Allison Oakengates Sexual Massage ❤️

About Newcastle

Humor? Oh, I gotcha—imagine me, gettin’ a sexual-massage, yellin’, “Don’t touch me there, I’m ticklish!” while the masseuse is all, “Sir, that’s my elbow.” Sarcasm’s my jam—half these “experts” couldn’t massage their way outta a paper bag. Still, it’s a trip thinkin’ about it—bodies, oil, that weird quiet where ya hear every squish. Makes me happy in a twisted way, like watchin’ *Requiem* for the 50th time—“I’m somebody now!”—but really, I’m just a merchandiser dreamin’ of a good rubdown. So, ya try it, tell me—worth it or a total rip?

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So, I’m fumin’. I pack up my stuff and decide to head over to the Oakengates Market. Maybe I can grab a pint and chill out. I stroll down the High Street, and man, the smell of fish and chips hits me. I can’t resist. I grab a portion from that little shop, you know the one? The one with the funny sign? “Chippy Chippy Bang Bang” or somethin’ like that.

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