I’ve kept this diary for over 3 years now. I turned the necklace around and looked at the back, and then I saw it. You jizz There were even more questions springing up every moment. I was more curious about the red lights. My stem was throbbing harder and harder as I gave myself all the love I needed and stroked it as affectionately as I could. It felt as real as…
…Hang on! ‘Milly’s Diary’, said the title, written in the white stripe of a pink-blue-white sticker glued onto the front cover. How was it going on? And that’s only natural—I stop caring about what caused the beautiful feeling, I start caring about the feeling itself. It’s just a kind of essence of the sight I’m thinking about, but it’s in no
