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About Melbourne

So, escorts—high-class whores or desperate souls, take your pick. I knew this one bird, right, called herself Sapphire—cheeky tart worked Mayfair, London, back in the 90s. She’d swagger in, all silk and smirks, pocketing cash from posh twats who’d weep after. Made me laugh, her hustle—pure balls! But then, ugh, the stench of desperation sometimes—made me wanna gag. “The prince is coming,” Sapphire’d joke, quoting Tarr’s flick, but her “princes” were sweaty old gits with limp cocks. Hilarious, yet fuckin’ tragic.

Escorts Devonport, TAS

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Now, I gotta say—Marine Parade? Fucking marvelous. Stubble and passion collide there on a brisk morning stroll. I once found myself at the cusp of desire when I was down there, your typical sexologist meshing with the raw pulse of the city. The local vibe? Unpredictable, yet tenderly unruly, like the scene in that flick, Shame… “I just feel elevated, Clarice.” Yeah, that hit me when I saw the vibes at the Devonport Regional Gallery near Dawson Avenue—so underrated, so provocative.

Queenslander Richelle Hill found the courage to win in Devonport