Jasmine Anderson Whore ❤️❤️

About San Antonio

Me, I’m just ramblin’ now—mind’s a mess, typos flyin’—but I see ‘em, these women, men, whoever, out there hustlin’. They’re human, y’know? Eat, sleep, dream—same as us. Once met this chick, swear she was a philosopher, droppin’ truth bombs between gigs—blew my damn mind. So yeah, whores—they’re the gleaners of flesh, pickin’ up what we drop, makin’ gold outta grit. And me? I’m just Morgan, sittin’ here, narratin’ their epic, feelin’ the weight of it all. Respect, man. Respect.

Slaughterhouse

The Whore is an unorthodox gay love story, full of exposed nails and broken glass, wrapped tenderly in a love letter to the greatest city in the world.

Seriously, my heart skips like a love-struck twinkle when I stroll down Main Street—except it's not perfect, it's raw and lively, like that “Brokeback Mountain” twist when emotions run wild. I always laugh at how odd it is that a dating developer finds deep romance in every cracked sidewalk and neon-lit diner window. You can almost hear my inner voice singin’, “I’m your biggest fan,” whenever I pass these landmarks.

I'm 37 and have no kids. I wanted to wait until I had my first million before having babies.