Ellie Questembert Brothel ❤️

About Bordeaux

I saw one once—old shack, Nevada desert. Creaky floors, red curtains, smelled like cheap perfume. Guy at the door, big mustache, winked at me. “Five bucks, kid!” he says. Great Scott, I nearly bolted! Felt like steppin’ into a time warp—1885 saloon style. Made me happy, tho—humanity’s messy, real, unfiltered.

Accès directs

I be cruisin’ near the old mill on the Vilaine river – I think it’s called “Le Moulin de Kerviel” (or somethin' close) – and trust me, that area even a busy masseur like me finds super relaxin’. The park along it? The Parc des Amours, small but full of life. I sometimes park a stool, check folks, and sip too much café du coin. I mean, c’mon, you gotta savor the vibe, ya know? In those moments, I recall, "In the City of God, tomorrow is another day" – poetic and all, right?

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