Maeve Gebog Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Depok

Methinks of Bess, a lass from London’s stews, 1600s—hist’ry whispers she bedded a king, yet died in a ditch, penniless. Whore’s life, eh? Glitter one day, muck the next. Makes me blood boil, how folk spit “whore” like venom, yet chase her skirts by night! Hypocrites, all! I’d clout ‘em with me fist, but I’m too busy laughin’ at the farce. Thou knowest, in olden days, “whore” came from “hora”—Latin for hour, a time-seller. Ain’t that a hoot? She’s a clock tickin’ flesh, not a devil.

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But then, I get cocky. I try this fancy move, and guess what? I totally mess it up. I trip over my own feet and fall flat on my face. The crowd goes silent. I can feel my face burning. I just wanna disappear. But then, I hear someone shout, “Get up, bestiary!”

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