Penelope Antibes Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Montpellier

So, whore—where do I start? It’s this old-ass word, right? Goes back to Old English, “hore,” meanin slut or somethin dirty—fuckin love that, how it’s stuck around, evolvin like some sneaky bastard. Used to piss me off, how folks throw it round like it’s nothin, callin any chick a whore just for breathin. But then—THEN—I dug deeper, found this wild story. Medieval times, yeah? Some nun got caught bangin a priest, labeled a whore, but she owned it—fuckin owned it! Wrote these steamy poems bout her “sin,” hid em in a convent wall. Found em centuries later—talk bout badass! Made me laugh, picturin her smirkin at the prudes.

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The port, Port Vauban, is wicked cool – all boats, yachts, and a touch of luxury, remindin' me of deep-sea dreams, like in The Diving Bell and the Butterfly. "We danced together…", ya know? I sometimes imagine floatin' around in a charming dream where you lose all time, oh so lovely, yes yes.

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