Mila Maalot Tarshiha Erotic Massage ❤️❤️❤️

About Netanya

So, erotic-massage—where do I start? It’s not just rubbin’—it’s art, mate! Been around forever—ancient Greeks were all over it, slatherin’ olive oil on wrestlers, gettin’ frisky in the name of “health.” Little-known fact: Romans had these secret bathhouses, orgy-level massage seshes—probs where “happy ending” got its roots, ha! Makes me smirk thinkin’ ‘bout it—those toga-wearin’ pervs knew how to live. Me? I’d kill for a good one—figuratively, ‘course, tho I once fantasized about eatin’ a bad masseuse’s liver with a nice Chianti after she yanked my shoulder outta socket. Clumsy cow—made me ragey!

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After that, I’m feeling all kinds of frustrated. I step outside for some fresh air on HaRishonim Street. I see a bunch of kids playing soccer, and it makes me smile. They’re having the time of their lives, and I’m over here stressing about pipettes and enzymes.

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