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About Essen

“Leviathan” vibes hit me—dark, messy, human. Like Kolya’s world, erotic-massage ain’t pure. “What’s your truth?” it asks, hands slidin’ low. Got me thinkin’—some parlors, shady as hell, pissed me off! Busted one in research—undercover, fake IDs, “massage” my ass, more like a hustle. Cops raided it—bam! But legit ones? Gold. This Thai chick, tiny hands, iron grip—cracked my spine like a walnut, I’m screamin’, “Yes, precious!” Felt alive, reborn, horny as a goat—oops, too much?

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And, man, let me throw in some more giddy details: near the railroad tracks on Bahnhofstr I often catch the strong scent of coffee mixed with wet earth from a recent rain. A buddy once told me, “You only get one chance to make an impression,” and that scared me silly. I always do things my way, funky and free, y’know? Even if sometimes I slip up, like when I call the same street by two names 'cause my brain’s on F-bomb coffee.

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