My favorite swimming hole at the Yuba. Nevada City, CA

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@duhhrrel
My favorite swimming hole at the Yuba. Nevada City, CA
Sniper prank (illegal, don’t try this at home).
That boy was high stepping like a motherfucker
Do I still think about my ex? Well, yes. But, like, in total platonisms, like the fond way you remember a cute dog that used to paddle around in the beach you went to as a child. Really, it’s like that. When we remember our ex, or exes, or the girls that fate has quietly retired from our lives, there are two conflicting impulses at play. There’s a frequent touch of wistfulness, particularly if the breakup wasn’t so bad, or happened so long in the past that it’s receded into sepia tones—the sense that, yeah, there was a good thing there. At the same time, there is also a feeling of finality. Life isn’t like a cassette tape, there’s no rewind button, no turning back of the tape. We can’t gain back our youth, or lose the pounds; we can’t voluntarily shed the wisdom we’d gained in the girlfriends we’ve loved and hated and shouted at and fell out of love with before we chose to fall in love with you. The world has moved on, dragging us with it, and to go back to old habits is to become a person we just aren’t anymore. It’s just counter-productive.
The Truth About Our Exes: Confessions From A Guy (via thelovewhisperer)
This is so deep I’m gonna reevaluate my life
One: Buy condoms. Buy them and keep them with you at all times, and use them before you are asked to use them. And use them every time. The peace of mind you allow your partner will free her to be vulnerable with you, and that, my son, is exactly what sex is about. Condoms are sexy. In fact, call buying condoms foreplay. (Footnote: If you are too embarrassed to buy condoms, you are not ready to have sex.) Two: Kissing is not merely foreplay. Spend entire evenings making out on the couch while fully clothed. Believe me, dry-humping rocks. Three: Sex is not just about friction. It’s about emotion. Stop trying to find her clitoris and find her heart. Because then she’ll help you find her clitoris. Four: If you really wanna know how to please a woman, ask her how she masturbates. Then do that. A lot. If she claims she doesn’t masturbate, offer to take her shopping for a vibrator so you can both learn the vocabulary of her body together. Five: Don’t put anything in her butthole you wouldn’t want in your own. (Footnote: Try a pinky finger, it’s kinda awesome.) Six: When you go down on her—and you will go down on her, and if you are my son, you will be amazing at it—tell her how good she tastes. Stop in the middle and kiss her deeply so she knows how good she tastes. Do the same when she goes down on you. Seven: A simple Google search will yield 1,327 euphemisms for male masturbation, yet only 23 for female masturbation. If guys spent less time jacking off and more time jilling off, this world would be a happier place. Eight: Everything you need to know about the importance of the clitoris is in the movie Star Wars. You are Luke Skywalker piloting your penis-shaped X-Wing Fighter deep inside her trench. Remember: seventy percent of all Death Stars cannot be blown up through penetration of the trench alone. It must be through focused contact with that little exhaust port at the top of the trench. Otherwise, any explosions you experience will be merely Hollywood special effects. Nine: Just because you come doesn’t mean she has, so don’t you dare come before her. Focus completely on your partner. Don’t worry about gettin’ yours, you’re a guy. You always get yours. Your job is to make sure she’s gettin’ hers. Ten: If sex with your partner lasts no longer than this poem, you are not making love. You are masturbating with her body instead of your hand. Shame on you. Go back to step one. You’ve got a lot of learning to do. Love, Dad.
Big Poppa E., “How To Make Love” (via dorkvader)
I will always reblog this
(via moan-my-name-louder)
Number 9 is my goal for life.
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