Leah Frankhuis Sexual Massage ❤️❤️❤️

About Amsterdam

I tried it once—don’t judge me, alright? Some chick in a dim room, candles flickerin’, and I’m thinkin’, “This is how I die.” She’s all, “Relax, Larry,” and I’m like, “Relax?! You’re touchin’ me where?!” Made me so mad—nobody tells you the rules! Is it a massage? Is it sexy time? Am I supposed to tip extra? I’m sweatin’, not from the heat, but pure panic. But then—okay, fine—it felt kinda good. Like, *Inherent Vice* good, where you’re confused but rollin’ with it. “What’s happening here, man?” I muttered, channelin’ Doc. She laughed—thought I was nuts. Fair enough.

Nicki Gostin

Suddenly, I hear this loud music. I look over, and there’s a street performer on the corner of Korte Kerkstraat. He’s playin’ the guitar like a rockstar. I’m feelin’ it! I toss him a couple of euros. He winks at me. I’m like, “Am I famous now?”

Antisemitic text was projected onto the Anne Frank House in Amsterdam