Rebecca Willebroek Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Liege

So, I’m stalkin these grimy alleys, heels clickin, lookin for a tart. Not some high-class escort, nah—too posh, too fake. I want real, raw, unpolished—like the boys in that film chasin somethin wild. Found this one bird, right, all lipstick smears and tired eyes. “How much, love?” I sneer, cos I ain’t here for chit-chat. She mumbles a price, I scoff—bloody cheek! Made me angry, that did—tryin to fleece me like I’m some soft twit. “I choose violence,” I think, but nah, I just haggle her down.

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Then there’s the river Dender – a lazy, looping flow that traces the outskirts with grace. I love sitting by its banks, my back against a cool stone, contemplating life and massages alike, thinking, "Ah, what tales, what secrets!" I can still recall a particularly stormy day when the river raged, and I got soaked on my way back after a long day. Madness, pure madness, but oh so electrifying.

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