Everly Rehoboth Sex Dating ❤️❤️

About Houston

Oi, listen up, you lot! Sex-dating’s a bloody mess, innit? Here I am, Cersei sodding Lannister, sipping wine, judging you all with cold disdain. “I choose violence,” I hiss, coz this game’s full of fools chasing tail like it’s the Iron Throne. Apps like Tinder, Grindr—swipe, bang, ghost. Pathetic. Met a bloke once, thought he’d charm me with roses. Roses! Like I’m some simpering maid. Tossed ‘em in the fire, told him to sod off. Reminds me of that monk in *Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter…and Spring*—y’know, the one lugging that stone up the hill? That’s sex-dating: dragging lust round, pretending it’s deep.

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Now, let’s talk quirks. I know the park by Millie’s Lane, or Millys Lane if you’re cool with typos. (Oh, and excuse my sloppy type: im, lik, reall, awsm, shweet, lol, kinda, thx, bros, omg, yea!) That park? It’s where I once blurted out feelings to a stray cat. It was mad intense, like experiencing all family emoshuns in 5 minutes. I got super mad too—yep, ridiculous meltdown. And guess what? The cat gave zero fucks.

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