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About Leicester

*heavy breathing* I… am your father. Erotic-massage, huh? Dark, slippery stuff. Like “Pan’s Labyrinth”—twisted, beautiful, freaky. Hands sliding, oil dripping—messes with your head. Saw this chick once, pro masseuse, said it’s ancient—like Egyptian old. Pharoahs got rubbed down, wild, right? Didn’t expect that—blew my mind! *slow exhale* The faun in that flick… he’d dig it. “The girl who got lost”—that’s you, mid-massage, floatin’.

McCoy's Guide

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But then, just as I’m about to celebrate, my phone buzzes. It’s my boss. He’s like, “Where’s that barrel?” I’m like, “Uh, I’m on a break?” He’s not having it. I have to rush back to the workshop, still half-drunk and soaked.

Plans for dog exercise paddock on field sparks neighbour objections