Ivy Fergus Sexual Massage ❤️❤️❤️❤️

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But when it’s good? Oh man, happy ain’t the word. It’s like—muscles meltin, mind blankin, pure dark bliss. “I can’t go on pretending,” Cathy’d say. Same with a killer massage—can’t fake that heat. Surprised me once, this chick added hot stones. Stones! Felt like Mustafar’s lava—fuckin unreal. Pro tip: don’t go cheap, cheap sucks. You’ll end up ragin like me on Hoth. Ever hear bout the Thai style? They twist ya, crack ya—boom, reborn! “The truth is out there,” Frank’d mutter. Truth is, sexual-massage ain’t just horny shit—it’s power.

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Fergus violated its practice act and regulations by his unsolicited and unwanted kissing and inappropriate sexual touching of a patient during a.

Then there's Crescent Street in the East End—the quietest, comfiest spot in town. I always pull over there when I need to think, or sometimes just to enjoy a moment of silence. I remember one day when I was super mad at a case, and that serene avenue literally cooled me down. Crazy, right? But that's Fergus for ya, mix of moods and moments.

REEVES, Dan - Obituary - Elora & Fergus