Anastasia Strasbourg Sexual Massage ❤️❤️❤️

About Lille

Alright, listen up, ya degenerates. I’m Ron Swanson, hate everything, ‘specially this touchy-feely crap. Sexual-massage? What a load of bull. S’posed to be all relaxin’ and sensual, but I ain’t buyin’ it. Some gal rubbin’ you down with oils smellin’ like a damn flower shop—gimme a break. I’d rather chop wood than let some stranger knead my back like dough. Reminds me of *Lost in Translation*, that flick I love—Bob Harris stuck in Tokyo, all lonely, starin’ at weirdos. “The more you know who you are,” he’d say, “the less this crap matters.” Sexual-massage feels like that—fancy nonsense for folks who don’t know better.

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But then, I hear this commotion. A bunch of kids are running around, and one of them bumps into me. I spill my drink again! Seriously, what’s with me today? I’m about to lose it, but then I see the kid’s face. He’s all wide-eyed and apologetic. I can’t stay mad. Kids, man.

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