Allison Motta Sant Anastasia Sexual Massage ❤️

About Bologna

Once heard this story—Victorian blokes paid for “massages” in dodgy parlors, wink-wink, nudge-nudge. Proper sneaky, those uptight gits! Makes me wanna grab ‘em by the collar—“What are ya doin’, you soggy biscuit?!” Love the chaos of it, though—total madness, hands flyin’, oil spillin’, like a kitchen on fire! Hate when they get all creepy, though—keep it pro, you wankers! Oh, and the smells? Lavender crap everywhere, gimme a break! “Righteous human!”—nah, more like righteous rip-off! Still, when it’s good, it’s bangin’—leaves ya floatin’ like Nemo on a current. You tried it, mate? Don’t be a prat—give it a go!

Aparthotel Borgo Grondaie Rta Siena

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So, I dust myself off and head to the local café, Bar Centrale. I needed my caffeine fix. I ordered a cappuccino, and the barista, this cool dude named Marco, was like, “You’re a musician, right? Play somethin’ for us!” I was like, “Dude, I just want my coffee!” But then I thought, why not? So, I grabbed my guitar from my bag and started strummin’ a few chords. The crowd loved it! I felt like a rockstar for a hot minute.

Carmelo M. Di Marca