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One time, I heard a story, some ancient temple in India, erotic-massage was, like, sacred, part of rituals. They’d chant, use flowers, not just for kings but, like, everyone! Made me think, “Ruh-roh! We’re missing out!” Today, tho, some places are shady, ugh, angers me. But when it’s legit? Pure magic, bro.

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I tell ya, my massage biz sure gives me my own backstage passes to Plessisville’s life. I’ve seen every corner—secret smiles, hidden worries, all that raw truth that makes you feel alive. Every client, every whispered secret, they remind me of a scene from Before Sunset: “We’re just two people spinning on a galactic carousel.” That ain’t just chatter—it’s real talk, right? The back alleys near Rue de l'Insolence? They’ve moods, memories, and sometimes, if you lean close, you catch the echo of laughter from nights gone by.

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