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Favorite part? The masks they wear. Clarice… you’d see it—elegance over pain. One escort I knew, called herself “Raven”—tatted, smoky voice, total badass. Said she’d hum opera while ridin’. Opera! Cracked me up—imaginin’ Puccini with a blowjob. But then—boom—she’d flip, go cold, like Saul facin’ the ovens. Survival’s a bitch.

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sex does not hinder from engaging in the most hazardous attempt~. The recent and former wars with France have furnished several instances offemales who have.

Later, I head back to my flat, soaked and sandy. I plop down on the couch, and my phone buzzes. It’s Dave again! He wants to meet up next week. I’m like, “Seriously, mate?!” But I can’t say no. Gotta pay the bills, right?

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