It’s 6PM, and unless my screenwriting professor believes the lie-filled email I just sent him about viruses, this is what he is reading instead of my final screenplay:
Hands kneading into the bed, Sherlock’s cock twitches obscenely, already leaking pre-come. John gives the tip a filthy,...
no but how weird is it that season three is actually happening like it’s written down on pieces of paper and people have read it and in less than two weeks they’ll be taking out cameras and putting on costumes and saying the linES and IT’S FELT LIKE A MYTHICAL CREATURE FOR SO LONG ...
If “I learned to play the clarinet at school” isn’t THE most popular term for “I give a fantastic blowjob” by tomorrow morning I’m going to be disappointed in ALL of you.