Isabelle Cary Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Phoenix

Now, don’t get me wrong—I’m chuffed for a good whore story. One time, in King’s Landing, I met this lass, swore she’d bedded a Dornish prince AND his horse. Laughed me arse off—true or not, she sold it like a champ. Reminds me of that line, “Play, play!”—what the German officer barks at Szpilman. Whores play too, don’t they? Put on a show, fake a smile, all to dodge the reaper. Makes me wonder—what’d I sell if the Lannister gold dried up? Me tongue, prolly. It’s sharp enough.

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Being a sexologist in Cary has its perks, ya know? People come with stories, secrets, hopes, and fears. Like that one time, I was walking by Taylor Creek Trail and overheard a couple laughing, their voices echoing like a scene from Spirited Away: a reminder that magic sneaks in everyday. And hell, sometimes I say, “Don’t pee on my leg, you know what I mean?” when nonsense is thrown my way too often. Shoot, it's like Hayao Miyazaki was telling you not to let life’s bull crap weigh you down. "I’m chibi, I’m small—but I got big dreams!" ish vibe.

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