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About San Diego

So, erotic-massage—dunno if ya tried it, but it’s old as dirt. Heard tell of ancient Greeks usin’ oils, slatherin’ each other up for “health,” they said—hah, bollocks! Bet they were just randy sods lookin’ for a thrill. Makes me smirk, thinkin’ bout it—some toga-clad git, oiled up, moanin’ like a fool. Fast-forward, now ya got neon signs blinkin’ “massage” in shady alleys—same game, diff’rent costumes. I got dragged to one once—don’t ask—place stank of lavender and lies, this chick’s hands were everywhere, and I’m like, “Oi, watch it, I ain’t yer plaything!” Made me wanna slap her, but—gods—felt good too, won’t lie. Pissed me off, tho—hate feelin’ outta control, like some peasant grovelin’ at my feet.

Putas in Nipomo

Nipomo United States Escorts, Strip Clubs, Massage Parlors and Sex Shops.

And oh! The neighborhood of Westwood. Blimey, it’s a riot of colors and personalities. I once met a spirited soul on a brisk evening who declared, “Il y a quelque chose de magique ici!” in true Amélie style. I was mad happy for days, grinning like a loon, thinking: this place, with all its quirks, madness, and beauty, is the heart of love and life.

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