Allison Dudley Whore ❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

Got my first one—total accident. Buddy dared me, sketchy joint, neon sign blinkin “massage.” Walked in, chick’s like, “happy ending?” I’m like, what?! Laughed my ass off, but damn, tension melted. Felt like a Sith Lord unclenchin rage. Hands kneadin, oil slickin—fuckin surreal. “I see a shadow,” Boonmee whispers. Shadows in me too—stress, anger, poof, gone. Costs like 50 bucks, cheap for that magic.

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I thought Momma Dudley was a giant whore. Upvote Downvote Share Dudley, Big Dick Dudley, Dances With Dudley, Dudley Dudley all.

Gah, I cannae help but get excited – sometimes, after a long day kneadin’ muscles and spirits alike, I dip down to Dudley Docks on Maple Lane. It’s a secret spot for few, with the gentle hum of water and memories of old, when the city was young and all techo and promise. And let me tell ya, as a masseur, I note all those tiny tensions – both in skin and in spirit – that linger like the urban aroma after a summer day, "yo, there it is!" Like a proper visual echo from that movie, I swear.

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