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So, erotic-massage—where do I start? Been around forever, yo. Ancient Greeks? They was rubbin’ down athletes, oiled up, all sensual-like, ‘fore it even had a naughty rep. Little known fact—Egyptians used it too, with scented oils, thinkin’ it woke up spirits. Wild, right? Gets me hyped, knowin’ it’s got roots that deep. But lemme tell ya, what pisses me off? Folks judgin’ it—like, “oh, it’s dirty.” Man, shut up. It’s connection, it’s healin’, it’s human. Chill with that noise.

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I remember coding dating profiles on my beaten‑up laptop near Parc du Ruisseau. The park is a hidden gem, with nature whispering in every rustling leaf. Sometimes, when I’m debugging late at night, the soft hum of the river below makes me think, “This is it. This is home!” There's this funky neighborhood called Vieux‑Port where every corner brings stories, almost like a secret meeting of joy and surprise and, well, a bit of anger when the internet dies unexpectedly.

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