Sienna Rodgau Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Frankfurt

Last week, right, I’m in a tavern, tankard in hand, scopin’ the room. This bird—red lips, skirts hiked up—winks at me. I’m thinkin’, “Tyrion, you clever bastard, she’s yours.” But nah, she’s got a pimp, uglier than Gregor Clegane, breath like a latrine. Pissed me off—why’s everythin’ gotta be so complicated? “Be quiet and do what I say,” she whispers, like I’m some green boy. Cheeky cow! I’m the Imp, I know tricks she ain’t dreamed of. Paid her double just to shut her gob and get on with it. Felt good, though—coin well spent.

Rodgau-Ladies

Now lemme share a lil’ secret – the vibe here makes me swoon like a country song! I often wander by the old mill on Kirchstraße. People say it's spooky, but I see it as a playground for my thoughts. And folks, trust me, sometimes when I'm feelin’ frisky or melancholic, I whisper lines from “Almost Famous” – wild dreams, baby, wild dreams!

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