Nora Giulianova Erotic Massage ❤️

About Milan

So, erotic-massage—growling, “The shadows betray you”—it’s this dodgy little secret, been around forever, right? Ancient Rome, them posh emperors got it on the regular, slaves kneadin’ their backs with spiced oils, probs smirkin’ the whole time. Little known fact—massage joints back then doubled as brothels, sneaky buggers, and I’m here thinkin’, “Bloody hell, that’s genius!” Makes me happy, that cheeky hustle—beats a punch-up any day. But what pisses me off? Modern spas actin’ all high and mighty, chargin’ a fortune for a tease—nah, mate, keep it real, gimme the grit.

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So, I leave the post office, fuming. I decide to take a stroll along the Lungomare. You know, the beautiful seaside promenade? It’s stunning, but I’m still mad. I see families having fun, kids playing, and I’m just there like a grumpy cat. But then, I spot this gelato shop. Gelato fixes everything, am I right?

Nicola Di Battista