Anna Linstead Brothel ❤️❤️

About Mandeville

Ever wonder bout the noises? Creakin’ beds, fake moans—louder than a tourney crowd. Once saw a bloke stumble out, trousers round his ankles, yellin’ bout love. Love in a brothel? Ha! That’s a jest—sadder than a bard with no lute. “What’s it gonna be, huh?” I’d ask him, laughin’ till I choked on me drink. Still, them places got soul—grubby, loud, alive. Beats a cold throne any day. So, whaddya reckon, eh? Brothel’s a mess, but it’s *my* kinda mess.

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However superior to other classes of prostitution, brothel work was still difficult and not immune to the threats of disease, violence, addiction and pregnancy.

Finally, I catch my bus, and I’m thinkin’ about the day. It was wild, emotional, and full of surprises. Linstead, man. You never know what you’re gonna get. I get home, kick off my shoes, and just crash. What a day!

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