FEET FEET FEET
Watching this reminds me of exactly how that lipstick lesbian that I (quite innocently) hit on last week was frontin’ like she allegedly really felt about the notion of hanging out with me. Toes? Absolute snore. Feet are just the lowest element of an eyeball, hair, and tongue support system, when you think about it.
I know you're thinking about it now, so I'll just mention it — what
really gets me hot & bothered: the Oxford comma, and women who look like filthy librarians, know how to use it, and can do so without
any necessity
at all to wail like a goddam banshee whilst doing so.
I know, I ask for a lot, don't I?
Standards. Getting feet pics from randos would probably be a lot easier, but what can I say? The heart wants what its secret spook handler/spouse orders it to pretend to want... or something like that. I forget. Who cares? I'm in love with a lesbian... Jesus fucking Christ, how many is this now? I probably should have let her cut my actual organ actually
off before I took her knife away, it would save us all
boatloads of time.
Of course, I kind of did beat her to the punch with that
particular lifestyle milestone goal.
Teehee!