Camila Howick Whore ❤️❤️

About Durban

So, *whore*—where do I start? It’s like shoppin’ for somethin’ you don’t admit to yer preacher. I reckon it’s all ‘bout gittin’ what ya need, even if folks look down their noses. Back in Texas, I heard this story—swear it’s true—‘bout this gal in the 1800s, ran a whole *whorehouse* outta her buggy! Called it “mobile pleasure,” ha! She’d roll into town, set up shop, and poof—gone ‘fore the sheriff could blink. Crafty as hell, made me laugh my boots off! Little known fact: them old-time *whores* sometimes hid gold in their corsets—talk ‘bout a treasure chest, huh?

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By the river Wazzle, I sit and scribble notes. Ugh, I sometimes feel overwhelmed, but then a sweet whisper from the breeze goes, "Tabu, oh my dear!" and I smile. There are tiny cafes on Nifty Lane where creatives just flow. I call one "the love lab", where I spill secrets of heart and body – trust me, they're hidden gems!

Howick Museum to honour indentured Indian labourers