the hat is not accurate, believe it or not. 

Love is Not being annoyed when they sing over The lyrics of your Favorite song

So don’t read it if you don’t feel like knowing something intimate about my brain and body right now. Warning over. 

I want to get eaten out and I don’t want it to stop. I want to be kissed and kissed and kissed there, enjoyed and celebrated and I don’t want him to come up for air. I want to feel hot breath on my thighs. I want to feel so mentally relaxed that I can legitimately let my body go and NOT CARE what parts look like and NOT CARE if I might take too long to come. 

I want to squirm against the pillows…or carpet…or grass… or towel on the bathroom floor… until my hair is ridiculous and knotted and tangled and sweaty. 

I want to feel wetness. I want to feel that smooth heat of a tongue incessantly. Incessantly. Incessantly. 

I want my brain to melt. I want to come so many times that I can’t form syllables. I want to feel like dying, its so good. I need a patient man. A patient, hungry man. 

definitely going to do this

coketalk:

I have been staring into this photo for way too long. The image is speaking to me, but with an accent that I can’t quite understand. It’s laughing, and it expects me to laugh along with it, as if we’d once shared an inside joke.

Perhaps we did, but I’ve long since forgotten why it was funny, and now one of us is an asshole. Either it’s me for not getting the joke, or it’s the image for insisting that I appreciate it.

Whatever. My weekend was a long adventure, and I’m still kind of fried today.

(via -silhouette)

smelliott:

Fletcher Cove

Bring me to this please