Abigail San Remo Erotic Massage ❤️

About Naples

But—fuck—some places piss me off. Dodgy parlors with neon signs screamin’ “massage,” but it’s just a front for sketchy vibes. Had one dude tryin’ to upsell me “extras”—mate, I’m a god, I don’t pay for that! Kicked his table over, stormed out—chaos is my middle name. Still, when it’s good? Oh, Norns, it’s *good*. Skin tinglin’, breath hitchin’, like “there’s something alive in there”—another *Under the Skin* gem. Surprised me how deep it hits—ain’t just horny nonsense, it’s borderline art.

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But then, BAM! My phone buzzes. It’s my buddy, Marco. He’s like, “Dude, you gotta come to the market!” I’m like, “I’m in a combine harvester, bro!” But he insists. So, I make my way to Mercato di Sanremo. The smells hit me first—fresh fish, fruits, and pastries. I’m drooling.

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