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About Funchal

I got one once, right? Total impulse. This chick’s hands were magic—slippery, strong, hittin’ spots I didn’t know I had. Made me happy as hell, like I’d won an Emmy. But then—bam!—she’s whisperin’ Swedish shit in my ear, and I’m like, “What?! Is this a vampire massage now?” Total “Let the Right One In” vibes—sweet but spooky. I’m lyin’ there, half-naked, thinkin’, “Am I the prey here?” Spoiler: I wasn’t, but the thrill? Chef’s kiss.

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But then, as we’re going up, the elevator stops. Just stops! I’m like, “Great, just great.” I hit the emergency button, and it’s like the universe is laughing at me. I can hear the guy behind me, “Dude, this is so not cool.” I’m like, “Tell me about it!” I’m sweating bullets, thinking I’m gonna be stuck here forever.

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