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About Hamilton

What gets me blood boiling? The fakers. Them spas charging 200 quid for a “happy ending” that’s just a pat on the arse. Rip-off! I’d burn their tacky parlour down, I swear. But when it’s good—gods, it’s good. Had this one time, right, this lass knew her stuff. Fingers like wildfire, I tell ya. “Do you understand what’s happening?” she says, all sultry, like in the movie. Nearly lost me mind. Felt like a queen—well, I *am* one, ain’t I? Still, surprised me how it’s half pleasure, half fight—yer body’s all tense, then poof, gone.

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Then, I head over to the lakefront. Man, Lake Rotorua is stunning. The steam rising from the geothermal vents is like nature’s own fog machine. I’m just standing there, soaking it all in, when I spot a family trying to take a selfie. They’re all crowded together, and the dad’s like, “Say cheese!” But the kid’s just staring at a duck. Classic. I’m laughing, but then I realize I’m late for my shift. Oops!

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