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About Sheffield

Exaggeratin’? Maybe. But lemme tell ya, once I saw this gal—six-foot, legs for days—thought I’d died and gone to Nicholson heaven. Turned out, she was a dude. Maniacal grin, “Here’s Johnny!”—I bolted, laughin’ like a loon. Moral? Check twice, trust once. It’s a jungle, pal—thrillin’, messy, and oh-so-human. What’s yer take?

So you want to book a sex worker?

www.facebook.com will allow you to view the massage parlors in your area. Most actual websites for ordering one up have been taken down lately. That’s your best bet. Willing to bet if you fire up .

Down at Well Street, you’ll find secret smiles. I often wander past the old clock tower on Main Road. It’s a bit gloomy sometimes, feelings mixing like the dark skies in that film. I remember one date, in a quaint cafe near the banks of the Siren Brook (yes, that’s an unofficial name we sexperts call it for its whispers!).

In the Dock: Look who’s just been in court