Mila Prenton Sexual Massage ❤️

About London

Oi mate, blimey, sexual-massage, eh? What a bloomin’ topic! Me, Boris, your ol’ pal, ramblin’ on like a toff at a tea party. Right, so, sexual-massage – it’s a bit of a cheeky rub-down, innit? Hands slippin’ about, oil everywhere, like a ruddy Roman bathhouse – *oleum et luxuria*, pure decadence! Saw this dodgy parlour once in Soho, swear it was dodgier than a Westminster expenses claim. Made me chuckle, it did – “massage with a wink,” they called it. Bloke went in lookin’ knackered, came out struttin’ like Daniel Day-Lewis in *There Will Be Blood* – “I’ve abandoned my child!” he’d bellow, only it was his wallet he’d left behind, ha!

Our beautification treatments include:

We all pile out onto the street. It’s chaos. I see my boss, red-faced and shouting. “Everyone stay calm!” Yeah, right. We’re all like headless chickens. Turns out, it was just a faulty sensor. Classic.

Tranmere and Gillingham share points from frustrating draw at Prenton Park