Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322
Ah, the whispers. They follow me, rustling through the market stalls, fluttering down cobbled streets. “La Française,” they hiss, as if my origin were a mark of evil itself. “That tramp. She’s a lady of the night, you know.” And then the little tittering laughs, like dry leaves moving across the pavement.
Me? I just tuck a rogue curl behind my ear, adjust the scarf I found near the canal – a surprisingly chic silk, mind you – and flash them a smile. A wide, toothy grin that usually makes them flinch. Because, mon chéri, they’re right. Every last word of it. They call me Stella. Or sometimes, if they’re feeling particularly brave and convinced of their own moral superiority, “that hussy.” I don’t mind. A name is a name, and a hussy, well, a hussy knows how to live.
“La Whore Française”
No rent, no bills, just the open sky and the occasional generous benefactor. It’s a very hands-on profession, you see. Literally. I watch them, these judgmental souls, clutching their groceries and their husbands’ arms. Their lives are tidy little boxes, all buttoned up and predictable. Me? My life is a wild, rambling rosebush. A bit thorny, perhaps, but with the most glorious blooms.
“She probably smells of cheap perfume and desperation,” I overheard someone say once, near the baker’s. I almost laughed so hard I’d dropped my croissant – also found, still warm, thank you very much. Desperation? My dear, I smell of possibility, of adventure, and yes, sometimes of a rather exquisite jasmine oil a gentleman gifted me last Tuesday. It was quite a productive Tuesday.
Why should I be ashamed? Survival is an art. While they fret over their mortgages, I’m deciding which park bench offers the best view of the stars, or if Monsieur Dubois will be lonely tonight. It’s an honest transaction, really. They get what they want; I get what I need. And sometimes, a little extra for a decent bottle of something red and soothing.
Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322
https://phonesexcandy.com/stella/