I’ll start:
I like my men like my coffee, mild, sweet, and creamy.
I like my men like pygmy hippos, cute, nice and in my garden.
I’ll start:
I like my men like my coffee, mild, sweet, and creamy.
I like my men like pygmy hippos, cute, nice and in my garden.
My wife has lately been teasing me with this gem:
“I like my men how I like my sugar: white and refined.”
Amusing since I’m the complete opposite of both.
I like my men how I like my marshmallows: warm and bubbly on the outside, and stuck to the end of a fork.
I like my men the way I like my whiskey, hot, hard and strong.
I like my men like Chocolate Bars:
Sweet, smooth, and and ready to head right for your hips.
I like my men like I like my hot chocolate: sweet and in easy to open packages.
You ladies are aren’t being dirty enough. Please. Filth.
Fine then, I like my men like I like my battleships: sturdy and full of seamen.
I like my men like I like my coffee. Tied in a burlap sack and flung over a donkeys back.
I like my men like my dog; able to keep his fucking penis out of the toilet bowl.
I like my men like I like my computers, easily upgradeable and ready to go down on me at any time.
Like Condoleezza Rice, the bush-worshipper.
It’d read better if you said
Tied in a burlap sack and flung over an ass.
My contribution.
I like my men like I like my horses.
The more often you ride them, the better they are. A little squeeze with the thigh, a little clench through the seat, and they’ll go wherever you want. Even if they do buck up every once in a while.
I like men like I like tornados - far away.
I like my men like I like my coffee, ground up in the freezer.
Inspired by a sequential thread:
I like my men like … peeing outside: squat, just in time, and by the side of the road.