Maeve Budapest Xviii. Keruelet Sexual Massage ❤️

About Budapest

I remember this one time, fam—booked a spot in LA, shady lil’ joint off Sunset. Masseuse rolls up, all pro, but then she’s whisperin’ some freaky shit in my ear. Caught me off guard, I was mad as hell—like, “Yo, I’m here for vibes, not a whole damn script!” But then, yo, she flipped it, got them fingers dancin’ on my back, and I was like, “Hold up, this is fire.” Happy as a kid with candy, swear. Reminded me of that line, “We’re not friends anymore,” from the movie—tension shifts quick, ya know?

I hop on the bus at the stop near the old church. You know the one, right? The one that looks like it’s been through a war or two? Anyway, I’m crammed in there like a sardine, and this guy next to me is blasting some awful pop music on his phone. Like, dude, can you not? I’m trying to focus on my spreadsheets here!