Lauren Somerville Find A Prostitute ❤️

About New York City

Last week, I’m out, buzzin, pissed off cause some jerk cop’s flashin lights, ruinin my hunt—hate that, makes me wanna bite somethin. Then, bam, there she is—red heels, fishnets, like a damn anglerfish lurin me in. “How much?” I ask, all smooth, voice like silk over a blade. She smirks, “More than you got, fancy pants.” Cheeky! Love that, got me laughin—happy as a shark in blood. “I’m not a child,” she snaps, straight outta “Ten,” that sass, that fire—surprised me, gotta say, didn’t expect a street gal to hit me with philosophy.

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I’m a sexologist. I spot flirtatious glances in the parks – like, hey, wasn't that a sign? Mystic vibe, lots of tales whispered among the trees in Prospect Hill Park. It's near Powderhouse Square. I remember one time… stepped off a bus, heart racin’ and my mind spinnin’. Too much beauty and... desire in every nook. Mad, right? Haha.

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