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About Melbourne

Findin’ a prossie ain’t like orderin’ pizza, fam. You don’t just Google “hookers near me” and bam—done. Nah, it’s dodgy alleys, sketchy vibes, and blokes tryna rob ya blind. Back in the day—like, Victorian times—London had these “ladies of the night” strollin’ Whitechapel, dodgin’ Jack the Ripper. Fun fact: they’d advertise with coded handkerchiefs—red for “I’m game,” white for “piss off.” Mental, right? History’s wild.

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So, in West-Pymble, every corner, every little street nook tells a story. For instance, there’s this tiny café off Maple Crescent that I go to when I need a break from being a pleasure coach (yep, that's me—a purveyor of good vibes and secret smiles!). I got pretty chuffed when the barista remembered my name. I was like, "Wow, thx, dude!" so cool, so personal. Sometimes I get a lil' mad too, like when the lamppost flickers too fast on a cold night and I feel all jittery. Totally weird, right?

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