(Source: danielodowd, via indeathwolvesrise)
(Source: letsfuckaroundthatswhatwedo, via untildeathdouspartxoxo)
I was driving home in -8 degree weather, and my truck over heats, so I pull over at the nearest exit which happened to be an industrial area. I turn the car off, pop my hood, and let it cool off. Turns out my coolant froze. So I gave the pump a lil giggle to knock the ice out. I walk back to my door, AND I LOCKED MYSELF OUT WITH MY PHONE IN THE TRUCK!!>___<. I brainstormed for about 10 mins before I caught a semi truck driver passing. Thank Jesus that he had a Jimmie tool. He unlocked it for me, and I was on my way. 2 mins into driving I notice MY FUCKING HEATER DOESN’T WORK NOW! So I froze my ass all the way home with minimal feeling in my fingers and toes. Can a nigga just get a grand so I can weather proof my truck?:(
Livin on a prayer.
"I’ve got a whole stack of books in my cart. Most of them are advance copies. I know a place where they get thrown out."
“How many books have you read?”
“So why are you homeless?”
“I’ve tried to work a job a bunch of times. But then I get sad, and then I get high, and things fall apart.”
(Source: d1ebyyourside, via keeptheforkendup)
Son of a bitch!!”
Sex is not a goddamn performance.
Sex should feel as natural as drinking water.
It should not require confidence.
Sex should happen, because the moment is ripe.
Ripening lips, ripening labia, ripening cock, ripening pupils, ripening state of being. Ripe and augmented and brimming. Your energy goes to your pumping heart, then to every external nerve, then to theirs, on fire.
You bask, roll, play in it. You sigh, moan, laugh.
It’s not about being “good in bed.”
It’s about being happy.
One should never worry if they’re doing it “correctly.” Sex is not factual. I don’t want your cookie-cutter sex, I don’t want your meticulously crafted, calculated, fool-proof fuck. I don’t want a show. I want you. Let your instincts, urges and whims define that. It’s enough.
What do most girls like? Forget about it. Statistics are meaningless when there’s only one. Hello, here’s me. Here’s you.
Don’t worry about taking it too slow. We got time. We got infinite rhythms, combinations, possibilities. Explore each fuck. Take our time. We can do a different one later.
Don’t worry about making me come. I’m here. Right where I want to be.
I am overwhelmed by wanting; you don’t have to convince me. I want you because I like you. So don’t put on a front. Don’t taint this.
I’m frustrated—it’s just authenticity I want.
Don’t say that something I like is ugly. Don’t compare yourself to the rest. You will live and die with and within your experiences like everyone else. If someone thinks you are amazing, they are not wrong. Their universe is as real as any other; it is forged through perception.
I don’t care if you accidentally slammed my head into the wall, if you slipped out, if my arm cracked, if the delightful pressure of your wet lips on my anything made a silly sound. There is no right way and no wrong way.
“Good in bed,” what.
You’re good in my bed. I’m pleased you’re there. I feel it suits you.
Shove your technique. Let your memory swallow it. Fuck me like you’d fuck me, fuck me like you feel.
This isn’t a test. — (via wethinkwedream)
"It’s about being happy."(via catieewebster)
Less fuck. More love.
(Source: nikolaiolivier, via catieewebster)