Lovin', Touchin', Squeezin'
The London Prodigal's wall is reverberating. For the past hour some chap has been pounding the bejesus out of the sweet, innocent blonde girl next door. The London Prodigal considers an evening fortuitous if he lasts much more than five minutes. I'll have to congratulate this stranger on his libido in the morning. Groans of the Britons indeed.
2 comments:
well that's certainly tickling the gamut of Post-Newt acceptability, but leave it on anyway.
Good gravy! This is rather fruiter material than I expected to encounter on the internet.
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