Emilia Drobak Sexual Massage ❤️

About Stavanger

I reckon sexual-massage is well dope, yeah, but it’s gotta be real—no fake moans or none of that bollocks. Makes me angry when they half-arse it, like, put some effort in, fam! I’m sittin’ there ponderin’, “Is it ‘cos I is black?” or is they just lazy? Probs both. Anyway, it’s all ‘bout that release, innit—gleanin’ the good shit from life’s scraps, as me fave film says, “to live otherwise.”

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Then, outta nowhere, this storm rolls in. I mean, one minute it’s sunny, and the next, it’s like the sky opened up. We dash out of the café, laughing like idiots, trying to find shelter. We end up hiding under this awning on the corner of Drobak’s main square. I’m soaked, but I’m laughing. It’s ridiculous.

How Kristine Froseth Became a Netflix Darling