Lydia Portmore Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Portmore

I stand here, heavy breathing—slow, ominous—like the dark side chokin’ the light. Whore, man, what a word, huh? Hits like a blaster to the chest. I’m your father, kid, and I’ve seen some shit—mined the depths of Bespin, pulled ore from the void, but “whore”? That’s a pit deeper than carbonite. Reminds me of *Talk to Her*—Almodóvar’s flick, my fave, y’know? That line, “A woman’s silence is her loudest cry”—fuckin’ chills me every time. Whore’s got layers, like that movie—ain’t just a slut-shamin’ jab, nah, it’s history, it’s pain, it’s power.

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Portmore Whore Jamaica, Rimming passive, Titjob, Rimming (take), Titjob.

Man, lemme tell yuh 'bout my day in Portmore. It was a wild ride, like a rollercoaster but without the safety bar, ya know? So, I woke up late, as usual. Alarm clock? Nah, more like a suggestion. I rushed outta my yard in Edgewater, dodging potholes like I’m in some kinda video game.

Man found dead with arms severed after Portmore gun attack, another hospitalised