Genesis Matenveld Whore ❤️❤️

About Nijmegen

Oh, and the humor—dark as hell. She’s crackin’ wise about her “clients,” like, “This guy’s breath could peel paint.” I’m laughin’, but it’s that nervous laugh, ya know? ‘Cause it’s sad too. Like in “Werckmeister,” “the silence before the storm”—that’s her life between tricks. Quiet. Tense. Fucked up. I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’, “Man, I’d lose it in her shoes.” Exaggeratin’? Maybe. But I’d be a terrible hooker—too whiny, too picky. “What, you again? Get lost!”

Stories from the sex trade

Then, I decided to grab a quick bite at that little café on de Markt. You know, the one with the weirdly shaped pastries? I ordered a “Matenveld Special” or whatever. It was supposed to be a croissant, but it looked more like a sad pancake. I mean, come on! I was expecting flaky goodness, not a breakfast tragedy.