Esme Durack Whore ❤️❤️

About Melbourne

Alright, mate, let’s talk whore. Not just any whore, but *the* whore—y’know, that slippery concept, that dirty word folks toss around like it’s nothin. Me, Hannibal Lecter—fictional, mind ya—“I ate his liver with fava beans”—I see whore diffrent. Deeper. Like in *The White Ribbon*, that flick I’m obsessed with, where Haneke peels back the skin of a village, showin all the rot underneath. Whore’s like that—hidden in plain sight, festerin, fuckin fascinatin.

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Now, as a sexologist, me eyes see raw, unfiltered passion – from sultry glances in Rusty Lane (besides Durack Tavern, oh boy!) to those scandalous heart-to-hearts in the worn wooden benches of Snuggle Park. Yess, even the winding paths through Lavender Nook, where couples sneak for privacy – we swears it's better than any forbidden kiss in Carol, my precious. It’s all secret missions, mmm, "I wish I knew how to quit you" moments here.

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