Internet sex stories have completely ruined the word sopping for me.
One date. That's all it took. I want to have his geunis babies in me. One date.
Her vagina smelt so bad I lied and told her that I was married just so that she would leave.
I woke up with glitter in my wounds.
Let's paint friendship bongs
He is gay. There is no bi when you have a manhunt AND you are an art major. That's like a unicorn without a horn, it just isn't possible.
This is my transition from small talk texts to booty call texts. Coming over?
Quite the smooth talker. There in 5.
Is there a reason there's a dick print on my seventh-story window?
There is what appears to be urine on the woman's bathroom sink. I just have so many questions right now.
He's like a computer from 2001 in a 2014 world. It just doesn't work. Lots of glitches.
I think I'm just gonna exercise my lungs and fingers. With bong hits and crochet. BECAUSE I AM A REAPONSIBLE ADULT DAMMIT!!
Hungover on St. Patrick's Day. I did this backwards.
"He's not as cute as he was last week" and "I'm not as drunk as I was last week" are basically the same sentence.
If waffles and beer don't scream "fuck me!" then I don't know what else to do.
Look, I need your help, not your judgment.
Randomize
