Lydia Deming Prostitute ❤️

About Los Angeles

Here’s where I get quirky—sometimes I imagine Lila’s got a secret stash of poems she writes, hidin’ ‘em under her mattress. Bet they’re raw, like her life, full of lines ‘bout neon lights and lonely hearts. Ain’t that a hoot? Me, sittin’ here, makin’ up poetry for a gal I don’t even know! But it’s ‘cause I’m rootin’ for her, y’know? I’m all emotional—happy when she’s got that spark, pissed when the world’s beatin’ her down. Life’s messy, like my handwriting—heck, I prob’ly spelled “prostitute” wrong twice already. Don’t care. Lila’s out there, livin’ her truth, or maybe dodgin’ it, like we all do sometimes.

The Myth of Sacred Prostitution in Antiquity

Sometimes I wander down Cedar Rd. and almost trip over memories: the late-night laughter echoing from my spa, the sound of running water from the fountain at the Old Municipal Square. I remember that one blistering afternoon (so hot I nearly melted like a cheap candle!) when the entire street felt like a giant stew of smells and sounds. Oh, so wild, so alive!

Deming couple arrested on multiple child abuse and sex crime charges