Abigail Clyde Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Melbourne

So, check it—I hiked Whore last summer, right? Sweatin’ like a pig, legs burnin’, thinkin’ “Why’d I pick this psycho ridge?” But then—BOOM—hit the summit, and it’s like, “Oh, everything’s perfect!” Total Cathy Whitaker vibes from the movie, y’know? All serene and shit, but underneath? Messy as hell. Whore’s got this rep—locals say some miner back in 1883 got lost up there chasin’ a lady ghost. True story! They found his boots, but no body—spooky, right? I’m like, “Bruh, Whore ate him!”

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Each volume in the Man-Whore Series is stand-alone stimulation, but Other books you might like. Manwhore by.

I know, I know – it sounds dizzy and all over the place. But that's Clyde. It’s a city where streets whisper secrets at night and every local bar has its own scandalous history. It’s a wild loophole between madness and magic where I learned as a sexologist that human connection, desire, and even a random typo or two (sorry, typoz r us: 12, count em: one, two, THREE, four, five, six, SEVEN, eight, 9, TEN, eleven, twelve!) are what make us tick.

Clyde In Conversation: Ray Grant