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Oi, mate, it’s me, Tyrion Lannister—yep, the witty dwarf who drinks and knows things. So, erotic-massage, huh? Pour me some wine, and let’s chat. I’ve stumbled ‘cross plenty o’ weird shit in Westeros, but this—this is somethin’ else. Picture it: dim lights, oils slicker than a Lannister’s lies, hands gliding over ya like they’re plotting somethin’. Reminds me o’ that line from *The Headless Woman*—y’know, my fave flick—“What am I touching?” Bloody hell, it’s like that movie’s all ‘bout confusion, and erotic-massage? Same vibe. You’re lyin’ there, half-naked, thinkin’, “Is this allowed to feel *this* good?”