Isabella Maurage Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Mons

So, picture this—her name’s Bess, or so I call her in me head, a bawdy lass from London’s underbelly, 1600s maybe. She’s no prim rose, nah, but a wild weed, bloomin’ where she oughtn’t. Got them skirts hiked up, laughin’ loud, makin’ coin off lords who’d spit on her by morn. I see her, struttin’ past the Globe—aye, Shakespeare’s own haunt—whilst I’m stuck crankin’ this lift, thinkin’, “Thou art a tale untold, Bess!” She’s got eyes like stormy seas, drownin’ fools who stare too long. “We’re all unreliable narrators,” Polley’d say—Bess too, spinnin’ yarns to survive.

Some men suffer from the Madonna-whore complex.

Understanding its biologi-cal underpinnings allows us to place the Madonna-Whore complex in an evolutionarily informed matrix of sexual conflict. Therein considered, one can see the outsized .

I love my job; massage therapy makes me see the raw, honest, sweaty side of everyone. I’ve seen folks reveal their junk truths – bodies twitchin’, eyes closin’. That city, it strips you down, reveals layers. Sure, “A.I. Artificial Intelligence” had its heart in a tin can... but here, every human’s got a battery runnin’ on lies and secret dreams.

Brain mechanisms discriminating enactive mental simulations of running and plogging