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Noel stares me down like she can pull off the whole menacing mean girl thing. She can’t. The girl is Santa’s head elf every holiday season at the mall.
She’s a tiny little demon elf who feeds on chaos and jingle bells.
I’ll never understand why men assume we want images of their penis. I want to ride it, maybe lick it, but not because it’s nice to look at.”
“I do not drool. I’m a fucking lady.”
If there was a quicksand pit beneath my feet, I’d let it eat me whole. Let a mythological giant snake pop out and devour me. Maybe a sniper is waiting to take me out.
Bodies? Rideable.
Faces? Sittable. Dicks? I haven’t seen them, but I'm betting they are fuckable. Or lickable.
Their teamwork makes my wet dreams work.
“If you really think about it, the only person you should be upset with is yourself. You chose me as your best friend in elementary school. You’ve trusted me with your personal information. You let
me know all your kinks and quirks. Most importantly, you’ve never changed your password.”
When I got home last night, Noel made her stance on Team Harem very clear. She even took the time to draw several diagrams
of group sex positions that had to defy gravity and anatomy.
Jump on those glorious dicks and ride them into the sunset.”
