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I know it sounds like we're all "AND THEN HE SAID AND THEN SHE SAID AND THIS CUNT FROM MY CLASS WAS LIKE AND THEN SHE" but that is actually just our girl-patois, a total cover for the fact that we are scared shitless to say anything real.
Asked recently what the worst thing anyone had ever said to him was, he revealed: "A rent-a-yob once bellowed, 'Oi, Kyle, you're a cunt!' through my car window as my then teenage daughter sat frozen beside me".
I'm really into BDSM and being submissive, and before I started the blog, I would have just said, "Well, my cunt wants what my cunt wants".
She nuzzles her cunt into my face like a filly at the gates.
I prefer to consider myself a "sugar cunt" and my clients "sugar dicks".
Anyway, I bought a 25 dollar bottle of lingerie soap just to be a cunt to my dad and brother about it.
Anyway, I bought a twenty-five dollar bottle of lingerie soap just to be a cunt to my dad and brother about it.
And while I'm not a fan of whoever's crudely sprayed "TOP CUNT" on my local bus stop, the Team Robbo tags dotted along Regent's Canal and the huge blocks of colour on the skyline that break up grey train journeys are something I'd never want to see London without.
In the piece, I dared to suggest that maybe it was silly that a neon sign that says "my cunt is wet with fear" is worth £100,000.
While I lie next to him, astounded by his presence still, he opens my silk robe and touches my cunt as if he were Adam just discovering Eve's pussy.
