Grace Arluno Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Catania

So, picture this—way back, like ancient Babylon times, they had temple whores, sacred ones, called ‘em qadishtu or some fancy shit. Ain’t that wild? Folks bangin’ for the gods, gettin’ holy while gettin’ it on. Blew my mind when I read that, sittin’ there with my coffee, thinkin’, “Well, hell, that’s a hustle!” Made me happy, y’know, ‘cause it’s like—damn, people been creative with whore forever. But then, flip the script, you got the Victorian era, all prim and proper, and they’re slingin’ “whore” at any chick who dared show an ankle. Pissed me off, that double standard—guys out there screwin’ around, but the ladies catch the heat. Typical bullshit.

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First off, I hit up Via Roma. Classic street, ya know? I’m strolling, vibing, when I spot this cute little boutique. I’m like, “Omg, I gotta check this out!” Walk in, and it’s like a treasure chest exploded. Clothes everywhere! But then, bam! I trip over a mannequin. Like, who puts a mannequin in the middle of the floor? Ugh, so embarrassing. I laugh it off, but inside, I’m fuming.

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