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Listen with your eyes... Lemme show you true love.

Listen to me with your eyes for a second:

You're the only man I'd share my bathtub with.

You realize that? You understand what that means?

Look. I'm protective of that ceramic. Because it's vulnerable to say... hammers. Drunk people with hammers. And nobody else is looking out. 'Cept fuh me.

But I let you in it. If it was anyone else, I would have just kicked them out of the house. Straight up, screamed myself into a tearful coma at the mere thought of their suggestion. I would have thrown all their personal information into the 4chan pit of doom. Anybody else. 'Cept fuh you.

Furthermore, I'm saving myself for you. Anally.

THAT is a big deal bro.

Now reading those sentences, you might think I'm joking.

I am not joking. That's real love.

My ass and a bathtub.

But let me just say this though:

Don't try to insidiously ( what a great word! it feels like a snake making love to your mouth as you say it, assuming your mouth is into that kind of thing) slip it in like I'm not going to notice.

I'm going to notice. Even if you had a tiny little pinkie dick, I would notice. And you do not have a tiny little pinkie dick. Not at all. Your dick has charisma. Serious charisma.

That part of my anatomy is uncharted territory Lewis and Clark have yet to explore. Any size shoe is going to leave a footprint... you know what I mean?

All you gotta do is whip out your pocket sized astro-glide and smile. Don't try to superman it. It will not end well, guy. Not at all. Not even a little bit.

Well... maybe for you, it might be good for a little bit. Before I whip around and you break your dick inside my ass. That's trouble for the both of us.

There is just no way that could possibly work without some kind of fake pussy spit to bite the bullet of my tender exit.

Conclusion: Real love, true love, is consensual, well-lubricated butt-sex. In a bathtub.


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'Hope, you don't have to use it on your wedding night.'

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'I'm just kidding, darling. Don't worry. He's a good man. You did well sweetheart. He's a good man. You'll be fine.'

Hope's paper-thin smile tried to grow as she stared at her grandmother's reflection in the mirror. The mother-of-pearl grip sparkled in her grandmother's hand, bathed by the Chapel's cheap buzzing lights.

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