That smell of spring in the air. Horny up to a max 1,000,,000%%%. Like, the sweat just building. Aphrodisiac my surrounding air. Sunshine and longer days. Like night is just an overture. A synopsis of day. And day was just too long. Tapping into the nerve like a majesty. One trace back to the node that sent you. Movement is the only expression here. Can’t a sweat be shared. Exhaustion of pleasure, but continue. It’s the excess that’s anxious. “Am I being too much?” falters your ego with an infinity of question. Nudes and Snap Chat. My phone or his? “What’s your WiFi?” Is this some kind of desert?
Bootleg Tapes takes 2017 proper with Stress. As they share a city and boroughs together, it’s essential to strike an accord. Look out for parties. Head to the cellars. Let’s get tanked. It’s all about discussion. But a mutual expression of physical JEST is ripe. Praise and be Blessed:
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