Emily Ratajkowski may ignore me 98% of the time I write her love poems, and I really can’t blame her, since my love poems are usually about eating her ass before her shower, which if you ask me is as romantic as it gets, because you only eat the ass of a girl you love before she showers, while other hookers you eat the ass after a good hand sanitize of the asshole.

You see, getting E. Coli from the one you love isn’t quite as upsetting when you are sitting on the toilet shitting and vomiting blood at the same time, pretty much near death, when it is for someone you love, in an “I’d die for you” kind of ass eating.

But I don’t need her to answer me…you see, she consistently takes these kinds of pics for me, even if she pretends they are for some other client or magazine, and it’s really all I fucking need from her.

She’s hot, she’s got a good level of porn to her look, I’d like to insert my penis inside her pussy…and she wouldn’t even feel a thing…or notice…thanks to my small penis…and staring at her hot boxing pics, rather than her hot box, is not ideal, but good enough. She’s a babe.
 



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