Any day with Dolph Lambert is plainly no occasion to complain, so I'll be civil. In fact you do inspire one today, to recall that whle literally anyone can sprawl supine on a bed in a pornshop and lap penis till it melts, one way or the other, it takes a real male to take standfuck by exploiting the roofline of his dog's own villa, and yielding his top's ass for tasting while he's at it. This is important stuff. Here, your nose for character and ethics displays its unerring instinct, as in publishing - at long last - this group portrait disclosing the identities of those famous tops in the blindfold suckline, the most widely circulated picture since the Sistine Ceiling. If I prefer to return to the cropped version, it's only that I feel bad enough to be allowed to see more than our hero does, and honour bound to concentrate on what he is permitted to notice. But to return to our Dolph. You must let us know if we're right to suppose, you can hear the roar of the ocean if you hold that shell up to your ear.
The sepia is a stunner, Hawt. The abandonment of the testicles to their amorous fate is so heroic, that no amount of penisflesh, waved admonishingly atop the pubic parapet, can inhibit their most absolute oral absorption. Surely, our godhost knows this, and so more than for cheeky recklessness this munificent satchel is assimilated for its compassion, a stunningly ripened conscience for such a fresh and vital specimen. Oh, to be sure, once this load is levitated lingually and laved lubriciously, repeatedly and infinitely, penis will still be there to wreak is vengeance; but who shall fear its obdurate immensity, who has tasted of its lavish generosity?
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Any day with Dolph Lambert is plainly no occasion to complain, so I'll be civil. In fact you do inspire one today, to recall that whle literally anyone can sprawl supine on a bed in a pornshop and lap penis till it melts, one way or the other, it takes a real male to take standfuck by exploiting the roofline of his dog's own villa, and yielding his top's ass for tasting while he's at it. This is important stuff. Here, your nose for character and ethics displays its unerring instinct, as in publishing - at long last - this group portrait disclosing the identities of those famous tops in the blindfold suckline, the most widely circulated picture since the Sistine Ceiling. If I prefer to return to the cropped version, it's only that I feel bad enough to be allowed to see more than our hero does, and honour bound to concentrate on what he is permitted to notice. But to return to our Dolph. You must let us know if we're right to suppose, you can hear the roar of the ocean if you hold that shell up to your ear.
The sepia is a stunner, Hawt. The abandonment of the testicles to their amorous fate is so heroic, that no amount of penisflesh, waved admonishingly atop the pubic parapet, can inhibit their most absolute oral absorption. Surely, our godhost knows this, and so more than for cheeky recklessness this munificent satchel is assimilated for its compassion, a stunningly ripened conscience for such a fresh and vital specimen. Oh, to be sure, once this load is levitated lingually and laved lubriciously, repeatedly and infinitely, penis will still be there to wreak is vengeance; but who shall fear its obdurate immensity, who has tasted of its lavish generosity?
I would like the Tennessee guy to volunteer to spend some time with me.
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