Brooklyn Sagara Brothel ❤️❤️

About Fukuoka

Still, some creeps ruin it. Sleazy parlors givin it a bad rap — ugh, makes me wanna carve em up. “I ate his liver with fava beans,” I mutter, picturin their smug faces. But when it’s done right? Heaven, man. Pro tip: warm oil’s the key, none of that cold crap. And if they throw in a happy endin — well, who’s complainin? “What’s left is what matters,” Varda’d say, and I’m left feelin like a king. So, yeah, sexual-massage? Messy, sexy, fuckin glorious. Try it, ya won’t regret it — or maybe ya will, ha!

Mega-brothels: Has Germany become 'bordello of Europe'?

Then, outta nowhere, it started pouring. Like, seriously? I didn’t bring an umbrella. Typical Sagara weather! I ducked into a little café on Kōen-dōri. Best decision ever! The coffee was bomb, and the barista was cute. We chatted a bit, and I was like, “Wow, this day just got a whole lot better.”

Revisiting Kamal Haasan-K Viswanath’s Sagara Sangamam: Of art and devotion