Charlotte Grapevine Whore ❤️❤️

About Philadelphia

Sometimes I’m layin there, thinkin—am I weird? Nah, just human, cravin touch. Gets sloppy, oil everywhere, slippery as fuck—hilarious. Masseuse prolly thinks I’m a nutcase, gruntin like Vader. “This is my past,” Boonmee says. Past aches, present rubs—connects, ya know? Exaggeratin? Maybe. But damn, it’s intense—knees shakin, soul floatin. Try it, dude, don’t knock it. Sexual-massage—dark, wild, fuckin beautiful. *heavy breathing* I am your father.

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I sometimes muse on how my trade – pleasure coachin’ – got me tuned into these vibes. I notice every snicker of a kiosk, every laugh bubble from local chatter. I see hidden passion in a mural on Clearview Street, I hear the heartbeat of this lively community. Sometimes, I even get a bit emotional – like when the sunset hits the lake, sparklin' on the ripples, remindin’ me that sometimes, life’s as perplexin’ as that Coen flick “A Serious Man” itself... “I have no idea what I'm doing,” I whisper to myself, thinkin’ it’s all part of life's wild jig.

At 16, she got a job at a Grapevine ice cream parlor. At 22, she owns the place.