It is 8 o'clock in the morning and there is already blood all over one of the stalls in the bathroom. What has your St. Patrick's day done for you?
He stole her cigarettes and walked 15 miles just so he wouldn't have to wake up next to her. God I love being a lesbian.
I'm questioning the dried chocolate syrup on my tits.
I wouldn't blow him for all the queso in the world.
I'd rather blow that homeless guy who asked me to breast feed him.
Her idea of a bathing suit is... well.. she might not actually even know what one is. I've only ever seen her in a pool drunk and fully clothed or attempting to get into a pool but tripping over her pants which are at her ankles. Drunk.
I think I left my chapstick at your house when I tried using your penis as a catapult and flung it on the floor. Be a dear, and try to see if you can find it.
Also, in the middle of me riding him, he said "I want you to dance on my dick" like I was supposed to know what that means
Judging by your snapchat you're totally working on your project and definitely not singing, "The Sign" while shirtless with another man.
All I know is that I woke up with glitter all over me and blood on my shoes. It wasn't my blood.
Rome wasn't built in a day - my bedroom skills weren't obtained in some boring monogamous relationship. Same thing. Right?
I was gonna jerk off, but then I thought about that movie last night and it killed that idea. I have serious boner trauma.
That isn't the worst part. It got a bazillion times more awkward when he read me a poem he wrote about his dead cat.
You act like tequila is some sort of sex juice
Even my conscience is telling me to take this Wednesday's exam buzzed.
I just want orgasms and emotional validation. Is that too much to ask?
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