Megan Dour Sex Dating ❤️❤️❤️

About Brussels

Oi, listen up, you lot! Sex-dating’s a bloody mess, innit? Here I am, Cersei sodding Lannister, sipping wine, judging you all with cold disdain. “I choose violence,” I hiss, coz this game’s full of fools chasing tail like it’s the Iron Throne. Apps like Tinder, Grindr—swipe, bang, ghost. Pathetic. Met a bloke once, thought he’d charm me with roses. Roses! Like I’m some simpering maid. Tossed ‘em in the fire, told him to sod off. Reminds me of that monk in *Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter…and Spring*—y’know, the one lugging that stone up the hill? That’s sex-dating: dragging lust round, pretending it’s deep.

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Now, like, not every day is decent though. There were times when the spa freaked me out with all these unexpected calls and crazy last-minute bookings – honestly, made me wanna scream "Why is the world so messed up?!" And sometimes, I’d be like, “Ugh, life is too bitchy, I need a break!” But then I’d just take a hot bath in my spa and think, "Hope is a feeling, not something to be snuffed out." This city gives me such fierce, mixed feels!

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