yo, that's wack if i'm not the baddest


profile * old * mail * fucking sign it* or how about a nice note? you go forward / i'll go backwards


yelling 'jesus! brian!' from the top of the water tower on grammie's property in southern maine with slippery bottomed shoes and a death wish, pulling on his skinny hands and feeling them move in and out of joint but knowing we'll be caught if we dont climb faster. he's got the spray cans and i've got my arms around him while he writes dirty words about me and him so we can blame harper and get his mom to yell. he sprays a billion lines over and over, decisive lines, "breanna f is a slut with brian k!" i'm giggling and he's panting from the climb. first red, then black, evil. tomorrow i'll cry to my mom that its not true, not true. after "b.k. loves b.f." and "b.k. loves cock! 2001!", my eyes are watering. just for fun we stay up there, above the city, i give him a lousy hand job and fake an orgasm when he eats me out. while climbing down i slip and split my lip open, the grass is wet and we get home with godspeed.
d-land