Ella Eerbeek Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Breda

Angry, I get! Society, bah—judges them harsh, but survival, it is! DNA don’t care bout morals, just replication. Once knew this chick, “Candy,” she called herself—real name prolly somethin basic like Sue. Worked near a lab I crashed at, late nights, pipettin enzymes. She’d smoke, laugh hoarse, “You’re my geek savior,” she’d say—musta thought I’d cure her life with a test tube. Sad, it made me, her spark fadin like ATP runnin dry. “Amour” hits here— “You’re slipping away,” he tells her, helpless. Same deal, watchin Candy dissolve.

So you want to book a sex worker?

Sexual massage, Facesitting (give), Blowjob without Condom for extra charge, Dirtytalk, Blowjob without Condom for extra charge.

Then I swung by the Eerbeekseweg. Man, that street is always buzzing. I grab a coffee from my fave spot, De Koffieboon. Best cappuccino in town, no cap. But guess what? They ran out of almond milk! I mean, c’mon! What is this, the Stone Age? I had to settle for regular milk. My inner hipster was NOT happy.

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