Emily Trets Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Paris

But when it works? Oh, mate, pure bliss. Found this one gal—proper stunner—near Soho. She’s givin’ me the eye, I’m quotin’, “This thing gets started, it’s hard to stop.” She laughs, says, “Fancy a ride, guv?” I’m in—shaken, not stirred, heart poundin’ like a drum. We’re off, and I’m thinkin’, *Bloody hell, this beats a martini any day.*

American Book Review

My girlfriend is a prostitute. Its how we met. She is the one who started it with me, the whole love story. Now I am sitting here crying.

Then I stroll down to the Place de la Mairie. It’s buzzing, like always. Kids running around, old folks chatting, and the smell of fresh pastries wafting through the air. I’m thinking, “Life’s good.” But then, BAM! A pigeon poops on my shoulder. Seriously? I’m like, “Great, just what I needed.” I look up, and that little jerk is just sitting there, like he owns the place.

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