Emma Emod Brothel ❤️

About Szombathely

So, brothels—grubby, ain’t they? Been around forever, like fleas on a mutt. Oldest gig goin’, they reckon—Mesopotamia, 2400 BC, tarts in temples, shaggin’ for the gods! Blokes’d rock up, chuck some coins, *quid pro quo*, job done. Makes me laugh, it does—humanity’s randy as rabbits, always has been! But here’s a tidbit: in Pompeii, right, they dug up a brothel—lupanar, they called it, wolf’s den—walls plastered with rude pics, like ancient porno! Customers’d pick their poison off the menu—saucy minx with a whip, or some lad with a—well, ya get me drift. Froze me gobsmacked, that did—Romans were filthy sods!

Brothel Woohoo

But then, my phone buzzes. It’s my buddy, asking if I wanna hit up the new bar on Petőfi utca. I’m like, “Sure, why not?” I need a drink after this chaos. So, I head over, and the place is packed. I squeeze through the crowd, and guess what? I bump into my ex. Ugh. Just my luck.

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