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Yeah, you can,” the man interrupts me with a sway and a smile. “I’m not paying you for sex or nothin’. Just doin’ my patriotic duty.” He punctuates that statement by saluting me as if I’m a soldier in uniform, and it spurs a giggle to jump from my lips.
Dying right now
Me: Also, please don’t FaceTime me when you’re in a towel again because this is a serious, non-towel-wearing conversation. Once my words fill our text box and I reread what I wrote, insta-mortification sets in. Oh my God! Why did you send that?! Fix it!
Me: Ha. I’m kidding, obviously! Call me in whatever you like! Fully clothed, balls out, rocking out with your cock out! Doesn’t matter! Ha-ha-ha, I’m an idiot. Me: Holy hell. Can you just go ahead and ignore all of that? Me: Oops. Besides the call me part. Still do that. Okay. Bye.
Fucking dying
Well, fuck, Dais. You could’ve, maybe, kept the finger guns holstered.
