Emily Benthuizen Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Breda

But the stench—goddamn, it’d choke ya. Sweat, cheap perfume, regret—mixes like a bad stew. Made me angry, too—pimps lurkin’, takin’ cuts, actin’ big. Scum. I’d fantasize slittin’ their throats, servin’ ‘em up with a nice amarone. Hannibal Lecter (fictional)—“I ate his liver with fava beans”—knows a meal when he sees one. One time, heard a story—Victorian brothel, London, right? Had a secret room for “special tastes.” Whips, chains, even a fuckin’ goat once! Goat! Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but who cares—fits the vibe.

A Dutch brothel where women work for themselves

Finally, the day ends. I’m exhausted but kinda happy. I stroll down de Hoogeveenseweg again, and the sunset is beautiful. I stop by that café again for a nightcap. The barista, she’s cute, and we chat a bit. I’m trying to play it cool, but I’m probably blushing like a tomato.

Philip van der Wees appointed Professor of Allied Health Sciences