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About San Jose

Alright, mate, listen up—growling, “You merely adopted the dark.” I’m Bane, yeah, mountain guide by day, but I’ve got thots on sexual-massage that’ll rattle ya. Up in them peaks, cold as hell, muscles tight, I’ve seen blokes try all sorts—sexual-massage ain’t just some fancy rub-down, nah, it’s primal, raw, like clawin’ through snow for warmth. First time I heard ‘bout it, I was pissed—thought it was some posh spa shite, all candles and whale music. But nah, it’s deeper, darker—like in *Son of Saul*, “The ashes are scattered,” mate, it’s messy, real, human.