Hot girl on girl action.
Fortunately I have the "full story" right here.
I had said to the girl so vehement on the subject of my wieght, "I am too skinny. Do you want nude pictures and see for yourself for christ sake?" She licked her lips and said in a voluptuous voice, "Why don't you show me right now?" She motioned towards my breasts. I undid my blouse when she walked over and put a hand on my breast. "At least I know you're not skinny where it counts," she said. She massaged my breasts through my shirt when I finally pulled the garment down, revealing a bra stuffed with my massive heaving tits. By this time I was breathing heavily. I undid my bra and unleashed the twins, as I like to call them. "Well I see that you are very fit up here, but I need to see that ass to make sure." "After you," I said. With that I knocked her clean on her ass and proceded to rip off her clothes.
And now you know the rest of the story.
Many Live Journals are used by stalkers or hitmen to find out the names and locations of targets or the friends and family of their targets. By maintaining a Live Journal you invite every single assassin to your doorstep. If you get killed sucking yourself off in your own bedroom, don't say I didn't warn you.
Urinating on cars? Burning cats? Cats eating bugs? Tucson?!?! Just what kind of operation are you running here lady?!
Something tells me that "Jason" just wanted to get into your panties.
I'm going to start a new group. It's called laffo. We like to laugh at crybabies like this. I'm feeling so laffo right now.
I'm about to break! And apparently so is my Tivo. It's emitting sparks at the moment and making a loud grining noise.
I had to fall to lose it all. And apparently so did my Uncle Jim. He lept off a five story building. It took three days for the blood stains to be cleaned off the pavement.
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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