Savannah Qiryatshmona Sexual Massage ❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Oh, and the smells—gods, the oils! Lavender, sandalwood—fancy shite. Once heard some prat used pig fat in the old days—grim, right? Stank like a butcher’s yard. Anyway, sexual-massage—it’s a tease, a taunt, a bloody dance. You want it? Go for it. Just don’t expect me to bow. “Life goes on, with or without us”—*Yi Yi* nails it. I’d still choose violence over a backrub most days. Cheers, you wretch.

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But then, I remember I still have to get home. And of course, the bus is late. I’m standing there, thinking about how I just want to crash on my couch. I’m scrolling through my phone, and I see Eli’s text again. “Café tomorrow?” I’m like, “You bet!”