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About Essen

So, erotic-massage, yeah, it’s old as dirt. Ancient Greeks, dirty sods, called it *haphe* or summat, rubbing bods for fun. Egyptians too, Cleopatra, saucy minx, got her lads oiled up daily – fact! Makes me chuffed, thinkin’ how humans never change. Bit of a knead, bit of a tease, *et voila*, happy as Larry! But – cor blimey – some places charge a bomb, £100 for an hour? Robbery! Got me fumin’, that did, greedy gits.

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And, oh, man, there’s a cool little cafe on Beethovenstraße. I swear, every sip of their herbal tea makes my worries vanish. I got so zen there one rainy afternoon that I nearly started quoting “The Assassin” line thing, “In silence, truth resonates,” or something like that. Really, the vibe is strong – it’s like every corner here whispers secrets of inner peace.

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