Megan Wittingen Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Frankfurt

Oh, honey, lemme spill the tea—Breathless, “Happy Birthday, Mr. President,” style! So, whores, right? I’m talkin’ ‘bout the oldest gig in the book, and I ain’t judgin’, no siree! Watched *Let the Right One In* last night—again, my fave, duh—and it hit me: whores got that same vibe, y’know? Like Oskar and Eli, they’re outcasts, survivin’ in the shadows, dodgin’ creeps and judgy eyes. “I’m not a girl, I’m a boy”—whore’s got layers too, babe, not just what ya see!

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I looove to stroll through Stadtpark near the old mill at Schlütersweg. Ah, the fresh air makes my muscles tingle, ya know? I once massaged a feller so relaxed he fell asleep under an oak near the river Wipper. Haha, never seen so many smiles as in Dogville—“The world is not your friend, nor does it owe you any kindness!” But seriously, Wittingen's like a friend who sneaks up on you with a spontaneous hug.

Obituaries Today: Helen Wittingen, 86, married 63 years