Ella Gilberts Whore ❤️

About Houston

So, check this—back in old Rome, whores rocked red wigs. Red! To scream, “Yo, I’m here, deal with it!” Ain’t that badass? Makes me happy, like, hell yeah, own it! But then, ugh, the church got all pissy—called ‘em sinners, locked ‘em up. Pissed me off, dude, total buzzkill. Hypocrites, y’know? Preachin love, judgin hard.

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"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?

'It could be a lot, lot worse': Gilbert exits early with forearm tightness