I’m avid coffee drinker. Jury is still out on whether I can trust people who aren’t.
Some things in life I believe are gifted to us. When we find them, we should do ourselves a favor and indulge.
Peet’s French Roast, a medium-rare steak, creme brûlée, bourbon whiskey from the top shelf, and above all, the taste and scent of a woman.
Nothing in life brings me directly right inside dwelling in the moment quite like lifting your legs back and just devouring you.
It’s the first bite of a 30 dollar cut of meat. Closing your eyes and feeling the jolt across your taste buds as the steak reminds you that chicken is a pathetic excuse for a replacement. It’s that first sip of coffee in the morning, when the coffee is cooled just enough so you can really get a good drink without burning your tongue. It’s those things, those moments, multiplied by a million. That’s what it’s like – to me – to eat pussy.
I’d spend forever down here if I could.
Eyes peering up at you to capture your facial expressions in pure ecstasy, wishing to myself that I could press the slow motion button and enjoy it even longer.
It’s that feeling inside of me, when I know that it’s my attentiveness and pure willpower that is breaking you to your core right before my very eyes.
It’s me, all me, breaking you.
It’s Peet’s French Roast, times a million.