The glowingly decanting, hovering penis is that of "Charles," an amateur then in his earliest 20's from Germany, who gifted us all with portraits which also presented a spectacularly endearing smile, not too many years ago. His was one of those inspired voluntary gestures, re-enacting the drama of our first undressings -- such as you solicit of us now -- which flesh out from time to time the sustaining fact of penis' universality with telling studies of penis' enthralling particularity, the beloved mold infinite in variation and yet amazingly consistent in character. Even then, of course, the purity of symmetry and generosity of effect implicit in the "ideal" of penis, being so sublimely recalled in this portrait, drew an astonished world to its knees in raptest, cherishing astonishment. Perhaps your own project will enrich this tradition of benevolent exhibition, with comparably immortal results.
And wherever he is, a merry holiday embrace to young Charles.
The boneful male extruding his dickhead at the foot of the bed recalls many a happy occasion of the twang's release from captivity in slappiest concussion of tummy, accompanied by the applause of hoisted legs to host the helpless horn to healings of exertion in hospitable warmth and succour.
And where might he be now, this chilly winter morn?
The comity of cock plays on in Raging Stallion's comedy of suck, the supplicant's proposal sweet with some familiarity -- to supplant the sheath with soothings of his surrogate seal of lips. Yet we attend upon the scene with partisan first impressions of our place, as if the whole of penis history hovered in the balance, of a decision fate has already cast in unleashing the flood to swell the unresisting dome. So much more brilliant is the script of sensate cock, beyond the editing of males.
Again, the sheathshorn dick of nutlike knob inflates urethra to its drawstring's consternation, tugged to bare the seething slit in which it's sewn, a sluice of slick bisection stirring tendered tongue to slathering empathy. Yes, gracious tho' the caverns be, of cock's curvaceous pousse-café, what incurs the caring quaff more constantly to cure its craving thirst, than the clefted crown concentered as their capital?
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The glowingly decanting, hovering penis is that of "Charles," an amateur then in his earliest 20's from Germany, who gifted us all with portraits which also presented a spectacularly endearing smile, not too many years ago. His was one of those inspired voluntary gestures, re-enacting the drama of our first undressings -- such as you solicit of us now -- which flesh out from time to time the sustaining fact of penis' universality with telling studies of penis' enthralling particularity, the beloved mold infinite in variation and yet amazingly consistent in character. Even then, of course, the purity of symmetry and generosity of effect implicit in the "ideal" of penis, being so sublimely recalled in this portrait, drew an astonished world to its knees in raptest, cherishing astonishment. Perhaps your own project will enrich this tradition of benevolent exhibition, with comparably immortal results.
And wherever he is, a merry holiday embrace to young Charles.
The boneful male extruding his dickhead at the foot of the bed recalls many a happy occasion of the twang's release from captivity in slappiest concussion of tummy, accompanied by the applause of hoisted legs to host the helpless horn to healings of exertion in hospitable warmth and succour.
And where might he be now, this chilly winter morn?
The comity of cock plays on in Raging Stallion's comedy of suck, the supplicant's proposal sweet with some familiarity -- to supplant the sheath with soothings of his surrogate seal of lips. Yet we attend upon the scene with partisan first impressions of our place, as if the whole of penis history hovered in the balance, of a decision fate has already cast in unleashing the flood to swell the unresisting dome. So much more brilliant is the script of sensate cock, beyond the editing of males.
Again, the sheathshorn dick of nutlike knob inflates urethra to its drawstring's consternation, tugged to bare the seething slit in which it's sewn, a sluice of slick bisection stirring tendered tongue to slathering empathy. Yes, gracious tho' the caverns be, of cock's curvaceous pousse-café, what incurs the caring quaff more constantly to cure its craving thirst, than the clefted crown concentered as their capital?
Wow! I guess that was a good set for you, Anon! ;-)
It was truly delicious to remark upon as my roommate prepared the airiest of waffles for our breakfast, and you reprised our nourishments of wakening.
Damn i wouldnt turn any of them away
wonderful share, great article, very usefull for me...thanks
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