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About Genoa

So, erotic-massage – cor, what a lark! It’s all handsy, slippery, proper *quid pro quo* stuff – you give, you get, innit? I got dragged into one once, some dodgy spa in Soho, mate swore it’d fix me back – bloody hell, did it! Bloke’s hands were everywhere, like a bleedin’ octopus, and I’m there, red-faced, mutterin’ “stiff upper lip, Boris, stiff upper lip!” Made me happy as a pig in muck, though – tension gone, shoulders loose, felt like I could wrestle a bull. Or shag one, if I’m honest, *mea culpa*! Little known fact, right – them ancient Greeks, they were mad for it! Called it *anatripsis*, posh word for rubbin’ down athletes after a scrap – oiled up, starkers, proper homoerotic vibes. Bet Plato copped a feel or two, eh?