Rose Sutton Brothel ❤️

About Bray

So, brothel—whaddya think? Oldest gig in the book, right? Been around forever, like wood dust in my shop. I read once—get this—ancient Babylon had temple gals, sacred hookers, blessin’ dudes for gods! Wild, huh? Makes me chuckle, picturin’ some priest goin’, “Bless ya, son, now pay up!” History’s nuts, man. Nuts! And it ain’t just sex—nah, it’s power, it’s cash, it’s lonely saps needin’ a hug. Gets me mad, tho—guys exploitin’ gals, treatin’ ‘em like scraps. Pisses me off! But then—surprise—some ladies run the show, callin’ shots, stackin’ gold. Like Yubaba in the movie, huh? “Give me your name!”—boom, she owns ya.

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A sex worker allowed her inconspicuous Sutton Coldfield home to be used as a brothel. The address in Little Greens Lane, Wylde Green, looks like any other on.

As the sun starts settlin’, I head back to my flock. But guess what? They’ve escaped again! I’m chasin’ them down the street, past the library on the corner of West Street. People are laughin’ at me. I’m like, “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up!”

Obituary for Terry Sutton