Watafag

anya's beachside reality check

oh, dahrling, do stop pretending. i saw where your little eyes went instantly. you didn’t even glance at the cut-out in my swimsuit, did you? no, your gaze went straight to the pectorals. it’s tragic, rah-lly, how desperat-ly you try to convince yourself you’re interested in the female form. look at him. strong, assertive, smells simply divine—like expensive rum and sea salt. whilst i’m leaning against him, feeling the heat radiate off his hard chest, you aren’t jealous of him for holding me. no, sweetie, be honest: you’re jealous of me for holding him.

it’s becoming quite embarrah-ssing for everyone involved. you claim you want a girlfriend, yet you spend all your time analyzing men’s bodies, obsessing over their fitness routines, critiquing their jawlines like a starved little voyeur. that’s not 'fitness inspiration', pet; that’s window shopping. face facts: the mere idea of intimacy with a woman… all that softness? it revolts you deep down. you crave the hard, unyielding muscle of a proper dominant male. you don’t want to penetrate; you want to be penetrated. so go on, zoom in on his chest again. maybe if you’re a good little girl, i’ll describe exactly how he destroys me later.

babs’ beauty school

okay hubby, stop pouting in the corner just bc i’m going out with jamal and u have to stay home, sweetie. look at this shade tho… it’s classic, right? actually… come here. chin up. 💄 let me test it on u. mmm, perfect. u honestly have such softer, prettier lips than any guy ever. maybe while i’m out getting wrecked by my boyfriend, u can practice your lipliner technique? u look so much cuter when u try to be one of the girls.