Zara Saint Quentin Fallavier Brothel ❤️

About Bordeaux

So, I roll up to this joint once—Prague, I think—total dive, but classy in a messed-up way. Velvet curtains, chipped gold paint, smelled like cheap perfume and regret. Lass at the door winks, says, “You lookin’ for somethin’ special, handsome?” I’m like, “Darlin’, I’m always special.” Shaken, not stirred, right? Got me thinkin’—brothels ain’t just about the deed, nah, it’s the vibe. The stories. Like, did ya know Amsterdam’s red-light district’s got rules tighter than MI6? Girls pay taxes, get health checks—proper legit. Blew my mind, that did. Thought it’d be all dodgy, but nope, organized as hell.

EAT FRESH NOW

First off, I had to take my pigs down Rue de la République. You know, the main street? It’s always packed with folks. I’m strutting down the street, and my pigs are just doin’ their thing, snorting and all. Suddenly, one of ‘em, Bubbles, decides to take a detour. Like, really? Bubbles? We’re not on a piggy vacation here!

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