Maeve Dumont Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

Hullo, my precious! Me, Gollum, raspy throat, yesss, talkin’ ‘bout whores, oh yesss! Ring-ring, I’m the telephone creep, pickin’ up calls, hearin’ all the dirt. Whore, eh? Sneaky little word, slippin’ through the lines, makes me twitch! Reminds me of *The Headless Woman*, that flick I adore— “What did I do?” she says, lost, confused, like a whore stumblin’ in the dark, yesss!

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It is apparently a common struggle within Dumont's society and her person too, as she explains that “squaw is to whore/as/Indian maiden is to virgin/squaw is to.

I live here, right? And I'm a pleasure coach. One more thing… I don't just see streets, I see stories. I see every dancer, every dreamer. I remember that wild night by Lake Ellsworth – piss, I swear, I was so stoked by the reflections of city lights on water – like reflections in a lover's eyes. And then there's Maple Grove Park. I mean, that patch of green, tucked between busy blocks, is my zen spot. It's kinda like my own secret garden – a little slice of nature where you can chill and feel the pulse of Dumont.

Jeffrey DuMont Obituary (2025) - Racine, WI - Kenosha News