seen from United States
seen from Finland
seen from Peru
seen from Netherlands
seen from United States
seen from Guatemala
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Singapore
seen from Sweden
seen from United States
seen from Brazil
seen from Venezuela
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from Bahrain
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
Is it too much to ask that someone just show me love the way I show love for once. I’m always the one that tries to love people to the absolute fullest, meanwhile all I get is the bare fucking minimum. It’s absolutely soul crushing. Especially when I find someone who I think is perfect to me, just to find out they didn’t actually give a fuck. Like why do I even try?
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Y’all I was about to go to sleep and then started getting flustered fantasizing about cute date ideas I could ask my crush to do (the crush that we’ve basically already gone out I mean we’ve talked for hours straight one on one at a tea shop we just didn’t call it a ‘date’) Like imagining walking through the woods with them, cuddling and binge watching hyperfixations we share, gushing about writing and our characters. I dunno why I’m posting this but my god I am so unapologetically gay. In a very asexual way though, I like cute shit not sexy shit.
Why are bruises etc romanticized??? I don't get it.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Let me take out of focus Polaroids of you and paste them in scrap book pages with your name written under each one in pristine letters.
I romantisized the way he did the dishes.
I remeber the last time I did the dishes, and how She got upset by the dirty sponge, and how I was sure her mother must have washed all her dishes for her. But He rubbed the curry covered pot with intricate movements, trasing the brim with corse finger tips. I watched silently… planning on how to remember such a mundane and domestic act as it occurs so perfectly in front of me. He wouldn’t chastise a sponge, he trusts his hands, hard they may be, but able to clean, anti bodies prepared. Even after the dish lay on the rack he brushes a crum away, for it was clean, like he was clean. With chipped fingers and calloused feet, from learning guitar and neglecting shoes. From smelling of smoke and fresh cut flowers, from the ink in his flesh he put there himself. His skin is peach fuzz and my senses are jealous.
You catch me staring, Turning away as if ashamed. You haven’t led me on, No worries there, But I can’t help myself but stare. At your fluttering lashes Dancing on your face Taking my breath away, As if every blink is a new accomplishment Yet i have no right to stare. You’d never tell me to stop so I do what I can Knowing I’m in the wrong Sneaking peeks at another’s work of art As if I’ve contributed.
