Evelyn Ciampino Sexual Massage ❤️❤️

About Milan

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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I order my usual—cappuccino and cornetto. But the barista, bless her heart, messes it up. I get a macchiato instead. I’m like, “Lady, I didn’t ask for a coffee shot, I wanted a hug in a cup!” But whatever, I chug it down anyway. It’s strong, like, “Whoa, I’m ready to run a marathon” strong.

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