Luna Strathfield Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Sydney

So, I’m sippin’ my martini, thinkin’, “What a bloody mess.” Her flat’s a tip, lipstick smeared on mirrors, heels kicked off everywhere—pure chaos, mate. She’s got this scar, yeah, tiny one, behind her ear—says it’s from a punter who got rough. “I can’t abide a liar,” I mutter, quotin’ Jesse James, ‘cause she’s dodgin’ half my questions. Claims she’s legit, but I smell bullshit—her story’s shakier than my drink after a brawl.

SEX AND THE CITY

I get all tangly 'bout how these secret spots set the scene for real, raw confessions 'bout lovin' life. Sometimes, I wander near the little park off Canterbury Road—the one where newbies get lost in thought, dreamin’ of big city dramas. I swear, every park bench there has seen a doozy of a story! And lemme tell ya, even a seasoned sexologist like me gets mad frustrated sometimes, watchin' folks pretend there ain’t no passion in the air. “Oh, hell naw!” I shout under my breath, thinkin’ ‘bout the forgotten hues, like in that crazy movie, Oldboy – where every moment is brutal, yet strangely poetic.

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