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sweetbabyjesusletsfuck:

This is TRUE!!  It’s NOT FAIR that Girls are in charge of ALL of the PUSSY!!  I believe that they should be a LOT more GENEROUS when they decide to Share a little of it…..That’s Why they call it a PIECE of Pussy….”Cause all you Girls ever give up is a Little…..

You’re joking me right? It is fair that women are in charge of their vagina because hey guess what…. its their vagina! When guys magically grow a vagina and bleed out of it for 5 days straight every month then they can be in charge and be more “generous” with showing whomever they’d like. Have you ever stopped to think that maybe women don’t want to show it all because most don’t want to feel used for the genitals they have. Or maybe they want to keep it for a select few people to see. A woman sharing their vagina is a gift. I don’t care if the woman is a porn star or just some random girl you would see on the street. It shouldn’t be expected for us to share with just anyone. And the same goes for men to. Showing off shouldn’t be expected from anyone. Don’t get me wrong there are people out there who get pleasure from showing everyone everything. I get a thrill with posting pictures and seeing people enjoying them, but I want to have some privacy for myself too. That being said there are plenty women out there who get a trill to sending a picture of whatever you’d like, so if you ask someone for something like that and they deny; do yourself a favor and forget about it. There’s no point in pressuring them or guilt tripping them. It just makes you the douche bag.

My mother told me that you can’t cure depression,
that taking pills wouldn’t fix me and taking six
instead of the prescribed two definitely wasn’t
going to speed up the process. But I met a boy
who tasted better than Prozac. He made it easier
to get out of bed. He kissed me like I was
alive, like I wasn’t empty, like maybe there was
something left inside me. He made my bones
ache less when he touched me. He made it okay.
When my world was crashing down around me,
he picked up all the pieces. When I stopped
breathing and tried to tear open my wrists to
find the last little bits of happiness left in my
veins, he was there to lace me back together.
But he left and I haven’t washed my hair in three
weeks. My mother was right.
I met a boy who tasted better than Prozac (via extrasad)
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