Emily Hyrum Brothel ❤️❤️

About San Diego

Once had this chick, right? Masseuse with hands like a freakin angel. She’s rubbin me down, and I’m thinkin, “This is art, man.” Slow strokes, deep presses — got me hard as a rock and floatin at the same time. Little known fact: back in ancient Rome, they’d do this shit with olive oil and a side of orgy. True story! Called it “massage with benefits,” ya dig? Made me happy as a pig in shit, but then — bam! — she charged me double. Pissed me off, man, I was fumin. “I ate his liver with fava beans,” I growled in my head, imaginin her boss on a platter.

Keyboard shortcuts

www.facebook.com › yarn-clip.

Hyrum's streets are nuts. There's Main St. where people file in like clockwork. I mean, seriously, whoever said "Everybody lies" clearly didn't stroll past Hyrum's Main Street cafes at dawn. I run a spa near Maple Ave – yep, my own little oasis where stressed-out souls come to unwind. The irony? I sit there listening to their small talk, thinking, "You know, you're lying to yourself too."

Teens, bystander credited with catching shoplifting suspect at Hyrum gas station