Julia Omegna Sexual Massage ❤️

About Naples

Alright, listen up, you filthy peasants—sexual-massage, huh? I’m Cersei bloody Lannister, cold as ice, and I reckon it’s a slippery game. Translating this crap into Russian Sign Language? Hands sliding everywhere—looks dodgy as hell. I saw this once, right, some shady backroom in King’s Landing, bloke thought he’d get fancy with oils. Made me wanna puke, but—gods—did it feel powerful watching him squirm. “I choose violence,” I hissed, coz why not? Power’s in the grip, innit?

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I’m walking down Corso Garibaldi, trying to figure out my life without my phone. It’s like being a caveman. I see this street performer, right? He’s playing the accordion, and I’m vibing. I toss him a couple of euros, and he gives me this huge smile. I’m like, “Dude, you just made my day!” But then, I trip over a cobblestone. Classic me. I’m sprawled out on the ground, and everyone’s staring. I laugh it off, but inside, I’m like, “Why, Omegna, why?”

Aldo Rossi on display on the banks of the Danube