Amelia Saint Lys Erotic Massage ❤️

About Marseille

Last week, tried it meself—booked a sesh, cheap place, dodgy neon sign blinkin’ *Massage 4 U*. Walked in, tripped on a rug, oof, nearly kneed the masseuse! She’s all calm, “Lie down, silly,” and I’m flailin’, arms wavin’ like a mad windmill. Then—oh lordy—the oils hit, warm, tingly, I’m gigglin’ like a kid, can’t help it! Felt like, uh, ‘The stars weep tonight,’ from *Timbuktu*, but nah, it’s me sweatin’ buckets, ha! So relaxin’, tho—knots in me back? Gone, mate, poof!

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So, I’m freaking out, right? I dash over to the café on Rue des Écoles. Love that place! They’ve got the best croissants. I’m like, “I need caffeine and a miracle.” The barista, this cool dude named Max, sees me panicking and hands me a double espresso. Bless him! I down it like it’s water.

FCIAC powers St. Joseph, Staples play to a draw