1. A L L D A D D Y 5
Wednesday, August 24, 2022. › 1 comment: · › · Home · View web version. About Me. My photo. Falcon · View my complete profile. Powered by Blogger.
Wednesday, August 24, 2022
2. elias duque (@rerduque) / X
63 yo single retired white masculine gay man, living in Belo Horizonte, MG, Brazil. Brazil alldaddy5.blogspot.com Born June 12, 1960 Joined September 2022.
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3. User Profile: vorbar - Blogger.com
Blogs I follow. A L L D A D D Y 5 · A L L D A D D Y 6 · A L L D A D D Y 2 · A Free Daily Gallery of Daddy pictures ...
Blogger is a blog publishing tool from Google for easily sharing your thoughts with the world. Blogger makes it simple to post text, photos and video onto your personal or team blog.
4. Blogger: User Profile: Falcon
My blogs. A L L D A D D Y 5. Blogs I follow. A L L D A D D Y 5. About me. Gender, Male. Help. Help Center · Help Forum · Video Tutorials ...
Blogger is a blog publishing tool from Google for easily sharing your thoughts with the world. Blogger makes it simple to post text, photos and video onto your personal or team blog.
5. A L L D A D D Y 7
20 dec 2008 · A L L D A D D Y 5. 1 year ago. A L L D A D D Y 4. 1 year ago. A L L D A D D Y 3. 2 years ago. Adriano E Antinoo. 10 ...
6. September 2011 - A L L D A D D Y 4
13 sep 2011 · A L L D A D D Y 5. 1 year ago. A L L D A D D Y 7. 2 years ago. A L L D A D D Y 3. 2 years ago. Mature White Man( ...
7. April 2012 - A L L D A D D Y 6
Friday, April 27, 2012. No comments: · No comments: · No comments: Tuesday, April 17, 2012. No comments: · No comments:.
8. Olhos Negros - Adriano e Antinoo
domingo, 2 de setembro de 2012. Olhos Negros. Antinoo às 17:13. Compartilhar. Nenhum comentário: Postar um comentário ...
9. Vail Renovations
And all daddy, 5'10” tall, sees is her only seeing that, maybe for the rest of her life. laurenrodriguepresser Uncategorized Leave a comment January 23 ...
I was writhing in pain on a stretcher moaning like a poisoned Shakespeare character in an 11th grade play, like really writhing—a person cannot stop moving, twisting, standing up, sitting down when something hurts that much—when I found out just by breathing in the air around me that the baby I’d been growing for 11 weeks and two days had actually been dead inside me for six of those weeks. I say “just by breathing in the air around me” because the ultrasound tech didn’t say anything, but I could feel the weight on me, on my husband next to me, on all of us. She was looking at my dead baby. I asked her: “Is the baby OK?” and she said, “I’m not allowed to tell you anything, I only take the pictures.” But even with five vials of Fentanyl careening all through the avenues of me, I knew what she was saying. I knew if everything was fine she’d say, “Everything is fine!” because she would at least want me to have that divine pleasure of a baby growing inside me happy and untouched as I writhed in pain beneath her on the stretcher. Call it mother’s intuition, but I knew even before this bad morning that my first kid was dead in there. I knew on random Tuesdays and Thursdays and Saturdays, for an hour here and an hour there. I thought about it at my workout class, as I folded myself in half—this kid is dead—I thought about it when I saw a little speck of rust-colored blood on the toilet paper one Sunday—this is a droplet of dead kid. I thought about it while we were eating chick...
