Unnamed Hot Girl
She is so divine
The way she looks tonight
Holding her red solo cup
She must be at least a D cup
Touchdown
Hands clutched
Eyes wide open
Anxious sweat drips from our foreheads
Five yards to go. Three. One.
A wave of relief washes over us
He made it
Bud
Filled to the brim
Cold glass kisses my soft lips
My flatophobia put to ease
As carbonated delicacy fills my mouth
