Evelyn Fetcham Brothel ❤️❤️

About Leicester

Me, I’d waltz in, all charm—*burdened with glorious purpose*—and they’d be like, “Who’s this posh git?” I’d sip their rubbish ale, smirking. Once saw a brothel in Soho—dodgy place, sticky floors, girls eyeing ya like wolves. One lass, cheeky as hell, says, “Fancy a tumble, love?” I’m like, “Darling, I’m a god, not desperate.” She laughed—good sport, that one. Made me happy, her sass—rare spark in that dump.

The Sex Trade, Part 1: Pleasure, At Any Price

Then, I bump into Mrs. Thompson, the nosiest neighbor in Fetcham. She’s like, “Did you hear about the new café on Leatherhead Road?” I’m like, “No, but I’m intrigued!” She goes on about how they have the best scones. I’m thinkin’, “Great, just what I need, more carbs!” But I can’t resist.

Fetcham mast ‘would not be eyesore'