Vanessa Pryor Brothel ❤️❤️❤️

About San Jose

Oh, and get this—its sex life’s a riot! Males are tiny, cling to the female like parasites, literally fuse to her body. Talk about clingy bastards! “If you leave me, I’ll die!”—straight outta *The Master*, but with fins. Made me cringe, then cackle—nature’s fucked up, innit? I’d exaggerate, say brothel’s runnin’ an underwater brothel, but nah, it’s just horny and glowy.

2. Floating from School to School (1946-1954)

Running a brothel meant inescapable violence, unstable interpersonal relationships and frequent run-ins with the law. Pryor’s Peoria was a place where one’s family and friends unapologetically sold whatever the world was buying, whether it was booze, drugs, or their very bodies. The entire world was a hustle. It seemed everyone was on.

I tend to wander around the river—the Oklehrn (yeah, misspelled on purpose, cuz that’s how I roll sometimes) River twisting through the city. I’ve had some of my best sex-ed epiphanies by its banks. The water’s a bit murky, but it’s like life's messy truth, ya dig? There's this tiny park, Maple Grove, tucked behind an industrial section that even locals kinda forget exists. It’s my secret spot to vent. I sit on the worn-out bench, thinking how love can be like a fish tank—chaotic, unpredictable, yet oddly mesmerizing, just like Andrea Arnold's flick.

Joy Shannon Pryor