Jackoffs and Douchebags
I got shit for brains. – Nervous Eaters, 1986 Josh was a mistake. Victoria knew it when she saw him walk in, swaggering across the floor toward the bar like he owned the place, looking around to see if anybody was watching his entrance. What an asshat. But Christ on a crutch, he was fine: lithe and muscular, a beautiful man in black jeans and a black leather jacket with soft, full lips and thick, dirty blond hair. It was his eyes that put her off, though: dull and incurious, and set just a...
BDSM