Natalie Rondebosch Whore ❤️

About East London

So, picture this—dim lights, oil slicker’n a pirate’s promise. Hands dancin’ like them gals in Lynch’s flick—mysterious, yeah? “What’s it mean?” I mutter, like Naomi Watts whisperin’ secrets. Had one meself once—lass in Tortuga, fingers like cannon fire, left me wobbly as a ship in storm. Happy? Bloody ecstatic, mate! Surprised too—didn’t know me toes could tingle like that.

Son of a Whore

At thirteen he was caught in the web of a cunning paedophile, a well-known Afrikaans newspaperman. Shortly after his eighteenth birthday, when his abuser.

Oh, and lemme hit ya with a fact—Rondebosch used to be full of farms! Crazy, huh? Now, it’s all modern living mixed with history. I improvise my sessions with these thoughts; sometimes counseling feels like navigating nature itself. I'm often in my head sayin’, "what’s up, man?" Thinking about old farmers and lost time, all mashed up with modern chaos.

Motorcyclist injured in a collision with a truck on Main Road, Rondebosch