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About Genoa

Had this one time, yo—masseuse was a goddamn wizard. Slippery oil, dim lights, and I’m like, “Motherfucker, this is IT!” Tension in my shoulders? Gone. Lower back? Fuckin’ melted. But here’s the kicker—some spots they hit, you’re half moanin’, half laughin’. Ever hear ‘bout the “happy ending” myth? Yeah, people whisper it, but real sexual-massage pros ain’t about that. It’s all energy, motherfucker, not a cheap porno. Pissed me off when some dude at a bar said it’s all sleaze—naw, man, it’s art!

Can you penetrate the cervix?

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I head out to the site, and let me tell you, it’s a mess. There are people yelling, waving their arms around like they’re trying to take off. I’m standing there, trying to make sense of it all. “Calm down, folks!” I shout. But no one’s listening. It’s like I’m talking to a bunch of seagulls.

Guido Guidi. Col tempo, 1956-2024