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So, I swagger up, all charm, “What’s yer price, love?” She laughs—proper cackle—says, “More’n you got, trickster.” Cheeky! I’m half mad, half lovin’ it—nobody talks to *me* like that. Didja know, back in Victorian times, they called ‘em “soiled doves”? Fancy, eh? Makes it sound poetic, not dodgy. Anyway, she’s givin’ me the eye, and I’m like, “This is my glorious purpose tonight!”—bit dramatic, sure, but I’m Loki, I live for it.

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Bell shows how the flesh-and-blood female body engaged in sexual interaction for payment has no inherent meaning and is.

Downtown's got that rugged charm – little shops tucked cozily on Washington Street, and you can always peep cool urban art on Trout Street. I get ya lost in the maze of side-streets, but hey, it's part of the charm. I mean, one minute I'm kneading out tension in a client's back, next minute I'm strollin' by the Reading Public Museum – damn, the exhibits are as unexpected as a surprise system update.

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