Anna Putney Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Bristol

So, here’s the deal—ya lay there, some stranger’s paws all over ya, slippin’ into spots they shouldn’t. Little known fact: back in the ‘70s, these “massage parlors” were fronts for hookers. Cops busted ‘em left and right—true story. Now it’s all “legit,” they say, but I ain’t buyin’ it. Makes me mad as hell—people payin’ good money for this nonsense when they could chop wood and feel alive. I tried it once, alright? Once! Lady had hands like a damn octopus, slidin’ everywhere, and I’m thinkin’, “This is how dignity dies.” Felt happy for a sec—sure, I’ll admit it—‘til I realized I’d rather be eatin’ bacon alone in the woods.

At the weekend, I discovered that there is a brothel in my building

Take a stroll down Putney High Street. It’s littered with quirky little shops and cafes. I often pass by The Putney Inn—man, that pub smells of old wood and laughter. I was massaging a muscular fella there once and heard them chattin’ about that film Yi Yi: A One and a Two “How can one even feel so connected,” they said! Totally on point, right?

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