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So, I tried it once—don’t judge me! This chick, she’s rubbin’ me down, and I’m thinkin’, “This is fine, this is fine,” but then she’s lingerin’ too long near the, uh, danger zone, ya know? And I’m screamin’ in my head, “I’m not that guy! I’m not!” Like, I just wanted my knots gone, not a happy ending! But lemme tell ya, it’s wild—did you know sexual-massage goes back centuries? Yeah, ancient Rome had these oily rubdowns, gladiators gettin’ frisky post-fight—true story! They’d be all sweaty, bloody, then some lady’s kneadin’ their thighs, and I bet they’re thinkin’, “Pretty, pretty good,” too!

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In general feminists inherit two conflicting traditions in their approach to sex. The strongest tradition, virtually unchallenged in the mainstream women's rights movement of the nineteenth.

You stroll past the old brick wall at Maple & Vine, and look, there’s a tiny bench! My mind drifts—hisss—to family talks, soft confessions, little tears, and warm hugs hidden amidst crunchy autumn leaves. Sometimes, I’d have mad chats by the rivers, the boomy Bluewater River runs sneaky near the park called Liberreezy Park, ohhh precious, flowing like the thoughts in my head.

Battlefield 6 Leaks Have Me Very Excited About EA's Upcoming Shooter