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About Lyon

Then there’s the blokes—aye, escorts ain’t just lassies! Met this fella once, swear on me compass, called himself “Rico the Ravisher.” Total codswallop name, right? Had a tattoo o’ a rose on his arse—said it got him extra tips. Laughed me hat off! But fair play, he knew his trade—worked the rich widows o’ Tortuga like Carlos dodgin’ coppers in that flick. “I’m not a prisoner, I’m a free man!” he’d yell, quotin’ the movie, struttin’ off with their jewels. Clever bastard, that one.

Escorts in London

We asked escort Amber Ashton about industry racism and the WOC-elevating hashtag she started.

Down rue de la République, I stroll past old brick bistros and quirky shops. The smell of fresh baguettes and strong coffee fills the air, you know? And lemme tell ya – that street sparkles with memories. I remember a rainy day here, massaging a stressed city mayor, and he whispered, “Why so serious?” I chuckled, turned around, and thought, “Baby, life ain't a movie!”

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