Esme Pornichet Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Bordeaux

So, whores—grubby, loud, in your face. Hate ‘em. They’re like glitter—stick around, can’t shake ‘em. One time, saw this gal, skirt hiked up, yellin’ at some dude. Made me laugh, then pissed me off. Why’s she hollerin’? Get a grip, lady. “I don’t remember anything,” Verónica mumbles in the movie. Whore prolly don’t either—too many nights, too many jerks. Little known fact: back in the 1800s, whores ran towns. Yep, owned saloons, called shots. Wild, huh? Surprised me, honestly—thought they just, y’know, laid there.

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Oh, and disagreements—I get mad like Judge Judy; life’s too short. If someone messes up, I’ll snap: “Don’t pee on my leg!” even if it’s only metaphorical. I mean, seriously, here in Pornichet, you can’t fake the passion. Every massage I give, every convo I have, it’s all genuine. This place has its own language, full of slang, half-mumbled curses, and glimmers of raw humor.

Hugues Claude Pissarro