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About Naples

Sexual-massage joints—half of ‘em are fronts. Rubdowns turnin’ into somethin’ else, real quick. I hate it. Makes my skin crawl, not cause I’m prude—nah, I’m a man’s man—but the lies? Disgustin’. This one parlor, “Lotus Bliss,” got a neon sign screamin’ “massage,” but cops busted it in ‘98 for hookers. Little known fact—owner paid off the mayor, stayed open. Slimeballs. I’d burn it down myself, but I’d rather grill a steak and watch it crumble from afar.

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I am a licensed massage therapist and it is my goal to provide you with the ultimate FBSM experience. Along with a skilled and relaxing massage, enjoy a fine cocktail, a highly visual .

First off, I head down Via Roma, my usual route to the garden. I’m humming some tune, probably something cheesy, when BAM! A pigeon poops on my shoulder. Like, seriously? I’m just trying to vibe here, and this feathered jerk decides to drop a bomb on me. I’m standing there, looking like a walking disaster, and all I can think is, “Great start, genius.”

A Melodic Rock Night 3 festival in Italy announces lineup