I'm not gay, but I want to live in a log cabin in the woods with break. We won't ever have sex, but there will be a simmering erotic undercurrent as I stand in the kitchen window watching him tighten his butt as he chops wood, shirtless, sweat pouring off his body. I'll run upstairs and masturbate, the entire time forcing myself to think of women while my thoughts drift back to break. I won't be able to climax and I'll eventually go back downstairs, angry. Sometimes we will look across the table and catch each other's eyes, and in that second, anything is possible, but we both deny ourselves and go back to what we were doing. One day, one of us will die, and the other will bury him outside the log cabin. Then they'll go inside, pen a brief missive to their departed friend, and commit suicide, never able to deal with life without their one true platonic love.

I'm not gay, but I want to live in a log cabin in the woods with break. We won't ever have sex, but there will be a simmering erotic undercurrent as I stand in the kitchen window watching him tighten his butt as he chops wood, shirtless, sweat pouring off his body. I'll run upstairs and masturbate, the entire time forcing myself to think of women while my thoughts drift back to break. I won't be able to climax and I'll eventually go back downstairs, angry. Sometimes we will look across the table and catch each other's eyes, and in that second, anything is possible, but we both deny ourselves and go back to what we were doing. One day, one of us will die, and the other will bury him outside the log cabin. Then they'll go inside, pen a brief missive to their departed friend, and commit suicide, never able to deal with life without their one true platonic love.

#1 kz'er

i have contacted owner of said bus and he wishes for said bus to be returned by 25/11/2021 otherwise we will be taking this to the courts and dealing with this.

I stole ur bus sorry but i really needed the bus okay?

I'm not gay, but I want to live in a log cabin in the woods with break. We won't ever have sex, but there will be a simmering erotic undercurrent as I stand in the kitchen window watching him tighten his butt as he chops wood, shirtless, sweat pouring off his body. I'll run upstairs and masturbate, the entire time forcing myself to think of women while my thoughts drift back to break. I won't be able to climax and I'll eventually go back downstairs, angry. Sometimes we will look across the table and catch each other's eyes, and in that second, anything is possible, but we both deny ourselves and go back to what we were doing. One day, one of us will die, and the other will bury him outside the log cabin. Then they'll go inside, pen a brief missive to their departed friend, and commit suicide, never able to deal with life without their one true platonic love.