Lydia Qiryat Tiv On Sexual Massage ❤️❤️❤️

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So, sexual-massage, right? It’s old, real old—thousands of years, sneaky-like! Them ancient Greeks, they did it, callin’ it fancy “tantra” or summat. Rubbin’ bodies for “healin’,” they said, but we knows better, don’t we? Hiss! Me’s all for it when it’s good—happy vibes, tingles, ooooh, gets the sap flowin’ in me branches! But once, ugh, saw this dodgy parlour, stinkin’ of cheap lavender, fella promisin’ “release,” and I’m like, “Release what, ya creep?!” Made me mad, yesss, hissss—felt like Solomon shackled up, “I am no man’s slave!” Grrr!

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Then, outta nowhere, this old lady from across the street starts yellin’. “You’re ruining my garden!” She’s waving her arms like a madwoman. I’m tryin’ to mediate, but it’s chaos. I’m stuck in the middle of a mini-war zone. I’m thinkin’, “This is not in my job description.”

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