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| puff, guestbook, cathy moriarty, body count, velvet acid christ calling (fuck shit mother fucker mix) song lyrics, parties, alternative papers, bc independant media, articles, slovenia, political cartoons, | You tried to make it look like you were waiting for wave sound files your ride, but you fooled nobody. At first I thought you might be a hooker, but then I realized you were too unattractive for anybody to pay. By the third time I saw you there, I recognized the look - I knew you were just a desperate woman wanting to hear something that no one was ever going to be able to tell you. So wave sound files I offered you a ride, spent about $5 at 7-11 to buy some wave sound files beers and fucked you doggie style because I didn’t want to see your face. You were in need. I was in need. I never even asked your name. After I gave you a ride home, I went over the bridge and drove down Dune Road for maybe a mile. The road was deserted and dark. I pulled over and just sat there. I didn’t want to go back to the beach house. I didn’t want to go back to New York City. So I just sat there. I think maybe I wanted to cry - I didn’t - I haven’t cried since 3rd grade when my mother drove away. So no I didn’t cry. |
Best Mature Paysites
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| You are my s****r and that should never have happened. Roberta - You are low-life trailer trash, but with a sparkly edge. If you had been born puff into privilege, you would have gone to Harvard and become a bigshot CEO. puff I hope good things happen to you. BTW, I still fantasize about that night we had sex in front of your friends. Wow! Tammy - All summer long you kept making a dumb joke about how the Hampton’s rule book says you must wait until after Labor Day. So the day after Labor Day I banged you and puff never called you again. Kinda wasted my entire summer - except that after I dropped you off each night and you’d give me that ridiculous kiss on the cheek while wagging your finger, “No, no no. Not until after Labor Day”, I’d go over and fuck Roberta’s brains out. I’ll bet you’re now married, living on Park Avenue and your husband hates you. Never want to see you again. “No, no, no. Not until after I’m dead!” ? - For 3 nights in a row, during that week after Labor Day - after everyone else had ended their season and gone back to New York City, I see you hanging around outside that Hampton’s bar at closing time, sitting on the fence post. |
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