As most of My Niteflirt playthings know, I haven’t been on very much lately.
Niteflirt is currently undergoing maintenance but a beta version of the site is available. To access it, just click one of the call buttons on the right of the page. To everyone that’s currently on My list….YOU HAVE MAIL!! Or at least you will by the end of the day. If you’re not on My list and/or not a Niteflirt member…email Me at Mindfcktress.Kara@gmail.com
MUAH,
Me
and I’m not getting it!!!
Oh yeah, and Happy New Year.
Back to the subject. I’m so not enchanted with what I’m surrounded with these days. My friends here in N.O., are too slow…
There’s only so many times u can go out, and 3 out of 4 in the group agree the night isn’t any good unless you’ve done I Kissed a Girl on karaoke.
The guy I’m dating is too soft…
He wants his own place(he should he’ 24!!) but he’s too afraid to tell his current roommate that he doesn’t want to renew his lease because he knows the other guy can’t afford to live alone. This is the first time I’ve seen this shade of bitch on him, and I can tell you, it’s NOT a good look! Doesn’t matter, I’m moving in March anyway. Next!!
rosie’s new sub-lite mentality is not working for Me; s-he’s officially out as of 5 min ago, I’ll tell it tomorrow during its commute time. The bitch wants to try and be friends now and My forecast is that it’s going to turn into excuse after excuse not to do what s-he was born to do. I’m sorry, but when I hear the words,
Please don’t be nice to Me
it doesn’t matter if it was almost 2 years ago when it was said…It was obviously a sincere need and, to Me, it’s one I still think is necessary. All anyone has in life is their word, their name, and/or their balls…and rosie is more than a little short in the ball dept. Word trumps wants! Besides, as friends, u have to be friendly. What are we going to do? I guess s-he wants to hold hands, split tiramisu and talk about old times like…
Hey….you remember that time when you came to stay for Memorial Day weekend and ***** made u sleep in My room and I let u sleep in his dog’s old crate with some of My shoes as toys so you’d have My scent and wouldn’t feel so lonely?
Even my favorite stress reliever, Niteflirt is as entertaining. Very few of the sluts are doing it for Me!!
Except for maybe this faggot shampoo boy that’s “two-shades of could be fabulous if…”
AND
This former frat boy all grown up with a slut wife who’s going to get even sluttier thanks to Me! Oh, and he’s going to get a black boyfriend that’s better than anything even I’ve ever had…I’m going to make sure of it. he’s going to start buying better panties too.
The usual suspects:
All I want are more people that are close to My level….that’s ALL!! I’m getting rid of everything defective in 2009.
. u sluts will all know about each other, but you don’t have to know one another. u will get ONE “Kara is going to treat Me like a person card” per week and u guys will have to compete for it. Again discretion must be very important to you, you must be able to submit to regular tease and denial sessions and other “things” on demand, must have an awesome slave mentality or something absolutely better. Must not be white trash.Soooo…. there it is. That’s what I want. If u fit the bill, contact me. Email, Niteflirt, whatever.
Get My attention? Get My panties wet? Get My wet panties? Get My sweaty leggings after My Bikram Yoga Class?
Simple. Click one of the buttons to your right..
It’s not a secret to most of you that have stumbled across Me that I don’t believe in the whole male Dom thing. I love guys..real men. I don’t think most men, even real men, can effectively have any sort of meaningful control or influence over any sane person with an IQ above, oh I don’t know, dog level. I’d run out of space if I had to go into all the reasons why I feel this way.
With that said, I’m still not understanding why a guy that probably doesn’t even dabble in the whole D/s thing has so many underfoot and by the balls. He could buy and sell your ass 100 times and still send you home with a few crisp $20 bills tucked in the same coat pocket as your jizz covered manties. So many of you reading this would probably gladly give him your wife or mother for the week(end) in exchange for just ten minutes of his lips pressed to your ear, guiding your hand up and down…
YOUR INVESTMENT PORTFOLIO!!
Yep, I’m talking about Warren Buffet. My senior year history teacher refused to acknowledge the fact that Bill Gates was the wealthiest man in the U.S., insisting that Warren Buffet was. Even after someone wiki’d it and brought an article to class proving that it wasn’t true, he spent an ENTIRE class period basically worshiping the man’s O-ring from afar. I could practically smell the precum dripping from this loser as he wasted the tuition dollars of our parents(legal guardian in my case). Of all the people to have fag lust for…a 70-something who looks like a geriatric version of the Hamburglar ?!! Well, I guess it wasn’t too hard to imagine considering the fact that…
The teacher was 28 with a voice that suggested puberty never found his name on the guest list. He drove a Saturn with extremely misguided pride, and would try seem above it all by telling anyone who would listen that he was only teaching until he was accepted into the Law program at Harvard. I guess Harvard needs to expedite their admissions process because, nearly three years later, you can still call and ask the secretary to leave a note in his mailbox!! Anyway, I’m getting off of the subject and abusing ellipses…
About 2 months ago, rosie sends me an email saying goodbye. No surprise there!! s-he must have a template of those goodbye emails or something because I’ve gotten at least 10 of them before. Chasing “normalcy” around the bedroom he and his wife share with a butterfly net while a plaster of paris mold of my foot is crammed up his ass..that’s the image I get whenever I read one of rosie’s goodbye emails.
I think it’s cute…that whole trying to balance the “he” s-he has to be with the SHE “he” NEEDS to be thing. It’s always REALLY hard to take seriously ANYTHING said by someone who has a bio on their company’s website that screams how full of integrity and honor they are when you’ve seen them with a face/mouth/ass full of another guy’s load. His favorite thing is…well, I think I’m going to make that an assignment for some lucky sissy who’s up for more than just roleplay. This is one piece of flesh that can’t live without that weird feeling in his belly, the lump in his throat and the hint of one in his panties that only I can give. So I’ve built his goodbyes into our play. They usually come around the time estimated taxes are due, Christmas, and Easter(Grown men dressed up as bunnies, Cadbury cream eggs, and Jesus jumping out of that tomb seem to have a sobering effect on my fav cock snot wearing manwhore). It lasts about a week and then we pretend to pretend that it never happened. I know he’ll be back because I’ll still have total access to one of his bank accounts.
So I just added the email to a folder and printed off a hard copy. I like to read them all out loud one after another when he needs something really badly…just to remind him that his attempts at self-esteem really aren’t a good look for him. The fun part starts 12-16 hours later with a text message. asking if I’m busy and if it’s ok for him to call. I’ll call him…congratulate him on the new man he’s becoming and then the conversation automatically turns into something that sounds like a conversation a battered woman may have with her guy that loves with his fists. The one where she wants out because daytime tv says she should…but everything inside her is telling her it’s going to be all hearts, stars and four leaf clovers if she can just stop making the fucking pot roast so damn dry!
rosie did an excellent reprisal of the battered wife/martyr role s-he likes to play. I’d been sitting in line at a gas station forever waiting on gas when I got the text. Atlanta was short on gas and I was short on patience when I got the text then called back. The basics were that s/he couldn’t come out to play anymore, that the economy was looking rough, and s/he had a family to think about. Heard it all before!! The next thing that came out of its mouth was that it had sent Me a cashier’s checks for $2000 and it would send Me $500 more if I would get rid of everything in its storage unit. I may be a lot of things but I’m not anyone’s janitor..especially some loser born in the wrong body who thinks he has too much to lose.
I drove 20 min out of My way that day to deliver the storage keys not so personally to the receptionist at his office. Essentially harmless enough, but I knew he’d wake up in a cold sweat the next couple of nights wondering if I’d said anything to anyone while I was there.
I decided to extend those sleepless nights a little by mailing the cashier’s checks to his workplace…knowing that the administrative assistant opens the mail before delivering it to him. I got a 3am text 2 days after I’d made my trip to the post office that said
Why are you doing this to me? Please let me know what I can do to make You stop!!
I text’d back
Nothing
After I woke up at 9 the next morning…I decided to finish my text because I was too sleepy to do it the night before 
Sorry, that should have said ‘ Nothing bad is happening to you..it’s all in your head…just like it always has been. Go ahead and change your online banking info, please…for your own peace of mind…take care babes..MUAH!’
That was it… I was actually a little sad. Kind of like when u have a fish die…that kind of sad. I’d decided to take a break from school this semester and the next to focus on some other things I want to do anyway, so that pretty much gave Me the push to get out of Atlanta.
I found someone to sublet and went to New Orleans to work on some projects and just have fun. The plan was/is to move to L.A. by February…I though it wasn’t going to happen for a while until…
Starting about 3 weeks ago, I got several calls from a number I didnt know in the middle of the day. I didnt pick up and they didn’t leave a voicemail or anything. I thought maybe it was some recording telling Me that my car warranty was about to expire or something until I called it back and heard a very familiar hollow sounding guy on the other end with a horrible southern drawl answer.
First thought: WTF? Second thought: end button!! It called right back. Long story short…it was sorry. It was having a lot of rough times. It just wanted to talk. It had apparently been washing it’s klonopin with that bottle that says ‘birthday bourbon’ and calling that its lunch. I’m no shrink…but I know u dont hang up on “people” like that. So I just let it run then speed walk through something like a conversation. I kept calling it by it’s birth certificate name. It didn’t like that. I didn’t know what else to call it because I really didnt need a rosie anymore and it started crying when I said that.
You don’t hang up on “people” when they’re like that.
So to keep the conversation going, I asked why it had called Me. Dead silence…
Then it started rambling something about how it had been following Warren Buffet in the news, that things were bad for a lot of people but probably wouldn’t affect things on its end. I pretty much stopped listening to the babbling just as I had almost 3 years ago in history class. I can turn a guy who was too scared to do anything but suck dildos dildos in front of prostitutes into a cum-guzzling part-time transvestite that menstruates for Me through its wallet…but Warren really has all the control…and that’s just sad on my part!! 
I graduated high school with a 4.0, 2140 on the SAT, 32 on the ACT. I’m 96 hours into one of my degrees and 57 into the other with a 3.8 and 4.0 in each respectively. Thanks to genetics and a hypervigiliant team consisting of my grandmother and aunts, I’m more than a little intelligent.
Other experiences and “achievements” have made me smart. There’s a gulf of a difference between being intelligent and being smart. I’ve got my Mom to thank indirectly for making sure that I’m smart.
I’m here to talk about things that I just don’t get.
I just don’t understand the inability of some people to compartmentalize. How can a person not keep their emotions seperate from their needs and basic drives?
For example, let’s talk about rosie. I’ve mentioned rosie previously in my wordpress.com blog that got TOS’d and briefly in this one. rosie is a holdover from a few months in my life that could have basically ruined the rest of it.
I got involved with a guy who considered himself a male dom. I know I know…that’s like saying I did yoga on Wii Fit with Santa Claus and afterward we talked about Paris Hilton being a valued member of society while eating turkish delight. Some things just cannot happen in this reality as we know it.
I’m going out on a limb here but I’m sure more than 5 handfuls of people will agree with me when I say that, for the most part, there’s absolutely NO SUCH THING AS A MALE DOM!!!!!
I will shout that from the rooftops, until there’s nothing left of my vocal cords. I really don’t believe in absolute truths, but that is one of mine and it’s rosie’s too.
I hate to kill the fantasy a few of you may be forming in your heads of a smartass, bitchy hottie living on the reservation and enjoying the best of life on the backs of weak, desire-driven males, but that’s not how things are. I grew up EVERYWHERE.
I spent some key years in the South, but I’ve lived in every region of the country. Most of my family is upper Middle-Class by pre-George W. Bush economic standards, at least the part I know. My father died during my Tickle Me Elmo obsession days. I remember more about Tickle Me Elmo than I do him.
No big deal, his mom, sisters and aunts made sure that I knew where I could go in life and encouraged me to be nothing but the absolute best I could be. They felt they had to work in spite of my mom whose idea of a great life for me was pushing me into pageants and every single modeling or bit acting gig she came across.
The money I’d made modeling as a kid exceeded the “college fund” purpose that my mom used as her battle shield whenever anyone else in my family told her that it probably wasn’t the best idea for me.
It really wasn’t the Oprah topic they were making it out to be.
I had ALOT of fun as a kid. We moved around a lot so I could be close to whatever agent/agency was getting me the most work. Contrary to popular belief, that’s not a bad thing for every kid. I learned a lot about people; social skills that you can’t get spending grades pre-K through 12 in the same town, in the same school with the same people. Whenever I had to move, friends weren’t the problem.
I always had the best clothes(mostly freebies and discounted stuff I’d get as partial compensation or bonuses for some jobs) and the cool mom. She never had a stable career because she was busy trying to give me one. She worked odd jobs doing event planning, or being a PA. She always did grunt work but still managed to be fabulous in every way imaginable. She even managed to have a now Z-list former kid actor come hang out with my “friends” for my 10th-birthday for like 15 minutes. Making friends wasn’t ever a problem; overly concerned teachers and other parents were.
At school, I’d want to do things on my own in my own time. I hated and still hate being taught. I love learning/discovering things on my own. That’s not valued in any school system in America so I butted heads with a lot of the teachers, administrators, and nosy, xanax-driven moms who made cupcakes for the class.
I answered all their questions about my life and my mom the same way they asked them…rudely. My behavior at school caused a lot of problems between my cool Mom and I. All of a sudden she wasn’t cool anymore to me because she didn’t have hair like that chick from Friends and she bought her cupcakes from pastry shops. It’s not like she didn’t try in her own little way.
Her thing on Friday nights, if I didn’t have to be up too early the next morning, was to try and make up for all of the things I’d accused her during the week of not trying hard enough to do. She’d get these huge cupcakes and we’d split one followed by a biotin to boost our metabolisms to handle all the fat and the sugar with fat ambition.Then we’d stay up to watch Style with Elsa Klensch on CNN .
She didn’t want me to be like the Ambers, Haleys, and Chloes who weren’t told that the carbs you eat today will be the ones that say hi to you from their new home around your hips tomorrow. I hated her for that, but I loved her because the Ambers, Haleys and Chloes all told me how lucky I was to have such an awesome mom.
Long story short, work for me dried up around the same time my crush on John Galliano fizzled out when I learned what gay meant. We moved to Mississippi because her side of the family lives on the coast and she sold it to me by telling we’d live by a beach. Beach….whatever..it’s the dirtiest part of the Gulf of Mexico. I hated it. I hated the people, hated the stifiling heat and the stifling overall way of life. So did mom. We took it out on each other for about 3 years then I legally emancipated myself from her. Kiddie divorce. I went to go hang out with an older cousin that summer in N.O..big mistake .
Family intervened and I went to live with one of my grandmother’s sisters in Tennessee. I’ll call her Aunt L.
Aunt L is very Catholic and very no nonsense. She’s very in your face and up your ass all at the same time. She’s the type of person that can walk into a room and instantly make it seem as if 75% of the oxygen is all hers and you’d better have a good reason why you need a portion of the remaining 25%. Aunt L is a straight shooter and, to her, diplomacy is a waste of time. My mom hated her and the feeling was mutual. So any sort of relationship that my mother and I could have possibly had that wasn’t severed by the courts was blown to hell the second I went to live with Aunt L.
Within the first week, I was enrolled in Catholic school and the rest of my summer was dedicated to Kaplan practice tests and volunteering at the child care center of a battered women’s shelter. I had zero time to myself, zero privacy.
Things just became worse when school started. She’s very active at the Church she made me attend with her and made sure that all of the people at the school I attended knew who she was and knew who I was. We were at the mall a Sunday afternoon a few weeks into September of that year when she just got this huge stroke of genius that I looked athletic and should find some sort of sport to do. She bought me a bunch of soffe shorts, some running flats, a pair of cross trainers and that following week I was on the cross-country team. It was like she knew about the clove habit I’d picked up at 14 and she was trying to beat it out of me in her own way. The following spring, I was on on the track team too.
So there I was, finally a “regular” kid. Aunt L was patting herself on the back to anyone would listen. I was grateful, but miserable. Quiet, different kids in school caught absolute hell from my “friends” and I. I needed an outlet and they were it. Until….
My senior year, I started hanging out with Aunt L’s daughter…she was 22 at the time. She’d just finished up her degree and moved back to be closer to home. She had her own place and hanging with her was the only opportunity I had to stay out past 10pm.
My cousin, I’ll call her Kate, is everything her mom had raised her to be on the outside. As soon as she’d pick me up from her mom’s house for a weekend, totally different story!! She’d get me into bars, clubs, whatever I wanted to do. She had a lot of friends that were kind of decent indie musicians/bands in the area so that was always cool. I went to live with her in March of my senior year. No real argument from Aunt L, she knew Kate was a “good” girl.
Yep, good girl…
Instead of my senior prom, I went with her to Coachella. It sucked, but I rolled for the first time while I was out there and that sort of made up for it. The rest of my time with with her is like a big blur.
I’d graduated and was just having a blast before I started college in the fall. Life was good. We had a late night after we got back in from doing the bar thing one night. The house was full of people, all ages, races, whatever. She was gone and couldn’t drive so while I drove us back home, she got on her cell and called just about everyone in her phone. The night was crazy. Kate was crazy. We got into huge fight because I started telling a bunch of people they had to leave because her neighbor came over to complain about the noise twice and was going to call the police. I was 17, and there was a lot of green, pills, and a lot of other factors that would have sent a lot of people, including Kate to jail that night.
One of the guys there calmed her down enough and helped get the situation at the house under control. Most of the people had gone, Kate was officially passed out and I’m sitting on the couch, hoping that the guy who thinks he saved the day would take his cue and ride off into the sunset so I could go to bed. He was really tall, 6′5″, with that weird, pale olive skin that only looks right after 5 or more hours in the sun. He didn’t leave. He didn’t say anything, he just sat there. I didnt want to just go to sleep with this guy sitting there so I asked him his name. He told me and then just starts talking non-stop afterwards. I’m going to call him Chris. We talked about everything from politics, to sex to cartoons. He told me he was 28 and that he was going to college in the fall, just like I was…same school and everything. I asked him what he was studying, he just said he was getting a liberal arts degree. Nice and ambiguous.
The gray in his hair and in most of his answers to my questions should have let me know that he wasn’t exactly a boy scout.
Longer story short…he turns out to be the weird kind of cool that works for me. I think it was mostly because Kate and I were getting on each other nerves more and more everyday and she was tired of “babysitting”. Chris let me come live with him.
As soon as he moved me in, things went downhill pretty fast. It turns out he was actually in his 40s. It turns out he was a male who had done some obscure Euro porn and was basically what amounts to an escort who styles himself as a “professional” male dom. He was a burnout, man-whore mama’s boy with horrible anxiety and OCD. The dom act helped him cope I guess. Oh, and he wasn’t a student studying “liberal arts”. I got sucked into his bullshit. A lot of people got sucked into his bullshit, including rosie.
rosie was just a not so innocent 40-something. A lobbyist with a VERY recognizable, sucessful firm and family man. A church-going, good ol’ boy on the ouside; inside he’s a godless person in search of God via sex workers, sex toys and expensive lingerie shipped to random P.O. boxes and kept safely in storage 50 miles away from the wife and kid.
rosie found her way into our mess, because the dommes/girls weren’t making the HIM still left inside feel ashamed and disgusting enough for the things that the she inside had done and stll wanted to do. rosie sought out a guy like Chris in an attempt to finally get rid of the HIM and allow the her to live more freely.
I was part of the not so safe stuff that rosie ended up doing. rosie was part of me being stuck. I was too seduced by being finally free from either not being free enough or entirely too free to see that I wasn’t any kind of free. I was just stuck in every way anyone could imagine. rosie was too. Chris had a lot of stuff to hold over both of our heads. As much of a blackmail slut rosie is, it wasn’t the “fun” kind. So we helped each other out of a bad situation. That’s why we’re still stuck with one another in some way.
rosie helped me to transfer into one of the BEST colleges. I finally have a life that’s what I want for the most part. I have most of everything I could possibly want. Why do I still want more and have to have more though? Why does rosie still want and expect more from me?
Why can’t rosie understand that when I ask for a Macbook Air, that doesn’t translate to just sending me some regular Toshiba piece of garbage that’s on sale and that will probably die in a month?
Why can’t rosie understand why I uploaded a bunch of pics to the piece of shit laptop. Nothing major, just commemorations of her favorite things. Wearing MAC Lady Danger lipstick, her face covered in jizz , and the offending monster cock still in her hand inches away from that gaping, grinning overused fuck hole in her face.
Why can’t rosie understand why I’m going to dispose of/lose that piece of garbage in the middle of a very highly trafficked Barnes and Noble later on this evening?
Now that presents 2 sets of problems:
Number 1: I’m not going to have a laptop for a huge assignment I have to do for my internship on Tuesday, playing with random pervs, to blog, or to compulsively check facebook unless rosie comes through in the right way.
Number 2: Someone is going to be a good samaritan, find that laptop, and see that all the software registration information has been switched to rosie’s real info. I don’t even have to go into the deal with pictures.
This is all because rosie can’t compartmentalize her emotions from her drives. I think she’s a little hurt because she’s been getting what she begged me for a year ago. She thought she was giving me some sort of twisted,passive-aggressive, father-figure style tough love by not getting me the MacBook I wanted because I didn’t plan anything for our anniversary today. Sorry babes, my love is tougher. She forgot that no matter what, beneath everything she’s just a cocksucker who’s not man enough to be a fag all by herself. She’s just a faggot, cum slurping whore who will ALWAYS come groveling back to give me what I want anyway in all respects, Now she’s going to have to suffer for thinking her wants and needs matter more than mine. So sad.
Luv ya rosie, happy anniversary!!!
MUAH!
At least it shouldn’t. Since L** has been gone I’ve had to fill the social void in my life. So lately I’ve been hanging out with this guy I met last year, but never really took the time to get to know on any real level. If I had to define our thing, I’d have to say that he’s a Trader Joe. You know, one of those people that you call to help the time go by while you’re doing stuff like grocery shopping? It’s hard to actually get to know people like that on any real level because you’re always half involved in the conversation, and half involved with whatever randomness going on. Since all my usual people have either gone back home for the summer or doing the study abroad thing, I decided to call my Trader Joe.
He’s actually pretty cool. We’ve been laying out by the pool, finding out what our girl and boy parts are good for, running errands…
He’s actually a pretty cool guy. Not clingy, and soooo hot!! Thick curly blonde hair, green eyes, awesome body, 8.75 THICK inches…but he’s 5′7!!! I’m 5′10. Still, he’s my new buddy for the summer I think.
We went out last night, or at least attempted to.
Sometime late last year, the overly concerned government officials of my locale decided that the 18 to party, 21 to drink thing was contributing to the decay of society in some way. It wasn’t a problem though, I paid my 26 year old cousin $30 for her driver’s license. We don’t look that similar. Her biological dad is white, but she’s brown with black hair…close enough. Business as usual until last night…
The guy working at the bar we were going to hit up first looked at “my”(I paid for it so it’s mine!!) driver’s license then at me. He got this smug little smirk then asked me to tell him “my” driver’s license number. Of course I couldn’t and I tried to play it off. Does anyone really know their license number? He was all too happy to ask me what color my eyes were. Fuck, my cousin’s eyes are green!!!! Then he proceeded to take my license and tell me how much trouble I could get into. I swear he probably had a hard-on, he was so happy to tell me that.
I’m already working on another one, but I don’t get the cousin discount. Hopefully, it’s not the same guy who did this masterpiece
Oh well, it needs to hurry and get here. Before, I start my summer job, I plan to go to L.A. in a week or so and some other places. It’s really not worth it to try and get some door Nazi to let me in without carding, so I’m hanging out at home. Use one of the arrange call button on the right if you want to make your night a little more interesting.
I’m so glad the semester is final over!! My course load wasn’t that bad.
It’s just that for some reason, professors/instructors/t.a.’s think that their students want to hear them talk about their cat, their piece of shit car, or whatever else matters to them. If any of you reading my blog are college/university faculty and are guilty of this, find a fucking outlet!!
I don’t care what it is. Looking at porn on university computers and jerking off before you give a lecture is classic and effective!! I don’t know why I bothered going to class half the semester because almost all of the lectures would end up going this way. Before I sent my laptop to hell by spilling a Caramel Macchiato on it, I’d spend most of my time in class on Perezhilton.com.
It’s a celebrity gossip blog type thing, like TMZ. That’s not my thing most of the time, but Perez is like the male,fat, gay, Cuban version of me! He’s such a cunt….and I love him for it!
I love him even more for this. Check out the entire post here. His wife, Posh Spice says that thing is like an exhaust pipe!!
Take note boys…if you don’t look like this half-naked, the only thing you can do for me is listen outside the door and whine to be let in while I play with someone who does!
If you’ve got a significant amount of sagging going on in the front of your tighty whities… maybe something pink and silky is more your thing. I’m just being honest!
If I’m hooking up with a guy and I find out he has a dick deficiency, I can’t even look at him sexually. Game over, instantly! It’s amusing, really because it seems like the more inches they are away from 8….the harder they try! Let me just say for the record, most girls that are under 160 lbs, and that aren’t under the influence of roofies are not going to hook up with a 5 incher! There are some exceptions, they’re probably Mormons, but there are exceptions I guess.
So why not, give me a little entertainment? If you’re 30 and over and 5 inches and under, leave a comment. Let me know what your sex life has been lik, or how expensive it’s been . I need somthing to laugh about and I’m sure there are plenty of like-minded ladies who will get a good laugh at your nano-dicks too.
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