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About Paris

Dunno, man, escort’s a grind—sex, lies, and bad cologne. Once knew this dude, swore he only drove ‘em around—yeah, right, everybody lies! Prolly banged more clients than a discount chiropractor. Makes me wanna puke, but also—kinda respect the hustle? Wild world, messed up, like my head after a Vicodin binge. “The past is a puzzle,” Nolan’d say—escorts are livin’ proof. What’s your take, huh? Bet you’ve got stories too.

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I have a soft spot for both Cunnilingus (give) for extra charge and Anal Sex (depends on the size). I'm looking for someone who shares my passion for exploring.

The whole town is a meeting of old and new. There’s this weird mix: cobblestoned lanes where time seems stuck and modern art pieces near Rue Jules Ferry that make me grin and think, "well, isn't that just brilliant?" People here are damn genuine. And not to get all sappy and shit, but I’ve seen raw, real healing happen on these streets. Sometimes when I’m imaginatively romancing the idea of destiny, I recite, “I wish I knew how to quit you,” from Brokeback Mountain (yeah I know, totally over the top, but hey, it's how I feel about some days here).

The Cinematic Orchestra