It looks like two alpacas fucking, mostly,” he said apologetically. “Of course, sometimes, the boy can’t get his boy parts past the girl’s furry ass, and he needs a little help, so then it looks like two alpacas fucking while their handler’s giving the one on top a handjob.
Love was more than a choice, more than a feeling, it was a commitment.
These are not sentimental keepsakes. She never looks at them, and often forgets what she has there. They are not booty, they don’t have ritualistic significance. She does not take something every time she goes to Gordon’s house, or every time she stays over, or to mark what she might call memorable visits. She doesn’t do it in a daze and she doesn’t seem to be under a compulsion. She just takes something, every now and then, and puts it away in the dark of the old tobacco tin, and more or less forgets about it.
‘How old were you when you realized you were… different?’
Logan opened his mouth, then smiled slyly, ‘What sort of different? Gay different, magic different, or just plain fucked-in-the-head-crazy different?’
Collin bit back a smile at Logan’s delivery, ‘Magic different.’
‘Ah,’ Logan said, ‘Pity, the other stories are a lot more fun.’
Flirting is a promise of sexual intercourse without a guarantee.
This was my love, her love –torn, damaged, broken, ripped apart and put back together. This was our tattered love.
He rarely saw a doorway without advancing through it as if he owned it. Since he owned a good many doorways, he would have pointed out that this was a reasonable assumption.
How do I say ‘kiss me’ in French?” she whispered.
Oh yes, even that sounded better in French.
Ritsu… Do you like Oda?” More than me?
I know that even now, having watched enough television, you probably won’t even refer to them as lepers so as to spare their feelings. You probably call them ‘parts-dropping-off challenged’ or something.