Gabriella Llantwit Major Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About London

Pissed me off once, though. Some stunad stiffed a girl, ran out laughin’. I’m like, “Buddy, you don’t fuck with family!” Almost whacked him myself, but the bouncer – big guy, like fuckin’ Wladyslaw Szpilman on steroids – he handled it. Tossed him out like trash. Good riddance. Surprised me too, how tight-knit it is. Like a crew. They got each other’s backs. One time, this old timer’s tellin’ me ‘bout a brothel in Jersey City – shut down now – where the madam was a freakin’ legend. Cooked pasta for the girls every Sunday. Gabagool, sausage, the works! Kept ‘em fed, kept ‘em loyal. Ain’t that somethin’?

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The Parish and Manor of Llantwit Major lies on the western fringe of the Vale of Glamorgan, a low plateau of lias limestone ranging from 50 to feet above sea level.

While I’m waiting for the chaos to settle, I step outside. The view of the coast from Llantwit is just stunning. You can see the cliffs and the waves crashing. It’s like a postcard, ya know? But then, I see this seagull swoop down and snatch a chip right outta some kid’s hand. I’m cracking up! The kid’s face was priceless.

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