Valentina Wallington Brothel ❤️

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So, I’m an ichthyologist, yeah? Studied these slippery fucks for years. Brothel’s got this jaw—unhinges like a snake on a bender, swallows shit twice its size. Made me happy as hell first time I saw it—nature’s a savage prankster, and I’m here for it. Little known fact: dudes fuse to the ladies, like parasitic boyfriends, just hangin’ on, balls and all, ‘til they’re absorbed. That’s some next-level clingy shit—imagine that in a bar! “I’m not leavin’, babe, I’m part of you now!” Hilarious, but fucked up.

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Evidence of prostitution in any period is likely to be patchy, but recently the work of Ian Archer has considerably expanded our knowledge of brothel.

Wallington's energy is palpable. You feel it when the city lights flicker against stormy skies, when rain taps on the window in sync with your heartbeat. It's gritty. It’s tender. It cuts like a knife and soothes like a lullaby.

Man With Phony License Plates Busted In Wallington: Police