A pile of worn clothes sleeps on its side of the bed, me on mine. It is about the size of an average female human with minty breath and nice tits. I leave it there, add not-dirty-yet jeans, remove a sweatshirt, toss a bag or a damp towel and it is like time-lapse twists and turns while slow-motion dreaming. My arm over the pile, but no kiss goodnight. No, I do not kiss it goodnight. No.
The herd of black socks with gray toes and heels came in the mail: ordered them online: the good feeling is too much: it should not feel this good: I do not deserve it: or the socks: they are soft.
~O~
: EVERY MOMENT IS LOVELY, YES :
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6 x like a billion = how much I love you:
you do deserve the socks
nobody in california wears socks
"consedn"
nobody in california deserves socks, either
"tonia"
About time for a herd of socks. Sweet to rub up against and -- dare one say it -- they will never talk shit. Fine.
"psweta"
Now that's what you'd get in your bed in California.
love to all from the sunken, er that is golden state...
Well, that was gruesome. Some unsuspecting young woman thought it would be "funny" to play with the monster. Sigh. I have to admit, her heart was especially delicious.
As such, we've moved our lair to a new location. Just follow the trail of blood and Magnum condoms to:
uglymonstersoflove.blogspot.com
Thank you, and please close the door on yr way out*
"brieshah" = Iranian cheese
I like black socks.
This all feels to be about more than socks.
That is good.
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