Isabella Campestre Erotic Massage ❤️

About Goiania

So, erotic-massage—starts with some dim lights, fancy oils smellin’ like a damn forest. Lady’s hands all over ya, slippin’ and slidin’. Supposed to relax ya, but I’m sittin’ there thinkin’, “This is how ya end up in a trap.” Like Oh Dae-su, locked up, no clue what’s next. I hate it—too close, too sweaty. Gimme a steak and whiskey instead. Fun fact: ancient Greeks did this crap, called it “anatripsis.” Rich bastards gettin’ rubbed down while I’d be choppin’ wood.

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Oh, and I cant forget the street "Travessa dos Amantes". Yup, a little alley where couples share forbidden glances. I always chuckle – “oh, my heart, you silly thing,” because as a sexologist, I see such raw passion daily. Some nights, I get so emotional, thinking: "This is life, this is art!" Might be my inner Gru getting sentimental, heh.

Fig. 1. Galleries of Scolytus koenigi on Acer campestre found at the...