Another beautiful bashful specimen of boyish charm. At first, he blushes and giggles and wonders what the joke is, but I overpower him with my newfound womanhood until he knows that what he feels is special and right.
And as I cling to him, he thinks "oh god, my chance has come at last," but then a strange fear grips him and he just can't ask. But now he can leave Comic Con and tell his friends at home what true love feels like, because he feels it this day, pressed against the warm bosoms of Girl Dave.
A nearby catgirl vogues exuberantly, but I think I need some time to get over striped shirt nerd guy. Maybe he was the one. Maybe I can somehow stay a girl forever and... no, it wasn't meant to be.
Simply put, if I had Johnny Manziel’s physical gifts, you better believe I would be there in the Weight Room, getting to bed early, doing whatever I had to do to be the best possible athlete I could be. I wouldn't be posting on social media about sucking titties. I wouldn't even look at a titty, buddy. I'd look at a titty and see two big footballs.
A real friend doesn't move until the middle of August, ensuring temperatures in the 90s and a humidity that turns boxers into moist balls of ruined cotton.
Expendable? You must be joking.
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