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About Toulouse

So, sexual-massage—it’s old as hell. Bet ya didn’t know ancient Greeks were all over it, callin’ it some fancy “massage for the soul” bullshit. Soul, my ass—it’s about gettin’ off, let’s be real! I’m sittin’ here thinkin’, “How do I get me some of that?”—‘cause I deserve it, dammit! Respect my authoritah! And then I’m like, wait, this kinda reminds me of *Amour*, ya know, my fave movie. That old dude, Georges, he’s all gentle with Anne, touchin’ her careful-like when she’s sick. “I’ll take care of you,” he says, all soft and shit. Sexual-massage ain’t that deep, but it’s still hands on, makin’ ya feel alive—or horny, whatever.

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First off, I’m cruisin’ down Rue de la République, right? The sun’s shinin’, birds are chirpin’, and I’m feelin’ like a champ. But then, BAM! My horse, Flash, decides he’s got other plans. He’s spooked by some random cat. Like, c’mon, dude! It’s just a cat! But nah, Flash goes full-on rodeo mode. I’m hangin’ on for dear life, thinkin’ I’m gonna end up in the fountain at Place de la Mairie.

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