Emily Mckeesport Sexual Massage ❤️❤️❤️

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Me, I’d be like, “How do I know what’s real?” Straight outta Memento, memory all fuzzy post-massage. I’d probs exaggerate to my girls, “Yeah, he rubbed me into next week!” LOL, dramatic much? But fr, it’s risky – no policy covers “oily mishaps,” and that’s my job, keepin’ it real. Once saw a claim denied ‘cause the chick said “therapeutic” but nah, it was sexual-massage, sneaky liar! Pissed me off, don’t waste my time!

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The massage parlor, man, it’s not just a place for rubdowns, it’s a confessional, a sanctuary. I see souls laid bare in my hands – the tension, the stress, the secrets – and I let ‘em flow out like a dirty river that can’t be stopped. Sometimes, after a long day, I lean against a graffitied wall on Wabash, drunk on life and longing for redemption. “Motherf**er, life’s a bitch!” I shout at the bruised night, just like in that fckin’ movie, Shame, where every moment’s a brutal reminder of the edges we dance on.

Legacy Series: 30 years ago, unique McKeesport team ran to state title — quite literally