Anna Budapest Iii. Keruelet Sex Dating ❤️❤️❤️

About Budapest

Sex-dating’s a freakin’ circus, mates. Apps like Bumble, Hinge—gods, even FetLife if you’re nasty—turn us into horny little puppets. I love it! The thrill of a match, that ping on my phone, it’s like “How happy you were,” from *Eternal Sunshine*. But then—BOOM—half these dates flop harder than Thor’s hammer on a bad day. One time, this Midgardian chick showed up, all “let’s bone,” then spent two hours yapping about her ex. Mate, I wanted sex, not a therapy sesh! Made me wanna scream, “I’d rather erase you than listen!”

I get to the mall, and it’s packed. Like, who knew shopping could be a contact sport? I’m weaving through crowds, and I finally find a store. It’s called “Fashionista,” or something. I walk in, and it’s like a tornado of colors and fabrics. I’m overwhelmed, but I gotta focus.