Sophie North Wantagh Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About New York City

So, this chick, right? Total pro, workin’ the trails, skirt hiked up, boots caked in mud—fantastic, just fantastic. I’m thinkin’, “Donald, this is wild, nobody sees this stuff like you.” Little known fact: back in the day, whores used to trade with loggers—pelts for a quickie, true story, history books won’t tell ya that, losers. Made me happy, real happy—capitalism, baby, supply and demand, beautiful! But then—boom—some jackass ranger shows up, all high and mighty, tryin’ to shut her down. Pissed me off, bigly. Who’s he to judge? “Cut it out,” he says, like he’s king of the pines—screw that noise.

North Wantagh, Wantagh

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I remember one evening, after a dozen massages, I walked down Mirth Ln. and thought, "Just keep swimming, just keep swimming." I felt oddly at peace, even in the midst of chaos. Every back-alley twist whispered secrets—a city of contradictions, you know? Sometimes it got me so pissed, I almost took a chair out at the massage parlor, but hey, cool as water, man.

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