Text Me in the Morning, and Then Just Walk into a Plate Glass Window

So the other day my IML brother Ben and I decided to have a contest to see who was the worst at sexting, because that’s the kind of thing that happens when leatherpeople get bored. The battle was short-lived but inglorious:

“I’m glad our man regions get on so well.”

“Me too. I am super moist in my privates now.”

“Your damp nethers make me tingle in the bad place.”

“You have no idea how badly I want to get caught shamefully touching myself over that.”

“And when I catch you, I will punish you with mops and water balloons and things.”

“So hot. I love misunderstanding watersports.”

“I’m going to claim you like an indigenous land by Europeans.”

“PUT IT ON A HALLMARK CARD, NATIVE.”

“Wait. Terrible sexting is one thing, but terrible race play is not so appealing.”

“It’s not race play if you’re dominating my white male privilege with your white male privilege.”

“Oh. Okay, sweet.”

“Like John Mayer and Ed Sheeran wrestling over a Fleshlight.”

“…”

Conclusion: There are no victors in war. Only casualties.

One thought on “Text Me in the Morning, and Then Just Walk into a Plate Glass Window

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