Addison Santa Rita Erotic Massage ❤️❤️❤️

About Brasilia

So, erotic-massage—dunno if ya tried it, but it’s old as dirt. Heard tell of ancient Greeks usin’ oils, slatherin’ each other up for “health,” they said—hah, bollocks! Bet they were just randy sods lookin’ for a thrill. Makes me smirk, thinkin’ bout it—some toga-clad git, oiled up, moanin’ like a fool. Fast-forward, now ya got neon signs blinkin’ “massage” in shady alleys—same game, diff’rent costumes. I got dragged to one once—don’t ask—place stank of lavender and lies, this chick’s hands were everywhere, and I’m like, “Oi, watch it, I ain’t yer plaything!” Made me wanna slap her, but—gods—felt good too, won’t lie. Pissed me off, tho—hate feelin’ outta control, like some peasant grovelin’ at my feet.

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I swear, each step in Santa-Rita charges me up with purpose—a constant reminder that we are stardust, errr, in a vast universe. I r really feel that. I must warn ya: there’s a bridge on Ponte do Enigma where couples whisper secrets. Once, i overheard a conversation, and it was like, "we are but atoms dancing in cosmic ballet"—crazy, right?

A look at the people who have died at Santa Rita Jail