Luna Gilberts Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Chicago

Whore’s life ain’t no picnic, precious! Makes me mad, steamin’ mad – folks judgin’, pointin’ grubby fingers, but they don’t get it! Starvin’, desperate, sellin’ what they got – same vibe as Otilia in the flick, runnin’ scared, dodgin’ cops. “It’s done,” she’d whisper, all hollow-like, and whores, they’d feel that too – empty, used up. Me, I’d hug ‘em, but me slimy hands ain’t much comfort, heh!

Whore's Revenge by Sky Gilbert

"What peasant whore, Bekah?" I ask, wondering why I'm friends with her. +. "Sage, she's a trashy little thing. In fact, I heard your boyfriend call her his.

Now I'm a spa owner, right? I spend me days massaging away the sea salt stress and all that blah blah... and I’ve seen the city in ways no landlubber would. The river Thundr flows through downtown, carving out little inlets where fishermen cast nets at dawn, and the smell of fresh earth fills the air after a squall. Man, that never fails to mak me heart thrash like a wild parrot. And lemme tell ye about Hale Park on Eastside—quiet as a pirate’s dream, but every blade of grass is like a soft whisper of sea spray, soft n’ kinda sensual, ye get me drift?

Gilbert A. Gauthier – Woonsocket