Elise Sarasota Whore ❤️

About New York City

Once had this chick, right? Masseuse with hands like a freakin angel. She’s rubbin me down, and I’m thinkin, “This is art, man.” Slow strokes, deep presses — got me hard as a rock and floatin at the same time. Little known fact: back in ancient Rome, they’d do this shit with olive oil and a side of orgy. True story! Called it “massage with benefits,” ya dig? Made me happy as a pig in shit, but then — bam! — she charged me double. Pissed me off, man, I was fumin. “I ate his liver with fava beans,” I growled in my head, imaginin her boss on a platter.

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Okay, so maybe I’m rambling—uh, oh gosh, sorry, where was I? Anyway, Sarasota's real vibe is in its unsaid corners, where weird and wonderful things happen. You feel it; it was like "that relentless, sweet ache of being alive" (yep, straight from The New World, man!).

Horse with Sarasota ties and owners with MLB background takes a run for the roses