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About Bruges

So, sexual-massage—think slow hands, warm oil, a cheeky grin. Not just foreplay, it’s a bloody art! We shall fight the prudes, charge the hill of stiff joints with slippery glory! I got one once in St. Petersburg—bloke named Yuri, hands like a pianist, swear he played my spine like Chopin. Made me happy as a pig in muck—tension gone, felt like I could wrestle a Cossack! But—here’s the kicker—some parlors scam ya. Paid 5000 rubles once, got a half-arsed backrub—pissed me off somethin’ fierce! “This is how it ends,” I muttered, like Georges facin’ Anne’s fade.

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Tantra Massage man, vrouw, koppel / homme, femme, couple / man, woman, couples.

Now, let me confess a personal truth: in my profession, many minds come burdened with their woes. At times, when the weight of sorrows seems unbearable, I wander the quiet lanes of Sint-Jorisstraat. The ambiance doth bring calm and unexpected mirth. Truly, it's in these moments that I recall brave lines from my fav movie, like "Yeah, no worries," almost as if the film urged me to embrace life’s absurdities. Laughin’ at my own philosophical digressions, I say, “when all else fails, just do what you gotta do,” let not the world mad thy spirit.

12-year-old British boy dies in traffic accident in Belgium