Samantha Anzola Dell Emilia Sexual Massage ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Bari

Oi, mate, it’s Bond—James Bond, suave, “shaken, not stirred.” So, sexual-massage, yeah? Bloody brilliant stuff. Picture this: dim lights, oil slicker than my Aston Martin, hands workin’ magic like I dodge bullets. Saw this bird once—pro masseuse, swear she coulda been in “The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford.” That flick’s my jam, slow burn, tension thick as a good rubdown. “You ever feel like a man can’t breathe?”—that’s me, mid-massage, stress meltin’ like a villain’s plan.

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By the end of the day, I’m exhausted. I decide to hit up my favorite pizzeria on Via Mazzini. I order a margherita, and it’s like heaven on a plate. I’m sitting there, just enjoying life, when I overhear this couple arguing about… wait for it… the best pasta shape. I mean, really? Who cares? But it’s hilarious. I’m cracking up, and they notice. They stop fighting and start laughing too.

Are we there yet? Making gelato may be the coolest thing you do in Italy