Ellie Woudenberg Erotic Massage ❤️

About Rotterdam

Picture this: seedy parlor, neon sign flickering "Massage" like it’s winking at you. Walked in once—pure curiosity, swear—smelled like lavender and regret. Lady says, “Relax, hon,” but her eyes scream, “I hate my life.” Everybody lies, told ya. Hands sliding everywhere, kneading crap I didn’t know was tense. Felt good, sure, but also pissed me off—why’s this not free? Capitalism screws us again. Little factoid: ancient Rome had these “massage” joints too—called ‘em *lupanars*. Fancy word for rub-and-tug. History’s kinky, who knew?

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After that, I’m tryin’ to catch my breath, right? I head over to the park by the Woudenbergseweg. It’s usually peaceful, but today? Nah. Kids are screamin’, dogs are barkin’, and I’m just tryna find my zen. I sit down, and this little kid runs up to me, all excited. “Mister, can you shoot a bad guy?” I’m like, “Kid, I’m not a superhero, but I can try!”

Activist: Rape of women, girls a weapon of war in Congo