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About Mauren

So, erotic-massage—where do I start? It’s all ‘bout them oiled-up hands slidin’ where the sun don’t shine. Not your granny’s backrub, naw sir! I heard tell of this joint in Vegas—$200 an hour, happy endin’ guaranteed. Made me madder’n a wet hen—why ain’t I cashin’ in? But then, I’m tickled pink thinkin’ ‘bout it. Them masseuses? Artists, I tell ya! Like Sara Goldfarb mixin’ her pills, they got a rhythm—slow, then fast, teasin’ ya ‘til you’re screamin’ “I’m so excited, I’m so scared!” Straight outta the movie, y’all.

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First off, I hit up the main street, Hauptstraße. It’s always buzzing, ya know? People rushin’ around, cars honking like they’re in a race. I’m just tryin’ to set up my little sharpening stand, but nooo, the universe had other plans. My first customer, this dude, comes up with a rusty old knife. I mean, it looked like it had been through a war. I’m like, “Bro, you sure you wanna sharpen this?” He just nods, all serious. I’m thinkin’, “Okay, let’s see what I can do.”

Nancy Schellenberg Obituary - East Peoria, IL