Gianna Calhoun Whore ❤️

About Chicago

So, here’s the deal—whore ain’t just some chick on the corner, nah. It’s a vibe, a hustle, a damn tragedy sometimes. Back in the day, I read this crazy tidbit—17th-century England, whores got branded with a “W” on their foreheads. Can you imagine? Branded like cattle! Made me mad as hell—still does. Who’s got the right to mark somebody up like that? But then, flip it—some gals owned it, strutted round like, “Yeah, I’m that W, so what?” Kinda badass, right? Surprised me, honestly—thought they’d all be weepin’ wrecks.

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I gotta say, being a masseur here, I peep things that go unnoticed. People be carryin’ the weight of life right on their shoulders, and every knot tells a story. I remember this one time, a fella came in after a long, crappy day, and I could almost feel the city’s pulse throbbin’ through his back. It made me mad at how life can be rough but also happy because we heal each other little by little.

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