Anna Strathfield Whore ❤️❤️

About Adelaide

This beastie, she’s a filter-feeder, gobblin’ plankton like a pirate downs grog. No teeth fer rippin’, just a maw wide as me ship’s helm – ten feet, arrgh! Made me happy as a clam, seein’ her glide, peaceful-like. But arr, what pisses me off? Scurvy dogs huntin’ ‘em fer fins! Fins fer soup, says they – bloody waste o’ a grand lass! In *Carlos*, he’d say, “We’re not puppets, we’re free!” Whore’s free too, till some bilge-rat nets her.

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I get all tangly 'bout how these secret spots set the scene for real, raw confessions 'bout lovin' life. Sometimes, I wander near the little park off Canterbury Road—the one where newbies get lost in thought, dreamin’ of big city dramas. I swear, every park bench there has seen a doozy of a story! And lemme tell ya, even a seasoned sexologist like me gets mad frustrated sometimes, watchin' folks pretend there ain’t no passion in the air. “Oh, hell naw!” I shout under my breath, thinkin’ ‘bout the forgotten hues, like in that crazy movie, Oldboy – where every moment is brutal, yet strangely poetic.

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