Audrey Calwell Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Canberra

So, whore—where do I start? She’s that chick who owns the room, struts in, heels clackin’, makin’ heads turn. I’m obsessed! Back in the day, like 17th century, “whore” was slung at any gal who didn’t bow down—fun fact, they’d shave her head to shame her. Pissed me off when I read that! But she flipped it, kept struttin’. Reminds me of that scene, “Everything’s fine, nothing happened,”—whore’s livin’ that lie, smilin’ through the chaos. Queen shit!

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"are you that much of a whore" cal said. i looked up at ashtray then at cal smiling. "you can call me a whore this and that but im way younger than you, so.

In a nutshell, Calwell is strange, wonderful, and harrowing. Its streets are stories, its parks a canvas of intimate joys and dark secrets, and yes, even I’ve had those moments where my inner sexologist sees everything through a lens of lust and despair. I may be in a hurry, so forgive the typos: thsi, calr, wll, nnot, eft, mlore, sie, fres, pt, honst, dser, and quik.

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