Stella Portmore Whore ❤️

About May Pen

Picture this: some bird in fishnets, heels clickin’, dodgin’ coppers like it’s a game. I’ve seen ‘em, skulkin’ in shadows, laughin’ at the prudes. Makes me grin—proper cheeky. Back in the day, whores ran shit! Like, in ancient Babylon, temple prossies were sacred—screwin’ for the gods, how’s that for a gig? Bet they’d smirk at us now, all judgy and posh. “I don’t sell myself,” one told me once—liar, but ballsy! Loved that. Reminds me of *Ten* again—“What’s your price?” she asks. Everyone’s got one, don’t they?

Portmore Escort

Man, lemme tell yuh 'bout my day in Portmore. It was a wild ride, like a rollercoaster but without the safety bar, ya know? So, I woke up late, as usual. Alarm clock? Nah, more like a suggestion. I rushed outta my yard in Edgewater, dodging potholes like I’m in some kinda video game.

Fisherman gunned down in Portmore