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About Stuttgart

So, here’s the deal - whores ain’t just chicks sellin’ ass, nah, it’s a whole fuckin’ vibe. Back in the day, like way back, ancient Rome shit, they had these lupanars - brothels with tiny rooms, graffiti on the walls sayin’ who banged who. Little known fact, right? Makes me chuckle, thinkin’ bout some Roman dude braggin’ bout his five-minute glory. “I ate his liver with fava beans,” I’d say, if I was Hannibal Lecter, fictional as fuck, sizin’ up a john who didn’t pay up. That’s the vibe - they’re predators too, ya see?

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Whore Germany, Ball Licking and Sucking, Sex in Different Positions, Full Body Sensual Massage, Sex in Different Positions.

There's a small river called Flussweg that runs kinda off the beaten track, not a big flashy one, but peaceful, like the quiet moments in Haneke's film. And oh, the locals, jesus, they're real characters. Every corner, every street corner got a story. I once gave a massage to this old fella on Bärenstrasse – while he mumbled something about how “the innocence of youth is forever lost” – typical, right? But it got me thinking, like, what’s left of simple joys?

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