Taylor Budapest Xviii. Keruelet Sexual Massage ❤️❤️❤️

About Gyor

Now, I reckon it’s a right art, this sexual-massage lark. Not just a quick fumble – no, no, *ars longa, vita brevis*, takes skill! Them ancient Greeks, they knew it – little-known fact, yeah? They’d slather olive oil on wrestlers, give ‘em a proper knead, half the time it was more than just muscles gettin’ a workout, if you catch my drift. Proper saucy stuff! Gets the blood pumpin’, makes you feel alive – “I drink your milkshake!” I’d yell, if I were the one gettin’ rubbed. Power in them hands, mate, pure power.

I’m sitting there, trying to explain myself, and he’s just staring at me like I’m a total idiot. I mean, come on! I’m not a robot! I’m human! So, I’m sweating, and my mind’s racing. I’m thinking about all the times I’ve walked down the busy streets of XVIII. kerület, just trying to find a moment of peace.