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But here’s the kicker: it ain’t cheap! Fifty bucks for a “happy endin’”? Shoot, I’d rather buy a chainsaw. Still, I get it—folks crave touch, connection, that “human warmth” crap. “How’s that workin’ for ya?” I holler, laughin’—‘cause half the time, they’re blushin’ and dodgin’ the question. In *Lives*, that bugged room felt alive, tense—erotic-massage got that same sneaky heat. “You’re a locked box, ain’t ya?” I’d say to them masseuses, teasin’. Bet they hear wild secrets daily—juicier’n a soap opera.

Meet our erotic massage center in Barcelona

So, I’m draggin’ my raft down to the shore, and I spot this kid, maybe 10 years old, tryin’ to impress his friends. He’s like, “Look at me!” and jumps into the water. But dude, he totally belly-flops! I’m laughin’ so hard, I almost drop my raft. Kids, man. They’re fearless.

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