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About Paris

Sometimes it’s legit—muscles melt, stress dies. Other times? A wink, a giggle, and yer wallet’s lighter. I’ve seen lords sneak in, cloaks up—hypocrites! “Evil grows in silence,” Haneke’d mutter, and I’d toast to that. Sexual-massage ain’t black or white—it’s gray as a bastard’s heart. I’d exaggerate, say it’s a den of lust, but truth’s subtler. Still, I’d rather drink than judge—less headaches!