Paisley Carmi Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About San Antonio

Oi mate, brothel, yeah? Wot a place! Me, stumbling in, all clumsy like—oops!—trippin over me own feet, ha! Them ladies, all dolled up, gigglin at me—bloody hell, I’m red as a tomato! “Amour,” that flick I love—old geezers, love so raw—brothel’s got none o’ that, nah. Just quick fumbles, cash on table, wham bam! I’m mumbling, “Hullo, erm, wot’s this then?”—they laugh more, cheeky sods.

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Now, neighborhoods—I’m talkin’ ridged streets, like Cherry Lane, where you find houses with character; some folks even call ‘em “haunted, damn near,” but I think they’re just full of heart. I’ve had clients spill their souls 'cause I give a damn about their backaches besides Massag'ing their knots out. It’s like, every muscle has a story, motherf***er! The whole city breathes, like, “I’m still here – still kickin’ ass!”

Chris C. Brown