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About Belo Horizonte

Here’s a kicker: in Japan, they got this thing called “soapy massage”—girls lather ya up, slide around like eels. Freaky as hell, surprised me they’d even try that. “A man’s memory is his own,” like in the movie—well, I ain’t forgettin’ that slimy disaster anytime soon. Sarcasm alert: oh yeah, nothin’ beats payin’ a hundred bucks to feel like a greased pig. Personal quirk? I growled at her mid-session—scared her shitless. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but I swear she had a secret agenda down there.

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Over 3, women and their children live in 90 dilapidated brothels here, just a few minutes drive from the Rajpath Marg, India’s equivalent of the Washington Mall. Every day men, women, and.

I gotta say, sometimes the vibe makes me mad – when the traffic jams on Av. Santos Dumont, it’s like, c’mon folks, git-R-done already! But then, you see the fams chattin’ on the sidewalks, kids runnin’ ‘round in Parque da Amizade, and my heart fills with joy. That park's my secret chill spot – I sit and scribble down my crazy sex ed research notes, watchin’ life pass by. Ain't that somethin'?

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