I've been told I'm a total D.I.L.F. Got two kids and been divorced for almost a year now. Always been into older women myself so if there are any hot G.I.L.F.'s out there please don't hesitate to give me a shout out. I'm also into W.I.L.F.'s (Wives) and S.W.I.L.F.'s (Sister Wives). If there are any hot W.W.II.S.I.L.F. (World War II Survivors) or P.A.S.I.L.F.'s (Post Apocalyptic Sensationalists), P.M.S.I.L.F.'s (Pre-Millenial Sensationalists) drop me a line. Other than that I'm also curious about W.I.W.R.S.D.D.L.I.L.F.'s (Women Into Watching Reality Shows Doing Dirty Laundry), F.C.M.T.N.A.L.T.A.I.L.F.'s (Former Cult Members That Now Are Life Time Alcoholics), C.O.H.T.S.I.A.A.M.M.F.T.I.L.F.'s (Cougars On Haitus To See If Appropriate Age Men Might Fix Them) and G.G.I.L.F.'s (Great Grandmother's). I'll post more as I think of them, that's a short starter list just to loosen up the cogs and get things movin'. Message me at DILFLUNDGREN@hotmail.com.
I just met you, this is crazy....oh...wait, it's not? Oh, so you're saying I'M crazy? Fuck you. So you do want my number or don't you? Wait, what? I said do you want my number or I'm confused. Okay, let me lay it out for you. I just met you, right? I'm glad we can agree on that. This is crazy, right? You are nodding so I'll take that as a yes. Here's my number. See, that's where this gets a little sticky. I'm not going to put my number in a fucking post on a website for any old jack off to punch in and call up. I hope you get my logic here. And this is where I would say call me maybe except you don't have my number, you won't have my number and you will never ever ever in a million years have my number. So that maybe is a definitely kind of maybe definitely not ever call me. If you want a piece of this, you are literally going to have to be a little bit more motivated than this. Anyway, bye.
I'm literally a bi-polar bi-sexual, ya know, so actually just straight. I'm a Buddhist, Marxist, pragmatist that struggles with Existentialism. Also, I'm a meta-hypochondriac which means I worry a lot about coming down with hypochondria. I'm actually laying in bed as I write this thinking I'm coming down with a bad case. I work at a grocery store as the Angiosperm Quality and Control Supervisor and Implantation Expert. I have two parents which makes me an Official Offspring and DNA Beneficiary. I'd like to find a partner as long as you are okay by not defining ourselves by traditional roles or antiquated stereotypes. I'd like to rather be called Parallel Ideology Super-halves and Trans Suggestional Receptacles of Emotion.
Hello distressed damsels, independent hotties, curious wanderers step right up as I introduce to you myself, Clint Iverson, and invite you to review the merch. I'm a 38 year old male with a great job as an aquarium detailer. I know it doesn't sound like much, but I've been able to afford my own home and I take about a trip a year to somewhere exotic. I just kind of fell into the profession during college when I worked with a friend of mine's dad, then I just kind of took over when he passed away. I workout often and consider myself a bit of a Hercules. Let's see, what else? Oh, well, so I was in an accident about ten years ago that only effected me from the waist down. Everything is alright, but instead of the regular output I have a cord that kind of attaches around and slinks down. I'm not sure totally how to explain. Imagine the anatomy of a squid and then like a bag that extends and has a flap. I wouldn't say that I have an appendage as much as a constrictor. Everything is zeroscaped though, just so you know, nothing needs to be maintained regularly since none of it is necessarily considered to be alive. So what else? Oh yeah I love card games, big fan of poker and cards for Humanity. So I think I covered most of it, if you have any other questions feel free to IM me.
You're that girl, you know the one that turns every head in the room when you walk in; That girl that can eat a whole can of sardines in a lobster bib and then throw up all over yourself while dancing to a middle eastern polka beat that you couldn't quite possibly know. You're that girl that steals a handful of travel mouthwash from a Motel room you just wandered into and later on drinks it like mini bottles from your purse while the car behind us is screaming "It's green!" You're the kind of girl that would somehow run into and trip over a large pile of boxes and manage to keep running. You're friends all have an endearing nickname for you, something like "Total Disaster Hilton". On a regular night I might find you seducing an old man to get him to extinguish the fire you set from pretending like you were Audrey Hepburn from Breakfast at Tiffany's, but instead of a cigarette you lit a bottle rocket. I'm that guy that knows there's no way in hell you got to be THIS crazy without being THAT hot. You're a ten on the crazy scale cause you're a ten on the hot scale and you know you can get away with it.
Hiyo, date scouts, it's Scooter P. Boot reporting for doot. Got an outpouring of love and malt beverages last time I went on a rant here and so here goes nothin...again. To answer some more of your questions, specifically the question of did I have trauma in my childhood, the answer is not really. There's a few times I remember like when a guy that was laying pipes for the city make me squat and take a shit in a log or when my dad used to throw lit matches at my feet when he was drunker than an airline pilot on Sunday to get me to dance, but no more than the usual day to day. Nother question I get often is "Hey Scootie Snack, do you have any pets?" Yes!!! I have a parrot named Sergeant Collins, a little goat named Paycheck and a border collie named Gassie. Keep the questions firin', the date requests blazin and take a number cause my my Back to Scoot schedule is fillin' up fast! And please Grandma Donna no more pie buffets, it sounds like a free-for-all over there. Scoot likes to preserve his fruit for special occasions. P.S. I know you're the "secret admirer" self proclaimed seductive redhead named Tamlin Carrier. Nice story, the answer is still "No!"
Hello, it's grandma Donna. My fingers don't move too fast on the keyboard so you'll have to bare with me. Last time I posted I wrote about the beautiful and lush rug I have in my special area that I had cleaned up and rolled out for guests. I didn't get but two responses from some younger gentlemen and thought I'd sweeten the deal a little and make some pies. First off I've been told I have the best pies south of the Rocky Mountains (I'm in Houston). Crispy and flaky on the outside and delicious and gooey on the inside. If you haven't taken a dip in my pie than you just haven't lived! Once you get lost in the delectable goodness you'll never want to come up for air, you'll truly feel that pie is now essential to go on. My cherry pie is like a drug for your taste buds and you'll be craving more. This pie needs to get eaten badly before it dries up and gets left to the birds so just use the email and let grandma Donna know to save you a slice!
20 something complex dude and straight out of the oven hot quiche, because duh. I am on fleek and unlike balayage on a Kardashian, I ain't comin' off. I know I'm humble bragging, but I'm blessed AF to be fit, funny and generally slaying every obstacle that comes at me #thestruggleisrealAF!!!. I'm looking for a dude that will turn up my life OR my night whichever comes first. Forget YOLO, I'm like reincarnating 20 times in this bitch YOLUYFIO (You only live until you figure it out) and I ain't figuring it out any time soon. Gonna keep dating musicians, gonna keep posting fake shit on instagram, gonna keep hatin (but posting cat memes about LoVe), gonna keep spending more money on Wish than what my rent would be if I moved out of my parents house. Straight up. So I'm gonna go to where the music flows and YOLUYFIOAF, riiiiigggggghhhhhhtttttt?
I'm not sure what to say...and that seems to be a consistent theme in my life. My name is Jade (No, that is not my web page name...that's my REAL name). I'm looking for a compassionate partner that can train me in the art of dirty talk. My last partner liked to call me "a dirty cum slut" and all I could think of to say was "The derogatory nature of your comment seems to be hitting some deep need I have to be demeaned" like I'm some kind of sex therapist. And it all seemed to come out that way and ruin the whole momentum. And ruin the whole relationship. He was so good at saying stuff like "Daddy wants to fuck your tight hole" to which I'd respond "That's fulfilling an innate and subconscious desire I have to fuck my father to piss off my mother and it's triggering my oxytocin response." Somehow what I was saying had the opposite effect on him and we'd end up in an argument with me apologizing profusely, saying all the right things, but his apologies were like "I'm gonna go watch Spartacus". I need someone who is going to be gentle with me (while spanking me and telling me "I've been a very bad girl") and give me some pointers on how not to relate that to some early traumatic memory. Thanks.
Right? I hope YOU do because I don't have a clue. I don't know why I'm here and I sure as hell don't know where to go from here. In fact if someone said "You know what to do" to me, I'd shut down, get very tired and probably not go outside until I was sure the person assuming I know what I'm doing had long ghosted me like my last gf. She probably went out with me assuming I'm a guy that knows what I'm doing... I'm not. I'm clueless. I don't know the love languages, I have no idea where the clit is (or what it is), I have no predictive ability to deduce why you are mad (even if the clues are strategically placed and identified), I'm not smooth AT ALL. I'm not even sure if this was all something I should be admitting. So let hope...you know what to do.