Evelyn Shipley Sexual Massage ❤️

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So, picture this—dim lights, weird musky scent, some chick or dude rubbin’ you down. I tried it once, got me thinkin’, “I can’t see the whole picture here.” Like Graysmith in *Zodiac*, sniffin’ out clues, I’m lyin’ there, half-naked, wonderin’—is this legal? Probs not, but who cares, right? Felt good, real good, till the paranoia hit. “What if this is a setup?” I mutter, all monotone, “Tonight’s the night I get busted.”

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Shipley, oh my precious, is a mix of chaotic peace. The little River Aire slyly slips past, a trickling silver snake, murmuring secrets to those who care to listen. I's sat by its banks, watchin’ the water ripple, and sometimes, I swear, I hears low echoes: "We are under the skin, yes, my precious."

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