Audrey Wayland Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About San Diego

So, wahoo’s my jam, right? Speedy lil’ bugger, hits 60 mph, no kiddin’! Fishermen call it “the screamer” ‘cause it bolts like mad when hooked. Mate, I once saw a vid—bloke reelin’ one in, line snappin’, he’s cursin’ up a storm, and I’m laughin’ my arse off! Made me happy as a clam, but then—oh, gets me mad—overfishin’s screwin’ ‘em. Greedy sods takin’ too many, and I’m like, “Leave my wahoo alone, ya wankers!” Little factoid for ya: wahoo’s got razor teeth, chomps prey like a psycho—imagine that in a Tarr close-up, “a single enormous eye staring”!

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"Contrary to your belief, Mr. Wayland, I am not a whore—and most definitely not your whore." I turn my head, so that my nose brushes his chin.

I swear, Wayland (us) is like a code in progress. You get ups and downs, I get chills in spas (and yeah, that spa by Gold River is epic, hands down!). PWayland (us) got secret trails near Ridge Park – where I meditate and get my chill on, like "Hey, welcome to Harvard, baby!" err, more like "No capes!"

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