My regular hookup, the ruddy-headed charmingly gap-toothed Mr. Bojangles, raised his head up from betwixt me thighs. I looked down with some surprise--I wasn't really expecting any sort of interruptus, even of the oral-coit-variety--to see an odd expression on his face. He fished his farmboy fingers into his mouth and pulled out a large, wet wad of blue lint.
Dear god. Blue lint. From my blue slacks.
Should have worn panties.
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4 comments:
I once heard of a girl whose lover found an old prophylactic in her business. It wasn't his.
June. I've read this post a few times now. Main reason I keep coming back? It makes me laugh every time.
Anon...I don't have anything to say to that except WOW.
LMAO!! Priceless!!
disturbing. one sorta wonders how long it'd been since you went commando in those blue slacks. or maybe it's time to give up the thong and switch back to granny pants.
gah.
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