It's like Facebook knows when I'm about to masturbate and tells me to reconnect with exes.
Party at my house. Liquor pinata. Your presence is required.
He practically bottle-fed me Jameson, like I was a baby chimpanzee on those nature specials.
Handjob with gloves on results in friction burn. In case you've ever wondered
We are going to be Siegfried and Roy for Halloween and you are going to be the tiger.
I am not going to ask my mother to pause a movie so I can have phone sex.
I'm 25 and she is 19. She wants to practice blowjobs on me because of my stamina. Not only does the GI bill pay for me to go to school I am teaching a freshman blowjob course. I love Texas.
I am going to borrow your water/shock proof video camera for St. Pattys day so that if wake up next to the highway again I know why.
Ok but I hold the right to any footage of you getting slapped, puking, anything with body shots, and allowed to make a montage of it to put on youtube.
Can't decide if this guy is hot or if I'm just bored.
Sex is clearly the solution either way.
I don'y know if I should feel accomplished or disgusted. I just ate a dozen cookies all to myself. I'm leaning more towards accomplished.
If it exists, I've probably pregamed it.
Who knew sons of strippers would be really feminist boyfriends?
Just had a flashback of scottish man yellin' at my face. What the fuck I did?
Perfect. I'll put on my party clothes and write emergency numbers on my arm
It was like a baby arm holding another baby arm holding an apple grove. Fuckin huge!
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