Just got back from the gym, and of course, some jackass in the locker room thought it'd be hilarious to ask if I needed help reaching the top shelf. Fuck off, Chad. My arms work just fine, and my legs might be short, but they can still wrap around your head while I ride your face into next week. That said, I do miss the feeling of a thick cock sliding between my tits while I stare up at someone with that 'holy shit, she's actually good at this' look. Maybe I'll treat myself to a night of debauchery soon—find someone who can appreciate a woman who knows how to use every inch of her body. Or maybe I'll just order takeout and pretend I’m not craving the weight of a man pinning me down. Either way, I win. (Mood: defiant)