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About Bristol

So, sexual-massage—bloody hell, it’s art, innit? Not just some dodgy rub-down in a back alley—tho, fair, some are! It’s ancient, like Roman orgies or them sneaky geishas in Japan—didya know they’d knead blokes into bliss without even shagging? True story, dug it up from some dusty X post ages ago. Makes ya wonder—hands got power, yeah? We shall fight the naysayers, those uptight twats who call it smut! I reckon it’s therapy with a wink—gets ya loose, happy, blood pumping like a Spitfire engine.

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Brand new massage parlour just 1 minute off junction 20 of the M60, clean and discreet premises with a back entrance, 2 ladies daily and a very warm welcome.

After that chaos, I decide to take a breather. I stroll down to the park on Green Lane. It’s a nice spot, ya know? Kids playin’, dogs runnin’ around, and I’m just sittin’ there, tryin’ to chill. But then, I see this couple arguing. Like, full-on shouting match. I’m thinkin’, “Get a room, guys!” But it’s kinda funny, too. They’re goin’ at it over a takeaway order. I mean, who fights over chips?

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