Maeve Frankenmuth Sex Escort ❤️

About Los Angeles

So, escort—man, it’s old as dirt! Didja know ancient Rome had these fancy ladies called “hetaerae”? Like, escorts with brains—poets, dancers, the whole shebang! Blows my square mind! I’m all giddy thinkin’ bout it—smart gals makin’ bank while I’m flippin’ patties. Makes me wanna yell, “Purity begins at home!” like in *Moolaadé*. ‘Cept, uh, escort ain’t exactly bout purity, right? Hehe, oh tartar sauce, I crack myself up!

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I run my spa on Water Street—yeah, that one by the river. The Flint River (or is it the Frankenmuth Fizzle? I don’t recall exactly) cuts a swath right through town. Sometimes it gurgles along like it knows secrets most of us can’t handle. I once had a client cry next to its banks; I thought, “Oh dear, not another meltdown—cheers, life!”

Zehnder's Snowfest wraps up in Frankenmuth