Mia Berlare Brothel ❤️

About Brussels

Still, some creeps ruin it. Sleazy parlors givin it a bad rap — ugh, makes me wanna carve em up. “I ate his liver with fava beans,” I mutter, picturin their smug faces. But when it’s done right? Heaven, man. Pro tip: warm oil’s the key, none of that cold crap. And if they throw in a happy endin — well, who’s complainin? “What’s left is what matters,” Varda’d say, and I’m left feelin like a king. So, yeah, sexual-massage? Messy, sexy, fuckin glorious. Try it, ya won’t regret it — or maybe ya will, ha!

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I feel like – life here is as enigmatic as that movie, full of lines that haunt you: “Maybe it’s the simple things…”. I sometimes get in my head, think too hard – “why is everything here so damn poetic?” Yup, that’s Berlare living its magic on me. And typos aside, gotta say, it really brings out all emotions.

Tribute for Berlis J. Chadwick