I wouldn't call it sex. It's like when you put a plug in a socket half way. It's not all the way in but it still turns on the light.
Just so you know, each of my boobs fits perfectly in a martini glass.
Someone sent me a drink from across the bar. It was water.
She set an alarm on my phone for her birthday. Place: Her bed.
The investigator asked if we were sharing a pitcher of margaritas. I corrected him and explained that we each had our own.
Think I pulled my pelvic muscle.
I think I pulled my ashamed of myself muscle.
I'll be so proud. Like a proud mama bear freeing my slut cub into the wild.
He keeps texting me videos of fish swimming in his fish tank, so I think it's safe to say he's back on weed.
420 is off to a bad start. Mark wake/baked WAY too much, and he has spent over $50 on the claw machine in the grocery store.
I didn't have toilet paper until 20 minutes ago. But I have champagne. Priorities.
Our first kiss happened while shot gunning a hit from a gravity bong. Its that type of relationship.
He even wore it to bed. What the hell. He's too excited about that goddamn costume.
Bro, if we got a house, it'd basically be a revolving door for slightly overweight, but extra cute, sexually deviant girls with daddy issues.
He got in a shopping cart outside of home depot and insisted we push him down a flight of stairs. For science.
You told me you were going to invite all of your Tinder matches to the same bar on the same night and make them compete for your affection in a series of Lust Olympics. Winner gets laid.
Randomize
