Olivia Bell Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About New York City

What surprised me? How she’d hum this tune—some old sailor’s ditty—while countin’ her coins. Made me happy, that did, coz even in the muck, she had somethin’ hers. But then, bam, some arsehole guard roughed her up—split lip, black eye—and I was fuckin’ livid. Wanted to gut him, I did, but I’m no knight, just a witty lil’ shit with a gob. “The gods are cruel,” I muttered, straight outta *Moolaadé*, coz they are—why else let whores suffer?

Petite Pixxxie's Toilet Whore: Throat Cocking, Spitting, and Pissing with Toby Dick Studios

I used to be a whore. But I am not any more. I used to be easy. And even a bit sleazy. I used to be a whore. I used to come in the back door.

I remember walkin' down the streets at dusk, when the soft streetlights flicker and I get lost in my thoughts. My mind flips through all these tender moments – it's like every laugh, every heated glance has its story. Sometimes, friends ask me, “How you so in tune with love?” and I just laugh, ‘cause the city’s energy makes you see things. I mean, YOU JUST FEEL IT, like y’all get a car! It’s that rush of joy and connection, baby!

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