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Still, there’s worse. Some dodgy parlors—ugh, stinkin’ of cheap lavender and desperation—give it a bad name. Makes me wanna scream, “Burn them all!” But the good ones? Rare as a loyal ally. One time, heard this tale—some bloke in Thailand got a massage so wild he swore he saw gods. Probs exaggerated, but I’d kill to feel that, just once. What pisses me off? The prudes judgin’ it. Oh, grow up, you sadsacks—it’s just flesh, not a bleedin’ crime.

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I invite you to explore the realm of passion, experience an erotic massage, and enjoy a personalized striptease. My voluptuous curves promise an engaging experience; transforming .

Then, outta nowhere, it starts pouring. I mean, classic British weather, right? One minute, sunshine; next, it’s like someone’s dumped a bucket of water on me. I’m soaked, and my strawberries? Well, they’re now a mushy mess in my bag. Great. Just great. I’m standing there, drenched, thinking, “Why do I even bother?”

On anniversary of arrests, Dartmouth and Hanover police take a more restrained approach to small encampment