Ivy Belle Haven Sexual Massage ❤️❤️❤️

About San Jose

Personal quirk? I’m yellin’ in my head the whole time—*faster, slower, harder, shit, don’t stop!*—but outside, I’m cool as ice, Gekko-style. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but once this gal in Vegas told me she massaged Elvis—fuckin’ Elvis!—and I believed her, ‘cause why not? Sexual-massage is chaos, messy, raw—kinda like life. “You’re lying to yourself,” Haneke’s ghost whispers from *Caché*. Maybe I am, but damn, it feels good. Greed is good, pal—get yours.

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The massage was okay although very light. Face up and only the legs got massages. No chest, neck or head massage.

Yo, neighborhoods here are like fractal zones. Downtown is super sleek; all glass towers, coded lights at night – reminds me of SpaceX launch screens. Meanwhile, the East End is a maze of indie cafes, battered brick walls, and vendors selling odd trinkets. Btw, if you wander along Clockwork Alley (yeah, they named it after some fun clock tower relic), you'll see street artists sprayin’ vivid tags that shout “Absurdity is our middle name!”

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