Making love to me is amazing. Wait, I meant: making love, to me, is amazing. The absence of two little commas nearly transformed me into a sex god.
If you have the woman you love, what more do you need? Well, besides an alibi for the time of her husband’s murder.
I make love with a focus and intensity that most people reserve for sleep.
To find out if she really loved me, I hooked her up to a lie detector. And just as I suspected, my machine was broken.
Our love was a two-person game. At least until one of us died, and the other became a murderer.
I had a dream about you. At first you were a mannequin, and I was a fashion designer. Then, inexplicably, we switched roles and I became the mannequin. But instead of putting clothes on me, you laughed at my nakedness, and you sold me to the owner of a sex shop.