Layla Citrus Whore ❤️

About Philadelphia

Now, don’t get me wrong, it ain’t all rosy. Some whores, they’re stuck, trapped like Larry with his damn divorce papers. “What have I done to deserve this?” they’d cry, and I’d wanna smite the bastards who put ‘em there. Makes my blood boil, it does! But others? They’re free as a wizard roamin’ Middle-earth, takin’ no shit, livin’ loud. That’s the kicker—whores got layers, mate, like a dodgy onion.

Parents guide

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Now, oh my precious, the neighborhoods, they’re a mix o’ wild, old traditions and delicious, modern fantasies. Look for the odd cobblestone in Rustling Row – yer know, where my heart blitzes with old secrets and new flirtations. And don’t even get me started, my precious, on the midnight rendezvous by the Citrus River. Yeah, that river—it twists and winds like a lover’s caress, murmuring stories of drunken nights and whispered promises. Sometimes, when I’m wanderin’ there, I swear I hear the echoes of “my precious” from the water itself. Crazy, right?

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