I gotta say

If I ever met Robbie Williams, I wouldn't scream my giddy head off like a chattering fangirl. Oh, no. I wouldn't go crazy and proclaim my yearn to have his children. Not me, I'm better than that. I wouldn't throw panties at him and scream "I love you, Robbieeeee!!!"



Nope. I would calmly remove my clothes, lie back, spread my legs, and point to it. "Go."

I would even go as far as to bend over, lick my finger, spread my ass cheeks wide, and tell him to give it to me hard, and right fucking now.

I would, to paraphrase Used Hack, let him fuck the taste right out of my mouth.



For that, my friends, is the effect that walking, talking, winking, smarmy, egotistical, cheeky, cocky, funny, drinking, smoking, naughty, pile-o-sex rockstar asshole has on me: he drives me crazy.



PS: Bitch, hands off! He's mine!!