My GOSH.
smoking
Me.
Ummm.
Blush.
I need a bad influence.
Puff lightly and carry a big stick.
I absolutely hate it when he’ll have a cigar with his friends. It’s super, super rare, thankfully, but it’s still really disgusting to me. I can’t even watch him do it. I associate cigars with old, rotund colonialists with chubby fingers covered in ostentatious rings. And that’s not him at all.
So, naturally, of course, I end up fantasizing about him using my mouth as an ashtray sometimes. Right in front of his friends, knowing how disgusted I am but not caring. Because I guess I’m into degradation a lot more than I would like to admit.
Also, I absolutely kink on 1950s misogynist advertising. Oops.
This disgusts me so much I want it.
Sometimes I wish I were a smoker just so I could degrade my girls like this.
I never thought I’d be able to see him use the phrase “my girls” and not feel like it looks unnatural. I guess I’m growing up or something.
Lord have mercy.
I told him I was a mermaid. He just never believed me.
Screw ‘em if nobody else believes. If you’re a mermaid, you’re a damn mermaid.
I thought that if I left the special lube for Mr. Purple at Sir’s place “by accident,” I’d be able to avoid having to put him in my butt again. I felt pretty clever about that one.
Except that plan just backfired, and now Sir’s sending me to the store to buy some lube where I’ll have to freaking present it to a cashier and uuugh.
Pouting forever.