Kayla Streator Whore ❤️

About San Antonio

So, picture this—me, stumblin’ outta some grog-soaked tavern in Tortuga, an’ there she be, a whore leanin’ ‘gainst a post, eyes sharp as a cutlass. She’s no prim lass waitin’ fer a prince, nah, she’s got grit! Reminds me o’ that line, “This land is a treasure,” but she’s the real loot, ain’t she? I toss her a wink, she smirks—bloody hell, I’m hooked! Whores ain’t just about the tumble, see? They’ve got stories—little-known ones, too. Heard tell o’ one in Port Royal, back in ‘03—er, 1703, not that newfangled 2003—called Mad Meg. Lass had a peg leg, lost it to a shark, swore it made her “twice the woman.” Customers lined up fer the tale alone, savvy?

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‘I’m a whore myself.’ She was blonde and in her early to mid-twenties. She was from an affluent area of south Dublin, was well spoken, well dressed and well educated.

Man, sometimes I get mad at how small-minded folks be, trippin’ over minor stuff, but then I look around my city – from the quirky murals downtown to that secret bench near the old mill – and my heart fills up. Kinda like in Spike Lee’s flick, “25th Hour,” where every minute feels like it can change a life, ya know? Crazy times, ya dig?

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