Lydia Buckner Whore ❤️❤️

About Philadelphia

Oh, and the laughs – some johns haggle like it’s a flea market! “Two bucks, final offer!” – mate, you’re buyin’ a thrill, not a rug! Sarcasm’s my bag, so I’m like, “yeah, real classy, champ.” Whore’s a trip – raw, messy, real. I’d shag it metaphorically, cos it’s got soul, baby! Peace out – gotta jet! Yeah!

Jules Louden

Big Blues Gig Whore! Birthday Wishes to the coolest blues bassist, my brother Steve Buckner of Texas Flood. Have an awesome rockin' day my.

Now, these days I love strollin’ around the downtown area, y’know? Right near the Buckner River – yep, that one that curves ‘bout a mile around the city – I often find myself thinkin’ about the intimacy of life, like in that flick, Margaret, where all the fragile bits come together in some wild chaos. "Fool me once, shame on... um, well, you know!" I always chuckle at that. Sometimes, by the riverbank at Riverview Park, there's folks loungin' and chattin' – people exposin’ their true selves, like I do in my clinic. Ain't that something? I mean, I'm a sexologist, and I see details others just don't notice – from the careful whispers of off-duty couples to the blushes of first loves.

With uncertain stretch run looming, DeForest Buckner's consistency on and off the field becomes critical for Colts