My Ode to the Tatted-Up, Philosopher Pussy Magnet

He felt like home. His lips, the sweetest fruit I’ve ever tasted. He had a large frame, soft, cozy enough to burrow inside of to warm the edges of my frigid soul. He didn’t judge, didn’t impose. He just existed in all of his glory, a delicate statue waiting to be admired by the unluckyContinue reading “My Ode to the Tatted-Up, Philosopher Pussy Magnet”