Max is sowing wild oats
Oh sweet conquistador of the soul, where art thou? Cockered boy, do not peter out on me in phallic bonhomie, for as you rise to empathize the nightingale doth sing, which yet leaves time for lusty-thrusted spirited activity, by thine uplifted night bird fully...cocked...in wanton caroling. Flaccid... Sign in to see full entry.