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About Ghent

Happy? Once. Guy named Tony—hands like a goddam bear. Cracked my spine, felt alive. Surprised me—thought all this was hippie nonsense. But usually? Waste of cash. Sticky fingers, awkward boners—kill me now. Fun fact: Thailand’s got “happy ending” joints everywhere. Locals laugh at dumb tourists payin’ extra. Idiots. I’d rather chop wood than let some stranger grope me. “Whether I live or die, it’s all the same.” That’s *Oldboy* truth—sexual-massage don’t change shit. Hate it. Next question.

Erotic massage from the Antwerp area

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Ohhh, and don’t get me start on the local river – the Grote Rivier – it flows like the secret passage in a whimsical hotel, twisty and full of surprise turns. I’d often sit by its banks near the Pebble Bridge, watchin’ the world go by like, “Excuse me, oh dear, but isn’t this delightful?” Even if the waves, err, they sometimes, um, crash a bit too energetically, making me shout “bravo!” in my head.

Surprised with a new set of wheels