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Really sexy tight brunette babe here gets a nice and hard pounding from behind and loves it too!

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    Splash Log Level 2 Again

    January 14th, 2014 at 2:53 pm

    Evening San Fran nights are best spent in the streets stirring up trouble with
    Happy Jack, are you a fool?—life proved my face to be
    Spat upon—that’s a yes, friend. Joints joints marijuana kief joints
    Traffic lights reflecting off madcap loonies and stoned
    Enthusiasts in their suits and glass towers that rent open the tortured sky
    With a metallic riiiip sreeech! Open to angels
    And bare-headed smiling oriental garden loving wine tasting chinamen—
    Morrison says we must die—what a prophet of Jonestown—
    In car, watching city hills rolling past my window,
    Feels like I’m miles high, watching the lights of the city roll upon
    A canvas of my own mind’s painting—such thoughts surge unchecked
    Through my innocent mind as Hank forces the wheel of poor
    Aged ‘54 cadillac to squeal like unhappy lovers who couldn’t
    Quite get the dime in the coin slot, moan, what a boring love scene,
    In observing such playing out in my mind—“dear, we’ll try again in the morning”—“But
    I’m drunk!”—“Well then do something other than grab me, I feel
    So used”—“But I’m drunk!”—and so on, until Hank finishes his mad
    Turn to turn the focus back to the conversation at hand,
    Does Rimbaud compare to the complexities of the queer prose
    Of Ginsberg, and Kerouac’s capture of the beat american rapture,
    I’m sitting drunk in the back seat as Hank turns to me—“what say you,
    Love?”—to which I drink my wine and smile belatedly,
    I miss blonde haired lovers, Hank perceives such,
    “Boy, have we gotta get you fucked by a mad woman!
    You are unhappy, a night with a wild brunette will set you straight,
    Look at her, standing solemn on the street, what about her?
    No wine, boy, no wine.”
    —and so on, until I’m sick and tired of listening to mad rants on the mysteries of
    Sex and one night stands, I look forward to conversing with Cass
    On the subject, perhaps drink and sleep, holding tight,
    Promised I’d be faithful, and damn, just waiting—
    Watching wine flowing down her dress as she quirks an eyebrow and
    Asks “yes?” and cracks a smile to see my expression upon her body,
    And back to backseat car ride, not sure where we are headed,
    I had never been the one to care, just the one to smile and drink
    And smoke to loosen up, to which I then open my soul
    Gushing forth and banging the headseat and bursting out,
    The world smiles and I laugh, Lucas moans to the pair of fancily adorned
    Women on the corner, four way stop, luck dealing him a red light,
    Groaning poetry about his journeys to lakes with lovers and red lips
    To which the ladies laugh and continue on their way,
    Suddenly the radio pushes out another tune,
    “hate your next door neighbor,
    But don’t forget to say grace”—to which I cry,
    “Boys, we’re on the Eve of destruction driving in this mess of a tank,
    Let me out!”—O, and poor happy me,
    Wine bottle in hand, staggering out on the streets,
    Searching for queens, finding wives,
    Who are being happy indeed, I feel as in court, but is
    Only my mess of a mind, red wine seeping creeping,
    And I stumble into a corner, a hub of activity
    Where I observe zen cats passing out on the streets and rocking down hillways
    Thumbs in pockets an’ eyen’ the passerbys cold and hard,
    Like mankind’s ass,
    And to me they stop and share their wares and offer me a ride,
    Humbly I stumble into a ’92 subaru white and speeding wildly through San Francisco
    Parkways and beaches to churches and diners-cafeterias at midnight.
    Humble college boy with cherubic expression and pool eyes with Visions of Cody
    Hanging out jacket pocket smiles at me over my meal of beefy soup and
    Hard-tack bread, tastes of garlic and vegetable oil—I’m not one to complain—especially
    Over the time I rode six hours straight by Amtrak train from Sacramento to Hanford
    For Thanksgiving holiday next to hard pimp
    And drawing up knees to chin curled against window temple resting on churning rocking
    Window watching the countryside melt along melding into towns rusting abandoned
    Company windows and loading docks, overgrown yards and farmsteads—needless to say
    The boy is a knowledgeable loon talking and in constant motion of combing
    Hair back to smile and blink rapidly—muscle spasm?—and talks to me
    About novels and classical tone clarity, beating thrumming his ink-stained
    Fingertips against the grain of the rusting chipped table at which I sit and
    Slurp soup, words coming up against me rising cascading and running clean
    Out the other side—I seldom listen to anyone anymore.

    Michael K

    February 10th, 2014 at 1:03 am

    Evening San Fran nights are best spent in the streets stirring up trouble with
    Happy Jack, are you a fool?—life proved my face to be
    Spat upon—that’s a yes, friend. Joints joints marijuana kief joints
    Traffic lights reflecting off madcap loonies and stoned
    Enthusiasts in their suits and glass towers that rent open the tortured sky
    With a metallic riiiip sreeech! Open to angels
    And bare-headed smiling oriental garden loving wine tasting chinamen—
    Morrison says we must die—what a prophet of Jonestown—
    In car, watching city hills rolling past my window,
    Feels like I’m miles high, watching the lights of the city roll upon
    A canvas of my own mind’s painting—such thoughts surge unchecked
    Through my innocent mind as Hank forces the wheel of poor
    Aged ‘54 cadillac to squeal like unhappy lovers who couldn’t
    Quite get the dime in the coin slot, moan, what a boring love scene,
    In observing such playing out in my mind—“dear, we’ll try again in the morning”—“But
    I’m drunk!”—“Well then do something other than grab me, I feel
    So used”—“But I’m drunk!”—and so on, until Hank finishes his mad
    Turn to turn the focus back to the conversation at hand,
    Does Rimbaud compare to the complexities of the queer prose
    Of Ginsberg, and Kerouac’s capture of the beat american rapture,
    I’m sitting drunk in the back seat as Hank turns to me—“what say you,
    Love?”—to which I drink my wine and smile belatedly,
    I miss blonde haired lovers, Hank perceives such,
    “Boy, have we gotta get you fucked by a mad woman!
    You are unhappy, a night with a wild brunette will set you straight,
    Look at her, standing solemn on the street, what about her?
    No wine, boy, no wine.”
    —and so on, until I’m sick and tired of listening to mad rants on the mysteries of
    Sex and one night stands, I look forward to conversing with Cass
    On the subject, perhaps drink and sleep, holding tight,
    Promised I’d be faithful, and damn, just waiting—
    Watching wine flowing down her dress as she quirks an eyebrow and
    Asks “yes?” and cracks a smile to see my expression upon her body,
    And back to backseat car ride, not sure where we are headed,
    I had never been the one to care, just the one to smile and drink
    And smoke to loosen up, to which I then open my soul
    Gushing forth and banging the headseat and bursting out,
    The world smiles and I laugh, Lucas moans to the pair of fancily adorned
    Women on the corner, four way stop, luck dealing him a red light,
    Groaning poetry about his journeys to lakes with lovers and red lips
    To which the ladies laugh and continue on their way,
    Suddenly the radio pushes out another tune,
    “hate your next door neighbor,
    But don’t forget to say grace”—to which I cry,
    “Boys, we’re on the Eve of destruction driving in this mess of a tank,
    Let me out!”—O, and poor happy me,
    Wine bottle in hand, staggering out on the streets,
    Searching for queens, finding wives,
    Who are being happy indeed, I feel as in court, but is
    Only my mess of a mind, red wine seeping creeping,
    And I stumble into a corner, a hub of activity
    Where I observe zen cats passing out on the streets and rocking down hillways
    Thumbs in pockets an’ eyen’ the passerbys cold and hard,
    Like mankind’s ass,
    And to me they stop and share their wares and offer me a ride,
    Humbly I stumble into a ’92 subaru white and speeding wildly through San Francisco
    Parkways and beaches to churches and diners-cafeterias at midnight.
    Humble college boy with cherubic expression and pool eyes with Visions of Cody
    Hanging out jacket pocket smiles at me over my meal of beefy soup and
    Hard-tack bread, tastes of garlic and vegetable oil—I’m not one to complain—especially
    Over the time I rode six hours straight by Amtrak train from Sacramento to Hanford
    For Thanksgiving holiday next to hard pimp
    And drawing up knees to chin curled against window temple resting on churning rocking
    Window watching the countryside melt along melding into towns rusting abandoned
    Company windows and loading docks, overgrown yards and farmsteads—needless to say
    The boy is a knowledgeable loon talking and in constant motion of combing
    Hair back to smile and blink rapidly—muscle spasm?—and talks to me
    About novels and classical tone clarity, beating thrumming his ink-stained
    Fingertips against the grain of the rusting chipped table at which I sit and
    Slurp soup, words coming up against me rising cascading and running clean
    Out the other side—I seldom listen to anyone anymore.

    David

    February 10th, 2014 at 10:05 am

    Your AGE and NATIONALITY please…..

    Ryan Z

    February 12th, 2014 at 1:54 pm

    let’s say I got my dream job as a patent lawyer. Im making around 125k a year, how practical would racing in amateur events be for me? I’m talking timewise, moneywise, affecting my résumé, my family. how would this affect the general aspects of my life? I don’t know much about the racing world

    supernerd567

    March 15th, 2014 at 3:33 am

    Very tired and some bad acne this month. I had unprotected sex the day after my last period. I definitely ovulated about 5 days later. I also felt a vibration on my bladder area for about 5-10 seconds. Honestly, I dont know how to describe it other than someone stuck a small fan or cell phone on heavy vibrate in my stomach and turned it on. Almost like popcorn or something. Ever since I’ve been getting twinges less often now but still almost everyday in my bladder area. I have no other symptoms. My boobs are normal feeling. I have been super tired but it could be work related. I am two days late with no PMS or signs of getting AF. I will test the day after tomorrow with first bathroom of the just to be sure, but did anyone experience this and end up being pregnant?At this point I’m not sure if its just gas or normal or what, but I’ve never felt such a vibration in my life. I had to grip my stomach. It wasn’t a pain or a hunger pang, just a strong Vibration.
    John you shouldn’t even be answering questions. Cervix position changes throughout the month and is indicative of ovulation and rarely pregnancy. I am married and I would eventually like to have kids. Being too late to buy a test because I worked all day means I have to wait 2 days to test because you are supposed to use your first urine of the day which I stated. All I was wondering is if anyone has experienced this in pregnancy. So go pass your judgement somewhere else.

    Jonathan

    April 2nd, 2014 at 10:27 pm

    hi, I have a haflinger mare called fudge and she is a very good showjumper!
    I have a showname for her but it is very boring!
    plz could u give me some showjumping names please!! x

    Squall Leonhart

    April 5th, 2014 at 3:14 am

    i have olive skin tone and dark brown hair,i straighten my hair alot because i have naturaly curly hair like as soon as i can after i get out of the shower. i was considering going blonde and maybe get color highlights or tips but i can do without the color highlights i geuss. i just want something really diffrerent thatll make the guys go ” daaaaaang! you look good!”

    Mak Sultan

    April 21st, 2014 at 7:53 pm

    which do you prefer?

    xLittle21Yaox

    April 22nd, 2014 at 10:10 am

    What does the girl of your dreams have to be i.e looks, personalty, big boobs

    etc you get the pic
    fill me in on what you want

    thanks

    Balla

    April 26th, 2014 at 5:43 pm

    i was just wondering because im a blonde but i want to be a brunette even though im attractive i just think brunette is hot and blonde is thought to much of

    SKATEskum

    May 20th, 2014 at 2:25 pm

    I’ve known him for almost all my life cause his dad and my dad are really close friends. I rarely see him tho, I only see him once in 2 months or something. Only thing we can communicate by is on the phone or MSN. When i went out with him for a movie last weekend, my feelings for him kinda changed. And probably to him, I’m just an acquaintance cause we rarely talk to each other.

    How can I get him to be much more closer to me? Or make him realise that I exist atleast as a friend?

    Daniel

    May 22nd, 2014 at 6:47 pm

    my hair is orange blonde and i want to go to carmel brown what color should i use

    Stevalicious

    May 26th, 2014 at 1:38 pm

    ..both? x
    gimme some stars to cheer me up =( x

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