It was laundry day and I was wearing last xmas undies. he took one look and went...you's a ho, ho, ho. my response you ask? for less dough, dough, dough. I'm a slut.
with a sacreligious after taste.
There's a vagina buried somewhere in there.
so then you were screaming "GIVE ME KELVINS!" and heating things up in the microwave and no one knew what you wanted
it's amazing how much more room there is in my purse when I'm not carrying alcohol in it
its a sex-hate relationship...no love involved
I'm on his itunes. He has a sex playlist. It's actually not so much a playlist as 12 Kylie Minogue songs with a big gay Whitney finish.
i am one more weekend without sex away from dosing him with viagra and locking ourselves into a closet.
he was cradling you in his arms feeding you rum straight from the bottle and you kept sucking his fingers.
The shit show didn't end. it just relocated itself to my apartment instead of yours.
you also need to get my treadmill fixed.
If I have to masturbate more than twice a week you fail as a fuck buddy. Just so you know...................you failed
Not a or good or bad impression, just that you were all basically naked playing beer bong in sombreros and ties. Casual.
NOBODY TALKS SHIT ABOUT PANDA EXPRESS
dude, next time you say lets go on an adventure, tell me if there are going to be psychotrophics involved before hand.
It's very finicky. Like baking. or BDSM.
Apparently I gave a guy a hand job on the dance floor. ON THE DANCE FLOOR.
Randomize
