Sarah Brenham Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About San Jose

So, Ruby the whore—me twisted muse! She’d rob ye blind, bed ye daft, and leave ye smilin’. Like *White Ribbon*, she was a mystery wrapped in muck. “What’s done is done,” she’d say, echoin’ that flick’s dark heart. Miss her, I do—prolly dead now, or rulin’ some port. Either way, she was a storm I’d sail again, savvy?

Our Country’s Good

Ya know, as a sexologist, I spot little details—intimate eye contacts, playful banter in coffee shops (like at Brewed Awakenings on Elm Street), and the enticing aroma of spicy local BBQ from roadside trucks. Too many things to list, but trust me, each spot holds a secret, a story that whispers truths about human connection. Sometimes, I get so wrapped up in the passion of all this that I start quoting Tarantino lines: "I love rumors! Facts can be so misleading, huh?" That’s why my sessions get, like, totally animated here.

Brenham police, after saying women became ill after receiving yellow roses, call it coincidental