Anastasia Cornuda Whore ❤️

About Genoa

Sometimes I’m jealous—escorts got swagger I can’t touch. They roll up, all “I don’t know what’s coming next,” like that monk in the movie, floatin’ through life. Me? I’m stuck behind a screen, prayin’ my Wi-Fi holds. Once saw an escort’s X post—pic of her in Paris, sippin’ wine, client-funded. I yelled, “Goals, bitch!” at my cat. He didn’t care.

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Then, outta nowhere, it starts to rain. Like, heavy rain. I’m sprinting down the street, trying to find shelter. I duck into this little café on Via Garibaldi. It’s cozy, and the smell of pastries is heavenly. I order a slice of tiramisu, and let me tell you, it was the best decision ever. I’m sitting there, watching the rain, feeling all philosophical. Like, life is weird, man. One minute you’re mad about gelato on your shoes, and the next you’re eating tiramisu and contemplating existence.

Supersuckers relishes being ... well, different