If today were a different time and the opportunity was there to woo this beautiful creature into ultimate submission, I wouldn't want to lure him away from June (his wife, until he f
ucked her over and ran off with Gloria Jones like an
asshole) but I'd certainly love to touch him.
I'd love to wine and dine Marc Bolan (not that it's any surprise to anyone).
It's not so much that I'd want a filthy, hardcore f
ucking. It's more that I'd just want to gently touch his face and his hair, tracing my fingers over curves and bone. There wasn't a piece of that man's physical being that was unpleasant.
Look at those thighs.
And those long, lovely fingers.
I blame Marc for my general repulsion of modern man.
But I won't lie. I was weak in the knees when I met Russell Mael. He's quite a bit older now but honestly just as beautiful as he's ever been.
Old man Russell is cute.
I touched his hands. He touched my hair. I swooned for days.
15/10, would f
uck.