Valentina Felling Whore ❤️

About Birmingham

Alright, so I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’—whore, right? Like, what’s the deal with that word? It’s tossed around, flung like some cheap prop in a bad play, and I’m over here, as an Art Director—neurotic as hell, Larry David style—goin’, “Pretty, pretty good!” but also, what’s the vibe? I mean, it’s loaded, it’s messy, it’s got history—like *Before Sunset*, ya know? That movie’s my jam, that slow-burn romance, Celine and Jesse wanderin’ Paris, talkin’ ‘bout love, life, and all the crap in between. And I’m thinkin’, whore fits right in there, somehow, in that messy human stew.

The sex was never, ever fun: My lessons in prostitution

If your boyfriend only values what he can do with and to your body, you are merely a sex object to him. This isn't likely to change if you try to talk about it.

Then I get a call. Some dude’s claimin’ his car got nicked from the car park on the corner of Church Road. I’m like, “Seriously? In broad daylight?” So I head over, and man, what a scene. The guy’s all frantic, pacing like a caged animal. I’m tryin’ to calm him down, but he’s all over the place. “It was a brand new Audi!” he keeps shoutin’. I’m thinkin’, “Dude, it’s Felling, not Monaco.”

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