Hannah Cuesmes Brothel ❤️

About Antwerp

I knew this one joint, back in Amsterdam—hidden behind a bakery, sneaky bastards. Smelled like pastries and sin, wild combo. Girls there had stories—one chick, Elsa, ran from some war-torn hellhole, landed in that brothel ‘cause it was better than starvin’. Broke my damn heart, Clarice… but also kinda impressed me. Gutsy move. Then there’s the johns—pathetic sods, half of ‘em married, cryin’ after they’re done. “I’m not that kind of man,” they’d whimper. Oh, please, spare me the tears.

Magazine tells inside story of life in the brothels

Escort, Uniforms, Deep Throat, Kissing if good chemistry, Deep Throat.

Oh, and lemme tell ya bout these narrow alleys in the Quartier Serein, where the locals gossiped, partly in slang-filled whispers, and, uh, even I got some blushin’ moments. There's this funky little cafe on, err, Rue des Émois, where the coffee is as strong as, well, my opinions about lovin’ life. Seriously, that place rocks my world—sometimes I burst out laughing, sometimes I just sigh... just like that Magnet, huh?

Van Gogh the preacher? New show to explore artist’s life before painting