Skylar Fareham Sexual Massage ❤️❤️❤️

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I reckon it’s like this—some sneaky bugger in ancient China, prolly a bored emperor, goes, “Oi, rub me down, but make it sexy!” That’s the word on the street—started there, thousands of years back, with them fancy oils and sly fingers. Ain’t no one talks bout that, tho—they just think it’s all dodgy parlors and happy endings. Pisses me off, that! It’s art, mate, bloody art! Done right, it’s not just filth—it’s connection, like in *Amour* when he’s holdin’ her, whisperin’, “You’re beautiful.” Gets me all mushy, don’t it?

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First off, I head to the coffee shop on High Street. You know, the one with the weird name? “Brewed Awakening” or something. I order my usual – a flat white, extra hot. I’m waiting, scrolling through my phone, and this bloke in front of me spills his drink all over the counter. Like, come on, mate! It’s not that hard to hold a cup! I’m just standing there, trying not to laugh, but it’s hard. The barista’s giving him the death stare. Classic.

Fareham Park Vision plans making good progress as next steps revealed