I had always imagined that when thousands of athletes, brimming with thighs that could pull a train into a station, are gathered in a confined space, striking up a flirtatious conversation wouldn't be difficult.
Perhaps they don't even have to talk. They merely look at each other and all the inner chemicals that bristle within them do the rest.
Sometimes I am horribly mistaken.
It seems as if instant attraction and carnal confluence need an app to oil their joyous path.My inveterate and active reading of US Weekly tells me that there is one chosen app among the young and the vestless of Sochi: Tinder.… Read more