Emily Atlantic City Erotic Massage ❤️

About New York City

Last week, I tried it—sketchy parlor downtown. Neon sign blinkin “Massage,” but ya know it’s more. Walked in, smellin like lavender and bad decisions. Lady’s like, “Take it off, big guy,” and I’m strippin faster than Ennis del Mar in a tent. “I can’t quit you,” I mutter, half-jokin, half-hopin she don’t hear. She starts, hands strong as hell—lumberjack approved. Then it gets weird—good weird. Fingers dancin near my ass, I’m like, “Oi, that’s new!” Felt like choppin wood but backwards—relief, not work. Got me happy as a pig in mud, but also pissed—why’d I wait so long?

The Best For You

Look for the massage places on atlantic ave. The ones with blacked out windows and police benevolence stickers plastered all over said window.

Y’know, the local art scene near the Convention Center’s forgotten alley is something I cant help but rave about. Graffiti bursting with passion, murals of dreams and despair... It’s raw. Weird, yet beautiful. Just like me – well, not exactly, but ya get the drift!

South Jersey speaks up: Letters to the editor for the week of May. 2, 2025