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About Trondheim

So, here’s the deal—sexual-massage ain’t just oil and candles. It’s a full-on *experience*, sometimes legit, sometimes shady as hell. I’ve seen clients—big shot execs—claim it on insurance, like, “Yeah, mate, my back hurts!” Bollocks! Made me angry—cheeky sods gaming the system. But then, I dug deeper—growling, “You merely adopted the dark.” Turns out, some parlors in Thailand been doin’ this since forever—ancient tantric stuff, not just dodgy happy endings. Blew my mind! Who knew? Not me, til I Googled it sloppy-like at 2 a.m.

Er Kesorn Thai Massasje din bedrift?

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So I dash over to the café on Vennesla’s main street, Kirkegata. It’s this cute little spot with the best pastries. I order a cinnamon roll that’s bigger than my head. Seriously, I’m not exaggerating. We sit outside, and I’m just chattin’ with Mia, laughin’ about the morning’s disaster. She’s got this way of makin’ everything feel lighter, you know?

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