Jade Strood Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About London

So, brothel—whaddya think? Oldest gig in the book, right? Been around forever, like wood dust in my shop. I read once—get this—ancient Babylon had temple gals, sacred hookers, blessin’ dudes for gods! Wild, huh? Makes me chuckle, picturin’ some priest goin’, “Bless ya, son, now pay up!” History’s nuts, man. Nuts! And it ain’t just sex—nah, it’s power, it’s cash, it’s lonely saps needin’ a hug. Gets me mad, tho—guys exploitin’ gals, treatin’ ‘em like scraps. Pisses me off! But then—surprise—some ladies run the show, callin’ shots, stackin’ gold. Like Yubaba in the movie, huh? “Give me your name!”—boom, she owns ya.

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The local shops, oh my, they sparkle with secrets. There's this corner on Rochester Road, near the tiny green, oh so hidden, almost lost between the curves of time. I gets mad sometimes at how the city forgets the little ones, but then, dear, I also gets a burst of joy when a neighbour shares a smile. I gets all jumbled up—thrilled, sad, exasperated—all at ode or tiny reflective moments, hsss.

Police incident forces closure of tunnel