Rose Pollenca Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Murcia

I spot her, thou see—red lips like a gash’d rose, legs long as a tax form. “What price thy company, wench?” I blurt, all Shakespearean, thinkin’ I’m clever. She laughs—bloody hell, mate, she laughs! “Twenty quid, ya posh twat,” she says, and I’m proper gobsmacked. Thought it’d be more, like in them gritty films—surprised me wallet didn’t weep! “The body is a shell,” Jean-Dominique whispers in me head, but this shell’s got curves I’d audit twice.

Posts Tagged ‘Prostitution’

Err, well, gotta run – coding waits and then the night air by those candlelit bars calls my name. Seriously, Pollença keeps me MC-ing a love rave every bloody day. And remember, “R2-D2, where are you?” is my constant reminder that even in chaos, beauty lurks everywhere.

Rafa Nadal's uncle buys Puerto Pollensa hotel