you stop for waffles.
Mmm, I can’t wait to
sit on your face for, like, five
minutes ’cause my knees.
She whips out restraints.
You shiver with delight, say:
“Wait, let me pee first.”
You might not want to
go downtown tonight—there’s a
southern wind blowin’.
I would love to fuck
you senseless … but I just ate
all that saag paneer.
That’s right, baby, right
there, get that tax refund, don’t
stop, get it, get it.
Someone has to clean
off the clothes on the bed first.
No? Then tomorrow.
For the love of all
that’s sacred: It’s called foreplay.
Think outside my box!
The G-spot is like
mercantilism. I know
it exists. That’s it.
It’s like straight sex, but
you aren’t labeled a slut for
fucking on the date.
It’s like straight sex but
with more slouchy blazers and