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.
You realize if you die tommorow, the last memory i'll ever have of you is your ballsack on skype
And then I'm going to yell into her vagina and see if it echoes
if my spotter knew I was listening to the Wicked soundtrack on my iPod, I wouldn't even be mad if he dropped the barbell on my throat
if you don't go out with us, what are you gonna do? you're gonna go home and watch biodome and masturbate to texts from your east coast boyfriend and see the facebook pictures from the party when you wake up.
I love you and want you to know that you're the best friend ever and me lassoing you with a seatbelt was out of sheer affection.
His hands were made for my vagina.
I want to be done crawling through windows but the sex is too good to stop...but I'm running out of excuses for where the bruises on my legs are coming from.
We can't tell anyone we fucked because I'm still trying to get with your friend. Is she coming next weekend?
It really does creep me out though that the next ten years will involve my friends creating smaller versions of themselves because to be honest I don't know how much I like some of them. So that thought it really scary
Great sex, the promise of us mixing our excellent genetics in the future, and access to drugs are mainly what's holding this relationship together at the moment
Ugh it's 2016, why can't our bodies just shed fat on their own
Tbh you just need to fuck it out like I don't know another solution
You're so sweet in the most vulgar ways
I just kept eating and watching him slide down the stairs head first
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