by Brian McCloskey
It’s an optimistic tree. O that the nothingness was throbbing there like thirst. Every girl was a girl you wished to kiss. Some of the girls say I taste like strawberries. The captured princess felt some activity at her groin. It gently cupped his bra and felt slippery against his pantyhose. She wore tights and sang a song. I just don’t see anything that looks like a shrimp. So dip me in chocolate and throw me to the lesbians. The librarian isn’t enjoying jumping at the company. They are excusing below the café now, won’t lift carrots later. You basically just fill a pair of pantyhose with birdseed and then cut them off. Is that the same orange chair I think it is? Softest of all satins with oodles of lace and frills everywhere. The third drawer was filled to the brim with nylons and pantyhose. But outside of tights they always choose the worst clothing combinations. You’ve examined the nightingale’s code. But it was probably a good idea for her and the bear to brave the junior army. The shrimp is yellow. I think my thighs are whispering terrible things to them. The girls come to believe that if their boyfriends really love them, they should be willing to wear a pair of pantyhose too. A bra can be stuffed with anything. To fall in love for the first time is a devastating, unbearable event. I love him more than anybody. She swooped down and kissed him and he hugged her tight as he shook and shook. The nylon also feels very nice against the skin. First, pinch your right nipple 100 times. My skin got softer and less hairy, my breasts started growing. Every night I leave an invisible note on the pillow. I have to because I’m the only one left to dance. Soapy tendrils slid down her wet skin.