me.
Fucking holidays. How do I have this many men who want to fuck me and none of them are available when I'm ready to blow my top?
I'm about to turn myself in when I'm less hungover.
You humped everything and cried in an uber.
You can't just say "I scored us a potential threesome" and then not text me back.
I don’t know what he is but he sure can suck a lollipop.
I'm going to use this quarantine time to improve my blowjob skills.
I had more orgasms than hours of sleep this weekend. I’m going to keep him around a while
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