He loved their sex life. She loved her rabbit.
Sex is a word that was, or perhaps still is without bad meaning.
Only our filfthy minds refuzes to accept this simple truth.
Most female students interviewed echo the feelings of Matti Malard who has a nearby room and says, “I’ve seen Mr. Overton and he’s dremy, it make me excited being in his building, and maybe he’ll drag me to his room next and ‘do’ me.
Reluctantly, Nancy slid her fingers from between Jim’s lips. She needed both hands to undo a stubborn button.
No, no; don’t worry – this wasn’t going against that thing her parents had taught her when she was a little girl. Admiring from afar; sending the buttons flying as she used her eyes to rip the shirt off his chest; and imagining in graphic detail the sweat trapped between their bodies during a steamy encounter in the nearest motel: even though she had never met the guy, she was sure none of these things qualified as “talking to strangers.”
She knew the man who broke her heart would be at her best friend’s wedding, and she wished to God she could show up with a fabulous Romanian fiancé of obscure royal descent who would give her ex the evil eye and dance too close to her at the reception. An unfortunate booking accident at the local hotel would have them staying next door to each other, and the ex would toss and turn for several miserable hours trying to ignore the animal screams of ecstasy audible through the paper-thin walls.
So I tells him, “My thighs, they been involved in numerous accidents, so ya better have insurance, hon’.” And the devil goes and grabs my ankles and makes me spread my legs.
We graduated virgins, and made sure that title didn’t stick for long. How was I to know it would drive him to insanity?
You love me for my sincerity, honesty and good moral values.
I wish you loved me for my huge cock and dirty fucking.
I toned down what I really thought so you’d go out with me.
Marxism vs Sex – you know what people will always choose, right?
When I wrote to you and told you about that dream I had with you, I didn’t mention that we were having sex.
I have no idea why I dreamt that, but it was fricken hot and now I’m wondering …
God bless your vagina and your tongue and your ass and the way you swallow.
Thank you God for creating hot wet places for me to stick my dick!
They called her the town bike.
Hey babe, let’s go home and do a little meat-packing.
I’ll bring the meat.
Let’s all chant it, because it is so true!
Hip-hip-hooray for sex!
Sometimes I look at you and I just want to fuck you raw.
Oh, America, you dirty little tramp, you love it.
Thanks for stopping on by, and thanks for the sex/job/emotional support or whatever else it was you gave.
Taking the babysitter into the garage.
A good memory.
Here pussy puss puss.
Calling out at the nightclub.
You are the apple of my eye.
Perhaps it is time to … peel?