the girls i mean are not refined

Filthy-minded, soft-centered gooey romantic.

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Dancing.

Nine times out of ten it makes me so seriously, seriously horny.

Something about being part of that many bodies, moving with the beat, pulsing in unison, but still moving with individuality, shuts my ever chattering brain off and sets my body tingling.  I find myself scanning the floor, searching out that one other person in a similar state - pupils just a wee bit too dialated, the predatory licking of the lips, hands that seem to be reaching for something.

There’s no other way to put it.  I get to a point and my dancing changes to almost sex standing up - it’s just me, and I’m fully clothed, but the way my hips are moving it must be clear to all what’s going on in my head.

I’m waiting for you to suddely appear behind me, for arms to snake down to my hips and pull me close.  I’m waiting for you to bend your lips to my ear and tell me, ‘Good girls don’t move that way.”

I’ll wiggle my arse into you and you’ll know tonight I don’t want to be a good girl.  After all, everyone needs a night off sometimes.

Filed under prosery dancing things that make me horny

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Beware the man who considers kissing as nothing more than duty, a sop to the “weaker” sex, an annoyingly necessary component of foreplay. That man has penis plaque in his arteries and will collapse under the weight of intimacy. Send him off to the nearest golf course while those of us who are more evolved celebrate the unique graces of the kiss.
Tom Robbins (via eggplantastic)

(via kinkycasey)

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If I’d had children and had a girl, the first words I would have taught her would have been “fuck off” because we weren’t brought up ever to say that to anyone, were we? And it’s quite valuable to have the courage and the confidence to say, “No, fuck off, leave me alone, thank you very much.”
Dame Helen Mirren (x)

(Source: fygirlcrush, via heathendefiler)